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#anon fic request
jaehyunnie77 · 1 year
Note
The angst in Exile was sooo good! I’m so glad to be reading your Jaehyun fics again 😭
I saw your requests are open. Not sure if you’re up for this but I would like to request a fxmxf threesome with Jaehyun and reader where reader hires a third girl as a surprise for Jaehyun on his bday. I saw some people talking about how Jaehyun would react with 2 girls pleasuring him and I can’t get it out of my mind ever since!
Coming right up!
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lex-the-flex · 4 months
Note
coriolanus snow being jelly/ needy and demanding attention,,
been obsessed with him lately tehe <3
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“You’re staring again, Coryo.” You announce through your focused state.
"Sorry, Y/N. Can't help it." He says, tossing his pen on the table.
Closing your notebook, you let out a sigh, rubbing your face in mere frustration. Leaning back in your chair, the study room’s ticking clock provides a low level profile for getting work done. But in this case, you were far more than ready to give up.
“It’s not fair! Why must our professors give us an essay and two projects to work on? Do they think we’re robots?!” Arachne questions, throwing her history book on the table.
Turning to face Coriolanus, you widely opened your eyes, hoping he shared the same annoyance at Arachne’s endless complaining. Thankfully he did. Offering you a small smile, you turned back to the study group.
“Because we’re preparing for the 10th Hunger Games. We need to know the importance of the games.” Clemensia replies.
“Besides, we’re all going to be mentors next year. So this is vital for the University. They accept any students who wish to be mentors.” Sejanus adds, leaning onto the table.
“Okay, Mr. Plinth Prize. Please spare us of your wisdom and can we please go get dinner before the mess hall closes?” Arachne asks, standing from her chair.
“Yes please! I’m starving.” Clemensia responds, grabbing her bag.
Standing from your spot at the table, you notice that everyone has practically bolted out the door: except for Coriolanus.
“You okay, Y/N?” He asks, grabbing his bag.
“Yeah, just exhausted, that’s all. I feel like I’m reaching my limit, Coryo.” You respond.
Following Coriolanus to the mess hall, you were so deep into your conversation that you stopped paying attention to the stairs. Upon reaching the second to last bottom step, the sole of your shoe got caught, and you started to fall forward towards the carpeted floor.
Unable to stop yourself, Coriolanus jumped in and leaped forward. Swiftly catching you in his arms, you couldn’t help but yelp at the action.
“Are you alright? What happened?” He asked.
“I’m alright. I think I just slipped.” You reply.
Glancing up at Coriolanus, his worried face and scrunched brows made your stomach turn with excitement. His icy blue eyes were forever locked onto your own e/c orbs and his once neat blonde curls were now draped over his forehead.
Keeping his arms gently around your forearms, the echoing ambiance of the mess hall seemed to fade, until Arachne interrupted.
“Oh what do we have here? Some new lovebirds in our midst no doubt.” She teases.
“Leave them alone.” Sejanus called out.
Finally letting go of Coriolanus, the two of you fixed your uniforms and promptly headed to get dinner. Waiting in line for your food, you couldn’t help but feel Coriolanus’ grip on your shoulders. As your heartbeat slowly started to return to normal, you refused to let Arachne’s constant jokes get in your head.
After all, you had better things to worry about.
Returning to the study room, Coriolanus offered to carry your meal, so once he opened his paper bag, you rested your hand on top of his to make sure he didn’t let go.
“There. Thanks, Coryo.” You replied.
Briefly pulling your hand away, Coriolanus wouldn’t let you. He wanted to keep you here, with his hand in yours. But he hesitantly let go, as he knew that the study session was almost over.
Finishing your meals, you let Clemensia proofread your essay, to which she found was brilliant. After a while, you noticed that Coriolanus slowly moved closer to you. And after a few minutes of concentrated silence, his fingers began to brush along the trim of your jacket. Facing him, he promptly motioned toward his pile of notes.
“Can you explain this to me, Y/N? I don’t know what this line means.” He asked.
Leaning closer, you ended up sitting on the edge of your chair. Offering his hand on the small of your back, Coriolanus gave you his full attention as you started to explain the poem to him.
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moonjxsung · 4 months
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could i request a lee know where reader tries to get his photocard but also gets a changbin one and she seems more excited about the changbin one because she already has a lot of minho but he doesn't know that and gets jealous and fucks her roughly and afterwards she shows him all her photocards of him and he gets so shyy.
Warning: smut below! mdni.
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“I cannot believe you actually bought that shit,” Minho says with an amused chuckle as he stands behind you, his arms wrapped lazily around your waist.
“I buy one any time I see them,” you retort. “It’s called supporting my boyfriend.”
“Yeah, well your boyfriend feels plenty supported without you wasting money on albums he could’ve given you for free,” Minho replies, pressing a chaste kiss to your shoulder as you undo the plastic cling wrapping.
It’s a tradition at this point, to pick up an album whenever you see one in stores, enjoying the simple pleasures his fans feel when they eagerly try to collect all the little photocards inside. You know already that Minho has access to stacks of these at his disposal, and that all you have to do is ask for one. But just as his fans enjoy it, you love the thrill of collecting a random photocard to add to your collection, even more special if it’s one of your boyfriend’s.
“Who do you think it is?” You ask with a smile, lifting the cover of the box to reveal the contents inside. The card is hidden behind a poster, face-down to add to the anticipation, and you pinch it between your fingers, turning your head back to face him.
“Me,” Minho replies confidently. “I’d hate to see your reaction if it was anyone else, considering this thing is worth like five coffees or something.”
You slap his arm playfully, thumbing the thin cardboard in your hand and closing your eyes.
“I’ll be happy with whoever I get.”
“Yeah, right,” Minho responds, leaning his face down to rest on your shoulder, his gaze fixed on the card in your hand.
“Ready?” You ask, and he chuckles lightly.
“Let’s see it.”
You make a big show out of dramatically flipping the card over, slapping it into the palm of your hand, and then you open your eyes to examine which member you’ve received.
“Oh my god,” you say, a smile growing on your face as you bring the card up to eye-level to inspect. “It’s Changbin!”
Minho chuckles lightly, a little indifferent to it, but you can’t seem to stop smiling.
“This is such a cute one, too,” you say, flipping the card over once, and then back to examine his face.
It’s a more recent photo of Changbin, his sculpted biceps visible in a white cutoff tank, a playful pout on his face and forming a half heart on his cheek with his hand.
“I need to add this to my Changbin page,” you say enthusiastically, and Minho’s grip around you loosens.
“Changbin page?”
“Yeah,” you reply casually. “I only have three of him. This one makes four- oh my god, I finally have a full page for him!”
“What the hell is a Changbin page?” Minho asks with a disheartened chuckle. “Why are you so happy to be collecting pictures of someone you’re not dating?”
“Minho, it’s part of the culture,” you reply with a chuckle of your own. “It doesn't mean I’m dating him or something.”
“Yeah, that’s exactly it- you’re not dating him. You’re not even trying to pretend to be sad that you didn’t pull me.”
“Of course I’m sad,” you reply. “I only collect these to support your career. But it’s a randomized process, in case you forgot.”
“Yeah, right,” Minho says with a nervous smile. “I think this conversation ends here.”
You open your mouth to argue back with him, promptly shutting it before a smirk grows on your lips.
“Are you jealous?”
“Jealous of Changbin?” He retorts. “As if.”
“Jealous that I’m happy I pulled Changbin,” you correct him. Minho says nothing, keeping his gaze on the cabinets behind you.
“Oh my god, you’re jealous. That’s hilarious.”
“Would you stop?”
“You’re so jealous I pulled Changbin! You can’t even look at me!”
“I said stop-”
“What if I start buying Changbin’s merch, too? Should I bring a poster for him at the next tour?”
“Stop!” Minho exclaims, an equally amused smile tugging at his lips. He wants to maintain his serious composure around you, but he can’t, knowing very well that he is jealous, and that this whole argument is undeniably stupid.
“So what if I’m jealous?” Minho retorts, nearing you with a long stride as you hoist yourself up to sit on the granite kitchen island.
“I’d say that’s really fucking hot,” you reply, letting your legs part on the surface below you as he slots himself between them and lets his hands find your waist.
“There’s nothing hot about it,” Minho replies, although he can feel his cock swelling in his pants.
“There is,” you say. “It’s hot that you’re so possessive when it’s a literal piece of cardboard. Kinda want you to fuck me since you’re so mad about it.”
“I can do that,” Minho says sternly, leaning in to graze his lips against yours. “I’m sorry Changbin’s not around to do it instead, though.”
And he closes the gap between the two of you, his lips working eagerly against yours as his hands massage little circles on your inner thighs. You let your hands tangle in his hair, pulling him down to graze the crook of your neck, where he sucks a trail of bruises there and groans into your flesh. Your legs part a little further now, indicating for him to move faster, which Minho quickly takes notice of and pulls away to undo the strings of his sweatpants.
“Fucking Changbin,” Minho grumbles, pulling down his gray sweatpants and letting them pool at his ankles.
“Jealousy looks so good on you,” you say to him, pulling him in by his t-shirt for another kiss. “Get jealous more often, will you? I’ve never seen you get hard this fast.”
Minho’s boxers fall with his pants, his dripping cock angling straight at your entrance as his kisses turn sloppier and more hungry. His hands snake to the hem of your panties, tugging harshly, before he’s pulling them off of you entirely and discarding them on the kitchen floor.
“You want to collect your silly little pictures?” Minho inquires, wrapping his slender fingers around the base of his cock and beginning to pump gently. “Go ahead. I could care less about what you do.”
“Really?” You reply, amused with his stubbornness. “See how I react next time I pull Changbin, then. Maybe I’ll ask him to help me out instead.”
And Minho shuts you up as he finally guides himself inside of you, his hand remaining on the base of his cock still.
“I don’t give a fuck,” Minho groans, his hand finding the small of your back as he begins to fuck you with force. “Do whatever you want.”
“Maybe I will,” you say, your parted lips grazing over his drooly ones, as he pumps his cock in and out of your cunt, bottoming out with ease as your pussy enwreathes him in its wetness. His eyes shut instinctively, groans leaving his mouth as he pulls you closer by your waist and grinds your pussy further against him, his tip caressing a new angle that drives you crazy.
“Jesus Christ,” you moan, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders. “Feels so fucking good,”
“Yeah?” Minho asks, panting heavily into your ear. “Maybe you planned this little stunt just so I’d fuck you.”
You’re hardly able to reply to him, muffled whimpers escaping your lips as he continues to fuck you, your legs coming around to wrap around his torso. And he can make all the jokes he wants, but he knows at the end of the day it’s him who gets to fuck you like this, him who gets you to cream all over his cock and whose name you’re screaming for the whole neighborhood to hear.
You know it too, confident enough in your relationship to know that a quick, rough fuck will pacify any ounce of Minho’s jealousy once his seed is dripping out of your cunt. It’s like all he has to do is fuck you like he’s trying to breed you, so that you both set aside this immature game and rekindle your differences.
“Tell me how it feels,” Minho groans, increasing his pace now.
“So good,” you breathe, one hand tangling in his brown tresses again. “God, your cock drives me insane.”
“Bet my photocards do too, huh?”
“Jesus Christ, Minho, can’t you just-”
“Say it,” he orders with a grin, his dick continuing to work itself in and out of you. “If you’re so fucking sure you don’t care about Changbin.”
“I don’t give a shit about him,” you say breathlessly, only because you’re desperate for release now. “Or his stupid photocards. Just cum inside me already.”
“Say you hate the guy,” he orders, working a trail of kisses up your neck. “Say you don’t give a fuck about his stupid photos.”
“I hate them,” you echo. “They’re nothing compared to yours. Nothing compares to you fucking me like this- god, it’s so fucking good.”
“I’m gonna cum,” Minho whines, his grip tightening around the small of your back. “Finish at the same time and I’ll forgive you.”
And you clench your entrance around him as he moves even faster now, the sound of skin teeming all around you as he moans desperately into your ear, the volume amplified as you hug him close.
His cock twitches once inside you, pace slowing just a little, before he finally shoots a generous load of his release into your sopping cunt, painting your walls white with his release and placing open-mouthed kisses along the bruises in your flesh.
And you reach your release in tandem with his, clenching around his still-hard cock as you feel a wave of pleasure wash over you, your head spinning as he fucks your own cum out of you with the remainder of his stamina before pulling out and readjusting himself.
You steady yourself on the counter with your hands as Minho pulls on his clothes again, catching your breath momentarily before hopping off and collecting your album from the table.
“I’m gonna go add this to my Changbin page,” you say casually, exiting the kitchen to your bedroom, where all your album paraphernalia is stored,
“Oh my god- really?” Minho calls out with a groan, running his hands through his hair frustratedly. “I thought this was over.”
When you return, there’s a small blue binder in your hands, clear dividers stacked cover-to-cover and filled with photocards.
“What is that?” Minho asks, coming around to examine the book with you.
You place Changbin’s card into a plastic sleeve, flipping open to your designated page for him and slotting him among your other three photocards.
“It’s my photocard binder,” you reply, flipping to the start of the binder.
And Minho can’t help the smile that grows on his face at the sight of it- pages upon pages, rows upon rows of his photocards, all different eras, all different poses, neatly organized in your binder and the majority of your collection.
“Is that all…”
“You?” You say amused. “I told you I only collect these for you. This one’s my favorite. And this one’s my favorite hair on you. This one was really expensive-”
“Oh god,” Minho says shyly. “I can’t even look at them.”
But his chest feels warm, overrun with love for you and your little collection of his photocards.
“This one’s your hottest one,” you continue. “And this one I bring everywhere with me…”
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jamminvroomvroom · 2 months
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Now hear me out… Lando with a daddy kink. I rest my case (and send in my request).
heart to heart.
ln x fem!reader
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in which you’re heartbroken and lando knows exactly what you’ve always wanted.
oh, anon. how i love you. ngl haven’t written this trope much before so this was a baby-steps attempt… but it’s intense smut lmao. keep sending in requests guys, i’m getting through them (slowly)!! anyways enjoy, love you, tell me what you think <3
songs to set the mood: heart to heart by mac demarco
warnings: 18+ minors DNI!! smut, language, daddy kink (help), breeding kink (lord forgive me), friends to lovers (implied), mentions of cheating (not reader or lando), dom!lando, sub!reader
1.4k words
you’ve been friends for years.
sometimes it felt like the door was open for more, only to be quickly slammed shut when a cute barista handed you his number, or when lando slid into a bikini models dm’s. bottom line: it never ended up crossing that line and becoming more.
you’re crying on his couch when the line finally blurs.
“i just- i just thought…” you choke out a sob that cuts you off.
“what, honey?” lando coos, brushing some damp hairs away from your streaming eyes.
“i thought i’d marry him. how stupid is that?” you whimper. this is the worst breakup you’d gone through to date, and just like when anything goes wrong, lando is there with a spare shoulder for you to cry on. he always knew that your ex was a piece of shit but his warnings fell on deaf ears. “we talked about kids and houses. he asked me my fucking ring size.” you spat. all of this happened, of course, before you found out he’d been cheating on you with his boss’s assistant.
“you’re not stupid, honey.” lando pulls you in closer to his side.
you stay there for a while, letting the tears fall until there are no more left to cry and your face is drying up. your head rests on his shoulder, and when you turn it to look up at him, he’s already looking down at you.
pink lips are parted, slicked with a swipe of his tongue. two blue eyes turned to an icy grey dart between your own lustful pair and your lips, parted only to expel shallow, shaky breaths.
“kids and a nice big lawn, is that what you want?” he whispers. you shift against the couch, trying to hide the shiver the low gravelly tone of his voice shoots down your spine.
“mhm.” you nod slightly, sinking into his side and his eyes.
time speeds up for a moment; the hand he has wrapped around you finds your waist, and somehow he manoeuvres you onto his lap. it feels odd. odd, because it’s right. it’s new and yet it feels… familiar.
“why’d you waste all that time with those assholes, hm?” his voice is mocking, and your knees squeeze around his hips. “could’ve given you all that years ago. fucked a baby into you and put a nice, shiny ring on this finger.” lando pulls your ring finger between his lips, holding eye contact as he swirls his tongue around the digit. you tremble against him, his filthy words almost sending you slack against him.
“didn’t know you wanted me.” you pant.
“i’m gonna do things to you that will make sure that you never doubt me again.”
and he does.
you’re crying on his mattress, overstimulated, yet desperate for more. these are the only kind of tears he ever wants you to cry. he’s been between your legs for what feels like so long that hours could have passed and you wouldn’t question a thing. his tongue works over and over your throbbing clit and your hands rake through tangled curls.
“lando, please.” you chant, over and over again. you don’t know what you’re asking him for, but he seems to get it, because he doesn’t stop.
two fingers find your entrance, sodden with the remnants of more orgasms than you can count. in slides one, twisting deliciously before it’s joined by the second. you ascend, pretty much instantly, so overwhelmed by how good he’s managed to make you feel. your orgasm builds too quickly, and you’re dripping down his wrist before you can even tell him you’re close.
lando chuckles, tongue tracing the mess you’ve left as he shuffles on his knees between your legs. then, he’s hovering over you, balancing on one of his forearms whilst his other hand traces the curve of your body.
“having fun, honey?” he bumps his nose against yours, lips meeting yours a brief second later. it feels as good and as right the first time he kissed you earlier, and he licks into your mouth, deep and sensual. you moan into the kiss when you taste yourself on his tongue.
you can feel his cock brushing against your folds and you melt into the mattress, keening at his the feeling of him everywhere. your shaky hands skim his torso, feeling every dip and ridge under your fingertips. golden skin tenses, rippling flesh taut against your palms. your hips buck into his.
“tell me what you want, honey. need to hear you say it.”
“fuck me.” you mutter, rolling your hips once more. the angle you create means that his cock catches your folds and you can’t help but whine his name.
“how?” lando smirks, your chin trapped between his fingers. he makes you look at him, and you curse yourself for not doing this sooner.
