#like min baby please dont let this slide

[auralino]

ok so i didnt realize the tags have a limit nor did i realize i wrote thirty fucking tags and i still wasnt done. so. tags cont 🥰🥰🥰

and like, idk it sounds like the wedding was all out, so like YEA. THAT'S A BIG THING TO JUST CANCEL. so ofc she had reservations about calling it off the closer they got, but im so glad she left him. cause like in the missing ring scene, it felt like she was more scared of *jung* and how he'd retaliate for the ring being lost more than the ring itself. like baby, forever isn't supposed to feel like a scary life sentence, and im so glad she realized it while spending time with min again. and idk! part of me does still think that maybe min should have taken time to go to his parents. that maybe just a little bit of time, just a little, for both of them to clear their heads and sort out their feelings. mc just kept digging and digging and digging this hole deeper and deeper and while yes, she did eventually dig herself out, she's still exhausted and covered in the debris of it all. and I know minho would hold her, clean the dirt off her himself while she rests in his arms, safe and loved and protected, it's so unfair to minho that he continuously has to be the one to bear the weight and the pain her emotional immaturity causes. like his frustration at the end where he was like *so u waited until the day before ur wedding to say something 🤨* I WAS LIKE RIGHT?????? like idk i just feel like he has every right to be wary of how mc actually feels about him, about them, about everything they'd been doing for the last two months, when she couldn't even be honest with herself for years.

i really do think this story feels *the most* human out of all your fics ive read so far. there is just so much realistic flaw within the mc and the people around her, and its not just magically changed or fixed or disregarded by the end. its there until the last moment, but minho looks at her and still wants her, mess and all. god.

also jung get fucked u stinky little man. he sounds like hes got the emotional maturity of a 10 year old with holographic pokemon cards or something like wtf. LIKE IDK IF I READ THAT PART WRONG BUT WHEN HIS BUDDY WAS MAKING THOSE COMMENTS DURING GOLF???? AND TOUCHED MC WITH THE CLUB????? mc is better than me bc i would have SWUNG. and jung didnt say shit!!!!! he was laughing!!! hes so fucking gross mc baby what did u ever see in this stinky little clown man

anyways this was a banger and once again im asking for ur hand in marriage bc wtf star ur so good at this AND IM SO SORRY ABT THE LONG TAGS AND THE RANT DOWN HERE I JUST HAVE SO MANY FEELINGS ABT THIS FIC

Begged & Borrowed

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.

And 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.

[tiffanyeatsyou]

FORGOTTEN.

husband!nanami x wife!reader wc:1.3K contains: angst w/ nanami, afab!reader (she/her prns used), bit of fluff @ the end, slight mentions of drinking a/n: this is my first fic so im sorry if its a bit... ass...... ya... LOL ermmm hope u enjoy <3

nanamii<3:

8:30. drinks, snacks, movie. You + me?

y/n:

is that even a question?? ofc baby :)

y/n:

dont be late, ill be waitinggggg

nanamii<3:

I wont be, I promise.

i set two glasses down on the coffee table, with the best wine set alongside them, a bowl of popcorn, and some candies i went and got earlier. everything looks perfect. oh- and lets not forget, our favorite movie, La La Land. he should be here any second now so i sit, waiting patiently, trying to contain my excitement.

8:45, phew, trafic must be bad. ill just shoot him a little text

y/n:

“hey sweetie, everything alright? miss u!!! got our movie ready for us!!!”

9:00, a sinking feeling settled in. maybe he's just running late, I thought, trying to hold on to hope.

the minutes dragged on, 9:30. 10:00

10:50.

i’m tired. i walk up to our room with trembling legs and my- already bad vision- is clouded teary, blurry eyes. half from the wine i’ve guzzled down, the other half from crying.

he promised. promised. he said he wouldn't be late and here i am, left with dissapointment. i crawl into my side of the bed sobbing, until sleep, finally overcomes me.

````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````

meanwhile, nanami is rushing and rushing to get out and into his car, speeding to his wonderful wife.

"shit. shit shit shit" he mumbles looking at his watch which reads 11:30. "i got carried away with my work god she’s gonna be so disappointed. i promised i’d be home early today for our long-awaited date. drinks, extremely unhealthy snacks,but most importantly, her: the perfect time."

i race to the door and quickly unlock it. “sweetheart?” i call out. i walk in to see a wine glass spilled on our coffee table, her phone, and a black tv screen.

fuck.

shes been drinking.

i run my fingers through my hair, guilt just running through my veins. i loosen my tie and walk up to our shared bedroom, finding my beautiful wife curled up into our blankets.

“sweetheart, i am so so sorry-“

i pause as i notice the pillow stained with tears and her beautiful face, looking like she’s been crying. which makes me wanna cry. i look over at our clock. 3 hours. i hate to wake her but i need to see my baby.

“baby..?” i gently shake her awake and i hear her voice. breaking. i wrap my arms around her body.

“‘min..?” she says with sleep coating her words.

“yes sweetheart it’s me. look, i’m so sorry i just got caught up with-“

“just *hic* save it. don’t ’wanna hear it anymore nanami.”

she uses my full name.

“ baby please please i’m so so s-“

“‘said stop it. hic ‘don’t love me *hic* ‘don’t care about me. just get off me and *hic* stop.”

my heart drops. don’t care about her? how could she ever think something like that?

“ love you know i care about you okay? you’re just a bit tipsy and-“

“‘s always my fault isn’t it? *hic* how could i know you care when *hic* all you do is work work work.”

“don’t wanna be your *hic* wife anymore.”

what?

she doesn't.. what?

“stop it, don’t you dare say that” i respond with not only a breaking voice; but a breaking heart. she doesn’t mean it she’s just- tired. right? i mean, how could she?

right?

“tell me you don’t mean that doll, tell me now. baby please. please.” i say while peppering wet kisses on her damp cheeks. my voice is breaking and you could hear me on the verge of tears.

she doesn’t respond. why isn’t she talking. does she mean it? this is all my fault. i’ve been prioritizing work while my real priority has been slipping away from me?

i look over and she’s asleep. her beautiful eyes are closed and she’s breathing softly. i quickly get undressed and slide into bed with her.

there’s no way i can leave my baby alone in bed.

i wrap my arms around her, only for her to turn her back towards me and out of my touch.

she was awake.

tears threaten to fall from my eyes as i kiss her “i love you. so much baby.” and with that, i grab my stuff and walk out.

she’d probably want me on the couch anyways.

``````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````

fuck. my head is pounding and i feel like absolute shit. i sit up holding my head reaching my hand out to his side of the bed.

oh.

he isn't here.

whatever. didn't want him here anyways.

i think.

i step into our large bathroom and start a shower and as i’m rinsing the disappointment off my body, i almost miss the soft opening and shutting of a door.

was that in here? is that him?

he hasn’t said anything yet so neither will i. i turn the shower off and wrap myself with a towel and yank open the curtain shocked seeing him sitting on the toilet. waiting for me. i lock eyes with him.

mistake number 1.

he looks like shit.

eyes swollen and heavy with guilt, slight, no- very obvious red flush across his face, and tear-stained cheeks.

“baby please” is all he says when he rushes infront of me, blocking the exit.

ignoring his presence seems to be impossible.

“what do you want nanami” i say coldly, my gaze not daring to meet his.

“i am so sorry beautiful. i am so. sorry. there’s no excuse and no other way to express how sorry i am." he starts. "sorry can’t and won’t cut it. i love you and i do care about you. just so much. i’m so happy you’re in my life and i never regret marrying you, i only regret the mistakes i’ve made." he stops and takes a small breath. "you should be my number one priority. i’ve been terrible to you. i will do anything and everything for you.” he says desperately and tears streaming down his face. he’s crying. he’s sobbing actually trying to apologize. i finally look up at him with water-filled eyes.

before i can say anything, he pulls me in tight and is breaking down. “i-i’m so sorry sweetie i’m so so sorry-“ he can’t barely speak without sniffles. i’ve never seen him like this before. i wrap my arms around him and when i do he releases a sigh of relief.

“oh thank god” he says quickly before pulling me in even closer.

“did you mean it?” he asks, his voice quivering. “w-what you said las- night”

i take a second to think before answering. what’d i-

oh.

my heart drops.

“plea-please tell me you didn’t. r-right? you didn’t ’mean it?”

i look up at him, his lips are trembling and his face is red.

“no, i didn’t. i shouldn’t have said that. i’m sorry ‘min.”

“o-okay because if you did i- i wouldn’t know what to- to do. i’m sorry you can get changed n-now ill be waiting for you in the living room, okay love?”

“okay.” i whisper as i watch him turn around and shut the door.

i finally finish my post-shower duties and walk out of the bathroom.

is that.. apple pie im smelling or am i going crazy?

i must’ve taken forever because by the time i get out there, he’s knocked out. but he’s knocked out on a cute blanket laid across the floor with a box of my favorite donuts, a bottle of orange juice with 2 glasses, and-

an apple pie cinnamon candle buring away.

he set this all up as i was sleeping?

as if on cue, he slowly opens his eyes staring at me staring at him and the cutest set up ever.

i sniffle “did all this for- me?”

he stands up and softly grabs my hand to come sit with him, “of course doll. look”- he says grabbing the TV remote

“we can even watch our favorite movie.”

[bisexual-bitch-blogs]

Can I request Zhongli Cumming mora 🥰🥰🥰🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

🤪🤪🤪🤪🤪🤪🤪

😩OMG YASSS No problem sis! This reminds me of a BL manwha where a guy ejectulates pearls😳😳Also I had to look up how big is a mora. Uhh so let's assume like mayb they're smaller than pennies. Cause it kinda sounds painful ngl😬

"Origin of Mora"

NSFW? Sub Zhongli X Fem Dom Reader

I really started doing math while writing this 😶

POV You and your fiancee, Zhongli are finally doing the deed

Inccludes: Pegging

🤑-------------------------------🤑

It's been 5 sweet years of dating the ex-geo archon. From handholding, cuddling, kisses, dates and other sweet fluff. There was no sexual deeds.

You didn't mind taking the relationship slow but it's kind of hard to think everything is rainbows and unicorns when Zhongli has a fat ass that could rival Bokuto from Haikyuu.................................. Wait who? Uhhh

Now what your going with this is............... you want to fuck him. Break him. Make the intelligent man go stupid. Make him carry your babies if possible. Slap that thicc cake. Take him from behind. Make him scream your name. Finally having se-

Asking the formal ravenette was out of the question. He was like....a pure maiden, talking about the history of shampoo with interest. You weren't sure if he had an ounce of horniness in him. It was killing you inside, slowly.

One day, you took Zhongli and his living wallet, Childe to a bar to drink. With enough alcohol, the ravenette slumped against you, drunk, babbles of how people in Liyue skipped a step making traditional rice wine. He was quite childish and overprotective. He bit Childe's hand when the ginger tried to give you a bag of mora to pay for the drinks. Apologizing to the harbinger, you dragged your drunk fiancee home, getting him sober on the way.

One thing lead to another, you were making out with your boyfriend on the couch, arms wrapped around one another. You sucked on his bottom lip, licking the tips of his teeth, occasionally colliding against them with your own while trying to deepen the kiss, desperate to taste him before departing for air. His plush bottom weighed on your thigh as you groped his chest, fingers rubbing over the sensitive pink bumps.

"Nggh!"

Discarding both of yours and Zhongli's articles of clothing onto the floor, your fingers that was coated in saliva (courtesy of Zhongli's mouth) slid into the ravenette's rather loose canal, thrusting in and out, occasionally curling them.

"Mmngh! Ah..! M-More!"

You thought.

'Did he play with himself before..? Nah, can't be.'

Taking back your fingers from his greedy hole. You aligned the tip of your 13 inch silicone dick into Zhongli's entrance in one swift go, taking it all in with no problem. The ebony male moans.

"Ah~!"

You licked your lips, curious of what other pretty sounds the Geo user might make. Sliding back out, you slammed yourself into him, targeting into his prostate head on. An unrestrained moan rips through the air when you attacked a bump in Zhongli’s walls, his legs wrapped around your waist, tightening.

"Annnggh!"

You ruthlessly started pounding into him. His body violently shakes with each thrust, legs twitching at each throb. Zhongli felt each thrust filling him, spreading him wider. His red, weeping cock was rubbing between our stomachs. Feeling a tight coil inside him about to burst. He panicked, his hands gripping your arms.

"Mnngh! Ah! Aah! Nnghh! Wha--! Wai-!"

It was too late when his cock ejectulated familiar white strings of fluid onto both his and your chest like canvas. But what also came out was shocking. Mora. This man just cummed out mora. Money. Currency.

Stopping whatever your doing. You looked at the small coins littered on his chest and ones that fell, rolling onto the floor then you turned to your fiancee who was looking away, showing his red ears. You questioned out loud.

"Is this...Is this how mora is produced?"

Zhongli nodded, slowly, refusing to look at your face.

Meanwhile, your brain was running a mile a minute.

So like people didn't make mora using ores handed by Morax?? And if all the mora is made by the Geo Archon by cumming. Then isnt everyone touching his sperm or cum in a way? Does Venti know??? Wait how many mora is there in Teyvat? Hold up. You have like 800,000 mora in your wallet. And that came from him too- Isn't your lover like over 6,000 years old? How much mora does he produce? Does it vary? Oh my.

How wrong you are thinking he's a pure maiden. When in reality. Zhongli is a horny little bitch.

You looked around counting quickly. There seemed about more than 100 mora. So 800,000 divided by 100 equals 8,000 if he released every maybe You dont know. 2 times a year? With an additional 200k if you go to wherever Childe told you to go for extra cash. 8,000 plus 2,000 equals 10,000 and Zhongli spent 55,000,000 the other day. Divide it by 100 equal 550,000 plus 10,000 equal 560,000. But let's also consider the huge amount of money the Northland Bank has. Oh my Archons. It's no longer a money bank. It's a sperm bank.

Honestly, you weren't sure how to react however questions will need to be answered and experiments will need to be conducted.

You resumed rocking your hips, catching the Geo user off guard, gasping. Suddenly, you grabbed his member, moving it up and down, inspecting it.

"Is your pp okay??"

The Geo Archon has never been so embarrassed in his entire life. In his existence. Of course you had to ask that during an intimate sex. It was great you were concerned and all but please ignore what just happened and get back into the feels for the lord of himself.

One thing for sure after wrecking him is that day is that you will never see Mora the same ever again.

----------------------------------------

Alright time to commit toaster bath. I missed 30 mins of college prep math class cuz of my aunt's walmart wifi and I dont understand a single thing going on anymore.

Confession. I died in genshin because I was distracted by Beiodu's ass while climbing the church🤡 Also, my friend played as Zhongli. That didnt help at all so I fell TWICE. Thus Beidou died on me........When I told my friend that. I don't think he believes me😭😭😭 he was like......

"ok..."

Tjrgjyegkgvehi PLS

[gh0stwriting]

Hear me out, the slashers (michael,, Brahms, and whoever you want) reaction to a very touchy s/o? And not like in a sexual way(but lets be honest some booty grabs do happen), but more of the s/o just always touching them in someway, feet in their lap, sitting close, leaning against them, that sort if thing. Please and thank you! (I love your writing 😍😍)

(i literally picked the last 2 by whose ass id want to grab most and couldnt decide. also tysm!! 🥺)

BRAHMS

he never really noticed you being touchy because hes very much the same, if youre watching a movie he’d either pull you into his chest or lay with his head in your lap. he doesnt see it as anything outside of his definition of normal and he likes that youre as affectionate as he is.

if you grabbed or smacked his ass he’d giggle and 100% do it back unless you told him not to. but would most likely turn it into a game where youd try to grab each others ass without being caught, hes in the lead by a lot tho.

also yall are the crown royalty of just hugging for like 20 mins and not talking or trying to do anything else, just standing in the middle of a room and holding each other until you get tired of standing and do the same thing but on the couch

if youre ever doing something for work or are just generally busy expect brahms to slide in behind you on your chair and just fall asleep leaning on you. also he’ll do anything he can to sit behind you without you having to move out of the way because he doesnt want to interrupt what youre doing but most of the time he almost falls trying to, hes determined tho.

and if hes busy (which lets be real he rarely is unless it involves you) then you’ll be the one obnoxiously leaning on him but he loves it and giggles every time you try to move to get his attention back to you, youre just a sucker for him as he is for you.

MICHAEL MYERS

the first time you put your legs in his lap or cuddled extra close, he thought it was weird and rather annoying, but quickly realized this is your personal version of love. as close to your lover as possible.

it makes him feel wanted in a way he hasnt felt since he was a kid and originally its conflicting to him. why would anyone want him? but of course no matter what he does you dont leave and your affection grows more prevalent every day, starting with small things and eventually climbing onto whatever you have to so you can sneak him a kiss, even if it means falling.

he soon finds it really adorable that you could feel so strongly for someone, especially when you know so little about him. he would try to initiate the same affection but he fears hurting you, after all hes built like a fridge and could easily kill you.

though that doesnt mean he doesnt try to initiate affetion, because he does, but only when hes in a really good mood. like when you were watching black and white horror movies and he grabbed you a little too roughly and pulled you into his lap, wrapping his arms around your waist and just staying there until you had to get up.

though some things you do seem to make him very uncomfortable you try to catch onto what it was and tone it down so as to make him as comfortable as possible, he generally does seem to be partial to affection, but mostly on his terms. hes like an old angry cat.

BUBBA SAWYER

so sometimes when youre just meandering around the house with nothing to do youll just run up to him and hug him really tightly on impulse, which would initially startle him and then he’d coo quietly and hug you back, baby boy just likes being loved and youre more than happy to give him all the love he deserves.

another of his favorite things you do is when you walk into his workshop, announce your prescence as to not startle him and then just either watch him work with your hands on his shoulders and your chin resting on his head or to cover the top of his head and back of his neck with kisses until he starts giggling and then puts down his work to spend time with you. you may be petty, but it works.

Drayton HATES how lazy you two get sometimes, but its not so much you being lazy as it is just you basking in each others presence and enjoying the comfort that things like cuddling bring.

also if you do grab his ass randomly he’ll squeal like a pig from shock and its honestly really funny bc after he covers his face bc of how hard hes blushing, though you wouldnt have been able to tell otherwise

Bubba is so affection starved that hed spend the rest of his life just cuddling you and hes fine with that, he just thinks youre warm and small like a teddy bear (but lets be real almost everyones short to him bc hes like 6’5 and thiccc)

BILLY LOOMIS AND STU MACHER

Ok so, Stu is very affectionate and loves giving and receiving massive amounts of affection. Billy on the other hand is emotionally constipated and doesnt show feelings if he has a choice, especially not in public.

that being said tho, in private you three are insperable. almost always touching somehow, even if its just your thighs touching while you watch movies, or in Stu’s case, as much of his body touching as much of yours and Billy’s as possible, not unlike a puppy.

also prepare to be in the middle of some kind of ghostface sandwich bc they both want to have maximum contact with you while cuddling so they can hopefully keep you safe if anything were to happen.

also Billy isnt always one for affection but if he wants it hes gonna get it and hes gonna do it in the most dramatic way possible. like when youre watching tv he’ll just flop down onto your lap with a hand on his forehead and a dramatic sigh and just lay there until you make him leave.