“what you said earlier…” you choke out, trailing off.
“what did i say earlier?” he tease. you groan in frustration.
“please, lando.” you’re too hot, blush stains your cheeks and your neck.
“is my sweet girl getting shy?” he pecks your lips, kisses down your neck. when he reaches your ear, he tugs on the lobe. all you can feel is sharp teeth and warm breath. everything is slick.
“it’s okay, honey.” lando continues. “i remember. remember those wide eyes and pouty lips when i told you what i can give you. gonna make me a daddy, baby? finally gonna be mine?” he whispers, right into your ear. all you see is white.
finally.
“daddy.” you pant, when he finally slides into you, hard and deep.
“that’s it, baby.” lando grunts, hooking your thigh over his hip. you can feel the way his fingers dig in to your flesh, stopping him from falling apart instantly. his other hand takes your wrists, pushes them up the mattress until they’re pinned right above your head and he’s hovering over you, perfectly level. chest to chest, heart to heart.
shallow thrusts aid the deep grind of his hips, rolling slowly into yours. he’s everywhere, nothing separating your needy, flushed bodies. he never pulls all the way out, stays buried as deep as he can, and repeatedly hits that spot inside of you that allows you to see every star in the sky. you’re breathless, soundless, utterly helpless as you drown in him and everything he has to offer you.
you wonder if he’ll actually spill into you, mark you as his. it makes you dizzy, makes you shake, the idea of nothing stopping him from making such a mess between your spread legs. you want to beg for it but you can’t, the raging, wet pleasure in the pit of your belly rendering you speechless. all you manage is a dry plea of half of his name.
“lan-“ you begin, but he kisses the rest of the word out of his mouth.
“no, honey, that’s not my name.” he rasps, talks down to you in a way that pushes you even closer to sweet release.
“daddy. want you to be daddy.” you slur.
the reaction you get from him is worth every heartache you’ve ever suffered. his rhythm changes and now he’s slamming into you, and the sensation makes you cry some more, thick tears sliding down your neck which he tastes, licks away.
but then everything is soaking. you gush around him and his abs glisten. your throat burns from the scream, and then there’s silence, just for a moment.
“fucking hell.” he shudders, transfixed on the thin layer of you that seems to be everywhere.
he’s wrapped around you tight when he lets go, muttering unintelligible filth in your ear as he does. you stay intertwined for a moment, trying to piece together what you’d just done.
when lando eventually rolls off of you, he takes every inch of you in, a beautiful canvas covered in a memory. his eyes are warm again, soft. whatever had possessed him is long gone and he’s just lando again. your lando.
you attempt to wriggle across the mattress, seeking refuge in your forgotten pile of clothes on the floor. he stops you in your feeble attempts to peel your lifeless body off of his bed.
“hey, it’s okay, honey. let me look after you.” he coos, gentle sitting you up. “you okay?”
“thank you.” you whisper. your lips meet, fleetingly, delicate.
“‘m gonna take care of you, baby.” he promises. you believe him.
-
i don’t know what came over me lmao whoops
-
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removed any tags that weren’t working! lemme know if you wanna be added or removed <3
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veethefreeelf · 4 months
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Hate is a strong word - Y.JH
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Summary: 
You were living out your dream working in an ideal company with great colleagues and friends, except one. Yoon Jeonghan has been your nemesis from the moment the both of you stepped into this company. Sometimes you wonder if you’re living your dream or stuck in a nightmare.
Wordcount: 15k
Warnings: lots of snarky, petty dialogue; jealous jeonghan; jealous reader; vaginal fingering; oral f. receiving; vaginal penetration (protected & unprotected); some shoving of panties in mouths; lots and lots of praising; tie being used as a gag/leash; spanking; cumshot; pussy slapping
Requested: yes, by @shuahasmyheartffs
P.S - Italic is for thoughts mainly from the characters’ perspective and quotes. Bold is for text messages/calls/voice messages between characters
After you graduated college, you were hoping to join the company of your dreams. You worked so hard for so many years and you were even able to do a summer internship at this company during your college years. 
At the time, the team lead of the marketing department really took you in and expressed how they would love for you to contact them after you graduated to see if they had any openings for you to join them.
This had been your proudest moment, up until the day you actually joined the company. By then, the former team lead of the marketing department had moved up but you know they still helped in the hiring process to make sure you secured the position available. He had also told you at the time that in the worst case scenario, you could start in the advertising department since they had an opening and move to the marketing department once you had the chance.
However, to your delight this wasn’t necessary. You passed all your tests and interviews and they loved your portfolio even if it was a short one since you had just graduated. 
You joined the team and started to get to know your colleagues. Everyone was amazing. Some had been in the company longer and others had recently joined like you but you got along with all of them amazingly well. You had always been a people person so this didn’t really surprise you. You also found out very early on that you would need to work closely with the advertising team so you should start getting to know them as well.
One of the senior members of the team - Soonyoung - (or as he preferred to be called: Hoshi) had warned you early on that the members of the advertising team were tough but you shouldn't have any problems with them at all. ‘Unless something horrible happened like the new person that would join would be the devil’ he had said and laughed. You laughed along with him. You would be just fine.
You both shouldn’t have laughed because indeed, the new person that joined that team was the devil. And, since the day you met him and he completely destroyed all of your ideas in an interdepartmental meeting, you vouched to destroy everything he loved. Okay, maybe not that. But, definitely destroy all of his ideas and make sure everyone knew what a gigantic asshole he was.
And here you are, five years later. Still hating each other and still making sure everyone knew. Always trying to one up each other and get the last say in everything. 
The only difference now is that you both are department team leads. You both got promoted at around the same time. Except you got promoted one day sooner and you would never let him live it down. 
Today was a very important day for you. The company had just gotten a very big account, and your team was in charge of the marketing strategies for this account. Of course, all marketing strategies and efforts need to be hand in hand with the advertising team, and this usually meant an interdepartmental meeting and your nemesis shooting down every single idea your team proposes. 
You were hoping that for this big account, he would be a bit less of an asshole. You were wrong. Every idea proposed by your team was shot down. 
‘Not enough budget. Too expensive to recruit developers and add those features. Just overall doesn’t make sense for their line of business’.
He found every excuse in the book. You had decided then, you weren’t going to give up until he was gone from this company. Or at least from this branch. You needed him out of your life before you committed murder.
You just didn’t get it. Their team was tough and you knew that, but to everyone else he was just so nice and available and open to new ideas. However, anything coming from your team, with your stamp of approval was immediately a target for him.
“If looks could kill, he sure would be dead as fuck wouldn’t he?” Hoshi asked you.
You were eating at the company’s cafeteria and you might have been chewing a little too hard and staring at the back of his head plotting ways to get rid of him.
“He’s just such a fucking asshole. And for what? What does he gain with this? Endless meetings with us until one of us breaks? It won’t be me this time. Absolutely not. He better be ready for a fucking fight” you told Hoshi and the rest of your team as they sat down.
“Your hate for each other is tearing both our teams apart” Sunny said mercilessly and you looked around the table. Everyone nodded in agreement.
“How is this my fault? He started this 5 years ago. Started hating on every word that left my mouth for no fucking reason. What am I supposed to do? He did it again today! And I just took it without saying a word. How are you guys blaming me for this?” you asked as you looked around the table.
“You could just be the bigger person? I’m sure if you stop acknowledging everything, he’ll give up” Hoshi said.
“Let’s not blame, Y/N. She has tried to calm things down between them. He just keeps adding fuel to the fire. He’s clearly doing it on purpose” Seokmin had told everyone.
“See? Not my fault. I’ve tried. He will just keep doing this until one of us quits or moves to a different branch. It won’t be me though, don’t you worry” you said as you continued to angrily eat your lunch.
“But he is so hot, though. You should just fuck him. I bet that will calm him down” Clara, the remaining member of your team, spoke up.
“He is the devil. I would rather die than fuck him” you answered without hesitation.
“Oh come on. I can’t believe you haven’t thought about it. Look at him. EVERYONE wants to fuck him. Every human at this company has tried and failed. Except one. Lucky bitch from IT” Clara added.
“I can’t believe Hana bagged him. He had to be drunk. He does not fuck around from what I heard. Not his thing at all. He’s apparently a hopeless romantic waiting to find the one. Very unfortunate for most of us” Sunny added.
“Guys, I will vomit. Please, stop talking about the devil that haunts my nightmares that way. And also, no gossiping, come on. Hana gets enough attention” you told everyone on your team.
“Hey, Y/L/N. You’ve really been off your game since your promotion but today was definitely a new low for you”
You knew who was by your table talking shit. Bold of him to do so while you were holding a knife. Hoshi took the knife from your hand and you stared at him.
“What? We like you as our team lead, we can’t lose you to a crime of passion” he told you and Jeonghan laughed.
“Crime of passion, Y/L/N? Have you been harboring a crush for me? I’m flattered” Jeonghan spoke again.
“The only time your name and crush exist in the same thought inside my brain is when I fantasize about crushing all your hopes and dreams before the day I die, Yoon” you said as you started to angrily clean up your tray. 
You couldn’t even eat at peace here. It wasn't enough for him to torture you during meetings. He always found a way to find you around the building and push your buttons beyond explanation.
“So you are fantasizing about me. Wow. Very forward, Y/L/N” he said and smirked.
“Hmm… Is that what you desperately want, Yoon? Me, fantasizing about you? Alone, in my bedroom, just thinking about you?” you said as you got up and got ridiculously close to him. You could’ve swore you saw a flash of surprise in his eyes and that he gulped at your statement.
“Pretty fucking pathetic, Yoon. And also, never, in your wildest fucking dreams but you are more than welcome to stay delusional” you said as you backed away. 
You picked up your tray and finally left. 
“You could stop being such an asshole to her. To our team, I mean” Seokmin said to Jeonghan after you left.
“Be better at your jobs and I won’t have to be” Jeonghan told your team and left as well.
“I should’ve let her have the knife” Hoshi said after he left.
“I’m telling you, they need to fuck. Everything will calm down once they get it out of their system” Clara said and everyone groaned.
You got to your office and you needed to calm down. You just didn’t get it. Why couldn’t he just leave you alone. It’s one thing to professionally disagree with someone because you have valid and rational reasons to. But it’s a completely different story to target one person and shoot all their ideas down. Valid or not. This no longer feels like just a professional rivalry, it feels personal as well.
Maybe your team was right. Except Clara. She was fucking wrong. Sure, when he first joined you thought he had been the most beautiful human you had ever seen in your entire life, but as soon as he started speaking up and hating on you, that notion was long gone. He wasn’t hot enough for you to ever forgive him. ‘Right?’ you asked yourself and immediately shot that down ‘Yeah. You hate him. Absolutely never going to happen’.
Clara was wrong. Maybe everyone else was right about you being the bigger person. Maybe if you stopped talking back to him in and out of meetings, he would give up and move on to a different target. 
As you were contemplating your next move and if you were strong enough to be the bigger person, there was a knock at your office door.
“Come in” you had said after sitting down on your office chair.
“Hey, sorry. Do you have a minute?”
Seungcheol. Jeonghan’s partner in crime. He was a very tough cookie but you had always gotten along with him. He was reasonable and knew to acknowledge when your team was right and they were wrong.
“Go ahead. Be quick, please. Thanks to your team lead I will be spending the rest of the afternoon in brainstorming sessions since nothing is good enough for that prick” you said as you rubbed your temples.
A migraine. Of course. Because this day hasn’t sucked hard enough.
“About that… Maybe hold off on the brainstorming. I quite liked some of your team's ideas and I believe they are well within the client’s budget and needs. I’ll be talking to Jeonghan this afternoon to show him he’s wrong” he told you after he sat down across from you.
You raised your eyebrow.
“Why?”
“What do you mean ‘why’, Y/N? I told you. Your team’s ideas were good. So I wanted you to know that so you can pass that on to the team. I also want you to understand we are not your enemies. I mean our departments are supposed to work together but it somehow seems we keep diverging more and more every day” he sighed.
“And whose fault is that?” you asked.
“I know he has been insufferable lately. But you have to admit, you do enjoy riling him up too. You’ve also made your share of bad decisions and comments because of your rivalry”
“It seems both our teams are suffering” you added to his comment.
You get it. The both of you probably have been ruining a perfectly good job and work environment for both your teams. You wanted it to end. You just didn’t know how to do that. Every time you wanted to try, he would make an absolutely ridiculous comment and you just couldn’t help yourself. You had to answer. He couldn’t win.
“I’ve tried, Seungcheol. You know I have. Even today, at the meeting, I could’ve answered him but I chose not to. It doesn’t matter. Answering, not answering. If I don’t engage with his comments during a meeting, he will find me somehow around this building and make sure to torture me. I don’t know what he wants from me” you said sincerely and he laughed. He laughed loudly. You were more and more confused by the minute.
“Really, Y/N? You really don’t know?” he asked, still laughing.
“I don’t have a crystal ball, Seungcheol. If I did something that offended him when we both started working here, I’m sorry, but I have no fucking clue what that is and it’s been five years. Whatever it was, he should’ve let it go a long time ago” you answered him and he seemed to understand. ‘You really didn’t know’ he thought to himself.
“Well, either way it’s not up to me to bring it up. I just want peace. Both of our teams need peace. So maybe keep that in mind next time you want to answer one of his snarky comments, just saying” he told you as he got up to leave.
“Thank you, Seungcheol. You should’ve been the one promoted, not him” you added before he was out of your office.
“We both know that’s not true. He may be an asshole, but he’s brilliant” he said and left your office.
At least this time, Seungcheol came to deliver good news.
After he left your office, you had a call with your team and explained there wouldn’t be any brainstorming sessions for this account until you hear the advertising team's final verdict on the previous meeting. Everyone was relieved, maybe this would be the beginning of the end of this war. 
You got home absolutely exhausted. Mentally and physically. You didn’t want to cook or clean or do anything. You got a bath ready and decided you were going to order food. Fuck it. You deserved it after this shitshow of a day. 
After your bath and dinner, you just wanted to rest. You went to the couch and turned on ‘New Girl’. You needed something silly to make your soul a little happier today. You had suffered enough. Or so you thought.
Your phone dinged, signaling a text message and you had a bad feeling before you even looked down at the phone on your coffee table. You picked up your phone from the coffee table and of course. It was a text message from ‘The Devil’. Why couldn’t he leave you alone, even after work?!
“You must be really proud about today. Talking to Seungcheol behind my back. I’m not going back on any of my decisions so good luck”
You couldn’t believe your eyes. Is this man serious? This is exactly why you can’t stop responding to his shit. He always manages to piss you off beyond reason. Beyond any restraint possible.
“You got it all wrong. Seungcheol came to me. Apparently, you are unreasonable and wrong. None of that is my fault. And, I will win as usual because you are wrong. As usual” you replied.
This would be your only reply of the night. That’s it. Whatever he says next, you will not engage. You can’t. You need to think about both of your teams and you have to stop being selfish and stop this war.
“I’ll take this up the chain if I have to. My team shouldn’t pay for your team’s incompetence” he added. 
And there goes all your restraint. You can take a lot of insults from him but you won’t let him step all over your team.
“My team is far more competent than you. That’s the reason I got promoted first. The only reason you got promoted after me was the fact that your boss can’t stand having a woman in charge of a team and he knew you would be his best bet at having me leave this branch or quit. Now stop texting me outside of work and delete my phone number. I did not give you this number and don’t want you to have it. Thank you.”
That wasn’t too bad. You replied and defended your team but you didn’t add fuel to the fire. It short and concise and to the point and you fucking hope he listens and stops contacting you.
And he did, at least for tonight, he stopped replying. You never found out how he got your personal phone number but ever since he did, he loved texting you once in a while to make sure you weren’t happy outside of work. Apparently, he wanted you to feel miserable all around. He always had some additional comment he forgot to add during work hours and wanted to make sure you were going to bed thinking about it.
You hated him. You never liked saying you hated anyone. It’s such a strong feeling but you were pretty fucking sure this was pure hatred.
He ruined your day at work, and now he had ruined your night of rest and sitcom binging at home. You were so pissed you decided to go to bed and hope tomorrow is a better day.
Except it wasn’t. It wasn’t a better day at all. Jeonghan kept his promise. As soon as he got to work, he went to his boss to make sure his decisions were final. Your boss then started to get involved and for the rest of the week it had been constant meetings and battles regarding this one account. Not only that, but Jeonghan had even been worse this whole week to you and your team. He was on a brand new level of assholeness. You just wanted the week to end. You wanted Friday to come so you could go to the company quarter party and get hammered.
Finally, on Friday, they had come to an agreement that one of the ideas from your team was going to go forward but your team would need to come up with new ones as the other options were vetoed. You didn’t know what to feel. It still felt like a loss and the more he smirked, the worse you felt. You couldn’t not say anything so when your boss asked for agreement on your side, you were very clear on your response.
“We will do it. However, you should know these two people across from us will be the reason we might lose this account and multiple ones in the future” you told your boss and as you turned to Jeonghan’s boss, you continued.
“You can put that on the record and give me a disciplinary warning. I will not stay silent while my team’s work keeps being put in question by people far dumber than any of us simply because the team lead is a woman. You should both be ashamed of the decisions you have made professionally based on your personal hate of me” you finished.
Jeonghan wasn’t smirking anymore. He was staring at the ground like a child that had just been disciplined by their mother or a teacher. You felt proud. You left and went straight to your office. You knew there would be consequences to your words but you can’t deal with this anymore. You are reaching a boiling point with that man and his sexist boss. 
You were pacing around your office trying to calm yourself down. This day was almost over. You were going to enjoy tonight. You wouldn’t let them win and ruin everything. You were going to have a great time with your team and no one was going to stop that from happening. You started to smile thinking about the goofballs in your team and how you were going to have an amazing time when there was a knock at your door. ‘Here we go’ you thought. Your boss was about to rip you a new one.