[haikyuuthots]

You want to kiss me so bad right now. (Headcanon)

He says “you want to kiss me so bad right now.” during an argument. That’s it that’s the tweet.

Characters: S. Daichi, T. Oikawa, T. Kuroo & M. Atsumu

A/n: it’s 2 am and i saw this concept and wanted to try it out. Also if u don’t know who lord farquad is, please watch Shrek then come back cause you’re missing out hahahah.

—————————————————————————

Daichi

You were upset because he cancelled your plans for the third time in a row.

You understood he was busy and needed to focus on volleyball but that didn’t make you any less hurt.

“Baby I told you I was sorry, practice just took longer than expected.”

“Yeah, this always happens Daichi, practice always takes longer than expected.”

“Please just try to understand...”

“I have been understanding! I’ve been trying to let it slide but three cancellations in a row. That’s fucked up.”

He feels bad. He knows you’re a really good girlfriend

“Ok love, let’s just hang out now.”

“Nah, I’m good.”

You’re just being petty honestly, but you did wanna hang out with him.

“C’mere.” He reaches to grab you.

“Nah.” You pull away and begin to walk away.

He gives a sly smirk. He actually finds your attitude ✨hot✨

“Nope.” He grabs you quickly and turns you to face him.

You two are extremely close right now, and he just stares at you with a teasing smirk.

You’re hella flustered and he knows it.

“You want to kiss me so bad right now.”

You’re a blushing mess, your natural reaction is to push him away. “Shut up.”

“C’mon baby. A small kiss. I know you want to.”

What a fuckin tease.

You can’t help it, with the way he’s looking at you. You cave and give him a quick peck on the lips.

He smiles, and holds you tighter.

“I’m still mad at you, ya know.”

“What can i do to change that?”

“Buy me frozen yogurt and maybe I’ll consider forgiving you.”

He laughs at your response. “Sure baby. Anything you want.” He leans down to give you a gentle kiss.

You honestly couldn’t stay mad at him. He was too sweet.

Oikawa

You hated that your boyfriend entertained his fangirls so much and practically flirted with them back.

“It’s so disrespectful Tooru. You were practically flirting with her right in front of me.”

“No I was not. I was just accepting her compliment.”

“How are you gonna tell me. I was right there. You said her hair was pretty too!”

Maybe you were overacting. But you were just having a bad day honestly.

“Come here love. Don’t be mad.” He tries to go reach for your hand.

You pull away. “Nah how about you talk to her some more.”

Oikawa finds your jealousy cute, so decides to tease you a bit.

“Jealousy is an ugly color on you. Ya know.” He chuckles out.

“Ha! I am not jealous.”

“Yeah?? Your attitude tells me otherwise.” He’s leaning closer towards you and closes the gap between your bodies.

“You’re delusional Tooru. I’m just saying it’s disrespectful.” .

He’s staring into your soul. With a mischievous smirk.

“Ya right.”

You’re looking up at him with an annoyed look on your face.

Oikwas smirk only gets wider. He’s fully entertained.

“Oohhh. You wanna kiss me so bad right now, I can see it.”

Your cheeks flushed red. You were so flustered at his sudden words.

“Tch. Leave me alone. ” you give him a slight shove to add space between you two.

“It’s ok love I don’t blame you. If I were you I’d wanna kiss me too.”

He’s fully teasing you now, he finds your flustered state adorable.

“Alright oikawa I’m just gonna head out.”

You try to leave but oikawa grabs you by your arm to restrict any further movement.

“Wait. I’m kidding.” He let’s out a small laugh.

“I really am sorry. I don’t want you to feel that way. You’re the prettiest and only girl for me.”

Your heart flutters at his words.

“As I should be.” 😌

Ok you’re over it now. Lmao

He lets out a small laugh. “Ok now give me a kiss.”

“Ohhh you want to kiss me so bad right now.” You repeat the words he said to you earlier in the same teasing manner.

“Yes I do actually.” Oikawa leans down to give you a soft kiss.

Y’all start making out. Oops.

Kuroo

You’re walking home from school with your boyfriend.

Everything was normal until Kuroo randomly started teasing you out of no where

You were used to Kuroo’s teasing, but today when he mentioned how short you were, it struck a nerve.

“Babe wait. Are you really mad?”

“Yes.” You’re walking away from him.

“Oh c’mon I was just kidding.”

“You called me lord farquad Kuroo. Where the hell did that come from?”

“You called me a rooster head first!”

Lmao whoops guilty. Yup you were the one that initiated the teasing.

“Ok but that doesn’t mean you have to call me a name.”

Kuroo’s laughing. Honestly he’s very entertained, your annoyed expression is very cute to him.

“Wait.” He grabs your by your wrist to stop you from walking any further.

You’re face to face, and are only staring at each other.

Your annoyance only grows when you see the giant smirk on his face. He’s so entertained by this.

“Why are you smiling like that. We’re fighting.”

Kuroo let’s out a small laugh. “This doesn’t really seem like a fight.”

“Well it is cause I’m mad you so what’s up.”

“Yeah? But you want to kiss me so bad right now. I can tell. Look at you just staring at my lips.”

Fucking TEASE

“Kuroo shut up I’m not gonna kiss you we’re figh-“

Kuroo cuts you off with a kiss

And you reciprocate right away.

Your arms are wrapped around his neck and his are on your waist.

As you pull away the first thing you notice is kuroo’s smirk.

“Thought you didn’t wanna kiss me.”

But like honestly how could you NOT kiss him who are you kidding.

You give an annoyed smile. “Oh shut up.”

“So does this mean we’re not fighting anymore?”

“You’re lucky you’re a good kisser.”

He laughs at your response and holds out his hand to grab yours.

“Let’s go baby. I’ll buy you some food.”

Are you kidding he was almost as sweet as he was a tease.

Atsumu

He yelled at you because you asked him if he wanted a piece of your sandwich while he was observing a volleyball game on t.v

Obviously you were hurt because, wtf??? How rude.

When he was done watching the game he headed over to you to cuddle.

But nah you were mad so no cuddles for him

When he approached you and you pushed him away he was hella confused

“Why are you pushing me away princess?”

“Mmm idk why did you yell at me for asking a simple question?”

“Yell?”

This man couldn’t even remember yelling at you lmao.

“Yes Atsumu. I asked you if you wanted the rest of my sandwich and you said “wait y/n don’t talk to me right now!”

“Ohh baby I didn’t mean to yell.”

You’re pouting and avoiding his gaze

“That was still really rude and for no reason.”

“Aw c’mon how about we just cuddle and forget about it.”

He tries to wrap his arms around you but you push him away again.

“Nah I’m good.”

You get off the bed and walk out towards the kitchen leaving Atsumu in the room alone.

He can’t help but laugh at how petty you were. He honestly finds your attitude really cute cause he knows it’s very innocent.

He walks out to find you in the kitchen and wraps his arms around your waist.

“Princess dont be mad.”

Silence

He turns you to face him and holds your face to look at him.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

“You yelled at me Atsumu and for what!!! I was just trying to share my food with you. I never share my food you should consider yourself lucky!!”

You ramble a bit longer and Atsumu is only staring at you with a slight smirk.

“What are you smiling about?”

“You want to kiss me so bad huh.”

THIS MAN IS SO ANNOYING LMAO

That genuinely caught you off guard and made you laugh.

“You’re so annoying.” You roll your eyes playfully

“I love you too. Now stop being a brat and let’s go cuddle.”

“Wait. So do you want a kiss or no??? Because I’m down.”

He lets out a loud laugh. Your goofy ness always made him so happy.

He leans down to give you a warm kiss.

You were honestly mad at him for like 10 mins but the minute he started talking you ignored that cause he was just too sweet.

[dazed--xx]

I Trust You

REQUEST: Hey! Just saw you wanted requests so here it is So, you're making out with Yoongi and things get hot but you're kind inexperienced and had a bad first time, but you didn't tell him... he notices that you're nervous and stops to check on you, so you tell him and start detaching yourself from him cuz you're embarrassed, but he stops you and show it to you how you should be treated I'm sorry, this was kind specific, feel free to do it you want >< ❤

GENRE: SMUT, ANGST, if you squint fluff

TRIGGER WARNING: SEXUAL ASSAULT 

MEMBER: YOONGI x Idol!reader

WORD COUNT: 1,539

A/N: so this one is kinda a hard one to write i was a victim of sexual assault and it was kinda like this but way more graphic. but i hope you guys enjoy im sorry to the person who requested this because i forgot your tumblr name but i hope it reaches you if it does comment please.

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“Yoongi-ah” I moan as his lips slowly suck on the bend of my neck. “Hmm?” He whispers, His lips attacking mine. My hands buried in his soft midnight hair, his wandering to my ass. Yoongi’s member pressing against my stomach, hard. His hands reach for my breast, as my tongue wanders his mouth. “Baby-” Yoongi bites my lip interuppting my protests. I let out a small moan “Hmm I love hearing you moan for me baby” His hand sliding down lifting my shirt slightly. My hand grasps his wrists, my breathe gets stuck in my throat. Water is building around my lungs and im gasping for air. The dark feeling rises and the memory begins to replay over in my head once again.  

*TWO YEARS AGO*

Min, my back is on the ground. Min-Jun's hands wandering all over my torso, across my chest. No, Don’t, Stop please. His hands trail down my body and lifts the blue shirt I had been wearing and a cool breeze sends shivers through my body. He stops at the button for my jeans, and I close my eyes as he removes them. I don’t like this Say something idiot, he'll stop right?  

His lips travel from my lips to my collarbone. His sloppy, wet kisses that are etched into my skin. "Min-Jun, I don’t want to. I'm not ready." I say. He lifts his head, rolls his eyes, and continues kissing me. I jerk my head to the side "Min-Jun, please stop."

He throws his head back in frustration. "Excuse me?" He looks at me in disgust "Of course you don’t like it, if you relax you'll enjoy it, I promise." I shake my head, and Min-Jun clenches his jaw.  

"Min-Jun, I don’t like this can you please stop? I don’t want to do this, not here and not now" I said. He shushed me, caressing my face " I promise I'll take care of you during this whole thing okay? Just calm down you'll be okay," He said, "If you keep fighting me it's going to hurt." He lines himself up with me, I close my eyes.  

The group is more than a mile down the street and really loud music playing, they cannot hear me if I scream. Min-Jun slammed himself in and out of me harshly, pushing my hip into the bed below me. Please God stop him, send someone looking for us so this can stop please god just stop this. An unfamiliar noise escapes my lips, did....did I just moan? Do I like this? and he moaned "Do that again, I like it say my name baby girl" My mouth stays shut. A harsh stinging spreads across my cheek, “what did I just say?” This isnt my Min-Jun, my Min-Jun has never acted like this before. His thrusts get harsher at my silence. Maybe if I just do as he says this will stop, “Min-Jun” I say weakly as his member attacks my core. “Hmm good girl” His lips fall onto mine as his pace slows and the familiarity of his old self returns.  

The kiss feels loving, as my hatred grows. His head falls to my neck “fuck- youre so tight baby girl” his hand caresses my face softly his thrusts getting sloppy. “Call me daddy” DADDY?! He wants to own me and for me to accept that ownership....fuck no.... I wont.... I don’t care.... I wont call HIM daddy. He looks at me angry, his hand wrapping around my throat “Come on baby girl, what you feeling shy?” I cover my face and nod quickly terrified. He smiles “youre so cute baby. Its okay you don’t have to this time next time okay?” NEXT TIME?!?!?! YOU REALLY THINK YOURE GOING TO SEE ME AFTER THIS!!!!! Im screaming on the inside but my weak and terrified state just nods.

He begins groaning and his hips stutter freezing “Fuck! I just came so hard baby girl” He lifts himself off of me and holds me "Relax, you fought a lot, next time please don’t do that.  I don’t like hurting you, baby girl."  

A large smile formed on his face, he is satisfied and I am silent.

*PRESENT*

“Yoongi, please...stop” I whisper as tears begin to stream down my face. Yoongi freezes panic evident on his face his hands caress my face. “Are you okay?” I nod. His face falls “baby youre crying”. I smile and wipe my face and move past him sitting in the studio chair messing with his piano. “We should finish this track oppa” I smile at him. He nods, distain on his face. After about 10 silent minutes, yoongi speaks up “Listen, im not sure why you started crying, but just know you can tell me anything and I will never judge you. Okay? I know you went through a lot before you met me and I wont push but just know I will always be here for you” the wall of silence I built after all of this time, finally comes crumbling down. The words come out like word vomit, Yoongi listens growing angry as the words come out of my mouth.  

“IM.GOING.TO.FUCKING.KILL.HIM” Yoongi says angrily. “Look baby you tell me stop and we stop okay. Id never pressure you into anything especially something as serious as sex, but I do have to ask.... have you been with anyone since? Like have you ever been able to enjoy it?” I shake my head. He runs his hand through his hair. “Dont worry baby ill wait for you forever if I have to. I want you to trust me enough to want to give yourself to me. I love you and I wont hurt you like that or in any way, id never do anything to lose you. Id be lost. I cant help but be happy you fell into our practice room that day” I smile and move from my chair to yoongis lap pressing my lips against his. His hand caresses my face as his tongue explores my mouth. I stand up and grab his hand leading him to the couch. Seductively I push him back onto it and straddle his lap. I kiss down his neck, a moan escapes his lips. My core grows wet as his member hardens against it.  

I suck on his his neck and he bucks his hips up into me. “Hmmm Babygirl don’t do that....” yoongi whines. Grinding into his lap, I nibble on his earlobe lifting his shirt. “You don’t have to do that” yoongi states grabbing ahold of my wrists. “I want to” I smile soon our clothes are tossed all over yoongis studio and were both in our underwear. “Fine but if were gonna do this babygirl were gonna do this right” He states taking ahold of my waist and pressing me into the couch. His lips are on mine fast need evident in yoongis pace. His member grinding into my core as yoongi attacks my neck. “Hmmm this is gonna be all about you baby girl okay? Im gonna make you feel so fucking good” His words make the blush creep up on my face. “youre so fucking cute and innocent...and your going to be so naughty for me..hmm im gonna ruin you baby” His hand slides into my panties. “Fuck youre so wet already baby girl. Can I taste you?” He asks softly. I nod “No baby use your words I want you to tell me if its okay this is all about you” He kisses my core over my panties. “Yes oppa I want you to eat my pussy please” he pulls my panties down and attacks my core. The feeling overwhelmingly wonderful “FUCK! OPPA!” My hand buries in his hair as he sucks softly on my clit. “You taste so much fucking better than ive imagined baby girl.” The need for yoongi grows “Oppa...?” I ask softly, Yoongi lifts his head worried coming back up to my face. “Yes ? Are you okay?” Panic in his voice, I smile “Im fine I just want you to be inside of me... not that im not enjoying this but I only want to cum on your cock”  

Nodding yoongi sits up and begins looking through his clothes. “what are you doing?” I ask confused “Looking for my wallet I have a condom in there” “you don’t need one” Yoongi freezes and turns around “are you sure?” I nod. He drops his underwear and his member flys up and hits his stomach. A nervous look flashes across my face as yoongi lays positions himself in between my legs “ill go slow okay” his words easing my anxiety.  

“its okay baby I trust you”

[mccnyoongi]

the yoongi thigh riding drabble 😫😫😫 sis ur tryna kill me alsooo i know u said ur trying not to go for the “riding yoongi in his studio chair” trope however i FULLY support indulging in this trope 😉 i rlly love ur writing tho omg 🥰

+ anon said:  hi im uh read your latest work and rEALLY LIKED IT so can i please request riding yoongi in his studio chair??? thanks if you would posts it!

+ another anon said: yoongi drabble, were where y / n and he have sex in his studio, pls?

hsfjksfh TWIST MY ARm why dont u !! (i told yall id do nasty soon) now i wanna write a multi-chaptered undergroundrapper!yoongi sjkfjsdf 

⇢ word count: 2K+ (lmao)

⇢ warnings: unprotected sex, dom!yoongi, starts SUPER soft then devolves into filth, undergroundrapper!yoongi bc ion like writing idol!au skdfjsdfk, degradation, yoongi’s hands

Yoongi’s passion has always been one of your favourite things about him- if he cares about something, he’ll give his all to it. Thankfully you fall under that category. The only question is whether you’re first or second on the list, constantly competing with his music.

With Yoongi garnering a fair amount of success from his life as an underground rapper, you understand why it’s starting to take over more and more of his life, you really do. You loved Yoongi, you loved his music. But you couldn’t help but start to… miss your boyfriend. A sad irony that you could miss the man who’s been, as of late, spending the majority of his time in his ‘studio,’ aka the spare room of your shared apartment that he said was about a quarter the size of a proper studio. 

How could you miss someone that was less than fifteen feet away from you, two doors away? You weren’t sure that it was possible until now, lying in bed, Yoongi’s side cold and the offensive red light of your bedside alarm clock telling you it’s far past the time your boyfriend promised he’d be in bed by. You sigh, sitting up, knowing that you wouldn’t get any sleep if you just sat there and stewed in your negativity. So instead you’d seek him out.

Thankfully there isn’t a lock on the door, he hasn’t gotten around to putting one in yet. You know the day will come soon, since last time your friends were over, Jungkook and Jimin had managed to sneak their way in, looking like guilty puppies when Yoongi had caught them. 

Lock or not, Yoongi didn’t even hear you, ears covered by his almost comically oversized headphones, his dyed blonde head bobbing to whatever beat he’s working on at the moment. You can’t help but smile fondly at the sight of your sweet boy so immersed in the thing he’s dedicated his life to.

He’s only made aware of your presence when you wrap your arms around his shoulders from behind. He finally takes those ridiculous headphones off, pausing the track and letting you rest your chin on the top of his head.

You look at the two monitors in front of him as though you have any idea what’s going on on the screens. “Hard at work, huh genius?”

You feel him cock his head under you and he hums gently, one of his large hands- something about him you first fell in love with when you saw it, pale and slender, gripping a microphone on stage- grabbing at yours. “Sorry,” He mumbles, and you can tell by the timber and the gruffness of his voice that he hasn’t spoken a word since he came into this room a couple of hours ago. “Lose track of time in this room. No windows.”

“S’okay Yoon. Just missed you is all.”

Your words are innocent but they tug at his heart and make him shut his eyes for a moment. He never wants to make you feel like second best, but the way he falls into things sometimes makes him forget that anything else exists in the world. But now he wants to be close to you, to touch you, to make it all up to you. 

“C’mere,” He’s tugging at the hand he has in his grip, and he keeps tugging until you’ve circled around his chair to stand in front of him. “Up on my lap, babe.” An offer you couldn’t refuse. So you don’t.

You’re straddling him now, well-toned but not overtly muscular thighs under you- a familiar and welcoming seat of yours. His warmth is comforting to you and vice versa. “I’ve been neglecting you, haven’t I?” You don’t want to say yes, afraid of hurting his feelings but the pout that graces your features gives it all away.