“Come in”
You couldn’t believe your eyes. Jeonghan walked through your office door and you both just stared at each other silently. You didn’t know why he was here but you didn’t care.
“Get out” you said as you walked around your desk to your chair.
“I know things haven’t been ideal but I just wanted to say I don’t hate you. I never have” he said and you laughed while you sat down.
“Well, I hate you, Yoon Jeonghan. Always have. From the very first day you decided to start testing me. Now that that’s settled, please, get out of my office” you said and started packing up your things for the day.
“Hate is a strong word, Y/N”
“Indeed. And you have no idea how much I dislike that word. How much I dislike using it. But, you did that. Congrats. You broke me and managed to make me hate you. Hope it was worth it” you said as you started to walk out of your office.
But just before you left, you had one more thing to add.
“It’s sad really. If you weren’t this way, I truly believe we could’ve made a great team” you told him and then left.
After you got home, you started getting ready for the company’s quarter party and you decided you weren’t going to let this stop you or your team from continuing to do a great job. 
Tonight would be sort of a team building exercise for the five of you. The company liked throwing these parties every quarter and it reminded you a bit of the Dundies in The Office. They also gave silly awards but instead of a trophy, you got a fridge magnet and a chance to donate $25 to a charity of your choosing. It was pretty cool.
Besides, the company usually rented the same hotel ballroom and had an open bar and a DJ after the awards. Everything was free and it truly helped employees unwind and relax after each quarter. You were proud to be a part of this. 
You usually don’t choose to drink too much at these parties since word gets around pretty fast of any embarrassing moments that may have happened after most people had left. Tonight would be different though. You and your team deserved to get hammered and dance until they kicked you out of the hotel.
Once you told your team that, they couldn’t be happier. It’s like they had forgotten everything that has happened in the last few weeks. You were thankful for that. You wanted to feel that way too.
You and Clara took an Uber to the party together and Hoshi, Seokmin and Sunny also did the same. None of you ever wanted to arrive first and be alone at these parties so you usually split up into groups and went together.
The trio arrived first at the party, went to the table marked for your team and moved over to the bar immediately. 
When you and Clara got there, you noticed them at the bar and decided to join them before going to your table and setting your belongings down.
“Starting early, are we?” you asked and laughed along with Clara.
“Hey! It’s the boss! And duh, of course, you said to go wild tonight so we need to start early” Seokmin told you as he sipped his cider.
“Besides, once you see who is the other team sharing the table with us, you’re going to wish you had started drinking earlier, Y/N” Hoshi added and their little trio started laughing. Of course you had to share a table with him. But you won’t let him get to you. Not tonight. You turned to the bartender.
“Whiskey & Coke please, no ice. Thank you”
“Oof, you really meant to go wild. Starting pretty strong, Y/N. Careful or you might do something stupid tonight” Sunny said with a teasing tone and you all laughed together.
After you all had your drinks, you started to move towards the table so you could sit down and hang out as a team. You wanted to take advantage of the fact that the advertising team hadn’t arrived yet.
“Okay so about that ‘doing something stupid tonight’” Clara started to add to Sunny’s previous remarks.
Hoshi and Seokmin started shaking their heads disapprovingly before she even continued her sentence.
“You should fuck Jackson from the IT department, Y/N” Sunny said and everyone whipped around to look at her. Usually, Clara is your problem child. No one quite knew how to react to what she just said.
“What? Don’t look at me like that. You know he wants to fuck you come on. Also, I heard from Cass in HR that he also has a huge--”
“Sunny!” you stopped her before she had a chance to finish her sentence. You and our team couldn’t stop laughing. Who knew Sunny had it in her. You really have to watch out for the quiet ones. They will always surprise you.
“Oh come on, Sunny. If Y/N is fucking anyone with a big cock tonight she might as well hate fuck Jeonghan” Clara added and you just gulped down your drink. She wasn’t going to give up on this idea, It was going to be a long night.
“And how do you know that for a fact? Just because Hana said it, doesn’t mean it’s true” Hoshi started adding fuel to the fire.
“Why would Hana lie about that? And why the fuck would she follow Jeonghan around like a lost puppy if he hadn’t been amazing like she keeps advertising? She was not lying and you should find out for yourself, Y/N” Clara answered.
Everyone looked at you.
“What? I’m not even gonna dignify that with a response” you said and Clara laughed.
“Hmm… Sounds like maybe you’re interested in finding out… Or are you just jealous that Hana got to him first?” Clara asked and they all started laughing and agreeing with her. You loved them all but sometimes you wanted to kill them.
“Sounds like she is both jealous and interested in finding out” someone whispered in your ear from behind you.
All your team members stopped laughing and went silent. They knew better than to laugh at what Jeonghan just said, no matter how funny it was. Jeonghan walked around from behind you with Seungcheol and they both sat down across from your team at the table.
“I already told you, Yoon. No matter how many times you dream about it, it’s never going to happen” you said and started getting up to get another drink. You need a lot more alcohol to get through tonight.
“We’ll see” he said as you were walking away.
There will be no more peace tonight at that table. And you know once your team gets enough drinks in them, it’s going to get even messier. Funny thing is both your teams get along great with each other. You and Jeonghan seem to be the only ones ruining all the fun.
When you got to the bar, you decided to just get a coke. Dinner was to come, followed by the awards and there will be a lot of wine. You need to pace yourself. You don’t want to end up completely drunk. Definitely not at that table.
Surprisingly, dinner went over smoothly. Everyone was talking and having fun with each other. Clara kept throwing in some comments about you and Jeonghan and everyone seemed to enjoy it so all you did in those moments was roll your eyes. The only two people not interacting with each other were you and Jeonghan.
The awards started and it was always quite fun. People gave great speeches and they roasted themselves and their colleagues and bosses. You always had a blast. You had won a few of these before but not recently so you were surprised when you were called in to receive the ‘Warrior of the Branch’ award. ‘Clever’ you thought to yourself.
You went over to get handed your fridge magnet by your boss and she winked at you as she handed it to you.
“Well, I would say this is a surprise but it isn’t. Even today I got a disciplinary warning for defending myself and my team so it makes sense. There’s only one person I need to thank for this because he is the reason I wake up every morning, look in the mirror and tell myself all the reasons why I shouldn’t commit murder that day. I gotta tell you, most days I don’t care about those reasons and so thank you Hoshi, for taking the knife out of my hands, forcibly” you paused as everyone laughed with you.
“So, thank you Jeonghan. I never thought any good would come from hating you, but I’m sure the charity I choose tonight will think otherwise” you ended your speech. Everyone clapped and you started heading back to your seat. You noticed Jeonghan was no longer at your table. Were you too harsh?
“You could cut him some slack, Y/N” Wonwoo from Jeonghan’s team spoke up and everyone went silent.
“He doesn’t cut me any slack, why should I cut him some?” you asked in response and left the table.
You didn’t know where Jeonghan went and you didn’t know if he left the table because of your speech but how is this fair? You always get treated like the bad guy when he is the one that started all of this. He is the one that tortures you on a daily basis. But somehow, whenever he gets upset, it all gets turned around on you. 
You needed to hide for now. You wanted to be alone. You were sick of all of this. To be honest, you don’t know how much more you can take before you transfer branches or even quit altogether. 
You went to the usual place in this hotel you go to hide whenever you start to feel overwhelmed at these parties. There was a small room on the side of the ballroom that was also rented out to your company. It was used to store all the awards and company belongings before the awards started and your boss has always given you the key to the room after they’ve emptied it out. She knew you often need time and space to yourself away from everyone. She was one of the reasons you haven’t given up on this job just yet.
You unlocked the room and walked through the door. You didn’t turn the lights on, no need. You locked the door behind you and moved to the window. It was a beautiful, huge window that had a nice sofa in front of it. You loved sitting there and staring outside in silence. This window was facing the garden that surrounded the back portion of the hotel and you loved to sit there and just look at the trees in peace.
“No fair. I thought I was the only one that had the key to this room after they were done using it” Jeonghan spoke up from across the room. He was sitting in a lounge chair and the moonlight was allowing you to see his face. He looked upset. 
“It appears life isn’t fair for either of us. I love being alone here, yet here you are” you said and turned back to the window.
For a while there was only silence. All you could hear in this room was both of you breathing. You were staring out the window. He was staring at you. You were sure of it. You could feel his eyes on you. It wasn’t uncomfortable. You just never knew what he wanted and you were too tired to try to figure it out at this moment.
“I really can’t stand hearing you say you hate me, you know that?” he asked you.
You turned to look at him again and scoffed.
“How is that my problem? You did this to yourself” you said and turned back to the window.
You really hoped this was it. That he wasn’t going to talk to you anymore. You didn’t mind sharing this space in silence.
“Why do you always have to answer me with such disdain? I understand I’ve been hard on you and your team but you’re taking this a bit too far don’t you think?” he asked you as he got up from his chair and started to walk over to you.
And here it was. The reason why you could never keep quiet and not answer him. He always seemed to be completely detached from reality. He’s the one torturing you, yet he thinks he’s the victim. Typical.
“You’ve been hard on me and my team?? You’ve been a nightmare, Jeonghan. At work and outside of it. You actively seek me out to torture me whenever you get the chance but somehow I’m to blame?” you got up from the sofa and started raising your voice at him. You two were standing a little too close to each other.
“You’ve spent years trying to destroy everything I’m trying to build for myself, for no apparent reason and you act surprised when you hear me say that I hate you? How can I not? You’ve pushed me this far, it’s your fault and I’ll keep saying it no matter how upset you pretend to be: I hate--”
He kissed you. You couldn't finish your sentence. He kissed you hard. He grabbed you by the neck with one hand and held your body close to his with the other and he kept kissing you. And you let him. 
Not only did you let him kiss you but you kissed him back just as hard. Your hands were on the collar of his shirt and you were both just a tangled mess. Trying to devour each other. All the anger you both had accumulated over the years led up to this moment. Neither of you could think. Neither of you could stop. 
He started walking you back to the sofa you had just been sitting on, and once you reached it, he started lowering you down on it. He was on top of you, kissing you and you couldn’t help but to place your legs around his waist and pull him closer. When you both started to moan into each others’ mouths, he pulled away from you.
“Tell me to stop. Tell me you don’t want this and I’ll leave right now. We’ll pretend this never happened” he told you sincerely.
You could tell he meant it. He was giving you a chance to back out of this. To stop this before you crossed the ultimate line with him. And as hard as it was to admit, you didn’t want him to stop. 
You couldn’t remember the last time anyone kissed you and touched you like this. Now that you think about it, you don’t think anyone has kissed you and touched you this way before. Full of passion and lust. 
“Don’t stop” you answered him.
He silently nodded and lowered himself to kiss you again. He started moving his hands down your body. Touching you everywhere. As if he was trying to memorize the shape of you in case this was just a dream or in case he would never get the chance to touch you like this again. He moved down and started to kiss down your neck, moving to your cleavage next as one of his hands was moving towards your clothed pussy.
“Fuck, you’re so wet. You’re gonna kill me one of these days, I swear, angel” he said once his hand reached your panties and he started massaging your clit over your now ruined underwear. 
He was right, you were dripping. You wanted this so bad. You wanted him. Especially now that he was saying all the right things. He pulled away from you and moved down your body.
“I really wish I could take my fucking time with you but you had to let me fuck you for the first time here” Jeonghan said disapprovingly and you sighed.
He lowered his face to your pussy and started to leave open mouthed kisses to your clothed core. He was driving you insane. You started to moan. You needed him to stop taking his time.
“Fuck, angel… You’re a loud one, aren’t you? I should’ve known from your smart mouth. Let’s find a way to keep you quiet, hmm?” he said as he started to take your panties off.
“Be a good girl and open up, angel” he told you after taking your panties off and tapping your lips twice with his fingers. 
Fuck, why did you love being praised so much? And how the fuck did he know this was exactly the way you like it? It doesn’t matter. You did what he asked and opened your mouth. He pushed your panties into your mouth and whispered ‘good girl’ to you while he pulled back to move back down to your pussy.
He collected your juices on his fingers and started to suck them while looking into your eyes. You moaned into your panties and your breathing was starting to get erratic. He gave you a short laugh and moved down to latch on to your clit. He started sucking on it aggressively while his fingers moved around your hole. Just teasing you. He was going to be the death of you. 
You wiggled your hips and he laughed again. He wanted to take his time with you but the loudness in the room next to you reminded him that he needed to hurry if he wanted to be inside of you tonight. So he gave in to what both of you desperately wanted. He started eating you out like it was his last day on earth. His mouth was on your clit and two of his fingers finally got inside of you.
He set a fast pace from the start and you could tell he was responding and adjusting his movements every time you moaned a little too loud. He wanted to understand what could make you cum the fastest. He wanted to learn what made you more and more desperate and he quickly found the answers he was looking for.
His fingers found your g-spot and he kept making sure he hit it every single time. Same thing for his tongue and mouth on your clit. As soon as he found the rhythm that made you scream into your panties, he kept at it.
He wanted to make you feel pleasure like you never had before and he was going to make sure this wasn’t going to be a one time thing. He was going to find out everything about you and your body and guarantee you would want him back in your arms after tonight.
After just a few moments of hitting the right spots and keeping at the right pace, you started getting louder and louder and he wished he could hear you more clearly. You were so close. No one had ever made you cum this fast in your life and you didn’t want to fight it or hold back. One of your hands went to your tits to massage them and the other went to his hair. He started to moan into your pussy and once his free hand grabbed your thigh so fucking hard it could leave bruises behind, you finally came into his mouth. 
You were loud when you came. Jeonghan started looking towards the door to make sure no one heard you too. He was begging inside his head for you two to not be interrupted now. Not now, that he was so close to getting inside of you.
Once he realized no one heard you two and now that you were coming down from your high, he reached into his jacket pocket and took out his wallet. He threw his jacket on the floor, unzipped his pants and started to lower them and his boxers to his knees. 
You finally opened your eyes after your high and looked at Jeonghan. He was getting a condom out of his wallet and you could see his half naked bottom half now.
Hana had not been lying. He was big. Almost too big. You didn’t know how he was going to fit inside of you, but fuck it if you weren’t going to try your best. He caught you staring and he started smirking.
“It’s gonna fit. You’re a good little angel so you’re gonna take me in just right, don’t worry” he told you as he rolled down the condom onto his cock.
Fuck, you could’ve cum right there on the spot after what he said. All you could do was nod and he smiled at you.
He lowered himself on top of you and he started guiding is cock into your hole. You were so wet, there was no resistance. He started to slowly rock into you and pushed more and more of his cock into you. After his third big stroke, he finally pushed all the way into you and bottomed out. You moaned so loudly into your panties. You had never felt anything like this before. You were so fucking full. You couldn’t stop clenching around him. And he was already just as wrecked as you. You could tell by the way he moaned into your neck.
After a few moments, you were ready. You needed him to move, so you moved your hips a bit to signal him.
“Not yet, angel. Please, you have to stop squeezing me like that or I’ll be very embarrassed very soon and this is definitely not the way I want this to end” he told you and you smiled. You did your best to stop squeezing his cock and you began touching his hair as you wrapped yourself even more around him. 
Once he was ready, he finally started to move. He pulled back a bit from you and held your hips in place as he pushed into you with long and hard strokes. He again made sure to find your g-spot as soon as he could and once he did, he sped up his movements. He began the abuse on your g-spot. Fast and hard. He was gonna make you cum like this and so quickly again.
You were holding each other as his pace got faster and harder and you kept your eyes locked in on each other. He kept cussing and whispering praises as you both got closer and closer.
Once he started to feel you squeezing him more and more, he knew you were close and he knew he was right behind you. He bit his lips to lower the volume of his moans and you kept moaning into your panties just as loud as you did before. One of his hands moved from your hips to rub your clit and just that touch sent you over the edge again. As you squeezed him, he came into the condom and moaned into your ear.
After you both came down from your highs, you took your panties out of your mouth and you both just laid there with each other in complete silence as your breaths evened out. All you could hear was the noise from the other room where the award portion of the night seemed to have stopped and the DJ set had started.
He raised his head from your neck, looked into your eyes and kissed you. Not as hard as he had when this all began. It was soft, almost gentle. You could tell he wanted to cherish this moment which you both knew might never happen again. Little did he know, you also wanted to cherish this just as much.
After that kiss, he got up, threw the condom away and got dressed. You cleaned yourself up with some tissue paper that was on the desk and tried to look presentable again. As you took your panties to put them on, he stopped you.
“I’m keeping them, angel” he said as he took the panties from your hand and put them in his jacket pocket. You don’t know why but you didn’t protest. You let him take them. 
“I’ll leave first. Make sure to wait a bit, just in case” he told you and you laughed.
“Even if I went out there with you, there would be no way anyone would think we just snuck out to fuck” you told him and he nodded with a smile on his face.
You waited for about 20 minutes after he left to go back into the ballroom where everyone was now getting hammered and dancing like it was their last night on earth.
You needed a drink. Or several. ‘What the fuck just happened?’ you asked yourself. You just fucked someone you have been hating for five years. Maybe hate was a strong word after all.
“You’re back! Where the fuck were you?” an already drunk Hoshi asked you.
“Sorry, was pissed off but then I remembered I made you guys a promise so I came back” you told him and he smiled. 
“Catch up then. You are several drinks behind and Clara has been asking for her dancing twin” Hoshi added before he started to dance away from you and back to the dancefloor. If you were going to live up to Clara’s loving nickname, you would need to catch up indeed. There is no way you were about to make a fool out of yourself in front of your colleagues sober.
The rest of the night went as expected. Everyone on your team got way too drunk and you ended up just a bit buzzed and babysitting them all. It was okay though. They needed this more than you at this point and that was very clear. At the end of the night, you practically had to drag them all into their Ubers. You got help from Seungcheol and Jeonghan who were also very drunk but trying to be as helpful as possible. 