“I know, baby, I’m sorry,” One of his large hands comes up to cup your face, and he coos softly when you lean and nuzzle into his palm, as if he isn’t thinking of all the filthy and depraved things he’s been missing out on with you while he’s been cooped up in his studio. “‘M gonna make it up to you.”

And then his mouth is on yours, and you’re reminded why you love kissing Min Yoongi so much. He’s careful and intense, every movement backed by the same confidence and dominance he exudes when he’s on stage. It’s when you deepen the kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth, skilled and tactful, that you realize you weren’t just here for a quick visit.

“Yoongi,” You murmur as soon as he’s pulling back, detaching your mouths. You’re momentarily hypnotized by the string of spit that still connects the two of you, staring at it until it breaks. Yoongi notices this fascination of yours, and give you a smirk you regret ever confessing to him you find sexy. 

“Are you getting all desperate for me, silly girl? Hm?” You can’t help but rut your hips against his own at the words, loving the way they fall out of his mouth so lazily but with as much purpose as a presidential speech. “So needy ‘nd squirmy for me… Love seeing you so fucking desperate, you know.” His hands are travelling up your sleep shirt- aka an old band shirt of his that you had staked your claim over before the two of you had even moved in together.

His hands don’t go where more inexperienced ones might immediately go but instead traverse up and down your back, leaving delicious goosebumps in their wake. You shiver both from the feeling, and from the anticipation of what’s to come. You go to take your shirt off but are stopped by two hands circled around your wrists. “Patience,” Yoongi’s voice is next to your ear now, as he’s pulled you down using the grip he has on you. 

He’s made it clear that while you may be on top of him, he’s the one with control. And he’s fucking revelling in it, you can see it in the sparkle in his eyes as he lets go of your wrists. “Don’t worry, baby, I’ll take care of you, I promise,” You trust him wholeheartedly, and communicate this with a nod. You know he understands when his hands slide down, under your shirt once more, this time staying far lower. 

“Soaking wet and I’ve barely even done anything,” He’s so cocky and you should be annoyed but you can’t find it in you, instead you feel yourself get even hotter at his words. “Panties off, little girl.”

His tone leaves no room for arguing, so you scramble to stand up and follow his demands, panties lost somewhere behind him. You go to get back onto your spot on his lap, missing it already, but are stopped once more by his hands. One is on your waist, holding you steady, only using a portion of its strength and the other is on your face, squishing your cheeks, opening your mouth and pushing your lips out obscenely. 

He looks like he’s still deciding what the hell to do with you, how hard to go. Then he’s cocking his head, brazen smirk back on his face as he pushes you down to your knees. The carpeting immediately makes the position uncomfortable as you feel it grating against the skin of your knees. But any discomfort is immediately quelled, or, at least, forgotten, at the sight and sound of Yoongi undoing his belt in front of you- any thoughts of your knees and carpet burn are replaced with the thoughts of Yoongi’s cock. He had that effect on you.

He chuckled at the look in your eyes, finally releasing himself from the confines of his jeans. He sighs at the release, cold air hitting his skin a shock to his rock hard dick. “Practically fucking drooling for this cock, aren’t you?” You nod earnestly and lean forward, towards his cock where his hand works over it lazily. He grabs a fistful of your hair with his other hand, withholding you from what you really want. “So fucking desperate, you slut. You wanna suck my cock so bad? You better do a good fucking job of it, convince me you deserve it in that slutty cunt of yours.”

You barely have time to think about how quickly he shifted from the sweet, loving Yoongi you normally know to this darker version of Yoongi, the one that comes out whenever he’s properly turned on before his hand that’s fisted in your hair is dragging you toward his achingly hard cock. You open your mouth, ready and willing, and mouth at his tip, letting your spit, your drool, collect and fall over it, dripping down the rest of his impressive length. You pull back to give the tip a gentle kiss, barely holding back a giggle when it jumps angrily at you

He breathes out heavily from his spot above you and yanks you back off his cock. “You wanna be a messy fucking tease? Fine. Open your mouth. Now,” You do as he says, not wanting to anger him further. 

He collects spit in his own mouth, and you're made to sit and wait patiently, hair a mess and mouth wide open. You don’t have to wait long until he spits into your mouth, the act so filthy, so dirty, you can only close your eyes and whimper, so turned on from it all that you can feel your own wetness starting to drip down your thighs. Messy. “Don’t swallow,” He doesn’t need to explain more as he leads you back to his cock.

You let the combination of your and his spit fall onto his cock, the act obscene but astoundingly erotic. You finally start to swallow down his length like you know he wants, your hands coming up to help. Both of his hands are in your hair now, entirely controlling your actions, the speed of which your sucking his cock.

He finally pushes you down as far as he can, your hands falling to his thighs. Your nose is against his stomach, tickled by the sparse amount of hair there. You can barely breathe from this position, but you take it if only for the groans you hear tumble out of his mouth. “Such a good girl, my best fucking slut,” You moan at the praise, the vibrations making his head fall back on his chair. There’s drool covering both him and your face now, tears welling at the corners of your eyes from the intensity, and every second you can feel yourself getting wetter.

His hands fall slack on your hair, but you don’t pull back just yet, instead, taking the opportunity to swallow around him once, twice, three times. He yanks you off of his cock, his breathing ragged and heavy. He looks at you with a half-lidded gaze. “Up.”

It’s only one word, but he doesn’t need anymore, not with a commanding tone like that. You get back on his lap, immediately calmed and comforted by the spot. He finally tears off the shirt, now wrinkled and covered in drool and precum. 

“Now fucking sit on it,” And you can hardly hold yourself back, eagerly lifting yourself up and positioning the head of his cock against your slick entrance. You let yourself fall, the whole of him filling you up perfectly, and so so good.

Yours and Yoongi’s groans mingle together in an unrivalled harmony, the two of you still for a moment as you bask in the feeling. “Being such a good fucking girl,” His hands work up and down your sides. “Now fuck yourself on my cock, and don’t you dare stop. Don’t stop until you full of my fucking cum, ‘till you’re my perfect, messy bitch.”

You start slowly, lifting yourself up until barely an inch is left in your pussy, and drop all the way back down. You continue like this, deep, strong strokes, slowly speeding up until your bouncing on his lap, the obscene sounds of the two of you filling the room, your very own symphony when combined with your groans.

“So good, baby, so fucking good, bouncing on my cock, gonna make such a fucking mess out of you, yeah?” He’s lifting his hips to meet yours, making every downstroke that much more intense. 

He lands a spank on your ass, then another, the sharp pain only serving to make you wetter and bounce on him harder. He chuckles in between moans. “You like that, huh? You’ll take anything I give you, ‘cause you’re my perfect little whore.”

You can feel the crescendo coming, building up like a tsunami. “Yoongi- Yoongi please, please, you have to let me come,” Any other time you’d have reservations about begging, but when it came to Yoongi, all pride was left at the door. “Need it.”

“I have to? I don’t have to do anything, whore,” His hand is back on your face, lips puckering out again. You nod in desperate agreement. He’s collecting spit in his mouth once more and you open your mouth wider in anticipation of what’s about to come. He spits in your mouth again, this time wanting you to swallow. It’s a dirty act, so vulgar, and you both groan at the site.

“You see that, slut? You swallow my spit, bounce on my cock and cum for me, all when I fucking tell you to? You understand?”“Yes, Yoongi I do, I’m sorry, please, I’m sorry, jus’ lemme cum.”

“Yeah, yeah, do it, fucking come for me.”

And cum you do, the feeling washing over you like nothing else, eyes closing and your head burrowing itself into Yoongi’s neck, the smell of his sweat comforting. You can hear Yoongi talking himself and you through your orgasms, but the words are too much for you to focus on. You can only feel his cum fill you up, already starting to spill out of you.

You’re both panting in the aftermath, his hands, once harsh, now softly caressing your back. The two of you are slick and sticky with sweat, but it’s the last thing on your minds.

“You still need to work on that song or are you finally gonna come to bed?”

“Please, neither of us are leaving that bed for the next 48 hours, besides to get the door for the take out we order.”

“Sounds perfect.”

[readbeneaththelines]

His Possession Pt. 14

A/N: Debts are collected, one way or the other. Unfortunately, you were the collection for your father’s debt.

Yoongi is ruthless, cunning, and obsessive.

Characters: Yoongi x Reader

Warnings: SMUT pure and simple.. Fingering, (female receiving), oral, (female receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it up lovelies) losing virginity (female) language

Word Count: 1853

“If you’re sure, then okay. But don’t feel like I’m rushing you. He ran his hands up and down your arms, soothing you. 

You reached for the buttons of his shirt, unbuttoning them one by one, your shaking hands slightly fumbling with each button. His hands covered yours, calming your nerves with his warmth. He stood still, holding his breath as your finished and slid first his jacket then his shirt off. Your hands splayed over his chest, feeling the heat that radiated into your own skin. You could feel his heart racing in his chest, his breaths staggered and quick. He reached around you, finding the hooks of your white lace bra and unsnapping them with a snap of his fingers. He slid it off your body, tossing it to the floor with the dress. 

Placing a hand on each of your cheeks, he bent down, searching your eyes in question before gingerly kissing your parted lips. There was nor hesitation on your part, eagerly kissing him back and your hands found purchase in his hair. His hands moved to your shoulders before sliding them down your bare back. Flickers of electricity shook your body, gripping him tighter so your legs wouldn’t give way under you. Hid large hands caressed your body, spreading them out over the small of your back. You could feel wetness pooling between your legs, soaking your frilly lace panties. You moaned, the sound causing Yoongi to pull you flush against his bared chest. He couldn’t get enough of you, couldn’t get close enough. He wanted you, all of you. He wanted to watch you blossom under his gaze, make you writhe under his touch. He wanted to watch your eyes fill with need and desire because of him.  To have you give yourself over to his hunger for you. The thought of being your first, and only, made his mind reel. 

You were scared, but needy. You didn’t want to disappoint him. You wanted to please him, emotionally and physically. To give yourself over to him, to let him show you what pleasure could feel like. You leaned away from his lips, holding him to you as you ran your thumb over his kiss bruised pouty mouth. 

“I want you, Yoongi. But first, I need to tell you something.”

For an instant, he froze, then relaxed as you pressed your finger to his lips so he wouldn’t speak. 

“Over the past several months, I have come to realize something. I have forgiven you for everything. I have let it go so that in the place of my anger, there is something else, something more. Min Yoongi, my husband, I love you. I don’t want this to be a union made out of need, but a real marriage, if you will have me that way.” 

He answered you by lifting you off the floor and carrying you to the bed. He laid you down, bringing his body to cover yours as he kissed you with such need and passion. 

“I love you too.” was all he whispered before he planted feather light kissed down your jaw, then down to your chest, kissing just above the rising swell of your breasts. One hand grazed fingernails down your side, eliciting a purr form you. He tried to take his time, but he needed to fell you around him before he lost control.

Dipping a finger under the waistband of your panties, he teased your folds. Finding your clit, he rubbed small circles over it, all while pressing his now fully hard cock against your clothed sex. You felt him hard and heavy against you, you own hips lifting off the mattress to allow the connection your body needed to feel. Your nail dug into his shoulders as you pulled him down on you. 

“Just wait, baby. We have the rest of our lives together to learn each others bodies.” he cooed into your ear. His hot breath sent chills throughout you. He wanted to see you laid out naked beneath him. Even though he didn’t want to stop teasing you, he sat up and hooked your panties with his fingers ans pulled them down over your hips. 

“Fuck, you are beautiful, all bared and needy for me.” he growled between gritted teeth. You chest flushed a bright red. You reached up, undoing his pants then pushing them down. His erection sprang free, hard and erect. You swallowed hard, wondering if he would split you wide open when he entered you. Noticing your apprehension, he leaned down over you, kissing your nose, then your forehead. 

“I’m going to take my time with you. Get you so fucking wet and ready. I’m sorry princess, I can’t promise it won’t hurt. But, I promise that your body will crave more than you ever thought possible.” 

IF that was true, you didn’t know how much more you could want him. When he slid his long fingers between your slick coated folds, roughly pinching your clit between his fingers, you mewled and squirmed. 

“Pl-please, Yoongi.” You begged. He sat back on his knees, watching you as he dipped a finger inside you, slowly stretching you open. Your eyes clamped shut hard, savoring the feeling of him inside of you. This was only the beginning, and you had to have more. He took your visage in, enjoying how you were already begging him with your body. He moved down, settling on his stomach with his head between your legs. AS his finger began pumping in and out of you, his tongue flicked your clit, lips closing around it as he sucked it between his teeth.  You grabbed his hair in your fists, holding his head still as fire flowed through your veins.  When you couldn’t take it any more, you pushed his head down, and you felt him smile against your swollen pussy. HE entered you with another finger, scissoring them just a bit to let you stretch around them. He crooked one finger, swiping over your sensitive spot. Your hips bucked up, driving him deeper and his mouth harder on your clit. He let his fingers fuck into you slowly as he tortured you with his tongue and mouth. When his need to be inside you grew to a maddening peak, he pumped into you hard on last time before leaving you bereft of any contact. 

“Babygirl, you’re going to drive me mad with needing to be inside of you.” When he kissed you, you revelled in the mixture of your juices with his slightly minty taste. You felt him reach between your bodies, give his cock a few languid strokes before settling it within your dripping folds. He rolled his hips, coating his cock with your juices before lining himself up with your entrance. 

“Keep your eyes on me, baby. I’ll try not to hurt you too much. I need you to tell me if hit hurts too much.” Concern flashed across his face for a brief second, only to disappear when you nodded and told him you were ready. With bridled restraint, he entered you. His hand held the back of your head, keeping your eyes focused on his. As much as he wanted to thrust fast and hard into you, he held himself back. He wanted to savor the way you welcomed him inside you, the way you stretched then enclosed around his cock. You inhaled sharply when he thrust into you to the base, but relaxed as he kissed you into blissful ease. 

“I know it hurts, baby, I know. Just let it wash over you. It’ll feel so much better soon, I promise. I’m going to move, now.” He rocked his hips back then forward as he began a slow rhythmic pace. The tinge of pain subsided as you felt your walls open for him with each trust. Your hands gripped his waist, bringing him down into you faster with each rock of his hips. 

“Faster. I- please, faster.” You pleaded, to which he obliged. 

It became too much for him to bear. His lust and desire took over, causing him to give into his carnal need to make you his.  Gripping you under the knees, he lifted your ass off the bed, wrapping your legs around his waist. This new angle had him hitting you deeper and harder. You searched for something to ground you, finding his wrists and holding tight as he fucked into you with abandon. This still wasn’t enough, and he lifted one of your legs over his shoulder, tilting your hips to the side. His free hand grasped your hip holding your hips in place as he pounded you in an unrelenting rhythm. 

“Fuck.” he growled when you circled your hips forward and down onto him.  You felt a tightening build low in your gut, drawing you into the pleasure. You walls began quivering around his cock, the sensation bringing him close to the edge.

“I’m close. Fuck, Yoongi. Dont. Stop.” You begged between ragged breaths. YOu words sent him into overdrive. He lost control and, reaching below you and taking hold of your waist, he lifted you onto his thighs. Gripping your hips he pushed you back, rocking you as you bounced up and down on him. You breasts bouncing, he cupped one in his hand, rolling and tweaking the hardened nub in his fingers. You fell forward, hands pressing into his chest as you rode him fast. 

“That’s it, Y/N. Just let go. I’m yours. Let me see you fuck yourself on me.” He let you give yourself over to your orgasm as it ripped through you. You collapsed onto him as you shook. Your walls clenched around his cock with force, bringing his own release within seconds. He stilled your movements as he thrust into you, filling you with his hot seed. He held you against him as you pounding heart regained a steady pace and your breathing became even and calm.  His lips pressed tenderly to yours as he came down from his high. He rolled you both over, only disconnecting your bodies as he went soft. He pulled you close, your head on his chest. He kissed your hair, his fingers tracing absently along your spine. 

“I’m sorry if I hurt you baby.” He murmured in your ear. 

“You didn’t. It felt, it felt amazing. I never knew it could feel like that.” once again, your shyness showed through. 

“Princess, it will only get better. I have so much I can teach you, show you. But  must admit, I never knew it would feel like that. How it feels when you love the person you’re with.” He meant it too. HE had never felt like this. The love he felt for you made this feel like his first time. The way it should have been. Earth shattering. 

“I can’t wait.” you cocked an eyebrow at him, smiling when he hugged you tightly to him. 

“You won’t have to wait long, trust me.” with those words, he pulled you on top of him, already hard and ready for round two.

@min-shookga-yoongi @beautifulseoulliar @agustd-suga-yoongii @astronomyturtle @aspaceformyself @dreamyoongi @holy-yoongi@trashkazuya @maxinaptak @micky1518 @rosiemilas @karri570

@seoulsunshineandstories @kwonnansi @xjamlessparkx @berryjam17

@zombiewerewolfqueen @crazybutcutecatlady @spicykoreantatertots @franklytae​

[fullsunhyuckie]

lost in osaka(’s beauty)

uber driver!yuta

in which you needed a plus one for a work event and yuta was conveniently there to aid you,,and maybe even more.

a/n: i’ve officially gotten out of my slump (i hope hehehe) so this is pretty long. oh and i swear this fic sounds better than you think. enjoy!

12.19am

if anyone knows you, they’d know how much your work means to you. everything else comes second to your work. your family complains about how you take it too seriously most of the time and that you should consider taking a break. so when the day comes that you finally decide to bring yourself on a vacation, they might as well mark it as a public holiday.

as you were packing for your trip in the two hours you had left before you had to depart, you received a call from your boss. a part of you was glad because maybe you could, in fact, ditch this trip and get back to work. the other part of you was a little disappointed because you did plan the whole trip by yourself.

'' y/l/n, i need you to stand in for me at the Japanese Media Conference in Osaka, the night after tomorrow.'' your boss ordered casually. ''and do bring a plus one. that should suffice. you'll need to prepare a sum of money enough for a pair of outfit for you and your plus one. please be there by 8 and dress nicely. thank you.'' he added only to hang up abruptly.

though you were shocked, you were more frustrated because how in the world are you going to find a boy willing enough to go to a conference all the way in Japan. just as you were about to deliver the news to your parents, you saw them come in with a bag of medication and toiletries with wide smiles on their faces.

so when they asked you, " where's our baby going? you haven't told us yet!", you softly replied to them, "i guess i’m going to japan!" they cheered and your anger washed away. it was one thing to have tiny accomplishments celebrated by yourself, but to see your loved ones do it, they seem ten times more valid. so without complaints, you rushed out the door waving to your parents, with the boarding pass you printed at most 20 minutes ago.

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5.48 pm.

pacing about door 27, you were frustratingly waiting for your uber that was said to have arrived 5 minutes ago. well, whoever Nakamoto Yuta was, he should have a valid explanation as to why he was late. but in that exact moment, you saw a black sedan car appear in front of you.

the windows of the car were rolled down and you see a man with purple hair greeting you with a rather attractive smile but you had to keep your cool.