The weekend went by fast. And next thing you know it’s Monday again. You were nervous going into work for the first time in years. You didn’t know what to expect from Jeonghan. Would he ignore you? Would the usual behavior stop? Would he tell everyone and embarrass you? You had no idea. You didn’t think he was that cruel but you never knew what was going on inside his head. He was always so hard to read and in this situation it might bite you in the ass.
To your surprise, the next two weeks passed by without any incidents. Jeonghan had apologized to you in front of both of your teams and told everyone he would be more patient and cooperative in finding solutions that worked for everyone. At first, everyone was shocked and a bit suspicious at the whole situation. They were all asking you what happened and what changed and you didn’t know what to say. You told them about what you had said to your boss and to his boss in the last meeting you four had had and they all agreed he probably saw the error of his ways then.
You knew better. You knew what had happened between the two of you after that meeting. You want to know if that’s what made him change but you haven’t had the opportunity to ask him yet. And, you were also nervous to ask him.
Now that your teams were closer, you actually started to have lunch together at the company’s cafeteria. It was weird at first. But now everyone is over that initial weirdness and you actually enjoy having lunch with all of them. Jeonghan’s team is funny. You already knew Seungcheol and Wonwoo well, but now you got to know Silvia and Joshua more. They were absolute sweethearts and you felt bad you hadn’t gotten to know them better earlier. 
Jeonghan had never brought it up with you. Whatever happened between the two of you. You would never admit it to him but you were disappointed. You were hoping this wasn’t going to be a one time thing. Especially now that he has become a great colleague and partner at work. You see him in a whole different light now and you wished he felt the same way. But you were stubborn. You were definitely not going to tell him.
Today, during lunch time, Clara decided to be Clara and show her true colors for the first time in front of Jeonghan and his team.
“Hey, Y/N, did you ever fuck, Jackson at the quarter party? There was some suggestion of that and you did disappear for a while…” she said and everyone whipped their heads to look at her.
Jeonghan’s team was shocked and staring at Clara. Jeonghan however, was staring at you and you alone. He looked angry.
“Clara, please stop being yourself in front of the other team. They don’t know you’re clinically insane” you said as you scolded her.
“What? It was a fair question. He has always wanted to get into your pants and he’s hot. If you haven’t already, you should go for it” she added and Hoshi laughed.
“Clara how can you know so much around the office but not know the reason why Jackson wanted to bone Y/N” Hoshi said and you groaned and made a disgusted face.
“Even I know there was a bet within the IT team to fuck Y/N” Sunny added and Clara looked disgusted.
“Okay. I was wrong. Never listen to me again, Y/N” she said and you laughed.
“It’s funny that you think I would ever listen to you when it comes to people I would fuck” you said and they all laughed. Except Jeonghan. He was not amused by this conversation at all and he seemed to get in a worse mood when Jackson decided to walk up to your tables.
“It’s so nice to see my favorite teams finally together. What a happy ending for everyone” Jackson said and everyone greeted him and nodded in agreement. He then turned to you and you could swear you felt Jeonghan move his chair closer to yours.
“Hey, Y/N. I have tickets for the premiere of the movie you mentioned you wanted to see a while back and wanted to ask if you would like to join me Thursday night?” Jackson asked and everyone went silent. You could cut the tension with a knife.
“No, thanks, Jackson. But have a great time, I heard the movie is amazing” you said politely as you began clearing your tray and got up to leave. Jackson and both teams were looking at each other awkwardly before Jackson spoke up.
“That could’ve gone better… Anyway, have a good day guys” 
“I don’t get what is so hard about understanding a simple no. He’s heard it so many times from her yet he won’t stop annoying her” Seokmin said as everyone started clearing out.
Everyone left to continue their work day. You were in your office prepping for the interdepartmental meeting later today between your team and Jeonghan. Even if he has been nicer lately, you always want to make sure you leave him no room to say no.
Today, it would be Seokmin presenting his ideas for a new account your company got and it was his first time presenting solo. You needed it to go well so that Seokmin gained the confidence to do this more often. But, because the universe hates you, the presentation did not go well at all. Jeonghan had chosen to be insufferable again and go back to his old ways. He kept vetoing all of Seokmin’s plans left and right with the most ridiculous of reasons and you reached your boiling point when he started interrupting Seokmin before he could explain his reasoning as well.
“What the fuck is wrong with you today? Are you back on your bullshit? If so, I would appreciate it if my team gets the memo next time” you asked Jeonghan and everyone went silent. Here we go again.
“Don’t start with me, Y/N. This wasn’t a good presentation. Most of his ideas are flawed and not reasonable at all for this client. Go back, review and come back to us” Jeonghan told you as he got up to leave.
“You’re forgetting you’re not our boss, Jeonghan. We don’t work for your team. We work with your team. You are the one that needs to go back, review the content and come up with a reasonable and logical explanation on why you want to veto all of this. Have fun” you told him as you signaled to your team to get up and leave with you.
“That’s it? No fight? Just sending me back to review things? Can’t handle me anymore, Y/N? I should’ve known… Last time, you barely handled what I gave you” he said teasingly and you stopped in your tracks. You walked towards Jeonghan and both your teams moved away from the both of you. They knew better than to get involved. 
You knew that last comment wasn’t about the last meeting you had and the last time you fought. It was about that night. He was smirking now. You needed to wipe that smirk off his face. 
“Oh I handled it perfectly well. In fact, if I remember correctly, I handled it so well that someone was ready to tap out very prematurely… How embarrassing…” you told him and he was no longer smirking. Perfect.
“Are we still talking about work?” Hoshi whispered to Joshua.
“I fucking hope so” Joshua said out loud and it snapped you out of staring at Jeonghan. You started to move towards your team and leave the meeting room.
“Like I said, review and come back to us. With data. No more of this theoretical bullshit or ‘I’ll take this up the chain if I have to’” you said as you mocked him from what he had once told you.
That felt good. Your team started to laugh and cheer on Seokmin after you left the meeting room. Before everyone went back to their desk on the floor, you decided to have a word with Seokmin. You didn’t want him to overthink this.
“Seokmin, can we have a word in my office, please?” you asked him and he nodded and smiled at you. You both walked to your office and sat down on the corner couch you had.
“Don’t take this personally, and don’t you dare think you did a bad job. If your ideas had not been good, I wouldn’t have let you present them. None of the team members would have. He’s probably having a bad day and wanted to take it out on you. Don’t worry about it, yeah?” you asked him and he nodded.
“I just don’t want to disappoint anyone. I know I’m the only one that hasn’t done this by myself and I don’t want to disappoint the team” he said with a sad smile.
“You could never disappoint any of us. Their team will review and we will reach a good compromise. I’m sure most of your plans for this account will come through. Let him get over himself” you said and you both laughed.
“Thank you” he added and you hugged each other.
After Seokmin left your office, you rushed to get your reports done to leave on time. You had an exhausting day and both Jackson and Jeonghan had decided to piss you off today. You needed your bed desperately. Your boss needed the final reports today and you had spent most of your time helping Seokmin prep. You were very late and you didn’t know if you would be able to finish them on time. But, no matter how tired you were, you were too proud to not do your job properly. 
You sent your boss a message letting her know you wouldn’t be able to deliver the reports before 6PM but that you would finish them tonight. You also told her since it was poor time management on your side, you would do the overtime without any additional pay needed. Maybe not the smartest decision but it’s your decision to make. Your boss agreed with the promise you wouldn’t stay too late. She was incredible.
6PM came around and everyone had either left the office or was about to and you were jealous. You had a headache and needed a break. You were halfway through and you decided a power nap was needed. ‘This is why you got that couch’ you thought.
You took a 30 minute nap and got back to work. You ordered dinner and ate at your desk while you finished your reports. By 9PM you were done. Finally. You can go home to your shower and bed. You couldn’t wait.
Except the universe was never kind to you and someone was knocking at your office door. You hoped it was the cleaning crew kicking you out so you told them to come in.
“Working late? Thought I was the only one left here” Jeonghan said as he walked into your office and locked the door behind him. He was leaning on your desk with his arms crossed as you started getting your purse and jacket to leave.
“That’s what happens when you’re an asshole. You get to stay late and review your mistakes. Good news is you must have made a lot of extra money with the overtime hours you rack up” you told him and you signaled him to move to the door.
“You’re not leaving yet. Come here” he told you and it surprised you. 
You didn’t particularly like being told what to do, and never by him. This time it felt different though. The air felt like it did the night of the party. Since the party he hadn’t tried anything with you at all. You assumed this was never going to happen again. That he got what he wanted and that was it. So why was he standing here now, asking you to move closer to him?
He sighed and uncrossed his arms to place them on your desk.
“Come closer, angel. Don’t fight me, you know you want to be closer to me just as much as I want to be closer to you right now” Jeonghan said and you audibly gulped. Fuck… Why does he have to call you angel and why do you like it so much? You were doomed at this rate.
You took your jacket off and placed it and your purse on the hanger close to the door. You walked towards him until you were close enough to feel his breath on you.
“You’ve been staying away from me since that night. So why now, Jeonghan?” you asked him. You wanted to know what was on his mind. Why he hadn’t tried getting closer to you until today.
“I assumed it was a one time thing. I thought you were gonna regret it and tell me it was a mistake. I didn’t want to hear that. Ignorance is bliss, I guess” he answered and you nodded.
“So why tonight? What made you take the chance of getting turned down?” you asked teasingly.
“I don’t like Jackson. At lunch, that whole scene made me… Angry. After our meeting I had time to think. Your snarky comment about our night together and your brutal rejection of Jackson made it clear for me. If you were going to reject me, you would’ve done it at the party” he told you as he pushed a strand of your hair behind your ear.
“Bold of you to assume that just because I let you fuck me that night, I wouldn’t reject you now” 
“Do it then, Y/N. Tell me to fuck off. I will leave and never bother you again”
You stayed silent.
He nodded and began to move away from you. You grabbed his hand to stop him from leaving.
He turned around, stepped closer to you and kissed you. It was just like that first kiss at the party. He was grabbing your neck and your hip and pulling you impossibly close to him and you were pulling him just as close to you.
“The cleaning crew is going to be here soon. Why do you only let me fuck you like this? In a hurry? You’re unfair, angel” 
“It’s your fault too. Of all the days and times to come here and fuck me and you chose right now” 
“Don’t worry, now that I know you’ll let me keep fucking you, we’ll have plenty of time to make up for it, angel” he said as he moved you both towards your desk.
When you reached your desk, he turned you around so your back was against his chest. He moved your hair out of the way and dove in to kiss your neck. You were already beginning to moan. It had been too long since he fucked you. You should’ve told him you wanted more right after that night. He bent you over your desk and started to rub his clothed hard cock against your ass. He took his tie off and kept rubbing himself on you.
“You can’t be loud again, angel. Not tonight” he told you as he moved his tie to your lips. He was going to gag you with his tie. Fuck, you were already dripping and ruining your panties.
You nodded and he placed the tie between your lips. You felt him tighten the tie around the back of your head. Like a leash. You moaned and he laughed. He loved to see you fall apart like this, with the simplest of actions. 
He unbuttoned your pants and pulled all your bottom half clothing down in one swift motion. He spanked you and kept rubbing his hard cock against your bare ass. He held your hip with one hand and moved to rub circles on your clit with the other.
“I love how you're always dripping for me. It makes it hard to believe you when you say you hate me, angel” he said and laughed.
All you could do was moan. He was alternating between rubbing circles on your clit and fingering you. He was spreading your juices everywhere. He wanted to get you as wet as possible but he seemed to be avoiding making you cum right away. Like he wanted to save it. You wiggled your hips. You wanted to cum. He laughed again.
“I’m just getting you ready to take me, angel. You’re cumming on my cock tonight”
After a few minutes of torture, you heard him unzip his pants and move around. You could only assume he was getting naked and getting a condom from the sounds you were hearing.
“You ready, angel?” he asked as he massaged your ass. 
You could feel his cock on your ass now. You were too eager but you couldn’t help yourself. You nodded and said a muffled  ‘please’. Just like you, he couldn’t wait anymore. It had been too long since the last time this happened. He placed his cock against your hole and started to push in impossibly slow.
He kept doing shallow strokes, pushing a bit more of his cock in each time. You had no idea how he was this patient but you couldn’t wait anymore. On one of his shallow strokes you pushed back hard until he bottomed out and you both moaned loudly. Your moan had been muffled but his was not. Fuck, you didn’t want to get caught like this. He spanked you, hard.
“You wanna get caught, hmm? Bad fucking angel…”
You kept squeezing him and trying to move but he was holding you still.
“Fuck, it had been way too long. Have we learned our lesson, angel? You’re gonna let me fuck you whenever we want from now on, right?” he asked and you nodded immediately. He leaned in to whisper in your ear.
“Good girl. I’m going to go hard now. Better fucking handle it like you said today hmm? If you need me to stop, tap your desk twice with both hands”
You nodded again and before you were done nodding he started to fuck you hard. You were surprised your desk wasn’t moving at all from the force of his strokes. You started to move back and match his pace and you both started panting fast. You knew much like last time, neither of you would last long. 
He pulled on the makeshift leash to pull back your head and increased his pace. You were getting so close. You just needed a bit more. He moved his hand from your hip to your clit and started rubbing it furiously. You got louder and louder and kept squeezing him tighter and tighter.
“Is my good angel going to cum on my cock? Do it, I need to feel you cum around me again” 
And as soon as he finished his sentence, you came with a cry of his name against the tie. He kept fucking you through your high and you kept squeezing his cock.
He kept whispering ‘fuck’ and ‘good girl’ under his breath. You knew he was getting closer and you started pushing back on him harder and harder. You wanted to push him over the edge. You wanted him to feel the way you feel right now. In perfect bliss. And a few moments later, he came as he leaned over you. He laid his whole body against yours as you both evened out your breaths.
You both got dressed and took turns using the bathroom in your office to clean yourselves. As you were getting ready to leave, you yawned so loud and he laughed at you.
“Don’t you dare make a cocky comment, Jeonghan”
“I won’t but let me take you home, please”
“And let you have my address? You already have my phone number and that’s enough”
He stopped smiling and started to leave as well.
“Hey, I’m joking. That’s what we do, right?” you asked him. You didn’t want him to leave like this.
“Sometimes your words hurt, Y/N. I know I’ve fucked up a lot but I never wanted you to hate me and think this low of me”
“I’m sorry. I’ll be more careful of what I say from now on. Promise. But I don’t want to lose the snarky back and forth between us” 
He smiled. He only wished you would have told him you never have hated him as well.
That night you let him give you a ride home. You were too tired to drive. It was nice. During that car ride you found out he has a beautiful singing voice. You also found out a few more things about him during your conversation. He likes legos and has a pet rock. He, Seungcheol and Joshua are like brothers. And, he loves pranks. This last one you could’ve guessed easily.
You also told him about yourself. You love reading and camping. You also like legos and have a few sets built in your office at home. You scare easily and have to deal with your team constantly jump scaring you because it’s hilarious to see you suffer, apparently.
It was a good drive. When you said your goodbyes, he told you he would text you more and you should do the same. He wanted to get to know you and he wanted to meet up in places he could fuck you slowly and have you be as loud as possible. You smacked his arm after this last comment but you agreed. He was a good guy overall and you were interested in continuing this… Whatever this was. 
For the next month, you met up with him regularly. Usually after work and at his place. He had bent you over his desk and your desk a few times after a heated argument in a meeting but you tried fucking each other in more private places. He loved hearing you scream his name and you loved having him desperate for you. In this month, he had also found out what a tease you were. You enjoyed riling him up and making him wait before he could fuck you. It was a dangerous game but you both loved it this way.
No one at work seemed to notice anything and you didn’t know if Seungcheol and Joshua knew given how close they were to Jeonghan but if they knew, they had been very discreet about it. Jackson kept trying to ask you out and Hana kept following Jeonghan around like a puppy as usual. You had to say this last part wasn’t your favorite. You knew he wasn’t interested but still. She had fucked him before you. And that pissed you off. Jeonghan knows it too and he loves teasing you about it.
One line you haven’t crossed with Jeonghan yet was having him in your apartment. You didn’t know why but you were trying to avoid having him there. It was your space, you loved living there. You were proud of having been able to buy it all on your own. What if one day this ended terribly and then you were stuck with memories of him around that place? You didn’t want to ever be sad inside of that apartment so you tried keeping him away.
Jeonghan wasn’t dumb though. He knew you were trying to keep him away from your apartment. He tried being understanding but he was getting tired of it. This wasn’t fair. You had been in his apartment multiple times. He had fucked you in almost all available surfaces in his apartment and he wanted to do the same in yours. So he did the most Jeonghan thing possible. He texted you asking if you were free and once you said yes he showed up at your door. 
“This is why I didn’t want you to have my address. How did you find out my apartment number?” you asked as you let him in your apartment.
“The same way I got your phone number. A magician never reveals his secrets though” he answered as he took his jacket and shoes off.
You were looking at him moving around your apartment. He was looking at every picture frame, every detail, every room and you just followed him silently through your apartment.
“So this is what you were hiding from me? It’s very you” he said smiling as you both moved towards your bedroom.
“If you knew I was hiding it from you, why would you come here uninvited?” you asked teasingly.
“I don’t like secrets. And you’ve been to my apartment multiple times. It was only fair”
“I should be angry at you, Jeonghan”
You asked him as you moved closer to him.
“But you aren’t angry at all. Isn’t that right, angel?” 
You nodded with a pout on your face and he laughed as he moved your hair away from your face. He kissed you and you started unbuttoning his pants. Between kisses, you undressed each other until you were both completely naked. You kissed down his body until you were on your knees in front of him. You grabbed his cock and started to stroke it. He moved both his hands to your hair and intertwined them. Before he could say anything, you started to lick and suck his tip and he moaned.
“Don’t be a tease tonight, angel”
You batted your eyelashes at him innocently but you did what he asked and you started to suck him off just how he liked it. After a month of meeting up, you had gotten pretty good at fitting as much of his cock down your throat as possible. You were both very fucking proud of it. 