"are you miss y/n?" he flashes you the smile once more.

"yes and you're late. i'm rushing for something here." you responded almost simultaneously to which he nodded and rolled up his windows. but before he did it fully, you stopped him.

"aren't you going to help me with my bags? i cant possibly carry it myself.” you gave an exasperated sigh. he chuckled and rolled the windows back up, with no intent of helping you out. 'asshole', you thought. but the truth was that's what yuta thinks too, because he was sure your screen said arriving in 5 mins...but sure he'll let you have it.

you took the seat diagonally behind him and sat quietly for at least 20 full minutes through the ride, occasionally looking at his prettily coloured hair. he was the one to break the silence.

"so your bag isn't that heavy after all?" he mocks you.

"well, isn't it basic courtesy to have a driver help you with your bags?" you heard him huff in an annoyed manner, causing your ride continue its silence until you arrived.

upon arrival, you immediately changed out to your more appealing outfit so that you could head to the pub, in search of a plus one. but the longer you stayed at the pub, you remembered exactly why you’d rather be a workaholic. so you gave up and decided to book an uber back home. too tired to bother, you went into the car that stopped in front of you, hoping that it was the right one.

"must be a tough day for a prissy princess like you, ey?" you hear a familiar voice from the driver's seat. your head shot up and you saw from the rear view mirror, the last face you'd wanna see. "oh piss off, nakamoto."

"call me yuta."

"i'm not in the mood."  you replied, before glancing to the front to steal a peek.

if you were being honest, you were really bothered by yuta on the ride home. you began noticing the little details about him. like the shape of his button nose, and how his hair isn't just purple, it's a really pretty ash purple. 'he's okay looking, huh?' you processed. and then it hit you. a decent looking man, who by chance you have been acquainted to, who is also a fluent japanese speaker and ,fortunately, owns a car. a sleek one in fact. and so you made a decision.

as he drove to the front of your hotel, you stayed still in the car with no intent of leaving. he turned around and lifted his eyebrows at your antics. you took a deep breath, thinking 'here goes nothing'.

"i have a proposal to make in which i am expecting you to accept. i need someone...okay looking, especially with a car, to be my partner for a day...or a few." you started. "you dont have to do much. just sit still, look pretty."

"why would i need to help you? i'm working tomorrow. besides-"

"i'll pay you."

"i'm all ears."

" i know you need the money, considering this job," he narrows his eyes at you. "so i'll give $600 for this event you attend and you get to keep the suit." his previously narrowed eyes now widened all the way at your offer. you gestured for him to give his phone. "i need you to pick me up tomorrow by 8am so we can go get your suit and my dress. don't be late.”

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8.07 am.  

of course he's late. even though you were afraid he'll decide not to turn up, you had to remain cool. but exactly 5 minutes later he arrives, in a floral print shirt with light brown bermuda shorts and a pair of slides, hair unkempt. ugly, you thought. but as you thought so, he winks at you and it crossed your mind, well maybe not at all.

"you're seven minutes late. how am i supposed to trust that you'll reach on time tonight?" you complained. he just shrugged and proceeded to lead you into his sedan car.

the both of you headed to the nearest shopping district to run your errands. after a few hours of shopping, your hands were filled with shopping bags yet you still weren’t sure what yuta picked out. he insisted that you should trust his sense and let it be a secret. yuta was leisurely walking with just a bag of items while you were struggling to balance with all the stuff you bought.

"if only someone was gentleman enough to help me carry my stuff especially since this man beside me, isn't one." you said it a little too loudly in hopes that it'll embarrass him.

yuta laughed it off, completely unphased by your actions. so you continued walking at a fast pace until you heard him jog towards you and felt his hand brushed against yours, causing you to pause. he somehow managed to maneuver the shopping bags so that it would rest on your interlocked hands, so it looked as if the both of you were carrying the bags together. he brushed his thumb against your fingers, which made your heart do a thing. he gave a smug look and you let go, leaving him to carry it instead.

you got in the car, avoiding any form of conversation with yuta, but on the way back, he kept stealing glances at every stop he took. his actions made you nervous, which wasn't super abnormal as you're never usually affected .

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7.48pm.

you could tell it was him by the way he knocks on the door. you opened the door slowly and-  

holy freaking grail.

he was stunning. oh so beautiful. you were in awe. he wasn't lying about his sense of fashion. maroon velvet suit with black innerwear which complements your black seude midi dress. his hair parted just enough to showcase his glowing forehead. earrings, 3 on one side and 2 on the other, contrasting his well-groomed look with a little bit of rebel. how intelligent.

"aren't you gonna let me in or are you not done ogling me?"

"n-no let's just uh- let's leave now. we're..ahem.. we can just be early..." you stuttered, pushing him out.

you arrived at your destination 20 minutes later and was astounded by the beauty of it. you turned to your left to look at osaka’s skyline, what a beauty. you turned right to look at yuta and you started to wonder, maybe everything in Japan is stunning. yuta offered you his arm and you slid into it like it was made just for you.

the whole conference was pretty boring but you had to keep yourself awake for your boss's sake. it wasn't until the dinner when you actually had a lot of fun. although yuta wasn't exactly a gentleman that night, you could tell he was trying. like when he took his food, it was a portion just enough for two. or when he pulled the chair out from the table intending to sit there but acting as if it wasn't a good enough spot so he offered you instead. you appreciated the subtlety more than you expected.

you noticed the speaker from earlier approaching your table and you stiffened.

"you know if you keep doing that, the whole hall will be able to tell that i'm a stranger to you." yuta whispered.

before you could answer him, you felt his hand rest on the crook of your back. he knew you were nervous so when you felt him caress your back gently, you appreciated it. he left as you were speaking to your boss’s clients, taking down notes for his future plans. the night wasn’t that bad, here and there you heard whispers about how gorgeous your boyfriend looked unlike you, but thats about it. after your exchange session, you searched high and low for yuta, silently hoping he wasn’t somewhere trying to hook up with some woman 10x richer or better looking than you are.

after searching for a good 15 minutes, you saw him near the fountain talking to someone. although you felt obligated to get annoyed, as your plus one, you felt warm. he looked way too engaged telling a story to a 7 year old girl. he turned to see you staring at him. he waved at you, at the same time getting the little girl to do the same. she didn’t seem too keen to do so.

“i think we can leave now. we need to prepare for tomorrow’s event.” you said, grabbing a hold of yuta’s elbow.

the little girl tugged at yuta’s sleeves and she whispers, “i don’t like her very much. mr nakamoto, can you continue the story?” to which you frowned and rolled your eyes, unintentionally. your actions caught yuta off guard and he burst out laughing at your child-like behaviour. or cute behaviour but yuta wont admit it

“i’m sorry, princess, but my grandmother here has forced me to leave with her or i won’t be able to return home for tonight. i’ll see you around!” the little girl chuckles and wave at yuta, not before giving you a glare.

“i hate kids.”

“are you jealous because a seven year old has more game with me than you do?”

“don’t flatter yourself, nakamoto.”

“count yourself lucky that i think you’re cute.”

well yeah, that stuck on your mind the whole night.

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9.36am

who in the right mind would have a formal event at 9 in the morning? there you were half awake, engaging with 10 people at one go, when its barely noon while yuta was at the back treating himself with the pancakes served. he was dressed formally as if he was supposed to attend a Sunday morning tennis match, when everyone else was in a polo tee and jeans. you’re sure he bought that outfit just so he could use it for another day, knowing he was able to keep it.

on that particular morning, you met johnny, the son of the CEO of a well-known entertainment company in Chicago. he’s tall, lean, very attractive, funny and the list goes on. if you weren’t married to your career, you’d so be into him. but you want to know who isn’t? nakamoto yuta. the moment he heard you burst a giggle instead of a laugh, he lifted his previously buried-in-pancakes face to scan across the crowd, seeing you with johnny.

he almost immediately threw away his half-eaten pancake and strut his way towards you but before he could do anything to get at johnny, you and johnny part ways much to yuta’s relief. throughout the whole event, you could feel his eyes on you, unconsciously looking out for any competition. it was funny though because when you try to look back he’d act as if he’s much rather be somewhere else. what a fool.

the event took up more than half of your afternoon so when you returned from it you were dead tired. yuta sent you to the door but seeing how GONE you were he needed to make sure you were fully awake while cleaning yourself. you took more than an hour as he waited on the sofa, he did sleep though. you sat beside him and watched him peacefully. his hair covering both his eyes, you were so tempted to touch it. purple never looked so good on a man. despite hesitating, you brushed his hair behind his ears, causing him to rest deeper into your palm. a soft smile crept up your lips as he did so.

“you should smile like that more often when you look at me. my heart does things when you do that.” he says with his eyes closed.

stunned, you pulled your hand away, forcing him to scram. he left with a smile on his face, satisfied with how flustered you were.

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7.49pm

“what do you mean you cant make it? it’s the last event. i need you to be there with me-“

“i need to run some errands. i’ll try my best and make it in time.” yuta replies.

you weren’t gonna lie but a huge part of you grew dependent on him so when you were forced to attend it alone, it felt foreign.

and indeed it was. the entire time you were there, you started missing him. when things got awkward you realised there was no one to turn to. or when the speaker said something unfunny, you’d laugh, thinking about what yuta would say in response. it was as if the entire night revolved around him and you hated it because you only realised his importance when he wasn’t around.

as you were eating, you felt someone approach you, deeply hoping it was yuta. but as you turned, you saw johnny. he was dressed in a sleek black suit with a bow tie. what a heartthrob.

“where’s your lover boy?”

“he’s busy running some errands. such a momma’s boy.” you said while unintentionally sulking.

understanding that you were bored at the event, johnny decided to accompany you. for a moment you forgot about yuta and you were thankful for that. but as you were intending to grab a quick bite with johnny, you heard johnny saying something and before you could ask him to repeat, you peeked behind his tall figure to see a good looking japanese man looking at you. seeing that you were comfortable with johnny, he approached you and gave you a kiss on your cheek, lingering longer than expected. to say your heart skipped a beat would be an understatement. it was as if it your heart entirely stopped and then you were resurrected by the touch of his lips.

“you smell...nice. i’m sorry i’m late.” he pulled away and wrapped his pinky around yours. “oh, johnny! didnt see you there. if you dont mind, y/n and i have somewhere to be.” and then he led you away.

“why didn’t you call me?”

“surprise, isn’t it? i was intending not to come but i knew someone would want to hit on you.” he replied casually, pinky still wrapped around yours. “let’s get out of here while we can.”

as the two of you walked out, he put on a jacket, that smelt like him, on you. you gave him a look of bewilderment.

“yuta, it’s 30 degrees. i dont need your jacket.”

“just take it. this is in case i need an excuse to see your face again in the future.” you heartily laughed at him.

you would think he brought you to somewhere romantic, as you ran away from a formal event. instead he took you to a nearby fast food restaurant, claiming that that was the essence of a japanese trip. as he indulged himself in the cheeseburger, you felt a pang in your chest remembering how your journey with him had to end in a few hours. it was as if he could sense that you felt down. so being yuta, he tried turning the atmosphere around.

“this cheeseburger would taste wayyy better if someone wasn’t staring daggers onto the top of my pretty head.”

it didnt work, in case you’re guessing. it just made you feel worse because, damn you’re gonna miss this idiot. so in response, you shoved your milkshake away and groaned, so loudly it’s possible that the whole diner went silent because of you.

you peeked up and you saw him staring down at you with an eyebrow raised. you were so close to risking it all and confessing your feelings towards him but your ego wouldn’t let you do so. instead, you calmed your face and pretended as if nothing happened. it’s hard to do so especially when you saw how comfortable your legs intertwined under the table. even your sub-conscience wanted the both of you close.

the whole night was a blur. you remember subtle hand touching and embracing from both parties but nothing major happened. to be honest, you were beyond grateful. just a few more seconds before the coast was clear. you waved your goodbye to him. you tried to shut the door before you did anything stupid. but...you were too late.

3

2

1

“seriously? our last night together and that’s how you end it? do you have no heart or-“

“i’m sorry excuse me?”

“i think i was being pretty obvious with how i feel about you. i wouldnt have let you hold my hand for a prolonged period if i didnt like you, dont you think? if you expect me to give you a heartwarming confession, about how i’d love to spend more time with you and how i wouldnt mind if you’d like to date me, then you thought wrong.” you said in one breath.

“...”

“an ‘i like you too’ would help me not feel like an idiot.”

“urm, look, there’s a lot of things that i do like about you but i just dont think i can respond to your confession right now. i’m so sorry.” yuta replied softly.

and he left. this time he wasn’t late to leave.

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1.27pm

you still felt like an idiot. the moment you woke up, as you ate your breakfast, when you packed your luggage, the whole time you felt like one. and you couldnt blame anyone but yourself. when you looked around, it was as if japan was stripped off its beauty, now that the one thing you associate that with is no longer within your reach.

even as you were on the way to the airport, you felt like a complete fool. when you arrived in japan and got your uber, the first thing you saw when you lifted your head was a pretty shade of purple. your uber back to the airport had a view that was an awful scene of badly dyed hair. how in the world were you going to forget the fact that you ever met nakamoto yuta?

as you arrived at the airport, you were so reluctant to leave. every step you took felt like there was an anchor weighing you down. of course, you were being dramatic because all you did was give him a confession. but believe me, because its someone with an ego like yours, it’s the end of the world.

you were waiting for the lift when a man with blonde hair grabbed your luggage from your hands. and he began saying something incomprehensible. so you let out a loud ‘hmm?’.

“i need to return some of your things and take back what’s mine.” you hear a familiar voice. you didnt want to believe it but the minute you turned your head, there he was. nakamoto yuta. but being you, the first thing you responded was, “why are you blonde?”

he groaned and pulled you to the side before you could say anything else. instead of responding he returned the suit that you gave him, as well as the sportswear and even his headband. he took out his wallet to return you the money you paid him for the events. he rummaged through his bag to ensure he returned everything you gave him and then he paused, as if trying to process whether he was going to do it and he gave the look of surrender. he opened up your suitcase to take back his jacket and a part of you broke. you felt as if he didnt want to see you again.

but before you could even begin to feel sad, you saw him crouch in front of you, hands on your back and your calves. suddenly, you were lifted. you hit yuta’s chest and he calmly responded.

“i told you i’m taking back what’s mine.”

“did you suddenly watch a rom-com last night and decide that this is the best way to win back my heart? because it’s not working.” you sulked but he gave you an innocent look. you finally understood what being wrapped around someone’s finger felt like.  

as you were nearing the exit, he put you down and held you with one hand, the other on the suitcase as he led you to his familiar car.

“i have a proposal to make in which i am expecting you to accept. i need someone...okay looking, who doesn’t need to have a car, to be my partner to introduce to my family.” yuta mocked. "you dont have to do much. just sit still, look pretty, so you might want to try a little.” then he looked at you and gave you his biggest smile as he mouthed “i’m sorry. please be my girlfriend.” there was no way you were able to say no.

and so he drove into the city of osaka, and you looked around only to realise, japan had never been stripped off its beauty. all that you saw was filtered by yuta, causing it to look ten times as beautiful. but thats the beauty of getting to know yuta because now life has never been more full of colour.

fin.

[fatrainbowmermaidunicorn]

Girls Like You (Jungkook x You ONESHOT) (M)

A/N: This is my first full blown smut fic ever. Thank you anon for making me sin. And sorry this took so long. I need to find the courage to actually write a sentence that has my precious bunny and the word cock together. hahaha. 😂😂😂  As a reminder like always, I am not good in smut so please, show me some mercy, and you are welcome to skip the smut part if its too cringe worthy, the story would still be relevant. And yeah, as this is my first smut, the scenes are still quite vanilla. imma keep the nasty stuff for later. hahaha

MASTERLIST 

Jungkook slide his cock a few more times inside her wet, tight center, his face scrunched up in pleasure before he pulls out and crawl on top of her, thighs on both sides of her face, pumping himself directly to her mouth.

"Open wide for me baby. Tounge out,"

Obident as she has always been, Y/N quickly darted out her tounge like a starved man waiting for Jungkook to fill her mouth up with his creamy bitter liquid. Jungkook wrapped his hand around his rigid cock and pump a few more times before shooting up his load on the tounge that is laid out in front of him. Just like the good girl that she is, Y/N swallows everything without question, licking her lips when she's done and open up her mouth to show that she has swallowed it all like a good obidient girl.

"That was amazing as always baby girl," Jungkook smirked as he reached out on top of her head and released her bound wrist from the leather that held it to the headboard. He swiftly starts to put his boxers back on and button up his shirt, looking at Y/N who just flashed him an obligatory smile, slowly pulling up the blankets to cover her naked and dirty body that has been throughly used by him just minutes ago.

"Here's something for you," he throws a wad of cash on the bedside table. "I wont be coming tomorrow night. As usual. So you dont have to wait for me. Use the money to go shopping or something," he smile and without even looking back he walks out from her room and her apartment, leaving Y/N alone in the luxurious apartment, feeling disgusted with herself like she always does whenever he leaves after getting his way with her.

Living a life as a sugar baby is not something Y/N has ever imagined herself being. In fact, she felt disgusted by her friends who proudly brags about the expensive jewellery or holiday trips their supposed daddies, boyfriends, sir or whatever it is that they call them, has brought for them. All those luxuries comes with a price of course. A price they dont seem to mind paying at all.

Their body.

"Oh come on Y/N. Its just sex. And you are doing it with a young, hot and wealthy man anyway, not some old perverted hag. You are the one who is getting more of the advantage actually, you get both money and pleasure," Min Hwa grins at her. Min Hwa is one of her first friend since she entered college, she dont really considered them to be best friends, but Y/N do talk and spend a lot of time with her. And ever since Min Hwa has been in the sugar baby scene, she has a lot more money to spend on her friends for coffee and snacks sessions, and who is Y/N to say no to free food. Her starving student ass could never resist that.

Min Hwa always talk, no, bragged, about how great it is to be a sugar baby, especially when her daddy is some young hot shot CEO who has too much money to waste. Y/N never fail to cringe whenever she talks about it but today... well its different. Today, this topic sparks her interest.

As a medical student studying to be a doctor, her years of studying is long and expensive. With a sick mother and two younger siblings to take care of, Y/N's part time jobs doesnt seem to cut it anymore. Quitting her studies is not something she wants to do, but is her dream big enough for her to hold on to to actually consider living the life like Min Hwa?

"Really Y/N. You are absolutely hot! Look at your face. Your body! You can get in no problem. And let me tell you a secret," she leaned in closer. "Jungkook is looking for another baby girl for him," she giggles, making Y/N swallow nervously. Is this her friend's way to help her find a solution to finance her study and family? Somermthing suddenly spark her curiousity.

"Wait. Isnt this Jungkook your boyfriend or whatever you call him?"

"He is not my boyfriend Y/N. I just calls him Jungkook and sometimes daddy in bed," she winked.  "But never ever calls him oppa or you will be punish. He hates that the most. Not that I mind being punished by him," she lets out a laugh as Y/N just stare at her. Is she for real right now? Is it that fun to have sex for money? "And to answer your question, yes. Why?"