With your hands, you stroked whatever you couldn’t fit in your mouth and throat and massaged his balls. That always got him so close. You wanted him to cum more than once tonight. You knew he could. You had talked about it before but he had always held off on it. He came here tonight without your permission, so you were going to make him cum at least twice, you had decided. He pulled you off of him by your hair before you could continue your plan and he raised an eyebrow at you.
“What are you playing at, angel?”
“Want to make you feel good, Jeonghan. Isn’t that why we’re doing this?” you answered him in your most innocent voice but you knew he wasn’t buying it. Before he could protest, you kissed him, deeply.
“Wanna ride you” you whispered against his lips and he groaned before moving away from you towards the bed.
You got a condom and threw it on the bed. He was sitting and leaning on the headboard. After he put the condom on, he signaled you to come over to him and you crawled to him. He whispered ‘good girl’ against your lips and kissed you again. You could never get enough of his kisses. He always kissed you with such passion. Like he could lose you at any moment.
You turned your back to him and placed your legs on either side of him. He hummed and placed both hands on your ass cheeks to massage them.
“Reverse tonight? I wanted to see your pretty face, angel”
You hummed and started to rub your pussy up and down on his cock. You knew he would forget all about looking at your face if you just kept pushing him. And you were right. He held your hips and pulled you closer to his cock. He aligned his cock with your hole and you didn’t wait any longer. You started bouncing on his cock without any warning. By now, you were more than used to his size and even if it stung a little bit you wanted to push him tonight. You were going to get what you wanted. You kept up an agonizing pace, bouncing hard and fast and you could hear his pants and grunts getting louder and louder. He placed both hands on your hips and tried to change your pace.
“Slow down, let me enjoy this, angel”
You shook your head no and kept going. His hands tried resisting your movements at first but after a few more bounces he gave up and let you speed up again. You started to touch your clit to get you to cum faster. You knew having you cum on his cock always made him cum as well. You were getting closer and you could tell he was too by the way he was squeezing your ass with both his hands and by the sounds he was making. He calls you angel all the time but he’s the one that sounds like an angel even in the most depraved of moments.
You kept rubbing your clit until you came. He came right after you into the condom with a grunt of your name. After you both started to come down from your highs, you felt good enough to keep going. He was still hard and once he tried moving underneath you, you stopped him by bouncing on his cock again. You started your rhythm back up, merciless and you heard him whine. You had never heard him make that noise before and you needed to hear it again. You weren’t going to stop. He was going to cum inside you again. You were going to make sure of it.
After your initial bounces, he spanked you hard.
“I knew you were up to something. Want to get more of my cum, hmm? One load is not good enough for you angel?” he asked between moans and you kept going. Harder. Faster. And he snapped.
He pushed you off of him and on all fours. He took the condom off, threw it on the ground and slapped your pussy hard. You moaned his name. 
“You want another one? Better fucking take it all then”
He pushed his cock into you completely. Your elbows gave out on you and he took the chance to push your head down on the mattress with his hand as he started to fuck you hard. 
Usually you would need more to cum, but his dominant aura, the way he pushed you down on the mattress and the way he’s fucking you raw are just enough and you cum again. This time your hands are grabbing the bed sheets desperately and you are whining and moaning. That was fucking intense and Jeonghan didn’t stop.
He kept fucking you hard. His moans and grunts get louder and louder. He pulled out and started stroking his cock with his free hand. After a couple of strokes he came on your back. You could feel rope after rope of cum just painting your back and you couldn’t stop smiling. You both laid there exhausted for a bit before he got up and cleaned you up. 
“I’m guessing that’s what you wanted to achieve tonight” he said as he laid next to you on the bed again.
“Hmm… That’s what you get for coming here uninvited”
“If that’s your way of trying to keep me away from here, you’re doing a piss poor job at it, angel” he said and you both laughed.
You didn’t know why, but after that night things felt different. All lines had been crossed between you. Before it had felt like there was a separation between whatever was going on with you and Jeonghan and the rest of your life. But after that night everything felt intertwined. You didn’t know how to feel about it. So you decided maybe some time apart would be best for the two of you.
You didn’t want to tell him this. If there was one thing you had learned about Jeonghan in the time you spent together was that he could be quite sensitive and misinterpret your words. You didn’t want that to happen so you simply replied to him saying you were tired or busy and couldn’t meet up. He seemed to understand. You had successfully avoided him but you hadn’t sorted out your feelings yet. But it didn’t matter. Tonight was your team building monthly dinner and you were going to focus on them only. 
You were running late and your team started texting you non-stop. You had to reassure them you were on your way. You were usually never late so you understood where their concerns were coming from. 
Your Uber stopped in front of the restaurant and in the rush of getting out of it and joining your team, you ran into a couple getting into the restaurant. You apologized without even getting a proper look at them and start to go into the restaurant but a familiar voice calls you back.
“Y/N? What are you doing here?” Hana said excitedly.
You looked at her and the person next to her and you had to blink a few times to make sure you were actually seeing this. You didn’t say a word. Hana started looking between you and Jeonghan and cleared her throat. You finally looked back at her.
“We're having our team dinner here” you said dryly. 
“We would join you but we are on a date! Have a great team dinner and say hi to everyone for us” she said excitedly and all you could do was nod.
The three of you silently walked into the restaurant and you spotted your team right away. You walked over to the table and tried your best to pretend whatever you just saw didn’t bother you. This wasn’t the time or the place. Whatever you felt had to be sorted much later on.
You weren’t at your best during this team dinner and your team could tell. They didn’t say anything because they knew you were trying your best. You still joined your team for bowling and tried having as much fun as possible. 
You didn’t know what happened to Jeonghan and Hana. You couldn’t see their table from yours and you didn’t see them leave before you did. You were… Confused. You never established anything. You never said you were exclusive. You never said you were going to date other people but it somehow felt like he had lied to you. He always told you he wasn’t interested in Hana. Why did he lie? And how long had they been dating? Was he fucking you while dating her? You honestly didn’t know if you wanted to find out. You knew it was time to end whatever had been happening between the two of you. You were surprised Jeonghan hadn’t messaged you or tried to contact you at all. But maybe that was for the best.
You weren’t much of a believer in getting signs from the universe, but after not talking to Jeonghan at all for the past week about the restaurant incident, you got what would be considered by many, a sign. 
Your boss called you into her office and made you an offer. The branch four hours away from yours had been struggling to find a good team lead and a good manager for their marketing department. While she explained to you, you couldn’t move up to department manager just yet, you would have the opportunity to do so in the future if you joined them now at the team lead level. You both knew your boss wasn’t going to go anywhere any time soon. She was the manager of the marketing department and she had just been promoted when you were. If you wanted to move up to manager soon, your best option would be to accept this offer. However, you wouldn’t accept it without speaking to your team first.
Long story short, your team was pissed. Hoshi yelled at you for the first time in his life and both Clara and Sunny cried. Seokmin seemed to be holding it together pretty well, surprisingly. 
“I know this isn’t ideal… But it’s a great opportunity for me. And, it doesn’t mean I’m staying there permanently. I have to try though, you know that” you said as you tried to calm Hoshi down.
“You better not like your team over there more than us” Seokmin said with a sad smile.
“Never. We’re the dream team” you reassured him. 
It took you a while but you were able to calm Hoshi down. You promised you would visit as much as possible and offered your place for them to stay when they visit you as well. 
One thing you had asked your team and your boss was to not let anyone know you were leaving. You planned on telling everyone on your last day. You have always hated goodbyes. And this one was going to hurt. You met a lot of great people here and you had a lot of adventures and stories you will cherish for the rest of your life, but it was time to move on. 
It had been two weeks since you accepted the offer and today was your last day at this branch. Your team had been moping around for these two weeks and everyone wanted to know why. It has been fun watching them make up lies to cover for you. It was your last team prank in a sense to this branch. In these two weeks, you and Jeonghan hadn’t spoken at all. No texts, no calls, no meeting up. He didn’t say anything and you didn’t ask.
At the end of the day, everyone gathered in the conference room at the request of your boss. No one knew why except you, your team and her. You knew a lot of them would be angry at you. You had gotten pretty close with Jeonghan’s team, particularly with Seungcheol and Joshua and they would probably never forgive you for not saying anything sooner. Especially Seungcheol. 
“Hey everyone. I know it’s the end of the day and everyone wants to go home and relax but bare with me for a few moments” your boss told everyone and everyone went silent.
“I know most of you are wondering why this meeting was booked on your calendars two weeks ago and what this meeting is about. Apologies for the secrecy, but the subject of this meeting asked me and her team to stay quiet about it until today” she continued and looked over at you. At this point, everyone on your team had tears running down their face and you were holding back tears of your own.
“Unbeknownst to most of you, today was the last day working at this branch of one of our best employees and someone I can honestly call a cherished friend. I wish I could say more but I don’t want to start crying like the rest of your team so please, say a few words, Y/N” she said as she looked over at you. You heard a few gasps and confused looks as you got up to say goodbye to all your colleagues.
“Hi everyone. So, a couple of weeks ago I got offered an opportunity at a different branch. An opportunity that will open several different doors for me professionally and I chose to accept it” you said as you looked at your team. You couldn’t look at anyone else.
“I asked my team and my amazing boss to keep this between us because honestly, I hate goodbyes. I didn’t want to spend the two weeks I had left here with sad goodbyes. I know it was selfish of me so I humbly stand here asking for your forgiveness” you continued and your team laughed with you.
“I had an amazing time working at this branch. I’ve grown so much professionally and personally. I made enemies that later became… Not enemies. I thought I hated some of you but I never did. Let’s call it a strong dislike” you said and laughed.
“I’m thankful for each and every one of you, no matter what. To my team and to my boss, you guys know everything already so just want to say thank you again. Now get out of here and enjoy your night. I have a four hour drive to make, so don’t try and persuade me to go for drinks!” you finished your speech and your team got up to hug you. 
Everyone started to say goodbye to you and you found out you were right. Joshua and Seungcheol were angry at you to say the least. Especially Seungcheol. But you made them forgive you before you had to leave. 
You never saw Jeonghan. You didn’t know if he hadn’t been in the meeting at all or if he had left once you were done with your speech. You were disappointed. You wanted to say goodbye at least. He had been a big part of your time here, more in the last few months but I guess he didn’t think the same if he wasn't even going to say a quick goodbye to you.
After your office was packed, you and your team went back to your place to help you load everything into your car for you to leave. You had a few boxes you were going to ship to you or wait for someone to visit to bring them to you but overall, you managed to successfully pack most of your favorite belongings and you were ready to leave.
You were going to miss this apartment. Other than your career, it had been your biggest achievement. You had been able to buy it and make it your own. You weren’t getting rid of it for now. Not unless you needed the money desperately. You were moving into your uncle’s apartment that was vacated recently so you wouldn't be paying rent at your new place and you could afford to keep your beloved apartment.
Hoshi loved that idea, it comforted him knowing you wanted to return to this apartment eventually and hopefully to the branch and your team. 
As you were loading things into your car, you got a text from Jeonghan.
“I’m sorry. You deserve better. I hope one day you can forgive me and we can talk. About everything. I couldn’t say goodbye. Not to you. Drive safe and good luck on this new adventure, angel”
You didn’t know you had started crying until the tears hit the screen of your phone.
You didn’t hate Jeonghan. You never did. He made your life hell for a long time but he also managed to bring heaven to you in the last months you spent together. You didn’t blame him for the way things ended. You never talked about your relationship and whatever was going on between the two of you. You had both failed each other.
Maybe one day you would meet again and you would talk about everything. Maybe even have a happy ending together.
Or maybe you will never meet again and this was just another chapter in your life.
Either way, you were content. You weren’t sad or disappointed anymore.
You didn’t get permanent closure in a lot of things but you were ready for this new adventure and his text made you feel better about the decision you made. 
You did this for you and your career, it was never about him. Your time together had simply ended at the same time this opportunity presented itself and you both knew that.
For now, you were just another girl that had been in his life for a while and that was moving away looking for a better career opportunity. 
And he was just another guy that had been in your life for a while creating chaos in the worst and the best way and that was staying behind.
Nothing more. Nothing less.
Hey guys! I hope you guys enjoy this one. It took me a while to finish it but I’m really proud of it 😇💕 I know it’s super long but I realized I might not ever be able to write short fics, specially when it comes to Hannie 😭 The request asked for a cliffhanger ending so I hope I stayed true to that. If you liked this fic and/or if you want a more permanent resolution to this couple, please let me know in the comments and such 💕 Thank you for supporting me! CHEERS 🥂
PS: You can find part 2 here
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happy74827 · 5 months
Note
hey pookieeee, how about mike and reader are like new to dating and mike just got his job at freddy’s fazbears pizzeria as night guard. and he has trouble paying the bills and stuff and taking care for abby. and reader is like lemme help you. and mikes like no i got it. just rlly angsty to fluff? if you get what i mean? thanks xo
Resolute Hearts
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[Mike Schmidt x Female!Reader]
Synopsis: All you wanted to do was to save him from drowning.
WC: 2883
Category: Angst to Fluff, Happy Ending
I absolutely adored this request. I hope you were serious about the angst, because it is there and it is heavy 🫠
『••✎••』
Tears…that's all you could feel. You felt them running down your cheeks, and you could feel your lips trembling as you sat on the tile floor, hugging your knees to your chest. The surrounding air was thick, a suffocating feeling. It was hard to breathe. Your head felt light, and your vision was a blur. You took in deep, shaky breaths, trying to hold back the sobs you desperately wanted to let out.
You never thought you would feel this way. It was like everything you had worked for your entire life had fallen through. It was like nothing meant anything to you anymore. Your life, your family, your friends. They didn't mean anything to you. You didn't care about them. You were alone, and the only person you cared about didn't seem to care about you back.
The apartment was dark and quiet. You sat in the bathroom, the door locked, the lights off, the fan running to block the sound of your tears. Your roommate had left hours before, saying she had an early morning class. You didn't know why they even had classes so early in the morning.
It felt like decades had gone by since you sat there on the bathroom floor. The bathroom tiles were cold and uncomfortable. You were cold and uncomfortable. You didn't feel like yourself. You weren't the type to get so worked up about anything. You weren't the type to sit on a bathroom floor and cry over things you couldn't fix. You were the type to keep your head held high. To smile through everything, even if the situation was tough. To be the rock for your friends to lean on.
But, you felt alone. You felt so alone.
Michael, Mike. Michael was the one who made you feel alone. You loved him. God, you loved him more than anything. You loved him so much. You loved how caring he was. How sweet he could be. How considerate he was. You loved every inch of him and every inch of what he did for you. He was so considerate of your feelings; he never pushed you to do things you weren't ready for. So, why did his words hurt you so much? Why did his actions make you feel so small and worthless?
Why?
It had only been a few months since you started dating, and everything seemed to be perfect. He was charming, sweet, and an all-around amazing guy. You were so happy with him. He was everything you wanted in a boyfriend, and you were over the moon with how everything was going. He even seemed to care for you; at least, that's what you thought.
He had been distant for the past few weeks. You found yourself seeing Abby more often than you did Mike. You would wake up, and he wouldn't be there, only to find him passed out on the couch or working on a late project in the kitchen.
He said he was fine, but you knew he wasn't. You could tell he wasn't okay. You knew something was bothering him, but he never opened up to you about what it was. You thought about telling him it was okay. That he could talk to you about anything, he didn't need to keep it bottled up. He didn't need to worry you like that.
You did eventually open your mouth to say something about how he was feeling, but before you could even get the words out, he shut you down. He said he was fine that you were overreacting. That you needed to worry about yourself more and stop thinking about his feelings all the time. You just needed to trust him.
You believed him. You foolishly believed him until it all came crashing down. During one of your many late nights babysitting Abby for him, you accidentally stumbled upon papers that he left on the coffee table. One of which was a delinquency notice dated back to last week. He was behind on rent and had a couple of other bills that were due soon. You didn't want to add to his stress, so you figured it wouldn't hurt to try and help him with those.
Apparently, it did hurt. It hurt enough to make him snap at you when you decided to approach him the night before about it. Abby was tucked into bed in her room for the night, so you decided it would be a good opportunity to talk to him just as he was about to leave. How stupid you were. How naive. You didn't know what he was going to say, but you had no idea he was going to get so angry. So angry, in fact, that it ended up waking Abby up.
You felt your stomach churn at the memory of his voice getting louder, your name getting harsher, the tone of his words getting angrier.
"I said I can take care of myself, just like I've always done." He was livid, his face red with anger. He was trying to keep his cool, but it seemed that it was just too much for him. "Why do you have to get involved? Just butt out, alright?"
"I just want to help, Mike. You shouldn't have to pay for everything on your own. I just want to be there for you, like you are for me," you said, reaching out for his hands, but he pulled away from you.
"I don't need you to take care of me. I can handle this on my own. I've been doing this on my own for a long time," he told you, crossing his arms over his chest. He didn't want to be touched, you could tell.
"You're right," you admitted. "You're an adult; you've been taking care of yourself for a long time, and I shouldn't try to change that. But I'm here, okay? I'm here for you and for Abby. And I'm not trying to take care of you; I'm just trying to help you. Just let me help you."
"What the hell do you think this is?!" Mike practically screamed at you. "You think this is easy?! You think I don't want to get out of debt, huh? Do you think I like being in debt? I don't! But it's my fault, and it's my job to take care of it!"
"Mike, calm down! Abby is sleeping in the next—" You tried to reason with him, but he didn't want to hear any of it. He was too mad. He was too angry. He turned and grabbed his car keys, turning back to look at you, the hurt and anger evident in his eyes.
"Abby isn't your concern; she's my responsibility. She's my sister, not yours. You're just—" Mike stopped himself, not wanting to say the next thing that came to his head. But you were right there, in front of him, looking up at him with eyes full of hurt. You were so close, so close he could see the tears glistening in your eyes.