"You mean... you are not the only girl he do this... arrangement with?" Min Hwa shakes her head.

"Of course not. He is young and absolutely delicious looking. He is freaking hot Y/N. You should see him. Not to mentioned he is incredibly rich. Money means nothing to him. Of course I am not the only girl. Even I would get myself a barrage of girls if I am him,"

"And you dont mind this? Sharing him?" Min Hwa shrugged as an answer.

"Nope. Not at all. Its not like he is my boyfriend Y/N. He buys me things and gives me money for whatever I need.  And my job is to make sure he is satisfied whenever he comes to see me and that is all there is to it," she swirled the straw in her drink. "Besides, Jungkook keeps an open relationship with his girls. We are free to meet other boys and we can end the agreement whenever we decide to get serious with someone else,"

"Oh... that's interesting," Y/N nodded her head. That really is. She felt a little more relaxed an assured upon hearing that. So this Jungkook is not some kind of a sex crazed monster then. Usually, the stories she heard about this type of relationship, if you can even call it that, is more possesive and one sided. The girl wont usually be allowed any other interaction with other males. But then again the man dont usually have many girls at the same time. Maybe that's why this Jungkook doesnt mind? Because who knows how many girls he has to keep him company anyway?

"Jungkookie only has one crucial rule though. Never fall in love with him. If you do, the arrangement is over immediately," Min Hwa warned.

"Does that ever happen?" Y/N is curious. How can anyone ever falls in love with a cold man who uses his money to pay young girls for pleasure? "His girls falling in love with him?"

"Oh babe. You cant imagine how many did. Jungkookie is sweet. He treats you nicely. He talks to you and ask you about your day and he will make sure not to cross any of your boundaries. Not to mention he is extremely, and I repeat, extremely, good and amazing in bed," Min Hwa winked. "So Y/N, are you in?"

And that is how Y/N ends up underneath Jungkook one week later.

Their first meeting was a little awkward. Of course it is. She is meeting with some stranger to have sex with him. For money. But Min Hwa was right. Jungkook makes her feel comfortable, he talks to her, asking about her interests and even making small jokes to ease up the tension. And not to mention incredibly good looking. Her heart slightly beat faster when he flashed her a smile and it almost burst everytime their bare skin accidenrally touched

"I only have a few conditions Y/N, if you may call it that," he flashed her a cute bunny smile, something that makes him look so innocent if not for the knowledge of what they are discussing right now. Y/N nodded as a sign for him to proceed.

"One, I can come and go whenever I want and whenever I do come, you will always be ready for me. I will tell you beforehand if I'm not coming on certain days so that you can make your own plans," Y/N nodded. Sounds reasonable.

"Two, this is strictly a sex relationship. You are free to meet anyone else that you one but if you do sleep with them, you need to wear protection and inform me about it," Well, nothing to worry about there. Y/N has only ever did it a few times and that is only with her first boyfriend a long time ago. Its already hard enough for her to decice to sleep with one guy, let alone multiple partners? Not likely going to happen.

"Three, I like to, you may call it, experiment in bed, so you will tell me if anything I want to do is too much for you and I will stop. Dont ever be afraid to tell me that. Its not just about my pleasure. Its about yours too," he smile and Y/N's heart beats faster. Can someone like him actually be caring?

"Four, the moment you agree, I will be giving you an apartment to live in and a car. The car will be under your name. Which you do not have to return when we end this arrangement. It will belong to you. I will also give you monthly expenses and extra bonus for everytime we fucked," Y/N cringe at his vulgar choice of words but what can she do. He is only saying the truth. That is what she is here for. To fuck.

"And finally, five. This is the most crucial rule. Do not, under any circumstances, fall in love with me. Or catch feelings or whatever you call it. If I found out, this arrangement ends immediately, no questions asked," Y/N nodded. Well, Min Hwa has warned her about that before.

"Any question?"

"Uh n-no sir," she shakes her head.

"Call me Jungkook," he smiles. "But you can call me sir in bed if you prefer," he winks.

/////

"Fuck, you are so fucking tight Y/N. I should have known that from the innocent look you gave me today, nobody has ever fucked you this good isnt it? Its alright daddy will take care of you," Jungkook pants as he slide his cock in and out her drenched pussy. One hand holding the back of her knee to make sure she wrapped it tight around his waist while the other is holding the headboard tightly, to help bracing himself as he rammed continuosly into her. Y/N was lost for words. The white hot pleasure surging through her leave her speechless. With the way Jungkook occasionally take a hard nipple in his mouth, rotating from one side to another, suckling and teasing the hard nub, the way his fingers rub her clit so fast, all the while his cock keeps on thrusting into her, Y/N feels like dying from the extreme pleasure.

"I-I'm coming Jungkook. Fuck,"

"Come baby girl. Let me feel you all over my cock," he leans down and start kissing her neck, one hand going between their sweaty bodies to rub her engorged clit faster and faster, and in no time at all Y/N was clenching all over his cock, her orgasm coming in multiple wave. Her loud moans being captured by Jungkook mouth as he keeps thrusting into her through her orgasm. Feeling her walls clenching tightly around him is too much for Jungkook to handle and he quickly pulls himself out.

"On your knees,"

Confused at his demand at first, Y/N finally crawled in front of him and kneeled down, hands obidiently folded in her lap as Jungkook hastily stroked his cock up and down, sweat dripping from his forehead to his delicious abs.

"Fuck, here it comes babygirl," He finally shoots his load onto her face, white sticky liquid smeared everywhere from her hair down to her chin. Jungkook pants from the satisfying pleasure he just experienced and flopped down on the bed. "You look gorgeous with my cum on your face baby girl," he grins and heads out to the bathroom.

Shaken by her first experience of sleeping with this incredibly handsome and not to mention talented man, Y/N sat at the corner of the bed, waiting for him to get out from the bathroom, still confused and not knowing what she can and couldnt do. This is their first time together after all. Jungkook came out from the bathroom already fully dressed and chuckle at the sight of Y/N, still fully naked with his cum on her face sitting like a good girl she is on the bed waiting for his next instructions, her arms shyly covering her bare chest. Seeing her looking all wide eyes and innocent, staring up at him makes his cock stirred again but he knows once is enough for her tonight. It is their first time together afterall.

Maybe he can trained her to take more later.

"Why are you just sitting there?"

"I-uh I dont know what I'm supposed to do. What I am allowed to do," she answered, looking down at her fingers. Jungkook chuckles. How can someone so sweet and innocent be willing to be involved in something like this? With someone like him?

"You can go clean yourself up babygirl. I think I have tire you enough for tonight," he smiles and Y/N quietly stood up and went into the bathroom. After a quick shower and changing into a set of fresh and clean clothes, Y/N went out only to find the apartment empty and a stack of cash on her night table, and she has never ever felt more dirty.

/////

Jungkook came over quite often after that night, which surprises her. Min Hwa told her before that Jungkook had different girls for every day of the week and he will only visit them once a week, on their designated day. But Jungkook never say anything to her, nor has he set a specific day for her. It has been a month and he has come to her for almost every night.

Nights with Jungkook were never boring. Sure, she still feels dirty and guilty after but she cant deny the pleasure Jungkook gave her every night, or the multiple pleasure he gave her on some nights. Jungkook is amazing in bed, he taught her various new things, experimenting with toys and things Y/N never even know existed. But that wasnt the best part for her. To her the best part is after all the sweaty and dirty sex they have, the part when Jungkook is willing to stay over and would let her cook up some ramen or heat up some leftovers and they would sit on the kitchen bar, talking about each other's life.

Y/N never expected a sugar daddy relationship to be like this. She always thought its all about the pleasure and the money, no in betweens. But after a month of late night talks, she realizes Jungkook is nothing like the man she imagined him to be. He is funny, interesting, childish, competitive, smart and creative. He is a man who have dreams and fears. Shredding the expensive suits, the shiny watches and devilish smirk, Jungkook is only just a normal ordinary man, and that is the part of him that she likes best.

/////

"H-how was your day today?"

Five words were stuttered to him. Five words that change everything he thought he knew. Five words that Y/N said to him after one of their steamy nights as he is tying his expensive leather shoes, ready to leave. Five words that is softly uttered to him, laced with fear of him flipping out from the question, by the girl who was wrapped only in the blanket over her naked body, peering behind the wall, eyes innocently wide. Five words that makes him stop what he is doing and turn back inside.

No one. No one has ever asked him that question. No one ever cares how his day has gone by. All the people around him only cares about how many millions did he gain today? How many projects did he get his hands on today? Is he interested in some new land? The girls he fucked only cares about the jewelleries he bought them. The fancy new dress he will bring them. The branded handbags he will purchase for them. Nobody cares if he has eaten, or if he is feeling well or if the world around him chewed him up today. For years Jungkook tries to find salvation from his lonely life in the form of shallow entertainment, getting drunk and high, taking advantage of the girls that is blinded by his wealth, when all he ever wants is someone to talk to. Someone who is really willing to listen to him. Someone who actially cares.

And when Y/N looks back at him with her innocent wide eyes, hands nervously gripping the sheets covering her body, slightly shaking from fear of upsetting him, the sincerity of her question shone through, Jungkook knows he has finally found that someone.

So he keeps coming back.

Without realizing, a month has passed by where he had spend most of his nights with Y/N instead of his other daily girls. He feels lighter whenever he came by, and its not just because the things they do in bed, and trust him, Y/N is amazing in bed. Shy at first, now she seems to be more into it, willing and eager to try eveeything he suggested. It makes him extremely happy to see her enjoy herself. In fact, unlike with how he usually is with his other girls, Jungkook seems to focus more on bringing her the pleasure instead of thinking of what he wants and what he needs first.

"You look pretty," he smiles at Y/N who just came out from the bathroom after their mind blowing fuck session together, drying her hair, dressed in a very simple night gown. Most of the girls he slept with will wrapped themselves in expensive silk and complucated designs. Designs that are supposed to interest him, supposes to make him wants them even more, but he never even batt them an eye. All of them are just the same to him. Willing to be fucked as long as he pays for it. How is it that this girl who is dressed in a very simple white cotton night gown managed to make his cock stir again? Making his heart beats faster? Jungkook tries to pushed his desire aside but when Y/N actually blush from his compliment, none of his girls are innocent enough to blush from a simple compliment, Jungkook knows he is already gone.

He immediately stood up, making the silky sheets thats covering his naked body slide off, revealing taut muscle and his red hard cock, already weeping, hard and ready for another round, making Y/N's eyes widen as she gazed at the beautiful man stalking towards her.

"How are you doing this to me?" His voice is raspy and ragged with lustful breath as he leans and hungrily captured her lips with his. Y/N was beyond surprise. During the time they had spend together, Jungkook never once kissed her. Kissing means feelings he said. Kissing means intimacy. Kissing meant someone special and none of them are that to him. That is what he said. So why is he kissing her now? Y/N doesnt have the time to ponder about his real reason as he starts to bit her lower lips and his tounge proding her mouth, asking for entrance which she immediately allows. Jungkook taste sweet, with a mix of alcohol and mint and all around just pure Jungkook. A taste so intoxicating and heavenly, Y/N knows she is already addicted to.

"Take it all off for me baby," Without hesitation Y/N slides down the straps of her night gown and let the material pool at her feet. Revealing herself bare except for a matching white cotton panties she wore underneath. Jungkook drink in every little skin that is revealed to him and leans closer, lowering his head to her breast, capturing one hard nub, suckling a hard nipple in his mouth, making Y/N moan louder and louder, her hands trying so desperately reaching for the walls behind her for support before her weak knees gives out on her. Jungkook continues his ministration, switching from one nipple to other while his fingers deftly grazed her clothed core, making her breath nkre raghed at his touch.

"J-jungkook,"

"God. I love it when you moan my name baby girl. But I think you can go loider than that. And I surely can make it louder," he smirked and swiftly went down on his knees placing his nose between her legs right where ahe wants him the most and inhaled her intoxicating smell.

"Ermmm I love that smell baby girk. The smell that shows just how wet you already are for me," Y/N can already feel herself getting wetter just from his words and apparently Jungkook can see it too by the wet patch forming on her clean white panties. Without waiting for an answer, he pulls her already ruined panties down her leg, revealing her drenched pussy to him.

"So beautiful. Always so beautiful," he whispered loud enough for her to hear as he uses his thumb and forefinger to spread open her pussy lips and give a small soft kiss to her clit.

"J-jungkook!"

"You like that baby hmm?" Y/N can feel him smiling as his warm wet tounge start to lick a broad stripe before he increases his speed and lapped up her whole sex, slowly and soft at first and slowly start to pick up the pace. Y/N feels like losing her mind at the pleasure, her hands starts to pull on his hair as Jungkook suckle on her already engorged clit. It didnt take her long to reached her orgasm, releasing her juice all over Jungkook's tounge and face, which he happily lapped up as she rode her high. He stood up with a smile and face her,  licking the corner of his mouth, turning her on even more.

"Your taste is addictive baby," Y/N was panting, too caught up in her strong orgasm that she didnt resist when Jungkook kissed her again, hungrily, tounge proding into every inch of her mouth, making her taste herself before spinning her around, pinning her chest to the wall. She can feel his hard cock grazing the curve of her ass and Jungkook pushed her back to make her bend over. He sticks his chest on her back, placing his face only a centimeter from hers, his warm breath and his scent sending tingle to her whole body.

"Tell me you want me baby girl. Tell me. I want to hear you say it,"

"I-I want you Jungkook. Please. Please fuck me,"

Jungkook lost all control at her words and immediately slide his cock fully into her, thrusting slowly at first, trying to enjoy the feel of her warmth walls enveloping him. He round his hands over her body and cupped both of her breasts, fingers twiddling with her nipples making her moan louder.

"You like it baby? You like me fucking you from the back againsts this wall? You want me to fuck you harder?" Jungkook growled as he starts to kiss the side of her neck, biting and grazing his teeth against it.  "Tell me. Tell me what you want!"

"Yes Jungkook. Yes. Fuck me harder, please. Oh god!" Jungkook immediately picks up his pace, thrusting and pounding into her fast and hard, the only sounds filling the room is their mixed ragged breaths and moans. Jungkook can feel her getting closer and closer by the sound of her breath and how tight she is clenching around him. One hand reached down her body and start to rub her clit fast and hard, helping her to reach her high,  needing her to come first, to make sure she feels the pleasure first.

"Oh God Jungkook, I'm- ahhhh I'm coming,"

Her walls clenched so hard around him that Jungkook immediately releases himself inside of her a second later. Panting from their mind blowing orgasm, Jungkook turns her around and captured her lips for a long hard kiss, and once again, taking her by surprise.

Y/N closes her eyes as he moulded his soft lips against hers. She slowly kissed him nack, taking in every kittle taste of him that she could, deciding to just enjoy this moment. The moment that Jungkook really felt like he belong to her.

"Y/N?" A hand wave in front of her, startling her from her daydream. She snapped back to reality only to see her classmate looking at her weirdly, the class already empty. "Uh, class has been over for 10 minutes now and you have been staring at nothing for the whole two hours of lecture. Are you sure you are okay?" Y/N flashed her a smile and nodded.

"Yeah. Yeah. I am totally fine. Just thinking about what to eat tonight," her friend looks at her, obviously not believing her lie but decides not to ask further. Y/N gathered her books and left the class, walking slowly back to her apartment. Well, Jungkook's apartment. Not that he has been around much lately.

Truth is, Jungkook is the one who has been plaguing her mind. She cant understand him at all. He came over almost every night for a month, take time to talk to her, get to know her and make her feel like they have some kind of a connection other than just sex for money, and he kissed her that night, and then he just left?

That night.

That night will be the night that Y/N will treasure forever. Jungkook made love, yes, she can finally calls it making love and not some raw fucking like he usually did this time, three times that night and he kissed her. Multiple times. She knows it must mean something to him too. She can feel it in his kiss and the gentle way he cuddles her between sessions.

But when she woke up the next morning, he was gone. No text, no note, no calls nothing. And she didnt hear from him for almost three weeks now. The only thing that confirms he is still well and alive is the fact that her account balance keeps on increasing.

What did she do wrong?

Has Jungkook finally had enough of her?

Just the thought make her heart clench. The thought that she might never see him again, talk to him, see his smile, hear his laugh, feel his touch. It scares her to no end. And thats when Y/N realizes she is fucked.

She fell in love with Jeon Jungkook.

And maybe he knows it too, and thats why he went away.

Y/N didnt have to wonder for long where he is when she saw his expensive Italian made shoes at the doorway. A huge smile immediately creeped up her face at the thought of seeing him. She misses him, and although she knows its wrong, she cant help it.

She's in love.

Her smile quickly dissappear when she take another step further into the apartment and saw two pairs of women's red high heels that definitely didnt belongs to her. Did Jungkook brought someone home? Its fine of course, it is his house anyway, but why would he bring his girls to where she is? After dissappearing for weeks? What is he trying to proof?

As she entered the living hall that is situated right in front of her bedroom, she can finally hear it. Two women's voices screaming out Jungkook's name and his ragged breathing. Is this really happening? Did Jungkook really brought back his girls to her place and fuck them in her bedroom? Of all places, her bedroom?

"Fuck Jungkook faster," a raspy women's voice scream out, which Y/N quickly named as women #1. Her heart starts to ache. "Oh god, Jungkook, you are eating me out so well, fuck baby," there goes women #2.  She knows. She knows she is not the only one. That is fact. But must he do this to her?

She thought what they had, what she felt that night was special.

Maybe... maybe it really is just sex and what they had is really nothing special to him at all.

Y/N tried to calm her heart but it breaks into pieces with what she heard next.

"God, you are beautiful," Words that he used to say to her.

"Kiss me Jungkook," and wet sloppy sound of kisses filled the room. Y/N couldnt handle it. She really does mean nothing at all to Jungkook. Just another girl. Another sex doll to him. Those nights spend talking and revealing her heart apparently meant nothing special to him.

She is nothing special to him.

She braced herself and curled into a ball on the couch, waiting for them to be done, and thankfully it didnt take long. The two girls, hair and makeup ruined, smile shyly at her as they put on their shoe and pull on their dresses, adjusting it, somehow trying to make themselves look presentable enough for the outside world before they went out, locking the door behind her.

Jungkook came out a few second later, shirtless, hair messy, body filled with marks and scratches and he gave a cold glare as he noticed Y/N sitting on the couch. Y/N cant understand it. Why is he being so cold to her. What did she ever do to him that make him changed?

"Oh, you are back. Sorry, we borrowed your room, thought you will be in class all day," His words so cold, only giving her a side glance as he uttered the words.

"Y-yeah okay..."

"What's with you?" He asks questioningly as if he didnt do anything wrong. Well, come to think of it, he really didnt do anything wrong but why does Y/N's heart  breaking?

"Me? What wrong with you?" Y/N find some courage to actually questioned him, something she has never done, not even once during their time together. Jungkook raised an eyebrow at her defiance.

"Are you... are you seriously defying me? Talking back to me?" He took a few steps closer towards her. Y/N gulped in fear. Despite everything she has been feeling for him, fear is still a big part of it.

"I-I'm just asking you. Yo-you didnt call or text for weeks and-"

"Baby girl is so feisty today," he smirked, taking long strides towards her, now already standing right in front of her, carressing her cheeks. Y/N, although scared and mad at him, feels herself gets weaker with his touch, leaning into his palm. God, she missed him. "Since when have you been such a naughty girl huh? You know daddy doesnt like that," Jungkook snarled and pull her down on the couch, laying her down on his lap. All thoughts of questions and anger flies out from her mind the moment Jungkook lifted up her skirt and carressed her ass, pushing down her panties to leaving it at her thights, restraining her movements, his hands palming her bare ass. "Such a beautiful sight. Too bad you have been a bad girl today, so you must received your punishment. Do you understand me? Hmmm?" Y/N can only moan at the sensation she felt as his palms keep carressing her ass cheeks. Shit, she can feel herself dripping on Jungkook's thighs.

"Answer when daddy ask you a question baby girl,"

"Y-yes daddy," Y/N can feel Jungkook's cock twitch when she called him what he wanted to hear and it just turns her on more. Pleasing him. Theres no bigger turn on than that in her books.

"Count," was what he said before his cold palm hits her bare ass, rotating from cheek to cheek leaving beautiful stinging red marks.

"O-one,"

"Hmmm, beautiful. Red is really your colour baby girl," Each spank he kanded on her will be accompanied with gentle carressed from Jungkook's cold hands, making her moan louder everytime, the sensation bringing both pain and pleasure to her.

"Fif-fifteen," her voice weak and the last slap hits her ass. Jungkook scooped her up and kiss her lovingly, tounge hungrily lapping hers before putting her down.

"You did great baby girl, and good girls shall be rewarded," Y/N eagerly nodded, willing to take whatever it is Jungkook's going to give her. She didnt know how did she become this pathetic, this desperate for a man's touch. But this is not just any man, this is Jeon Jungkook, and she is willing to do anything to feel his skin on hers.

"Get on all fours," Y/N quickly scrambled to get into position on the couch, her ass and pussy spread wide for Jungkook to see in that position. He lightly grazed her plush ass, giving it a kiss. "So soft, so beautiful, all mine, right?" Y/N nodded without a doubt, looking over her shoulders to see Jungkook pumping his already very hard cock, pre cum leaking from the tip. The sight make her even wetter, if that is even possible. He grazed the head of his cock around her drenched pussy, collecting all her wetness and slap her clit a few times with his cock. The sensation felt so good, Y/N almost felt like cumming right then and there.

"D-daddy, please," she keeps on begging, but he ignores her, continuing to tease her sopping pussy.

"Beg for dadd baby girl,"

"D-daddy please. I- want more,"

He finally have mercy on her and lined his cock to her entrance sliding in the head, fucking her shallowly.

"Do you think you deserve more? You think you deserve Daddy's cock tonight?" He lands another slap on her ass making her moan.

"Y-yes D-daddy. I've been good,"

"Hmm," he keeps on thrusting slowly, watching only the tip slides in and out of her. "You are right. You have been a good girl, and daddy promises good firls shall be rewarded," and slides himself fully in her. Y/N let out a loud moan at the sensation of him filling her up and Jungkook needs a minute to adjust himself as her tight walls starts to envelope him. "Fuck baby girl, you are so tight. You havent been fuck for a long time didnt you? Daddy is sorry he left you for so long baby girl. But Daddy will take care of you now," and with that he starts to thurst harder and harder, hands pressing on her back, burying her face in the couch. It didnt take long for the both of them to reached their peak, screaming each other's name as their explosive orgasm crashed through.

Jungkook and Y/N lay beside each other, panting. Jungkook kissed her sweaty forehead, a move that didnt go unnoticed by Y/N, making her feel like crying again. She wrapped the blanket around herself and finds the courage to open her mouth, to find the truth she has been seeking for.

"Wh-where did you go for the last three weeks?"

"I just had some things to do that doesnt concerns you," his cold exterior came back, the smile quickly vanish from his face. Y/N gulped at his cold respond and decides to ask something else instead.

"W-why did you bring those girls here?" Her voice small and anxious, afraid of what he might do or say. Jungkook immediately stood up and start to find his clothes. "Wait!" She panics. "Where are you going?"

"Just because I'm nice to you, you think you have the right to ask me questions? Who do you think you are? My girlfriend? You think you are special?!" He growled, hands stopping midway from buttoning his shirt, fuming with anger.

"N-no. But I thought-"

"Well, whatever you thought, you thought wrong!" He walks towards her, looming over her on the edge of the bed. "You are just one of the many girls that I fucked under a contract. For money. Dont even for a second think that you are special or different from any of them,"

"Jungkook, I just-"

"The fact that you actually agreed to this has already proof how you are just a shallow gold digger with no pride or self respect. Selling your body for money, and you thought I would see you as something special?" he lets out a sarcastic laugh. It hurts. His words hurts like crazy. Jungkook knows the reason why shes doing this. She told him during one of their late night talks. He also knows she never used his money more than what is necessary for her mother and her two siblings. She never asks for anything more from him. He knows all this but yet why is he saying all this things?

"Why are you even crying? Isnt what I said true?" He mocked.

"Why are you being like this?!" She screamed out. "This is not you. I know the real you Jungkook. You are not like this. Please, tell me whats wrong, I will help you go through it! But dont do this. Dont ruined what we had!"

"What we had? What the fuck are you talking about? You are delusional!"

"No Jungkook!" She cried out. "I know you felt it too!" Tears are already rolling down her cheeks. Who is she kidding? His word is more than just hurts her, it kills her. Jungkook scoffed.

"Just because we have a few talks you think you know me?" He lets out a dry laugh. "Everything I do is just a rust to get you into bed sweetheart," he smirked and carressed her cheeks, which is wet with tears.

"No. Th-thats not true. I know its not. Jungkook please,"

"I'm sorry you fell for it, but hey.. at least you get paid for it," he lets out a loud laugh, which sounds so evil, so sadistic to her ears.

"Why are you acting like this?" Y/N sobbed. "This is not you. This is not the Jungkook I fell in love with..."

Jungkook's eyes turned soft for a second, Y/N is sure she is not imagining it but it was gone in a matter of second, replaced by the cold hard glare.

"You love me?" He turns towards her and Y/N weakly nodded. No point of hiding that fact anymore. "Then, this arrangement is over sweetheart. Leave this apartment by tomorrow," he cupped her chin and looked into her eyes. Y/N stare into his brown doe eyes, hoping to find the Jungkook that she knows once again, but nothing. Only this monster remains. "Tsk, too bad. You are a good fuck too," was his last words before he walked out of the apartment, leaving Y/N crumpled alone on the floor.

/////

"I can obviously tell there's something bothering you," Taehyung walked into the large expensive mansion own by his childhood bestfriend, the most sought after billionaire Jeon Jungkook, careful not to step on the bottles of expensive wine, vodka and champange scattered on the floor. Taehyung lets out a small laugh at the sight of his friend in his silk custom robe, sprawled out on the large leather sofa. Even when he is getting shit drunk hes doing it with style and expensive alcohol.

Must be nice to be Jeon Jungkook.

"Go away Tae,"

"Sorry Kook. Not gonna happen," he flopped down beside the distressed man. "Whats going on? I have seen you went through hell and back and back again and never once were you like this. What could have happened that could make the mighty Jeon Jungkook holed up in his extremely expensive mansion?"

"I dont want to talk about it, go away Tae," he leans down to reached out to a half empty bottle of vodka but Taehyung snatched it away.

"Oh no no. Dont think you are getting off that easy. I'm not leaving until I get an answer and you know how persistance... and annoying I can be," he smirked. Jungkook sighed. Well, what Taehyung said is true. He is very, very annoying. Especially when he is trying to get what he wants. He wont stop until he succeeds. And right now he wants some answers from Jungkook. After much consideration and thinking, Jungkook accepted the fact that he has no choice if he wants Taehyung to leave. So he opens his mouth and start the to tell him the cause of the pain in his heart.

"Her name is Y/N..."

/////

"Well... I dont know what to say," Taehyung leans back into the couch after Jungkook finished off his story. So that's what it is. His friend is in love! Who would have thought. The news should have shocked Taehyung if he didnt know the sweet innocent Jungkook the boy used to be. The Jungkook that is capable of love and being loved. "What I dont understand is, why did you even say any of those things if you dont mean it?"

"I was scared okay? I have never, and I mean never felt like this before. The feeling of having someone actually cares for me, wanting to know me, worried about me. It feels strange Tae, but I- I like that feeling. The feeling of being loved," Jungkook sighed. "And that night... that night was the first time I kissed someone after a long time Tae. And it felt wonderful. It felt amazing. Its electrifying, it sends tingles through my whole body," Taehyung gaped at his friend. Is this really Jeon Jungkook? Talking to him about feelings?

"Everytime I look at her I feel like protecting her Tae. I want to give her everything that could make her happy. I hate to see her sad, even worse when she cries. It breaks my heart to see her in pain," he lowered his gaze to the floor.

"Tae?" Jungkook raised his head and finally looked into his friend's eyes after hours of swallowing in self pity. "Is this... is this what love feels like? Is this... is this what they called love?"

Taehyung chuckled out loud at Jungkook's question. His box smile showing. He finally see the innocent and adorable friend he met years ago when they were just little kids. The innocent and sweet boy, before life took a hard turn and change him into the cold wealthy man he is today.

"Yes Jungkook. It is safe to say that you are in love,"

/////

Jungkook stood outside the coffee shop, hands sweaty as he grip the bouquet of flowers in his hand. The cafe is filled with teenagers, college students mostly and he have never felt out of place. But if he wants Y/N back, then this is what he have to do.

"What are you afraid of? She herself told you she loves you and from the stories you told me about her, I dont think she's the type of person who change her heart so easily Kook. I'm pretty sure she still loves you. She just need to know that you love her,"

Well, at least that's what Taehyung told him. And up to that moment, Jungkook had believed that it might be true. But looking at Y/N expressionless place standing in front of him right now, he isnt so sure anymore.

Y/N cross her arms in front of her chest, foot tapping anxiously.

"What are you doing here Jungkook?"

"I-uh I came to see you,"

"Why?" Her cold respond makes him even more nervous than he already is. He have met thousands of the most important people in this world, but none had make him feel this nervous, small and insecure more than this simple girl in front of him.

"To... to say I'm sorry," Y/N raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry Y/N. For everything," She kept quiet for a moment before finally nodded.

"Fine. I accept your apology," Jungkook's heart almost stop. Did she really just forgive him just like that? After everything he said and done to her? "So please, dont show your face to me ever again. I dont want to see you and remind me of the biggest mistake of my life," she added before turning away. Her words hits him like a blade, piercing his heart. Jungkook immediately reached out for her hand, halting her from proceeding back into the shop.

"No, Y/N wait. Please," he plead. "Can... can we start over? Please? I want to make it up to you. To make things right. Please Y/N," Y/N sighed and close her eyes, Jungkook can see traces of tears starts to pool at the corner of her eyes when she opened them, making his heart hurt even worse.

"Please just leave me alone Jungkook. Please,"

"No!" Jungkook is determined. He finally know what love felt like and he is not going to let it go so easily. "No. I wont stop until you give me a chance Y/N. I realized it now. I was stupid. I was scared of my own feelings, and I hurt you, just because I was afraid. Please Y/N," Y/N didnt say anything but shakes her hand loose from his hold, turning away to leave him.

"Y/N, I love you!"

His sudden confession managed to make her stop in her tracks, turning around slowly. Tears are now trailing down her cheeks.

"Dont Jungkook. Dont insult my feelings like this!"

"No Y/N," he reached forward and hold one of her hand. "I love you. I am so desperately, madly in love with you. I'm sorry I didnt realized it sooner, admit it sooner. I am so so sorry. Please Y/N. Please give me a chance," he plead, sniffling as he tries to hold back his tears.

"No," that one word broke Jungkook into pieces. "No. I cant do this. I'm sorry," was all she said before she pulled back her hand and ran away as fast as she could from him.

"I wont give up Y/N. I wont lose you. I just cant lose you," Jungkook softly whispered between his uncontainable tears, but theres nobody there to hear it.

Jungkook came to the coffee shop everyday since then. Y/N could have just ignored it, but of course, being Jeon Jungkook, he have to go the extra mile and actually bought the whole freaking coffee shop and made sure no one else is allowed to come in except him. He also made sure that Y/N work on most hours, givinf her extra pay, knowing she needed it.And he just sits there all day long, staring at her. Y/N wanted to quit, she really really want to but the money is good and she cant afford to lose a job right now.

Y/N finally had enough when the second week of just sitting at the counter and having Jungkook stares at her all day rolled by and walked up to him. Furious and frustrated

"Alright. What the hell do you want?!"

"One date. I want you to go on one date with me," Y/N ponders on his word. The request seems simple enough.

"Just one date and then you will leave me alone?" Jungkook nodded, eyes bright with hope.

"Fine. One date. And thats it,"

/////

The dreadful day of the date finally came and Y/N was awaken bright and early by her doorbell. A man dressed in a perfectly tailored suit stood outside her door, smiling.

"Uh yes?"

"Good morning Miss Y/N," he beams and hands her a huge box. "With compliments from Mr Jeon," Y/N was surprised. What is all this about. What is Jungkook doing now?

"Uh thanks... I guess?"

"I will make sure Mr Jeon receives your thanks. And he also sends this," he motioned for someone to come over and another man suddenly came into the picture, holding the most beautiful and biggest arrangment of roses she has ever seen. "500 roses, to cheer up your morning," the man smile. "Thats all Miss Y/N. May you have a great day," he bowed and left, leaving Y/N speechless.

She placed the heavy bouquet of flowers inside her living room, stunned for a moment and curiously open the first box she received. If the flowers surprised her, whats inside the box makes her jaw dropped. Inside is the most beautiful dress she has ever seen, with matching shoes and a clutch bag. She picked up the note attached on the box.

"Dear Y/N,

I tried to find something to match your beauty, but nothing could compare to you. I hope this dress would suffice. Please wear it for our date tonight.

Love, JJK

Y/N smile a little at the cheesiness of the note and picked up the dress. It was beautiful, no doubt, but is it enough to make her forgive Jeon Jungkook?

/////

Jungkook arrived exactly on time that night. Impeccably dressed in a tailored suit that makes him look extremely mouth watering. Not that Y/N would ever tell him that. He smile as he take her hand and lead her inside the limousine. Yes, he came with a freaking limousine.

"You look beautiful Y/N," he beams and Y/N just gave him a small smile back. Jungkook tried to gave her the perfect date. Flowers, champagne, chocolates, candle light dinner at a 6 star restaurant where he had closed down for the night just for them. He even took her on a carriage ride to the deck, where he lead her up to his private yatch, and watch a huge firework show that he planned just for her. Everything was perfect, beautiful, just like in the movies, but everything seems so wrong. Is Jungkook really not the man she thought he is?

"Y/N? Are you not enjoying the date?" Jungkook asks, realizing her silence, brows furrowed with worry as they sit in the limo after coming down from the yatch. "Is there anything else I can do? Do you want a trip to Paris to see the Eiffel Tower? Or a romantic night in Venice? I could call my private jet and we could go right now. Tell me Y/N. I will give you anything you want. Please,"

"Just stop Jungkook. This isnt working. You are not the man I thought you are. The man that I fall in love with..."

"Wh-what do you mean?" Jungkook kneels down and hold her hands. "Show me Y/N. Show me how to be that man," Y/N ponders for a moment and a smile finally graced her lips.

"Stop the car," she said and took Jungkook's hands, leading him out.

"Where are we going?"

"I am going to show you the part of you that I fell in love with. The real you,"

"Are you having fun?"

"Oh my god. Yes! And can we please get another one of those cotton candy?" Y/N laughs at his request and nodded.

"Of course,"

Y/N had taken him, the most sought after billionaire in the world to a carnival slash arcade at the countryside. At first confuse, Jungkook is now enjoying every little thing there is to do at the place, laughing like little children as they tried each and every game. Exhausted after a whole night of laughing, they are now currenly sitting at a lake side, sitting on a grass eating take outs from McDonalds.

"I brought you to a 6 star restaurant and you barely touch your food, but you finished two burgers from McDonalds?" Jungkook glares at her.

"What can I say? I'm just a simple girl who enjoys simple things. Not firework watching on a private yatch and a Michellin star 6 course dinner Jungkook,"

Jungkook's eyes soften. "I'm sorry Y/N. For tonight," he sighed. "For everything..."

"Its okay," Y/N raised her head to look at him. "I just want you to see that you are so much more than your money. That I enjoyed our time together the best when we are doing things like this. Not everything is about your money Jungkook. And not everyone is all aboit your money too. You have so much quality to offer that makes you a great person. Qualities that make me fall in love with you," she averted her eyes. "I know that night... when you said those things to me... that wasnt you. The real you is the man whose eyes lights up when he talks to me about his dreams to become a musician, when he talks about his love for Iron Man," she chuckled, "That man... he is the real Jeon Jungkook. So... I forgive you Jungkook. For real,"

Jungkook's eyes brighten at her words, his bunny smile showing.

"But I also know that girls like me is not someone like you will look for and I'm okay with that. So Jungkook, thank you for tonight. Thank you for giving me one last chance to spend my time with the real you," she smile and was about to stand up and leave but Jungkook pulls her back down, his hand grasping hers tight.

"This is what I'm talking about Y/N. This is what makes it so difficult,"

"What do you mean?" Y/N looks at him confused.

"You were right. Girls like you are not suitable for me," Y/N nodded softly, eyes turning sad, but Jungkook cupped her chin and make her look straight into his eyes."Girls like you dont see me as just a meal ticket, a piece of meat. Girls like you take your time to see who I really am, to see the real me underneath all these cold and expensive masks I tried so hard to put on. Girls like you get to know me the way I dont even know myself. Girls like you... makes me realized there are people who actually cared about me. For the real me. Girls like you makes me smile during times I dont remember how to. Girls like you makes me forget the troubles that I have just by being next to me. Girls like you makes my heart beats faster just from the way they look at me. Girls like you makes me want to hurt everyone who ever make them cry. Girls like you makes me want to protect them, to care for them, to be there for them. Girls like you... makes me fall in love," Y/N was shocked. Is Jeon Jungkook trying to say he has fallen in love? It cant be real. It just cant.

"But..." his eyes dropped low, sadness shone in them although his hand never leaving hers. "Girls like you are sweet. They are pure and innocent. Girls like you are not meant to be in my world. My dirty, broken, damaged, world. Girls like you... guys like me... we dont deserve them. But Y/N," he lifted his head up and looks back into her eyes. "I'm a selfish man, I want something that I know I dont deserve and I am willing to give up everything for it," he peered into her already teary eyes.

"Is it okay Y/N? Is it okay for me to love a girl like you? To love... you?"

"J-Jungkook..." Her tears are already falling down her face with no intention to stop. Never had she imagined that he would say those words to her. Love. Jeon Jungkook loves her.