“I'm just… what, Mike?" You asked him, your voice hitching. The tears that you had been holding back began to fall. You were at a breaking point; you didn't know how to feel anymore. You didn't know what you were feeling. All you knew was that your boyfriend just screamed at you and hurt you with his words.
You felt a hand on your shoulder and looked over your shoulder to see Abby standing there. She looked up at her brother with wide eyes and a confused expression. She looked from Mike to you, then to her hand that was on your shoulder. You felt numb. You couldn't believe what was happening.
"Abby…" Mike took a deep breath. "Abby, go back to bed, okay? I'll be back soon." He gave her a soft smile. The one he always gave you when you needed it. She looked up at him, giving him the same sad look she was giving you. She rubbed her eyes and walked back into her room, closing the door behind her. Mike turned his attention back to you, but he didn't say anything. He looked like he had more to say, but the words just didn't come out.
And that was the last time you saw him.
You spent the next couple of hours curled up on the floor, crying until you couldn't cry anymore. You tried to sleep in the own comfort of your bed, but every time you closed your eyes, you would see his face. His angry face. The face he made at you the last time you spoke. The face he made when he screamed at you. You hated it. You hated everything about it.
It was around six in the morning when you decided to finally leave your room. It was cold outside, but you didn't care. You needed some fresh air. You needed to get out of there for a little bit. You needed to get away from the suffocating apartment, the suffocating situation. You needed to get away from everything that reminded you of Mike. You walked down the hall to the patio, and you were almost to it when you heard the faint knock on the door.
You stood at the entrance to the living room, listening to the faint knocks. It was the first time in hours that you heard a sound other than your own voice. Your eyes were glued to the door, your hands in fists as you listened. And listened. And listened. It felt like an eternity before you finally decided to get the courage to walk up and answer it, reaching for the knob and pulling it open.
There, standing on the other side of the door, was your boyfriend. Michael was standing there, staring back at you. His face wasn't angry. He wasn't mad anymore. He didn't look sad either. He didn't look like anything at all. He looked blank, empty. Like he didn't have any emotions, his eyes were void of the emotions that you loved so much.
He wore his security vest, the little medallion dangling in front of his chest. He had his name tag attached to it, and you realized he came straight from work. He had bags under his eyes, and his hair was a mess, sticking out at the side. His posture was slouched, his shoulders hanging low. He looked exhausted. But he was there, and he was standing right in front of you like he was the one who had been waiting for so long. Like he was the one who was worried.
"Hi," he spoke quietly. He almost whispered. It was soft, and it was quiet. His voice was scratchy and dry. He was trying to smile, but he was trying so hard to force one that it hurt you to see it. You felt a sharp pain in your chest at the sight of him. "Can we… Can we talk?"
"What are you doing here, Michael? You need to be home for Abby." You felt the lump in your throat rise up as you spoke. You could feel the tears coming back to your eyes, and you knew he saw them. He was always good at seeing through you.
"I couldn't go home knowing we're not okay." He looked at you with the saddest look you had ever seen. The look made you want to cry again. You didn't want to cry anymore.
"I… I can't right now," you said, moving to close the door in front of you. "I need some time to think." You started to shut the door, but his hand was quick to stop you from closing it. He put his foot in between the door and the frame and held the door open.
"Please," he begged, practically whining. He was so desperate. You knew he was desperate. You could see it in his eyes, the way his eyebrows were furrowed, and how he was clenching his jaw. "I know I shouldn't have said what I did last night. I was just… I was just angry. I didn't mean what I said, and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, and I don't want to lose you because of my shit."
"Mike…" you started, but he cut you off.
"I'm just not used to having someone around all the time… Having someone help me. I know I get angry easily; Fuck, I know I'm stubborn. I know that I get mad at myself a lot because I'm not perfect, but I'm trying. I really am. For the longest time, it's just been Abby and I and no one else. I never really had someone who was willing to take care of me… and I've always been fine. I'm fine." Mike shook his head. "But I don't want to be just fine anymore. I want to be happy, and I want to be happy with you."
You felt a fresh set of tears fall from your eyes. You couldn't help it. The words were too much for you to handle. The sincerity in his voice, the way he was looking at you with his big hazel eyes, and how his voice cracked as he spoke. He looked like he had more to say, but he didn't. He just looked at you. He looked like he was searching for something. And you realized it was your forgiveness. He was waiting for your forgiveness. He was waiting for you to give him another chance.
You thought about all the times he opened up to you. All the times he let you in, and you helped him out when he needed it. You thought about how he was there when you needed him to be. You thought about how he would smile at you when you needed him to, how he would make you smile even on your worst days.
"I think you owe a dollar for the swear jar, maybe more," you spoke softly, looking up at him with your red, puffy eyes. He gave you a confused look, but he soon realized what you were talking about. He chuckled as he wiped the tears from your eyes.
"Yeah, I guess I do. Sorry, Abby," he apologized, acting like he was talking to his little sister. She wasn't here right now, but you knew he still felt like he needed to apologize to her for his actions, too. He always felt the need to apologize. He felt the need to try and be a better brother. To try and be a better son. He looked at you with those big eyes of his. The same eyes you fell in love with.
"Hug?" you asked, a small smile gracing your face. You didn't know why you asked, but you did. You felt the lump in your throat slowly ease up, and you finally felt the air in your lungs start to flow. He smiled back at you, opening his arms, and you stepped into them, burying your face in his shoulder.
He pulled away and kissed your forehead, resting his on top of yours. He rubbed your back as you wrapped your arms around him. He felt safe and warm. He felt like everything that was missing.
"I still don't want you covering the debt," he told you. "But… I'll take the help. I can take the help. I'll take it as long as it's you." You could hear him smiling, and you squeezed him tighter.
"Of course. Of course."
Everything was falling back into place. It wasn't perfect. It wasn't fixed. There was still so much to work out, but it was starting to feel a little better. You felt a little better. You felt a little more whole again. The ache in your heart wasn't so bad. It was bearable, and you could finally breathe again.
"You can let go of me now." Mike's voice was muffled against the top of your head, and you realized you were squeezing him too tight.
Still, you didn't let go. "No, you're warm," you said, smiling into his chest.
He let out a small sigh, shaking his head. "Is this my punishment? Is this what I have to look forward to for the rest of my life?"
"It could be worse. I could still be mad at you," you replied, kissing the side of his neck.
"Well, in that case," he suddenly grabbed you by your waist and hoisted you up over his shoulder. He laughed as you yelped out in surprise, flailing your limbs. You felt the world turn upside down, and you screamed as he turned and walked back inside, closing the door behind him. "Let me show you how sorry I am."
He might've ended up causing Abby to be late to school that morning, but it was okay. It was okay because you were laughing. You were smiling, and most of all, you were happy.
You were happy because even though it wasn't perfect, he was trying. He was trying to make things better for himself and for you. And for the first time in a long time, it felt like you were finally home.
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reysorigins · 27 days
Note
Oh to have a long slow sloppy tonguing makeout session with eddie *sighs*
eddie munson x reader (fem) ⟡ 18+ mdni !!
dirty makeout, frottage, premature ejaculation in boxers, implied f. oral ;
Humping Eddie on his uncle’s couch, your arms curled around his neck as he suckles your tongue, groping your breast in his ringed hand. You press your faces deeper together, all clicking teeth and gnashing lips while his hand slithers down to cup your sex. It’s dirty, it’s needy, everything about him driving you wild. Your hands gather fistfuls of his frizzled curls, making him moan in your mouth, his stubble tickling your sticky lips. All the while, his cock grows bigger and bigger under your pulsing crotch, straining hard in his dirty jeans.
“Take it off,” he purrs, lifting your blouse. “Take it all off.”
You happily oblige, stripping yourself naked until your pretty pussy lips soak his denim, and bite his lip with increasing need. “Your turn,” you hear yourself say, eyes fully darkened with lust, tearing the clothes apart from his skin until there’s nothing left but those checkered boxers.
“Gonna cum, angel,” Eddie strains against his teeth, lapping his pierced tongue in your hungry mouth to claim you as his. You rock harder and faster onto his cock, rubbing the wet fabric over the tip of his dick, and watch him clutch your shoulder for purchase. He throbs freely into his boxers, painting the insides with his cum, and continues to fuck the sticky fabric onto your cunt.
He breathes hard, kissing you one last time before sinking down on his knees. “Your turn.”
So, yeah… Eddie cums from making out :) :)
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hi love!!!! your work is so amazing i love how you write
i was wondering if you could do a corionlanus x fem reader where she’s his tribute and is about to be killed in the game but it’s kind of like that scene in you where she says “no don’t kill me im pregnant” and it’s his reaction and everyone watching trying to get them to end the games? i’d love to see what you could do w that feel free to change anything u want!
Songbird's Plan | Coriolanus Snow
Pairing: Coriolanus Snow x fem!tribute!reader
Summary: The presence of a song bird can change everything for one who appreciates them or "if it weren't for the baby" TBOSAS edition.
Warning/s: a bit of angst, Coriolanus Snow being in love, nickname (songbird), mentions of death, mentions of pregnancy, short fic, possible grammar and spelling mistakes
Author's note: It's finally here. Hope you enjoy.
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The moment Coriolanus Snow met you he knew that he would do everything in his power to protect you from harm no matter what.
Of course he knew that that was going to be a difficult challenge because you were his tribute.
You were supposed to be in the games, you were supposed to literally fight for your life. There was always the chance that you would die, but Coriolanus didn't allow himself to think too long of this outcome. He knew that it would simply drive him to compete and utter madness.
So once the rebels bombed the arena, once he was out of the hospital and once he made sure that his tribute was okay, he sneaked into the arena the night before the games.
He spend more than half of the night searching for the places for his little songbird to hide. He did everything he could, he truly did, and he truly did though that he would be prepared for everything.
Yet as he found himself leaning towards the screen in front of him that displayed the scene of you being attacked by Coral he felt himself automatically freeze. He felt helpless.
He felt like he let you down and that ate him inside out.
Coriolanus felt like his heart was going to simply burst out of his chest as he watched, his throat tightening.
He watched Coral getting closer to you. He felt useless.
But there was something that both of you underestimated. There was a certain connection between you two. Both Coriolanus and you were smart, willing to do anything to survive.
Once Coriolanus remembered that, he forced himself to move. He could probably wipe out Coral with those badly made drones, but he needed some distraction because if Coral sees them, it's over. He could hit you.
"Please, don't!" Your voice broke out of the screen, Coriolanus felt himself flinch at the desperation behind it.
He watched your helpless form glazing away from Coral like you were on thin ice.
Coriolanus felt like he would scream put as Coral raised her weapon against you. But that's when you yelled out something that made his heart completely stop.
"No!" Your forceful voice shouted. "Don't kill me, I'm pregnant!"
Coral stopped for a moment. Coriolanus stopped for a moment. In fact, it seemed like the entire world stopped for a moment.
Coriolanus couldn't move, his mouth slightly agape as he watched you breathe heavily as you waited for Coral to move.
"Stop the games!" Tigris shouted in despair.
Coriolanus felt himself turn around quickly as he watched the mob of students standing up, waving his hands in air as they shouted to stop the games.
Coriolanus quickly turned to the screen and watched Coral still trying to gain her composure. He moved quickly, his body quicker than his mind.
If he doesn't do anything now, it would be over for you.
So as he send at least ten drones into the arena, successfully killing Coral, and as he watched your face twist in relief, and as he heard the cheers behind him he realized that maybe the hope wasn't lost after all.
His little songbird was truly a genius.
->
->
->
TAGLIST:
@hellonheels-x @especiallythewomenandthechildren @prettyinsatiable @caroline-books @runningfrom2am @10ava01 @thecrowdedstreetin1944
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spaceshipellie · 7 months
Note
Can you make gamer!ellie x fem!reader where Ellie is letting you take over her game with mic on while her strap is deep inside reader ;)
gamer!ellie x fem!reader
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sweet jesus anon 🥵 can everyone tell i like writing gamer!ellie…
warnings: 18+ MDNI, strap use (r receiving), sort of exhibition kink?
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it started out as a joke. a fantasy you rolled around in bed giggling about. it would be crazy for ellie to actually be deep inside her girl whilst her gamer mic was still on, right? well.
“fuck,” you groaned, feeling the strap stretch you.
“what happened?” one of ellie’s friends asked over the mic.
“nothing,” you giggled and felt ellie smile against the back of your neck as she left a kiss there.
you were completely naked in her lap and she couldn’t keep her hands off of you. they went from holding your waist to tickling down your thighs to running up your body and squeezing your tits. it was becoming impossible to fight off the moans that so desperately wanted to escape your pouty lips.
“something the matter, baby?” ellie continued leaving small kisses along your shoulder and behind your ear, careful not to be heard over the mic.
“you’re infuriating,” you lightly elbowed her ribs, a small smirk forming on your face as you tried to keep focus on playing the game.
an abundance of chatter sounded from ellie’s friends who you were playing with, luckily drowning out the teasing going on on your end.
“y/n? you there?”
“yeah, yep i’m here,” you scrambled with the controller to run your character to where the others were.
“wait, where are y–oh!”
you yelped and tried to hide it in a laugh as ellie bounced her hips up. the strap jolted inside you and your tits bounced with the impact.
“you okay?” someone asked, “i can see you now.”
you knew they were talking about your character on the screen but your cheeks heated at the idea of them seeing you, literally. seeing the way your girlfriend filled you up so nicely and the way she leant back in the chair, admiring the curve of your ass in her lap. she had even started tracing shapes and writing things on your back, knowing it would send shivers down your spine.
“yeah, i’m good. where do we need to go?”
ellie squeezed your hips.
“down here.”
she pushed them forward trying to move you.
“okay, i’ll follow you.”
you gave in to her and rocked your hips back and forth.
a low “fuck” sounded from behind you as she watched the way her strap kept slowly disappearing inside you, her hands still holding your hips. you nonchalantly continued playing the game, occasionally biting the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from moaning. ellie was going insane and could feel herself getting wetter by the second at how filthy you were being, and on a call with her friends no doubt. her filthy little slut.
whilst she was enjoying watching and listening to your sweet voice talking to them as if you weren’t fucking yourself on her right now, she also couldn’t wait until you were done so she could have her way with you. her lack of patience was getting the better of her when she decided to push you even further and slide her hand to your inner thigh. you shifted at the feeling of her fingertips against the sensitive skin and you weren’t sure how much more of this you could take.
“guys i found something, over here,” someone called.
you started to follow everyone, trying to ignore ellie’s wandering hands. but then you felt her fingertip press against your clit.
“okaaay, guys,” you jumped, nearly dropping the controller, “i’m gonna have to love you and leave you. sorry, bye, bye,” you rambled out and left the game, turning the mic off.
you leant back, pressing your back against her chest whilst ellie had a shit-eating grin on her face. she dragged a hand up your body to cup your boob and worked her other over your clit. you smiled as your head fell back and rested on her shoulder.
“ugh now fuck me properly, please?”
1K notes · View notes
tayyytayyy12 · 1 month
Text
𝗦𝘄𝗲𝗲𝘁 𝗡𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 | 𝗟𝗦𝟮 𝘅 𝗦𝗶𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗿!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿
𝗦𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 - 𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝗶𝘀 𝗟𝗼𝗴𝗮𝗻’𝘀 𝗯𝗶𝗴𝗴𝗲𝘀𝘁 𝘀𝘂𝗽𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗟𝗼𝗴𝗮𝗻’𝘀 𝗵𝗲𝗿𝘀.
𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 - 𝗦𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝗼𝗻𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗲 𝗵𝗮𝘁𝗲.
𝗙𝗰 - 𝗩𝗮𝗿𝗶𝗼𝘂𝘀 𝗣𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘁 𝗴𝗶𝗿𝗹𝘀.
𝗥𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗱? - 𝗬𝗲𝘀
𝗟𝗼𝗴𝗮𝗻𝗦𝗮𝗿𝗴𝗲𝗮𝗻𝘁
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𝗟𝗼𝗴𝗮𝗻𝗦𝗮𝗿𝗴𝗲𝗮𝗻𝘁 - Y/n’s new song is out today, it’s called ‘Say yes to heaven’ and it’s cute, and it’s about me, and I love her, so stream it please 🙂
𝗜𝘁𝘀.𝗬/𝗻 - AWWW
𝗜𝘁𝘀.𝗬/𝗻 - I love you so much 🤧🤧
𝗟𝗼𝗴𝗮𝗻𝗦𝗮𝗿𝗴𝗲𝗮𝗻𝘁 - I love you more
𝗨𝘀𝗲𝗿𝟭 - They’re actually so adorable
𝗨𝘀𝗲𝗿𝟮 - “it’s cute, it’s about me, and I love her” stop and I can’t even get a man to remember my name
𝗨𝘀𝗲𝗿𝟯 - Love that she’s happy but in my opinion she could so soo much better 😭
𝗨𝘀𝗲𝗿𝟰 - Like how?
𝗨𝘀𝗲𝗿𝟱 - I get what they mean, like you have Y/n, who’s won seven Grammys and she’s only 22, and Logan, who’s scored one point in F1 throughout a whole season
𝗨𝘀𝗲𝗿𝟲 - Fame doesn’t matter if she was dating a normal person you all wouldn’t have anything to say, leave them alone.
𝗔𝗹𝗲𝘅_𝗮𝗹𝗯𝗼𝗻 - I take credit for this relationship, so you’re welcome.
𝗟𝗶𝗹𝘆𝗺𝗵𝗲 - I’m sorry but who knew that Y/n had a crush on Logan?
𝗔𝗹𝗲𝘅_𝗮𝗹𝗯𝗼𝗻 - Who knew Logan has a crush on Y/n?
𝗟𝗼𝗴𝗮𝗻𝗦𝗮𝗿𝗴𝗲𝗮𝗻𝘁 - Lily made us meet and talk.
𝗜𝘁𝘀.𝗬/𝗻 - Credit defo goes to Lily, sorry Alex
𝗟𝗶𝗹𝘆𝗺𝗵𝗲 - HA.