"Y/N?"

"Yes. Yes Jungkook," she smile between her tears, making Jungkook's heart beats like crazy at how beautiful she looks.

"I love you so much L/N Y/N. So so much. Thank you for loving me and showing me what love really is," he cupped her face softly and slowly leaned in to give the softest kiss she has ever received, filled with longing, hope and most of all, love.

Never in a million years would she have thought that a simple ordinary girl like her can make the Jeon Jungkook fall in love. But it turns out, girls like her is exactly what a boy like him needed.

[hopefulherbalist]

Bake your own Bread

Seriously friends, I know life is busy and it’s so much easier to buy it at the store. I work all week and long hours so when I get off the only thing open is the 24 hour Walmart. But seriously making your own bread will be the easiest part of your day, no lie. AND CHEAP!! It’s pretty much throw some ingredients in a bowl, forget about the bread for a little bit and then eventually throw it in the oven. So easy.

For anyone that wants to try - here is the easiest artisan/chunky/soup bread I have ever made ❤️ and if I can make it I know for abSOLUTE SURE AND CERTAIN THAT YOU CAN. (PS I like it best for soup and stuff but my partner uses it for sandwiches too so it’s GOOD FOR EVERYTHING BREAD)

- 3 cups of all purpose flour (your general run of the mill flour that you use for EVERYTHING)

- 1 teaspoon of salt

- 1/2 teaspoon of yeast

- 1 and 1/2 cups of warm water

Dump the flour and the salt in a large bowl. The bread will be small now but it WILL GROW. Measure out your warm water in one of those liquid measuring cups (dunno wat u call em) and by warm I mean “I’d feel comfortable washing a small child or a baby in this water” kind of warm. Then add the yeast to the water. Most recipes have you wait for the yeast to activate in the water (gets all foamy like a craft beer ok) but not this one. Wait a min or two if you want but I just dump the water right on in.

Mix that shit up. It’ll suck at first and nothing will blend but the longer you stick with it the more it looks like dough. After it starts to blend I usually abandon the spoon and use my hands - easier for me but totally up to you. It doesn’t have to be perfect. If there is still flour on the sides of the bowl? No worries mate. It won’t look like perfect baby smooth dough but right now it’s not supposed to.

Then you just let it sit. Cover the baby with a lid to the bowl, some plastic wrap, or even a damp towel. It’s gotta sit for 8-24 hours (I usually let mine sit overnight while I’m catchin z’s).

The next day (or 8 hours later), take your bag of flour, sprinkle some on the counter (or a silicone baking mat if you have one and want to try to avoid mess on the counter) and rub some of it on your hands too. Sprinkle a little on your dough in the bowl too. The dough will be super sticky at first and anything covered in flour will be harder for it to stick to. Grab the dough out the bowl and then with the help of your flour, just aim to get the dough to be less sticky. When you can hold it and not get absolutely stuck to it - you’re good. Shape it roughly into a ball. Doesn’t have to be perfect!

Then let it sit on the counter for a half hour. It has to rest. Seriously, thats what it’s called in baking idk. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ When that shits done you can cut an X in the top. Or I guess you don’t have to? I don’t see the point of it but regardless it doesn’t change the bread much. Then you can preheat the oven to 450 and slide a cookie sheet in there. That’s what I use but you can also use a higher sided baking pan (like one for a cake!) if you want because you will have to cover the bread. While the oven heats up I like to move the bread onto a piece of aluminum foil. Makes it easier to get onto a hot cookie sheet when it comes out the oven.

You can use another piece of aluminum foil to cover the bread with once it’s on the cookie sheet (or whatever dish you decided to use) because for the first 30 MINS of the bread baking it will need to be covered. After the first 30 mins just reach in there and yank the foil out USING SOME KIND OF OVEN MIT PLEASE DONT BURN YOURSELF FOIL DOES GET HOT. This is when the dough starts gettin golden brown on the top. I usually just sit in front of my oven for this bit- it takes usually 10-15 mins to get golden brown, but it’s pretty much already baked through at this point so you don’t have to worry about uncooked bread or anything. Just take it out once it looks good to you. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ let cool before slicing it and ur done friend.

And doesn’t that shit look good?? LIKE BOUGHT FROM A BAKERY GOOD?? YOU DID SUCH A GOOD JOB!!! I KNEW U COULD DO IT!

Btw with the bag of flour (like maybe 5$?) and the yeast (like maybe 3$?) that’s 8$ and I’ve already made three of these babies from the same yeast and flour. It’s so cheap friends. So cheap and so yummy.

This is the shit I used. That’s not a giant bag of flour (it’s a 5lb bag which is p normal) it just looks like it in that pic and the yeast packets come in threes when you buy em so there’s even more of it. 1/2 tsp of yeast isn’t much so you could probably get two or three of these loaves in one packet.

[wannawrite]

flower boy! BTS (series, with different members later on?? maybe??)

note: okay this is my first time writing a flower boy au! and idk am i supposed to write about a florist or some café idrk smh sighhhh im so sorry if i made any mistakes im such a beginner at these !!! :((

thanks to the person who requested this hehe i had a lot of fun writing this ily and im sorry i was so dead for a couple of days im on holiday but im flying back on wednesday so doNT WORRY GUYSSSSS and im going to be getting my seventeen album when i come home so pls clep for me :")))

okay anyway enough rambling here's my work, hope you enjoy ♡♡♡

___________

Dreamy, sky blue curls dangle round his forehead. His hair's like a little cloud-fluffy and light. It makes you want to run your hands through the tips of his hair, nudge it gently to one side and see it swish back again in tousled, tangled clusters. Coiling just a tad below the top half of his scalp is a twiny thin stem filled with little ridges; a lone flower located right on the bridge of his cute, button nose, where a small sliver of light can be seen outlining his baby faced, clear cut features. His sad, droopy eyes look even sadder when the sole of the older boy's shoe comes into contact with his insides-the brute force slapping him against the hard, unforgiving surface of the classroom wall with a loud thud before his limp, tired figure slides to the floor rather unelegantly. The tears in his eyes look like shattered glass as his head bobs forward from the impact of the kick fired at him-his solemn gaze almost begging.

Despite your slight anxiety of going through the torture that he had received reluctantly, you decide to make your opinion clear as the class monitor. The soles of your own shoes slam against the floor as you storm towards the older boy-eyebrows arched, adding onto an intense glare; which is the likes of dancing, threatening forest fires...

"Stop it."

(cue jin's S-T-O-P! I-T!)

He raises an eyebrow nonchalantly, the mocking twinkle in those crystal clear, pool-like eyes probably annoying the shit out of everyone, "How about you stop it? i bet you don't even know his name, class monitor." he sniggers, which hits a nerve-you're self-aware that you're bad at remembering names, and by the looks of things, he is too. The text on the list of class attendance starts swimming in your head...what was his name? You steal a glance at him before your eyes dart back into space-you probably don't know him well enough to remember his name. Was his surname Jeon? He did look like a Jeon. Classmates with Jeon for a surname...Wonwoo? Jungkook? Those thoughts are quickly replaced with a torrent of colourful language at the reaction of the older boy, whose gaze is transfixed on you smugly while a malicious smirk curls onto his lips. That is enough to send your adrenaline soaring. Your teeth gnaws against the bottom half of your lips as you try your hardest to suppress your anger.

"What does it matter if i know his name or not? You're even worse off, thinking its funny to hurt someone like that. What a lame sense of humour." is the only comeback that slips out of your mouth.

Ah, shit, that sounded so dumb.

"Dong. Sicheng."

You whirl around on your heel to see the teacher, her face contorted with fury and slight disappointment. Ah, maybe Sicheng's supposed to be a good kid, you think to yourself. However, just before your little period of self rumination can end, Sicheng's wrist is clasped around the tight grip of the teacher's aged, bony fingers. He's dragged out of the classroom with a pure look of annoyance written all over his face.

You heave a sigh of relief, and unexpectedly, catch a peek of the name weaved in tiny, intricate stiches onto the boy's uniform.

'Min Yoongi'

(ps. sicheng was dared by yuta to do this dw he's not totally at fault)

____________

"Go away." seems to be Yoongi's rather unique way of saying 'thank you'. The glare thrown at you is icy and defensive-his cute, droopy eyes which has narrowed into sharp angled ones make it all the more worse. You cross your arms as your lips jut out into a small pout-well, that sure was welcoming, wasn't it?

"Well, you're welcome, Yoongi-ah. I was only trying to help, and nice flower crown, by the way." Your eyes drift to the little orange blossom resting comfortably on those long, twining twigs. A transitory evocation of a cool, spring breeze and soft, sweet-smelling white bed sheets come to you as you digest its almost incomprehensible beauty. That one, lone orange blossom, held flimsily by a thread like stem, really stands out. Its milky white petals are the colour of purity and practically everything sacred. Its stigma, which is practically thousands of small, frilly tips bound together in clusters, is like a big, bushy paintbrush; donning a fresh coat of vibrant yellow. Ah, yellow, the colour of happiness and energy. A strong-willed urge to protect it starts boiling in you; but before you can reach a hand out to caress it gently, Yoongi steps back.

"No touching. It's precious."

"I know that!"

"And, stop making fun of me if you're going to help me."

You raise an eyebrow. "What do you mean.?"

In a melodramatic, high pitched voice, with his lips jutted out ever so slightly, Yoongi squeals coquettishly, "Oh, nice flower crown, by the waaaaaaay!!! If that isn't the epitome of sarcasm, dear Y/N, I don't know what it is. Since it looks like I must, I'll tell you now that this flower represents my mother, who's toiling away at home to fund my education, so for heaven's sake, please stop mocking it. Good day." he ends. Yoongi's voice and gaze is like one long, icy dagger-it sends involuntary shudders down your spine before he turns on his heel and storms away.

However, you grab his wrist, inwardly determined to prove your innocence. "Hey, come on. Do you really think I'm that dumb to stand up for you just to make fun of you again? Making fun of you is what Sicheng did, not me."

Despite your constant badgering, Yoongi eventually swatts away your hand, a thin lipped frown 'gracing' his face. He deadpans, "Hey Y/N, if you want a word with me, I'll tell you one now; goodbye."

You let loose an exasperated sigh and shrug as you see the scrawny, cute flower boy from today walk away hastily, probably wanting to get out of your sight as soon as possible.

"Well, I did try."

a/n: sicheng's wearing blue contacts

[taehyung-heartu-blog]

BTS REACTION TO••YOU RIDING THEM

SEOKJIN

The kissing was intense the minute the door closed and the other boys had left. The entire night he had been eyeing you. Like he needs you right then and there, he even cut the meeting short complain about a pain in his lower stomach and as time passed you knew what pain he meant. Tearing clothes off, and not waiting a moment he left you take charge slowly sliding down his length. Being such a vocal baby Jin will let out a loud string of airy moans as you slowly place your self down his length. Gasping for air as you avoid movement, attempting getting use to his length. Your actions seemed harmless but they were killing him, “Jagi-“ he moan your name then bit his lip, pushing his head in the pillow, in attempt to hold back from thrusting into you. “Move.” He begged, You smiled a bit, biting you lip. After he had teased you earlier infront of the boys you weren’t going to let this opportunity slip. You slowly rocked your hips at a painfully slow pace even for yourself. Feeling him twitch inside you, you looked down at his handsome face, sweat dripping down the side and his eyes scrunched up and what may be pleasure, pain or both. You finally let in and pick up your pace earning a gentle groan as his hands grip your hips harshly, his hips snapping up to meet yours. “God, Jagi your such a tease.”

YOONGI

Today wasnt different from any other day. Yoongi was in the studio producing beats for the come back, Min Holly was running around excited for no reason and the smell of food lingered around the house as the noodle slowly boiled in the pot. “Why can’t your daddy be as energetic as you?” You whine as you gently run your fingers over Min Holly. “Why do you give me more attention?” You sigh and lean back into the couch and Holly follows, resting his head on your lap. And as if on cue Holly whines back. “I know it makes you sad when I’m sad, sorry baby.” You scratch Holly and decide maybe you would get attention from Yoongi, maybe you had to earn it? Maybe you had to take it? Both seemed like great ideas and one was bound to work. As soon as you opened the door to the studio your ears were blessed with beautiful melodies, gentle beats creaping up fitting perfectly. “Yoongi.” You call out but get no response. “Yoon-“ he cuts you off as he spins around in the chair. “I heard you, but me not replying means what princess?” You lower your head and frown “that you don’t wanna talk right now.” But that wasn’t stopping you, you lift your head as he turns back around and creep over to the chair and run your fingers over his shoulder and feel him relax. “If I don’t wanna talk do you think I’m in the mood to be felt on?” He snaps but his body was acting differently. You don’t reply causing his to groan in annoyance as you ran your fingers along his chest getting his attention. He spins the chair around so he’s not facing you and gives you a smug smirk. “You’ve got my attention. Now what is it you want baby?” You straddle him, letting your fingers graze the back of his neck but not letting you lap meet him and he sighs against your chest. His breath send chills down to your core and you gently place your lips against his as guides your hips down forcefully to his and pressed him self right against your core. He broke the kiss, biting your bottom lip and tugging it gently and let his fingers slip into your pants earning a gentle moan from you. “Use your words,” he kissed along your neck and let his hands roam all over your body not leaving a section untouched. “What is it,” he whispers into your ear as he slips your pants off, and tossing them some where beside the computer desk, followed by his “you want?” He said asking again before lining himself up with you, and lowering your hips forcefully. Again you don’t reply, causing him to click his teeth, as he slowly pulls out and snaps back into you without letting you adjust, before ramming into you and a speed you had never used before. Maybe he wanted you to come in here. Maybe he knew this would happen this way. You grasped his shirt as loud moans feel from your lips, “yoon-a….slow…..ah” he placed his head in between your neck breathing hard, although you were on top he controlled everything. He gently bit your ear then groaning so close to your face you felt his pleasure. “Use your big girl word baby or you get nothing.”

HOSEOK

His hands wandered down you back as the kiss heated up. You could get caught any minute now and that turned you both on even more. Public sex had always been a thing he loved almost as much a dancing. “Hurry Jagi, the boys will be back soon.” He moaned against your collar bone, taking it in and gently sucking on it. You comply and take him in, he gasp and the your cold touch and nods you on. You stick 2 fingers inside and begin to rub up and down Hoseoks length. He leans back into the seat and shuts up eyes. After a while of moans and whimpers you slowly slide his top into your heated core but give him nothing more that, and he whines loudly, hips jerking up in need of friction. At any moment he could force you down but he loved the feeling this was giving him. The pain yet pleasure as only his tip went in and out while your hips quivered needing the friction as much as he does. “Y/N pleaseee” he moans and grabs your waist but doesn’t move you an inch. You slowly lower down, coming up before going down lower than the last time til he was buried inside you fully. He grabbed his shoulders and began to roll your hips in circles earning and loud groan from Hoseok, his hands placed firmly on your waist guiding your movement. “YA-! HYUNG OH!? YA WHAT THE HELL?!” Jungkook yells as he drops the keys to the car and runs back to the other members who are staring in complete judgment. Jimin begins to turn red unable to look, “Really Hyung, in my new car?”

NAMJOON

You had really fucked up. And you could tell. It wasn’t the way he was looking at you. Or the way your name slid off his tongue. In fact it was the exact opposite. He wasn’t even looking at you, and he wasn’t even saying you name, addressing you as ‘her’ or saying ‘ya’ when he wanted you attention. What did you do? You apologize for messing around with jungkook while he was trying to sleep and he should be mad that your broke a mug, in fact he broke 2 this morning. So that meant you had dont nothing wrong as far as you knew. “Joonie?” You called out for him but he ignored you as he began to explain the stage set up to the other members. Taehyung began to notice the tears form in your eyes, confused he pointed it out to Namjoon. “Hyung I don’t know what she did but die that down around us please?” Taehyung said as he mention for the other members to leave so you could talk in peace. “Joon-“ he glanced up at your causing you to jump, not expecting to actually lock eyes. And you could see why he hadn’t spoke to you. Only you were reflected in his eyes and the way he licked his lips while staring at your lips, then your breasts, waist, and hips. His eyes spoke for him, then he slowly began to move his hands from hips lap inviting you over and you happily placed yourself down causing a small moan to leave his barely parted lips. Without a care in the world about the other members being close by he let you undo his pants and grind your self against his boxers. The material in between making more friction that planned making you both moan loudly. “Joonie we have to be quiet” You giggles and placed your lips against his, his tongue moving in your mouth gracefully and he rocked his lips into yours. “I need to be inside you baby girl.” He whispers in your ear as he lowers his boxers and presses himself against you, rubbing his length along your folds. His hands grip your ass as he lift you up and places you down on his length making you both moan out swears. He leans back completely, eyes locked on your as you bite your lip and begin to bounce slowly earning quiet praises and whimpers of pleasure. “God your so tight baby.”