𝗜𝘁𝘀.𝗬/𝗻
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𝗜𝘁𝘀.𝗬/𝗻 - Having a golden retriever boyfriend is the biggest flex I have.
𝗟𝗼𝗴𝗮𝗻𝗦𝗮𝗿𝗴𝗲𝗮𝗻𝘁 - Having a pretty talented girlfriend is mine
𝗜𝘁𝘀.𝗬/𝗻 - Brb blushing
𝗨𝘀𝗲𝗿𝟳 - I swear all she does is use Logan for fame smh
𝗨𝘀𝗲𝗿𝟴 - Exactly like I’d never heard a Y/n song until she started dating Logan.
𝗨𝘀𝗲𝗿𝟵 - Istg they’re happy can’t anyone just let them live
𝗨𝘀𝗲𝗿𝟭𝟬 - I need to know who took those cute photos of them 😭
𝗟𝗶𝗹𝘆𝗺𝗵𝗲 - ‘Twas I
𝗨𝘀𝗲𝗿𝟭𝟭 - I want a man to hug me in the rain..?
𝗨𝘀𝗲𝗿𝟭𝟮 - We all do
𝗨𝘀𝗲𝗿𝟭𝟯 - Say yes to heaven describes their relationship perfectly omg
𝗨𝘀𝗲𝗿𝟭𝟰 - I’m calling it rn, this is a PR relationship
𝗜𝘁𝘀.𝗬/𝗻
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𝗜𝘁𝘀.𝗬/𝗻 - New song out tonight, she’s called ‘Sweet Nothing’, it’s about Logan and I, I hope this clears some things up, I hope you like it.
(Our relationship is very real, no PR stunts, stop assuming)
𝗨𝘀𝗲𝗿𝟭𝟱 - She really called out all the haters in that last part 😭
𝗨𝘀𝗲𝗿𝟭𝟲 - I feel bad that all they’re trying to do is support each other but no one can leave their relationship alone.
𝗨𝘀𝗲𝗿𝟭𝟳 - The pictures stop 😭
𝗨𝘀𝗲𝗿𝟭𝟴 - If Y/n has one supporter it’s Logan, if she has 100 supporters he’s one if them, if she had none Logan’s dead.
𝗨𝘀𝗲𝗿𝟭𝟵 - That actually describes the way they are about each other perfectly 😭
𝗨𝘀𝗲𝗿𝟮𝟬 - In the third pic if you see the way they look at each other, no one can tell me that their relationships fake.
𝗦𝗮𝗯𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗖𝗮𝗿𝗽𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗿 - I love you but if this is another love song please stop making me feel majorly single
𝗜𝘁𝘀.𝗬/𝗻 - Sorry Sab, I’ll start writing more lonely songs for you 🙂
𝗟𝗼𝗴𝗮𝗻𝗦𝗮𝗿𝗴𝗲𝗮𝗻𝘁 - The songs amazing sweetheart, I love you so much.
𝗜𝘁𝘀.𝗬/𝗻 - I love you more
𝗟𝗼𝗴𝗮𝗻𝗦𝗮𝗿𝗴𝗲𝗮𝗻𝘁 - Impossible.
𝗨𝘀𝗲𝗿𝟮𝟭 - Feeling lonely rn.
Twitter
𝗨𝘀𝗲𝗿𝟮𝟮 - OKAY THIS SONG IS SO FUCKING CUTE 😭
𝗨𝘀𝗲𝗿𝟮𝟯 - “And the voices that implore, I should be doing more, to you I can admit that I’m just go soft for all of this” it’s so vulnerable 😭
𝗨𝘀𝗲𝗿𝟮𝟰 - She’s in love in love
𝗨𝘀𝗲𝗿𝟮𝟱 “Outside they’re push and shovin’, you’re in the kitchen humming all that you ever wanted form me was sweet nothing” If I never get Logan and Y/n type love, I don’t want any love.
𝗨𝘀𝗲𝗿𝟮𝟲 - I hope those haters finally like go away, and just let them live
𝗨𝘀𝗲𝗿𝟮𝟳 - This song is now everything to me.
𝗜𝘁𝘀.𝗬/𝗻
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𝗜𝘁𝘀.𝗬/𝗻 - All that you ever wanted from me was sweet nothing
𝗟𝗼𝗴𝗮𝗻𝗦𝗮𝗿𝗴𝗲𝗮𝗻𝘁 - I’m so so proud of you.
𝗨𝘀𝗲𝗿𝟮𝟴 - They really are each others biggest supporters 😭
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harrysbabycherry · 1 month
Note
would love to read a blurb where harry was seen in public for the first time at his appearance yesterday after it was announced he became a dad (in the pictures yesterday i just see harry as a dad omg) 🫶🏼
I got this like a week ago, so sorry it’s late but she’s here and it’s cute! I hope this is what you meant! It’s very very cute so you’ll probably like it anyway! I don’t think I’ve written dadrry for you all yet so enjoy ☺️ thank you for the request!!!
wc: 1.7k
warnings: none! dadrry! me doing anything i can not to have to give this baby a name! (the pic has nothing to do with the plot of it, i just think it’s fcking funny) enjoy!!!
three months
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It was Harry’s first time out of the house in months and not exactly his choice either.
Three months had passed since he went out anywhere. Three months since the second love of his life came to join him. And he hadn’t left the house since they arrived back from the hospital.
Well, technically he did. He went to the studio, he went to meetings, only ones that were mandatory of course, and that was pretty much it. If it wasn’t something he had to do, he stayed home. There was nothing else he felt the need to leave for because everything he needed was in one place. That’s the argument he tried to use with (Y/N) but she wasn’t having it and sent him on his way.
Apparently, he needed social interaction outside of the house with people who could actually talk and (Y/N) had surprised him with tickets to a football match. He hadn’t been in a while and it was something he enjoyed but he would still rather stay home.
He was least prepared for the cameras in his face, watching his every move. Everyone seemed to be smiling, overjoyed that he decided to show his face in public after he’d been cooped up in the house. But he just tried to act like he was seconds from sprinting out of the stadium and to his car.
The match had just started and he was still saying his hellos to everyone that he passed as he made his way to his seat. He’d met up with a few of his mates and sat down beside them. He tried to focus on their lives and how they had been since he last saw them, but as soon as they asked how he was, he was pulling his phone out and showing anyone who would pay attention his new baby that now absolutely flooded his camera roll.
When the conversation died down in favor of watching the match directly in front of him, he decided to check on (Y/N).
Harry: How’s it going?
(Y/N): Good. Watch the game.
He couldn’t help smiling. She really wanted him out of the house. Even (Y/N) had a day off. He insisted on it. He sent her to a spa with one of her best friends just to give her some time away and he got to spend all day with the baby and it was just a dream. No matter the crying and the fussing, he loved every second of being a dad, and if he played his cards right, (Y/N) would give him another baby. Because one wouldn’t be enough. Two wouldn’t either but he doesn’t want to push his luck with her.
He sat in his seat, not feeling bothered to converse much with those around him. They were all old time friends and all easy to talk to but he couldn’t think about anything other than what (Y/N) might be up to.
Harry: How’s baby?
He has to ask. He doesn’t want to miss a second and now that (Y/N) has sent him out, he feels like he won’t be there for something important.
(Y/N): Sleeping.
Harry: How’s mummy?
She doesn’t answer for a long moment and he knows he should be paying attention to the field because he’s certain the camera is panning to him every free second of the match and he doesn’t want to look uninterested at all. But he just can’t wait for it to be over.
(Y/N): Stop staring at your phone and watch the game.
He replies seconds later.
Harry: How do you know I’m looking at my phone?
(Y/N): I’m watching you, idiot. Put it away.
Harry: So you get to watch the game from home then? Is that how it is?
(Y/N): Stop whining and stop texting me.
He sighed and put his phone away just like she asked. He tried to get into the game now because if that will satisfy her, he’ll do it. And then maybe he won’t have to leave the house for another three months.
It’s just that he doesn’t want to miss anything. Even if the baby is just sleeping or taking a bottle, he doesn’t want to be anywhere that’s not right next to (Y/N), even if it’s the most boring task in the world.
He tried to chat with those around him to keep his spirits up. Not that he was sad but he just wanted to be at home.
By the time the second half came around, he’d not checked his phone once. So, maybe he did get a little distracted by the game. There were a few close calls that had him up out of his seat but that was the most he did.
Harry: Everything good?
He chuckled to himself when the text bubble popped up, telling him that she was writing something back. He knew he was testing her by sending another message but he hadn’t been out of arm’s reach in so long, he didn’t know how to act without her beside him.
(Y/N): Yes.
Harry: Can I come home now?
The game was coming to a close and he knew he should stay until the end, just to be polite, but he couldn’t sit still knowing that he was here and they were so far away.
(Y/N): You’ve been gone for like two seconds.
Harry: Miss you so much :(
(Y/N): Fine.
Harry wanted to keep it quiet so he just whispered to one of his mates that (Y/N) needed him home for something and that it wasn’t anything serious, she just needed him to do something. Which was a lie but she’s not here to tell anyone it’s not, so he goes with it and makes sure to let everyone know what a wonderful, eventful time he had. And then he was gone, happy to have beat the crowds and the traffic.
As soon as he turned the lock, he was hurrying off to find (Y/N). She was in the kitchen with a spoonful of yogurt to her mouth, almost looking disappointed.
“What’s the point of sending you out if you’re just going to beg to come back home?”
“Told you it was a mistake,” His arms wrapped around her from behind before he kissed her cheek and rested his chin on her shoulder. “I don’t want to be anywhere but here. Okay?”
She sighed, tilting her head to rest against his. “Fine.”
“Now, where’s my boy?”
(Y/N) barely finished telling him that he was upstairs before he took off, taking the steps two at a time to go check on the baby. He was probably sleeping but that was fine. All Harry wanted to do was look at him anyway.
To his surprise, he was awake, quietly stirring in his crib, and blinking up at him. A sleepy smile made its way to his mouth before he was cooing something that Harry couldn’t understand quite yet.
“Hi, sweetheart. I’m home,” Harry quickly shrugged out of his coat and set it aside so he could stand over the crib again. He held one hand down for him to latch onto, which immediately went to his mouth, but Harry didn’t care. “Nice nap?”
Of course, he didn’t get a response except for a hum against his finger that was now being drooled on. But he didn’t care. He couldn’t wait any longer to hold him in his arms, so he carefully lifted him until he was resting against his chest. And then he made his way to the comfortable rocking chair right beside the crib.
He’s fallen asleep here more times than he can count. With the baby resting on his chest and an empty bottle in his hand or alone, with his peacefully asleep in his crib, not wanting to leave his side, in case he wakes up crying again.
Harry thought he was very prepared when the baby came. He’d read books and went to each and every appointment with (Y/N). He asked countless questions to the nurses and doctors and specialists and even some hypothetical questions that had (Y/N) shaking her head at him with a smile.
But the truth is, when he rushed (Y/N) to the hospital that fucking freezing day in November, he had no idea just how unprepared he was. He was a wreck. Watching (Y/N) writhe in pain for hours did nothing to settle him. He tried to keep the mood light but he was so incredibly nervous to meet his son, he couldn’t sit still, even when (Y/N) asked him, more kindly than she should’ve, to stop pacing the room.
And when he was placed in Harry’s arms for the first time, it was love at first sight. He’d do anything for this baby. Anything. For as long as he lived and at the thought of that, he had to have his mum take the baby so he could cry into his hands in the hallway.
It was emotional to say the least. He made sure he was there for (Y/N) who was completely overwhelmed and tired but still had the energy to gawk at their new baby with him. He was perfect. A mix of the two of them done so excellently that he really couldn’t believe his eyes.
He was in shock for about three days. Even more so when they brought the little one home with the promise to take care of him forever.
He still couldn’t believe he was a dad. And sitting here now, after only being away from him for two hours, Harry feels his eyes welling all over again.
“Are you crying?”
“No.” He rushed to say.
(Y/N) is standing in the hallway, with a yogurt cup still in her hand, grinning at him.
“Okay. You never have to leave again.”
“Thank god. Come here, please.”
With his free hand, he patted his knee and he pulled her into his side, hugging her as tightly as he could.
There really was no reason for him to leave, he had everything he needed right here.
tags: @vamprry @1un4zsq @marzhshaim @sunflowersloverr @tenaciousperfectionunknown @caynonmoondreams @elidoho @peterbenjaminparke07 @daydreamingofmatilda @kissitnhekitchen @amberbambridge @danaehldy @straightontilmornin @forgetdelaney @harrysonlylover @idrawshapesonpeople07 @me-undiscovered @llina01 @80s-outsiders @littlenatilda @outofthisworl-d @butdaddyilovehim-hs @cherrys4suckers @harrystylessslut @sceleratuspoeta @hssunflowervol6 @indierockgirrl @honeyharlows @satellitelh @daphnesutton @tfharries @opheliaofficial07 @hermionelove @nathalielovesonedirection @velvetballaspark @watermelonlover @kathb59 @theofficialprongs @myloveforrreadingspost @harryshousewhore @harrysolaf @szoszi2004 @buckyssbestgirl @ellaorchard @trooooye @daylighthazzz @prettytulips @stylesfever @mayamonroem @fake-coolbeans
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5oh5 · 29 days
Note
🌿 9.first frost with joel please <3
hi hi anon, i loved this request so i'm kicking off the milestone requests with it. hope you enjoy! x
first frost
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pairing: jackson!joel miller x f!reader summary: joel comes home to find you just how he likes you. wc: 1.1k (let's pretend this was 1k words or fewer like I said it'd be) tags: angst, smut [masturbation (f), fingering (f!receiving), unprotected piv, blink and you'll miss the orgasm denial, cum eating], daddy kink (oh no it's happening), sad boy joel, use of religious imagery, one long metaphor a/n: out of my writing dry spell! can't wait to keep going on all of these requests, thank you to everyone who submitted something!! x liv's 1k fairy circle
1k request masterlist | main masterlist | read on AO3 | @5oh5-notifs for fic notifs!
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The weather is getting colder, and Joel feels strangled by it. The warm air is slipping between his fingers, the comforting breeze turning to ice across his cheeks and threading through his hair. He knows that in a few short weeks he’ll be out here, miserable, ice forming in his beard and his eyelashes, blinking back the tears that form to keep his eyes from drying in the bitter wind. Winter arrives before he’s ready every year in Jackson, the frost forming before he can prepare himself to see it.
The warmth of summer always makes something like hope return to the corners of his mind, dusting out the cobwebs and turning on the lights. In the summer it’s easier to tell himself lies, easier to believe that maybe someday she’ll forgive him. When the days are long and the sun eases low into the sky well into the evening, it’s easier to forget. In the winter, in the cold and dark, it’s easier to drown.
There is one thing he knows will be waiting for him, warm and wet and perfect despite the cold air that dries out his hands and cracks the skin over his knuckles. When he’s out on horseback, he thinks only of you and the warmth of your body that will surround him when he comes home. He’s surprised that it hasn’t gotten him killed yet, the way the memory of your moans and the softness of your skin dulls his senses and slows his reactions. He doesn’t deserve you, of that he’s sure, but fuck if he doesn’t revel in the sweet sin of it – of having something he shouldn’t. He figures he’ll answer for his crimes eventually, perhaps at the gates of Hell, murmuring something about how he always knew you were too sweet for him, too gentle, too soft amidst the fucked up apocalyptic nightmare that ravishes everything and everyone. Sorry sir, I couldn’t help it. Maybe God’ll take pity on him, and maybe he won’t. It doesn’t really matter anymore. Sometimes he forgets there was anything other than this, that there was a life before. A normal life. The only glimpses he gets of that now are when he’s buried between your thighs, when the wasteland fades to a blur and the voices go silent, replaced only by your panting breaths and soft little moans.
When he kicks off his muddy boots at the door, they’re already less muddy than usual, the earth starting to harden below them. He hears you before he sees you. He’d know the hitch in your breath anywhere, know the little whimpers that filter through the cracked door even in his sleep. Even in death, he thinks.
You hear the click of the door, listen as his boots come up the stairs. Your mind is a little hazy, teetering on the edge of oblivion. You’re just where he likes you, and you always want to be exactly what he wants. Your fingers are buried in your cunt, desire dripping around your knuckles and smeared across your thighs. You don’t quiet your breaths or fight to control them, knowing that he’ll be here in a matter of seconds to give you exactly what you want.
When he does, his voice is graveled, low and syrupy, and you’re so close already you feel you could fall apart just from the sound of it.
“What’s all this then, angel?” he coos, even though he knows the answer. He just likes to hear you say it. It softens him, a little more each time. “You haven’t come yet, have you?”
Like the thaw of spring your voice melts the freeze that permeates his bones, the one that’s settled, deep and destructive, since the day he lost everything. When he leaves again, leaves the warmth of this house and of your body he knows the frost will return, the ache will spread low in his chest until he finds his way back into you. “No, daddy. Waiting for you.” Innocent, sweet, everything that shouldn’t be. Everything he’s fucked up too many times to deserve.
“Good girl.” Good girl, good girl. Maybe the only good thing left in the world.
Within seconds his fingers replace yours, his flannel still stretched across his shoulders and biceps straining at the worn fabric as he rocks his palm into your clit and his fingers hammer relentlessly into your g-spot, but you’re falling apart before he can even find a rhythm. You’re begging him, tears running down your cheeks, and he thinks of the spring’s rain and the fall’s frost, of all the exquisite wonders that still remain even in this circle of damnation to which the world has found itself abandoned. “You can come, little one.”
What’s the use in depriving himself of one of those exquisite wonders? There are so few left now.
He barely gets himself out of his jeans before he’s sinking into you, the rough denim of the fabric scratching against the skin of your inner thighs, the zipper of his jeans dragging through the coarse hair of your mound. You’re writhing beneath him, cunt squeezing the life out of him, and he happily buries everything he’s ever felt as deep inside of your body as he can possibly reach.