JIMIN

The way he looked at you, tied on the bed like that. Only you and him knew about this. Only you knew that he acted like a dom, but was really a hardcore sub. Only you knew he loved to be tied down, he loved calling you mommy, he loved being called baby boy, and only you knew what got him riled up. You slowly began to lick up his tip and he moaned loudly and arched his back from off the bed, “please!” He whines out and shut his eyes tightly. “You’ve been such a good boy you know that?” You begin to take in his length and hum as he hits the back of your throat, making a deep groan fall from his parted lips and you can hear the metal along the ropes clank against the bed frame. His knees quivered as a tear fell from his eye and you began to trail wet kisses up his stomach, “Ya Jagi can I cum?” He whispers and turn his head to the side burrying it into the pillow. “Nothing stopping you.” And because you didnt say ‘yes’ he held back. A load airy moan left his throat as you quickened your pace making him cum without warning “Ah...Fuc..Jagi” and his moans got louder as you continue the same pace. His sensitive tip sending chills down his back as you chased your own high. He whines as you clench around him, your heat making an orgasm approach, “Ah Jagi..I cant cum again not this soon...keep going god you feel so good though”

TAEHYUNG

“I thought I told you to only look at me” Tae growls against your neck as he placed himself against you, and you can only feel him and the wall against your back. “It wasn’t like that” you try to explain my his hand creeps up to your throat cutting off your explanation. “IT WASNT LIKE WHAT?” He exhaled and locks eyes with you “you see that slutty look your giving me, its the same one you gave him. Y/N follow me.” He says but grabs your wrist so you have to choice but to follow him. Angry sex with Tae is amazing but at times he can get out of control so 'Roses' was your safe word. You had never used it though. He sat down on the bed, pulling you over him and ripping your shirt off of you making in unwearable from here on. He threw you off so that you were on all fours and pulled your pants down to your knees and slipped a finger inside you thrusting it brutally. Without warning another finger slipped inside you and curled up reaching your G-spot with every thrust. Your moans getting louder and close together, and the clenching of you walls let him know you were close to coming, and a gentle sigh left your lips when his fingers left you and was replaced with his hard warm length. A loud gasp left his lips as he began to pound into you u harshly. You wanted to see his face, kiss him,hold him, apologize, but all you could do was close you eyes and moan loudly as he snapped his hips harder with each thrust. “Taehyung-ah” you moaned. He responded with his body, his hand snaking up you back and to your neck gripping it tightly, pulling you back against his chest so you were not up against him as he continued to pound into you. “God Tae... I’m sorryyy ah shit.” You moan hoping he will calm down but you pleased him by moaning, making him speed up as he leans back and pushed his length into you while digging his nails into your pale skin, leaving marks. “Look at me and only me.” He groans as he bite your shoulder a bit harder than normal, and thrusts faster. You eyes begin to water, “don’t you ever look at him again understand?” You gripped his wrist as his finger dug into you drawing blood. This was no longer sex. He was pissed off and wasn’t taking his anger out. “Tae- that’s enough-Roses”

JUNGKOOK

Firsts times are the the moments it all go down. Weather it’s good or not determines it all. So when kookie said “I want you to be my first” it was all over. In fact it was your first as well and he would most likely wanna take charge and murder you with his unnecessary strength and determination to make you shiver under him in pleasure. “So...” he began to fidget nervously and mess with his clothes. “So..” you repeat just a nervous and he leans in gently brushing his hand against your waist and pulling you in. The same butter flies from before, and he pulled you into him he sat down on the bed and tugged at the bottom of your shirt, resting his head in you chest. “Come on, you made a move, and that’s it?” You laugh and brush his hair around “Nn” he replies and moans and the touch of your fingers at the nape of his neck. You run you fingers along his chest as he slowly looks up at you and leans in closely, lips inches away before stopping, “Noona?” He asks staring at your lips as if asking for permission. You press your lips against his as he lets his hands fall to your thigh as he grips it tightly. “God...” he groans and you feel his length press against you core and you begin to grind slowly making him break the kiss and gasp into your neck. “Please..” he was never one to ask or beg but since he was so cute you would comply, you began to undress and he stared at you completely amazed before you lowered his pants and straddled him again. “You’re Okay right?” He asks and glances down, your folds inches away from him. You smile and nod as you grab him and slowly lower him so your heated core is hot around him. “God Y/N it feels so warm” he places his head against your shoulder as you set a steady pace and pull his hair gently earning a loud moan as his hands find there way to shoulders pushing you down so that he was fully buried inside you. His hands grabbing your waist when you tried to move again. “Let me stay like this for a moment please”

[17writings-blog]

gentle angel

Hi! Can you make a jeonghan smut, it’s your first time (both not virgin, just first time as a couple). Thanks ❤

Can you please make a Jeonghan smut. “After 3 months”

PS. this is for a reader with a vagina i wont say girl because girls can have dicks and u kno in the future being specific would really help i dont wanna alienate any of my readers tyy <3

I hope you don’t mind that i combined the two

Prompt: Jeonghan SMUT                                                                

Genre: smut and fluff at the end a lil

Warnings: sinful

Dating Jeonghan was a constant adventure. In the three months you two had been together It’d felt like three years, you’d already met his family and they loved you especially his younger sister she felt a great connection with you. Not to mention the other 12 boys he called brothers they fell in love with you, Chan in particular as you saved him from constant affection from your lovely boyfriend, you’d gladly take all the affection.

Speaking of affection, Jeonghan had a lot of it, whether it was holding your hand, stroking your hair, or simply playing with your fingers he was all over you. all. the. time. not that you were complaining it’s just recently you’ve been feeling a little frustrated, to say the least. You’d been dating a while and only gotten up to hand jobs and dry humping and to be fair it was getting quite boring. You needed more, you wanted to feel him inside you but were a little too shy to bring it up as he always was either busy or had too low of a stamina and after a 5 min hand job he crashed. 

So you planned it, well not really but you want to pretend you did. The boys had a day off and Jeonghan invited you over to chill with them. Things started out smoothly you all chilled, played some Wii Sports, and lounged around on your phones. During this time however you made sure to slowly turn him on by running your hands through his hair and giving small occasional tugs, wearing a shirt slightly too tight to leave little to the imagination, nonchalantly sitting on his lap, and keeping your hands at the tops of his thighs rubbing circles on them. You noticed he began to get fidgety and was squirming in his seat, and you have no idea who or what possessed you but you leaned into him and whispered so quietly that only he could hear;

“fuck me Jeonghan”

And with that he was gone, the look in his eyes was one of shock and confusion as well as your own confusion regarding the ‘wtf why did i say that’ but it was too late, he had grabbed you by the wrist and yanked you off the sofa into his room where he turned around and locked the door.

“what did you just say” he asked awestruck with a hint of cocky because if things were to go the way he plans he’s getting laid today, so win! With the adrenaline still running through your veins you repeated yourself once more,

“I said. Fuck.Me” you smirked waiting for Yoon Devil to make his appearance and you weren’t disappointed, he grabbed you by the back of your neck and brought you into a rough kiss pulling you towards Seungcheol’s bed.

“Babe wrong bed” you breathed out as Jeonghan tossed you down onto Cheol’s mattress 

“I know exactly who’s bed I’m on” he whispered into your ear sliding his hand up your shirt slowly causing goosebumps to form on your skin “this is payback for when he got cum on my shirt he was borrowing” he mused as he bent down to suck on your collarbone

he sat you up and took off your shirt as you pulled his over his head kissing and touching each other in between as if it’s the last thing you’d ever touch. You flipped him under you and sat right of top of his growing erection and he let out a guttural groan.

“please babe do something, anything, ah” he plead as you circled your hips on him watching his beautiful face contort in pleasure. you began to undo his pants lifting yourself off him to slide them off seeing his dick-print clearly visible through his boxers.

You swallowed heavily as you bent down and started kissing up his shaft over his underwear as his hand went directly into your hair pushing your face further into him making it hard to breathe. you pushed yourself up and slid off your own pants leaving you in your bra and underwear.

Jeonghan slid out from under you and jogged to his bed side table and pulled out a condom “only if you’re ready” he confirms as you nod and gesture him to bring it over. he walks back to the bed and unclasps your bra slowly pulling it off and savoring the look of your breasts, he slides hid hands up your body and holds them in his hand squeezing them before leaning towards them and sucking one into his mouth nibbling on your sensitive nipple while he twisted the other one.

he pulled back and hooked his fingers in your underwear making you raise your hips as he slid them off and spread your legs, “ah so wet I haven’t even done much yet hm babygirl?” you moaned as he leaned down and licked a stripe straight up you. You sprang forward and slid down his boxers desperate to have him inside you

“no no no baby we can’t be doing that let me take care of you” he said as he tossed his boxers aside cock standing straight up against his stomach. He leaned back down and pushed a finger inside you while he sucked on your clit eliciting a moan from you. he began to pump and suck harder and faster and you felt your orgasm approaching quickly.

“Jeonghan i’m gonna c-” 

“Cum on my fingers baby” he said pumping quicker and before you knew it you’d come undone on his fingers. he slid them out and licked them clean grabbing the condom from beside you and rolling it on.

“Don’t get tired yet baby get ready for round 2″ he said sliding his cock in between your wet folds causing over stimulation and you to moan 

“you ready?” he asked lining up at your entrance and you nodded as he slid himself in easily and you were soaked and inviting. You both groaned as he pulled out and slammed back in finding a steady pace he began to pound into you. 

He grabbed your breasts and squeezed them in his hands quickening his pace as you clenched around him the only things being heard are the heavy breathing and slapping of skin.

“I’m close” he whimpered out as you wrapped your legs around his waist, “cum for me angel” you said to him as he slammed into you faster and harder, moaning and whimpering about how good you felt. Then like a bright light you came a second time as the rubbed your clit and the strength of your orgasm triggered his and soon he was cumming and twitching inside you.

With a huff he pulled out of you and threw the condom in the trash grabbing some wet wipes he cleaned you both up and flopped down next to you. 

“We should do that more often” he joked cuddling into your side and wrapping you in a blanket 

“next time let’s do it in your bed” you laughed

[baekhyuq]

"Lock n loaded" (m) | Yoongi 1k

Yoongi x You

Gun play!

Inspired by XXXTentacion. Genre: Smut-Angst

“No I don’t love you, no I don’t care.“

☆*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･’ ☆*‘･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*☆*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡☆

☆*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･’ ☆*‘･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*☆*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡☆

The reflection of his face still remained in my mind, looking down at a piece of paper, a Polaroid reminded me of our brighter times. We laughed, we cried, we shared so many memories. But now we don’t talk anymore.

I don’t want to feel blue anymore

We exist in the same house, within each other’s presences. Nobody talks anymore, I’ve been waiting for the day he’ll touch me again. He’s always staring hard like a rock, and he’s cold like stone.

His facial expressions nothing more than tired. I want to much from him, I’m greedy. I want a good self esteem, love, dreams.

He gave me all I ever could ask for, and yet I’m still blue and selfish. Always sat in a high chair getting spoon fed everything I wanted like a brat. I know.

His eyes lowered to the book he was reading, nothing new. He’d sit and ignore me until I spoke up.

I stood from my spot on the ground and made my way to him, my heart in my hand. His eyes left from the paper to me as I stood in front of him.

“Let’s break up.”

It was the middle of December the coldest month of the year. Almost as cold as his heart. Min Yoongi the cold harsh winter weather.

“Okay, lets.”

In the middle of December is when I realized I’d said goodbye to early. The uh-oh moment came the second I walked out that house. The moment I walked out his heart.

In the middle of December the color blue was common. So was the feeling, very common. With his baggage in my hand, I threw it down the stairs. How easily he said we should break up infuriated me.

“Get out!” I screamed at him from the top of the stairs, tears streaming down my face. “Why are you doing this Y/n.” His question only pissed me off more.

“Why’d you agree that we should break up? Am I not enough for you? Are you seeing someone else?” I wouldn’t stop till I got answers. I threw more of his belongings down the steps. He’d stood calmly down at the bottom of the steps, his hand on the railing.

He took a step at a time to reach me, I threw more shit down the stairs to stop him from coming any closer because I knew he’d charm me into coming back. “Don’t come near me.” I sniffed, the tears crawling down my cheeks.

His eye stayed the same his cold stare directed on me, still waking closer until he’d reach me. “If breaking up is what you think it’s best for you, then I’m not going to get in your way. I want what’s best for you.” His smooth deep voice sounded so annoying. The exact words I didn’t want to hear.

“That’s not whats best for me! What’s best for me is you! You’re the only thing that used to make me happy, now you’re so cold to me. We don’t even speak to each other. We haven’t had sex in months. I’ve missed you so much but your so close so I can’t say that I missed you. You have no idea how many times I’ve contemplated leaving you. But I can’t because I love you so much. I just don’t get the mutual feeling from you anymore. I just want you and your attention! I’m so needy It feels like I’m going to explode!” I cried out hitting his chest.

“Baby..” he grabbed my chin and lifted my head. “You’re too overwhelmed by me. I get it, it’s time for you to find someone who will suit you better than I will.” His words drew a tear from my red eyes. “I-that’s not what-” he cut me off with a kiss, an apology as if he’s made up his mind on leaving me. I pushed his shoulder but he didn’t budge.

I cried into the kiss, not wanting to let him go. “Please dont leave me Yoongi.” I pleaded against his lips as he picked me up and carried me to our room that would soon be only mine within the amount of a day. “Please dont go.” I cried as he placed me on the bed, taking of an article of clothing one at a time till we were both naked.

“Yoongi, please.” His hand held my cheek and let it slide down to my throat, over my breasts onto my waist and to my hips. Savoring his touch like it was the last, and it was.

He leaned down to kiss all over my face, down my neck and onto my chest. Hickies left along with bruises, he pushed my hips down into the mattresss more. “I’ll miss you deeply, the feel of your skin, your sweet tastes.” He sighed nipping at my side as he lowered his mouth to my thighs.

“Yoongi…” my voice a whisper. He kissed my thighs getting closer to my heat, he lifted both my thighs over his shoulders and glanced at me. The sight I hadn’t seen in months, his beautiful face between my thighs, needy eyes and ruffled hair. I would truly miss this.

I nodded, laying my head back tears falling from my eyes. I had to let him go, for my sanity.

He dove in, lips attacking my clit and tongue swirling. The sigh that passed my lips could’ve been mistaken as a pleasurable one but it was a sigh of regret. He hasn’t even left yet and I miss him so much. He groped my ass picking me up higher off the bed to reach his mouth more, the angle making me shut my eyes.

“Open your eyes.”

I kept them close, not wanting to remind myself of him. He stopped assaulting my clit and sat up, positioning himself at my entrance before pushing in. And out. And In. And out.

His pace quickening, flipping me on my stomach, fucking me from behind. Whimpers escaping my throat, “Yoongi please don’t.”

I knew that if he came he’d leave. He’d leave and not turn back.

He angled my head to kiss me, bitting my bottom lip as an apology. His hand on my hip pushing me further into the bed. My ribs started to ache from the position.

He whispered a small sentence along the lines of “Im sorry.” His words meaning more than anything to me. He was leaving now. I twisted around to grab him by his waist and pull him into me, “Don’t leave me. I can’t bare this by myself, I won’t know how to survive without you.”

“I’ll make a bet with you.” He spoke, his eyes flickering up to mine. “If I cum first, I’ll stay, but if you come first I have to leave.” I nodded my head and I kid you not, I flipped him into his back and put his hands above his head.

“Since this is a bet I’m going to take this seriously.” I whispered in his ear, I felt him shiver slightly. “I hope you do considering I’m on the line.” He whispered back. I frowned for a second but soon replaced it with a smirk. I knew how to get him off fast. “You have 5 minutes.” He reminded me.

I sat on his length my back to him as I rode him, I knew he always loved reverse cow girl-he’d love to see any sight of a pair of thighs and an ass. I remembered the first time we had sex, it was anything but innocent. I wasn’t skilled or experienced he was my first everything. But he was very experienced and i wasn’t his first.

Goosebumps gathered on my skin as i turned around to see his eyes closed with his lips parted, a low groan sounded, erupting from his chest. His hands squeezed at my hips, thrusting up into me as i rode him.

I turned around to face him and took his hands and placed them on my breasts, guiding him in kneading them as i let out a silent moan. If this might be the last time i see him, i want to make it count. Taking his hands once more i pinned them down and started grinding on him harder but slowly. It felt like my eyes rolled to the back of my head as I felt the overwhelming pleasure. But as i neared my climax it didn’t come to me.

Yoongi held onto my hips preventing me from moving. "You’re times up.” he spoke. I looked down at him his eyes were already trained on me. He smirked as his chest was rising up and down, he looked down at where we were connected, i followed his eyes. His cum was leaking out of me, i didn’t even realize he had came, he was so quiet about it.

My eyes shot up to his, wide with shock. “Are you going to stay…with me?” I hesitated. I could’ve lost him, forever.

Yoongi flipped me into my back, surprising me. “I couldn’t be able to leave you if I tried…” He leaned down, kissing my chest working his way up to my face. “I love you so much you make me crazy.” He nuzzled his face into the side of my neck. “Really?”

“Yes,” Suddenly a something hard and cold was pressed to the side of my head. “And you’ll never leave me right?” He asked, my eyes grew in size.

He had a fucking gun.

“Right, Y/N?” When i didn’t answer i heard a clicking sound from the gun, before the gun was moved to my lips. He parted my lips with the gun, my tongue pressed against the gun, he grabbed my chin holding me still as he pushed the gun farther into my mouth before pulling it out. “Suck it like how you suck me off.” He flashed a grin that showed his teeth while he trailed the gun from my chest over my breast to touch my sensitive nipples.

He put the gun back in my mouth after he positioned himself back inside of me, filling me up completely. My heart was racing from the feeling of him and the thrill of him being able to take my life at anytime.

“I can’t just let you not come tonight now can I?” Yoongi took the gun from my mouth and placed it on my stomach, wrapping my legs around him for a better angle inside of me. “Ah…fuck” The first verbal moan I let out. Yoongi looked so breathtakingly hot hovering over me with sweat dripping down his body. His thrust were sharp and magical, they sent me over the edge and I climaxed. Without fail Yoongi made me moan out his name.

I looked at the gun resting on my stomach then to Yoongi. “Please take my life.” I whispered, my chest falling and rising. “I can’t Y/N, i’m not done with you. I have so much planned for our future.” His psychopathic smile aimed toward me. Yoongis eyes were blown out i’ve never seen him like this, the fact that he had a gun and could take my life kind of scared me.

“But i want to die,” I grabbed his hand placing it over the gun, he gripped it, i brought it to my mouth and took it in. Yoongi stared with slightly wide eyes, his lips parted as i heard a click sound, before he pulled the trigger. I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for the blow that never happened.

“Isn’t it thrilling?” Yoongi asked.

“Isn’t it thrilling knowing I could end your life at any given moment?” He smiled down at you taking the gun from your mouth to push it under your chin to make you face him.

“There were no bullets.”

[kpopscenarios-esme]

That is why I needed you Genre: fluff Main character: Got7 Mark It was a really cold night and i layed on the bed eyes wide open. A night like that always call for a frozenly cold ice cream from a mart at the corner down the road. I changed into something else because I dont think I will be able to sleep anytime soon. I didn't expect the night to be so cold so just simply took a flannel and pop into some sneakers and went out. I took a look at my watch and saw that its already 1 30 am, luckily its friday night and a little late night sleep would not cause any trouble to me. Sliding through facebook and instagram to see who else is still awake and suddenly a new message came into view. 'Hey babe, still awake?' 'Yup, i cant sleep, gonna grab some ice cream.' 'Its so cold now why ice cream where are you at now?' 'Nah its alright, Im just going round the corner.' 'J&L mart right? Stay right there, will be there in a min.' There he goes again, the overeacting boyfriend of mine that always over worry, Mark. Just as Mark came into the mart, the cashier passed me my favourite, grean tea ice cream. I was grinning away until i saw Mark panting. 'Oh hey Mark, wanna grab one too? They make the best green tea ice cream! It can calm you down!' Mark furrowed his eyebrows and let out a sigh. Looking at him and I just knew he was gonna stop you from buying it if he was able too and purposely teased him. Jumping up and down like a little kid, I went out of the mart and Mark followed me worriedly. 'Why did you only wear a flannel, its really cold now and plus you are eating ice cream!' 'I am fine baby...I am used to it' We sat down to chat a little bit and after a few mouthful of ice cream and i finally felt the cold, not wanting Mark to worry, i gave my very best to pretend. But unfortunately, Mark noticed me shivering. Mark grab my wrist and pulled me into a hug, he pulled back a moment later and rubbed my cheeks, and I gave him a wide grin to reassure him that I am okay. 'You worry me so much you know that? Call me up next time you wanna get ice cream, and I can get some for you and u please stay in your room.' I wrap my hand around him in his jacket and said, I cant do this if i am wearing a thick jackat, you can just hug me if i am cold then. Mark chuckled and smiled widely. 'Aww what should i do with you! You gotta pay me back for making me... I tiptoed and kissed him cutting off his sentence. I pouted and cutely asked for his forgiveness which he can never deny of. He blushed and pulled me with him saying, okay okay lets get you back home now.