You come again in mere moments, and he realizes he hasn’t asked how long you’d been playing with yourself before he got back. He loves the thought of you toying with that pretty pussy that belongs to him, aching and wanting and waiting. He loves being the one to do it even more. You’re chanting his name like it’s the only thing you can remember, and he hopes you’ll never forget. He stands no chance, his body finally relaxing and mind turning so crystal clear he feels for a moment like nothing bad has ever happened. When he spills himself across your belly, you moan even louder. “Daddy, please, I need it, please.”
He kisses down your jaw, tracing the thick vein in your neck with his tongue before smearing kisses down your sternum until his mouth meets his own mess. With a swipe of his tongue, he collects it, before feeding it back to you with a lick into your mouth that he thinks should embarrass him, but the groan that you feed back to him proves that it never will. He doesn’t register the sound that comes out of his own throat.
When Joel drifts off, the skin of his chest sticking to the skin of your back, he knows he’ll wake up to a glittering world of white that melts in the warmth of the morning sun. Winter doesn’t yet have its talons around Jackson, and grief hasn’t quite gotten it’s claws around Joel either.
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thank you for reading! x
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saradika · 5 months
Note
ik it’s a bit early to ask but if you have a chance, would you mind making some christmas dividers? if not it’s okay 🥹 appreciate your work sm!
hi anon, thank you so much! And not at all - it seems like a couple of you were in the holiday spirits! 🎄💕 Excited to work on these, I hope you like them 🎁
(and I got some more requests for holiday mdni/support dividers, I will have those up later this week!)
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I have a couple more cute winter dividers here! ❄️ And here are matching support/dni banners.
[Free] Masterlist Headers & Dividers!
Please consider liking or reblogging if you use 💕
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moonjxsung · 3 months
Text
Begged & Borrowed
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Copyright Ⓒ 2023 by Moonjxsung
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner. Doing so will result in a legal takedown per the Digital Millennium Copyright Act and is subject to legal action.
Pairing: Lee Minho x fem reader
W/c: 30.2k
Warnings: infidelity, drinking, smoking, use of pet names, unprotected sex, breast/nipple play, dry humping, clitoral stimulation
Synopsis: A turn of events causes you and your longtime best friend Minho to confront your true feelings for each other- except you’re already getting married to somebody else.
[this work was based off a request from “🌷” anon - thank you for requesting!]
18+. Mdni!
For as long as Minho has remembered, he’s been in a constant state of grieving. But no one’s passed, nor is there any reason to believe something should happen. Nonetheless, the feeling remains, a cruel reminder of the phenomenon when it hits him suddenly, eating away at his thoughts and boring into his flesh.
Like a seed planted deep in his body, one that suddenly sprouted, and won’t stop growing, and growing. And in his mind, this grieving takes its form in viridian hues of ivy, thin stringy stems that wrap around his bones and constrict him to a life lived within the cage of his own body. Rubbery leaves of green with venules that mirror his own veins and seem to mock him as they replace what’s left of him. And Minho can do nothing except coexist with this heavy sense of grieving, let the ivy strangle him in its unsuspecting embrace and rob him of his last breaths. He’s still in there, trapped somewhere, breathing in labored breaths and stiff at the limbs. But he can’t breathe, and he fears one day this grieving is going to kill him.
*
Minho exhales deeply, balancing a small cardboard box which houses a white cylindrical cake in his hands, his eyes darting nervously over the crowd inside. There seem to be 20, maybe 30 people, already acquainted with the space, chatting amongst themselves with glasses of champagne in hand. He’s tried your cell phone twice, to no avail- of course he knows you’re probably making your rounds, chatting with guests and double checking the hors d’oeuvres are to your liking. But he tries one more time just in case, bringing the phone up to his ear and letting it ring once, twice, three times- voicemail.
There’s no way around this but to go inside and socialize for the next hour, Minho’s personal idea of hell on earth. He grips the box a little firmer with one hand, using the other to slip his cell phone back into his pocket and make sure he can access it easily, just in case he needs to look busy. And with one more deep sigh, he begins the journey inside, mentally preparing to pretend as though he cares about any of this.
The venue interior is spacious, and admittedly a breathtaking view at this proximity, much to Minho’s stubborn dismay. Round white tables line the wooden floors, wrapped in velvety cream tablecloths and glowing in the dim lightning of tea candles. Similar cream-colored lanterns line the ceilings in neat rows, parallel to the strings of bohemian bulb lights that serve more as decoration than to actually brighten the place. And by the marble wall fountain at the back of the open space, there’s you, all dressed up and chatting enthusiastically with a group of women. Minho pauses for a moment, not yet proceeding, as he takes in the sight of your elegant appearance. Your figure is hugged delicately by a slim-fitting dress, a pair of strappy heels complementing the loose curls and simple makeup you sport. And he sighs again, feeling as though this is all going to be in vain the second he approaches you.
Yet he doesn’t even have to- you spot him from across the room first, whispering something in another woman’s ear before making your way toward him, an enchanted smile on your face and such purpose in your step as you near him. Minho’s heart quickens in his chest the way it always does when he’s around you, though his demeanor seems to relax fully once you’re in front of him, your arms extending for a hug as he shoots you a saccharine smile and pulls you into his embrace.
“You made it!” You exclaim enthusiastically, your arms wrapping around the broad shoulders he flaunts under his white collared button-up. He smells familiar, a comforting mix between fabric softener and his musky cologne, and it brings you right back to your days spent alongside him in college, catching late-night movies together and hitting up all your favorite fast food joints.
“I wouldn’t have missed it for anything,” Minho replies sweetly. He chuckles a little as he speaks, lost in the striking glow of your eyes at this proximity, your long eyelashes fluttering as you smile in response and nod.
“Thank god you’re here,” you voice, glancing around the room inconspicuously. “I think Jung’s friends have had one too many shots. And I asked for pink flowers on the centerpieces- do these look pink to you?”
You gesture to the bouquets of very magenta floral arrangements, shaking your head as Minho laughs in response.
“Hey, remember this is just to celebrate everything being finalized. You can get nit-picky when the wedding rolls around- for now, let’s just enjoy the magenta flowers.”
You smile up at him, always endeared at the way Minho finds the good in everything. He has a special way of taking your fears or reservations and making them seem so insignificant in contrast to the world around you. And he’s been that way for as long as you can remember, quick to fix things and stay by your side through the hardships whenever they crept up on you.
Like the time your car got impounded and he walked nearly two hours with you to get it back because neither of you could afford a taxi. Or the time your holiday office party was all but sleep-inducing, and he didn’t hesitate to drop what he was doing to take you out for burgers, instead.
And of course, being by your side throughout this very burdening wedding process. Minho’s the first person who got the news of the engagement when it happened, nearly shattering the dish he washed during a session of old cartoon reruns and fast food while you were out at dinner with Jung. And it was the last thing he’d expected, too, remembering how the week prior was spent lending a kindly ear to you as you ranted about Jung’s stubbornness and his poor temperament.
“Married?” He’d spoken into the phone, like the proposition of getting an engagement ring implied literally anything else.
And when you saw him again an entire week later, the marquis diamond hugged by delicate prongs and a sterling silver band around your fourth finger confirmed the words, as if your excitement over the phone hadn’t done so already. At first Minho was angry, declining invitations to hang out and forcing himself to stay asleep so as not to feel the sheer pain and regret that came with the news. What does she even see in him? He’d asked himself a dozen times a minute, mapping out the factors you complained about to him and weighing them against the likelihood that you’d actually follow through with this wedding.
He’s messy. He doesn’t like spending money on fancy dinners, so sometimes we’ll only do sides. My parents think he’s a little arrogant and when he’s with his friends, it’s like I don’t exist.
All signs point to negative. There’s no way you’d actually follow through with marrying Jung- at least not if it’s up to you. Maybe you had stars in your eyes, couldn’t say no to the sparkly ring and had thought back to the first date when he first got down on one knee. That has to be why you said yes.
The prospect of marrying him contractually is a headache when Minho thinks about it- and that’s not even inclusive of the idea that comes with spending the rest of your life cooped up in a house with him, with children and in-laws. It would mean years of him talking back to you, undermining you and rubbing his superiority complex in your face. Minho isn’t sure he could stick around for a lifetime of that.
At least he wasn’t sure before- and now, with just two months out till the wedding, Minho is panicking. It feels like some race against time to knock an ounce of sense into you, but the stars in your eyes are still there when he catches you glancing at your ring, or moved by Jung’s actions that scream the bare minimum.
“Did you see the champagne glasses? They’re iridescent! Jung got them just for tonight.”
Maybe that’s what you see in him. His noble trait of picking iridescent champagne glasses over clear ones.
“Cool,” Minho responds, giving you a small nod.
“What’s in the box?” You ask, gesturing to the small white box in Minho’s hands still.
“Oh, just a little something,” Minho replies a little softly, watching as you slowly lift the thin cardboard lid and peer inside. And the smile that grows on your face makes everything worth it again.
“From our favorite bakery? Minho! That place is so expensive, you shouldn’t have!”
“It’s a special evening,” Minho replies with a smile, watching as you admire the intricate icing display for a moment. White fondant ribbons and candy pearls line the frosted surface which enreathes decadent layers of chocolate- all your favorites. As Minho begins to close the box, he’s rudely interrupted by a finger prodding itself into the dessert, swiping across the frosting and moving the carefully placed cake toppers into complete disarray.
“Is this chocolate?” A voice asks from behind Minho, coming forward to sprawl an arm over your shoulders and lick the frosting off his finger. “Damn, that’s good!”
And Minho can practically feel every ounce of hope in his body dissipate as he watches you giggle enthusiastically.
“Hi, Jung,” Minho says flatly, observing your destroyed cake briefly before shutting the box again.
“What’s up, man? Thanks for the cake. Hey, wedding’s in two months- I hope you have your tux ready!”
Minho responds with a thin-lipped smile, not saying anything as Jung laughs loud enough to fill the awkward silence amongst the three of you.
“What do you say we go cut some real cake?” Jung asks, turning to face you as his grip around your shoulders tightens.
You smile back at him, turning to Minho and cocking your head toward the table by the wall fountain.
“You wanna join? We got a variety of pastries, too. There’s those little cream puffs you like, and macarons from the French bakery.”
Minho extends his arms, passing the box of cake to you and giving you both a small bow.
“I actually just stopped by to gift you the cake. I have a work thing really early tomorrow.”
“You’re leaving?” You question, a small pout on your face as Jung scans the room around you, desperate to ditch the two of you, but also stubborn about maintaining his dominance in front of Minho.
“We’ll catch up soon,” Minho replies, trying his best to convey a smile that will make it seem like nothing’s bothersome.
“Okay, okay,” you respond, separating from Jung’s hold on you and pulling Minho in for another hug.
“Thanks for the cake, anyway. I’m still glad you stopped by.”
“Of course,” Minho says, averting his gaze from Jung. “And congrats on finally getting all the wedding plans finalized. That’s a really big deal.”
“She’ll be hitched in two months!” Jung chimes in loudly from behind you. “And then we’ll be on an island celebrating married life!”
Minho just nods at him, shooting him the same thin-lipped smile and bowing to both of you.
“Catch you later,” he says, finally pivoting to exit the way he entered. And he can still hear Jung’s obnoxious laughter from halfway across the room.
*
Fridays were always your designated days with Minho. In college, they meant movie nights and greasy takeout food. Post-graduation, they involved bars and gossiping about your entry level positions and your bosses. And after Jung came into the picture, they quickly became every other Friday, which soon turned to Sunday brunch on a monthly basis, which then transitioned to catching up over the phone or in brief passing. Jung made sure you were always busy doing something with him, his arm slung possessively around your shoulders and speaking far too loudly about your relationship for the whole world to hear.
Minho began to ditch the Friday group dates when Jung started inquiring about his own relationship status, getting drunk off one-too-many jägermeisters and slurring questions and demands about when he’d finally bring a girl to the function. And Minho never had the heart to tell you why he stopped showing- he simply conjured intricate excuses for every instance you invited him out.
I have a headache. I have an early day tomorrow. The cats are lonely these days.
Of course, perhaps Jung could see right through him into the green leaves of ivy that enwreathed his bones and swallowed him whole with this grieving. Grieving for you, grieving for himself, grieving for this life he knew was bound to come to a close the minute Jung made his move. Which Jung did, practically setting the relationship in stone so that Minho would now be subject to a lifetime of his offensive slurred speeches and unsettling presence. And although the grieving grew heavier after the engagement, it’s always been there, perhaps even longer than Jung’s even been in the picture.
“Jung said no male strippers at the bachelorette party, which is a bummer if you ask me. But we are having an open bar, so I’ll be too drunk to care about naked men anyway.”
Minho chuckles softly, bringing the straw in his iced coffee up to his lips and taking a sip from the corner of his mouth.
“But he’s having strippers at his bachelor party, isn’t he?”
You shrug casually, brushing off the question as you take a sip of your coffee, too.
“I don’t really care, either way. I mean we’ll be getting married regardless, so he can look at whoever he wants. I just need him to show up in a tux on the day of, and stand at the end of the aisle crying when I come to meet him.”
Minho doesn’t reply, a string of questions circling his mind, which he chooses not to ask in order to maintain the peaceful silence that now falls over you both. It’s one of the only days this month you two have been able to get some time alone, although it did require Minho taking off work early and you lying to Jung about your whereabouts. You find yourselves at the coffee shop you’ve been meeting at since your college days, an iced americano in Minho’s grasp and a latte in yours.
As Minho takes in his surroundings, everything feels vastly different than it used to- the distance between you two feels much greater, like there are miles separating the beverages you consume at this proximity to each other. The baristas don’t shoot you curious looks like they used to when they were certain you two were an item. And the shiny ring on your finger makes an appearance every sip you take, glistening under the beams of sun that dance through the windows and fall over your enthusiastic figure.
“What are you up to this weekend?” You ask finally, meeting his shy gaze as he taps his fingers on the wooden surface of the table.
Minho shrugs, toying with the lobe of his ear as he thinks of a random commitment to voice back to you.
“Oh, you know,” he stutters. “Moving stuff.”
And he’s completely unsure, himself, of what the words imply as they escape his lips.
“Moving stuff? To where? Where are you moving?”
“I’m not moving,” he emphasizes. “Just… moving stuff. Things. I want to rearrange some picture frames. And maybe reorganize my bookshelf.”
You sigh in response, a small smile tugging at your lips as Minho does his best to maintain the bogus narrative.
“Minho, you never leave the house anymore. Why don’t you go out with Jung or something? He’s doing a golf thing with some of-”
“No, thank you,” he interrupts quickly. “I’m not a golfer.”
And you sigh again, cocking your head at him.
“Okay, mister ‘moving stuff.’ Will you at least call me when you’re done moving your stuff and your things?”
“I’ll call you,” Minho reaffirms.
“I mean it. I’m gonna call you when I get home from the party and you better not be asleep on the couch again.”
“I promise to answer,” he echoes.
You smile at him again, and Minho mirrors the action with a small smile of his own, his skewed teeth exposing from behind his plump lips as he grins sheepishly.
“Moving stuff,” you repeat, mocking his excuse.
“Moving stuff and things,” he emphasizes, chuckling lightly across from you.
*
Bachelorette parties are supposed to be one of two things: freeing, and cathartic. Luckily for you, yours checks both boxes, the two-day retreat to a luxury hotel in the city providing ample time to relax, and the shots you down at the open bar in your venue fulfilling the cathartic part of it. Your girlfriends shower you in presents, ranging from expensive dining sets and clothes, to humorous sex toys for you and Jung to try on your honeymoon. Even the bartenders join in on your two nights of dancing, parading your event with handmade signs and getting everyone in the bar to sing to you. And for the first time since the stress-inducing year of planning has begun, you feel excited, ready for your new life as a bride alongside Jung.
Husband and wife have a nice ring to it, you think to yourself, as you kick off your shoes and lie back on the thick white duvet of the hotel bed. And though you’re still a little tipsy, you keep your promise, selecting Minho’s contact in your phone and giving him a ring. The phone rings once, twice and then three times, before you conclude he’s definitely fallen asleep on the couch again, probably while moving around his stuff and his things. But you’re proven wrong on the fourth ring, a gentle click echoing in your ears as you hear him press the phone to his ear and speak in a tired voice.
“Hello?”
“You’re asleep on the couch, aren’t you?”
“…no,” he responds, after a short pause.
“You’re so predictable,” you chuckle back at him, shaking your head as you sigh into the phone.
“How was the bachelorette party?” He inquires, sitting up on the couch he definitely wasn’t asleep on, to speak a little clearer into the receiver.
“It was amazing,” you reply with a dreamy sigh. “We did karaoke, and danced and even the bartenders were wishing me good luck. It was like something from college.”
“I’m glad,” Minho responds, nervously picking at the hem of his ratty old t-shirt.
“I’m a little drunk,” you say with a gentle laugh. “But I couldn’t help but wish you were there. The girls are great, of course, but I feel like bars were our thing.”
Minho blinks nervously a few times, pondering your words and keeping his gaze locked on the array of neatly-placed picture frames on the wall across him.
“Yeah,” he settles on replying, his breath hitching in the back of his throat.
“Do you miss me?” You query, twirling a strand of hair around your finger. And Minho can’t comprehend what’s got you acting like this, flirting with him in the phone line while Jung isn’t around.
“I do,” he responds after a brief pause.
“I’m serious, Minho. As your best friend, I’d hope that you miss me sometimes.”
There it is- the clarification is enough for him to exhale the deep breath he’s been holding in all this time.
“Yeah,” he says again. “I miss you, as a friend. And I’m glad the night was enjoyable.”
“You hate bars,” you say to him. “But you used to let me drag you out to them. I miss you.”
And he nods on the other end, repressing the real emotions that eat away at him like, you might see them over the phone if he feels too deeply.
“I miss you, too. Get some sleep, okay? We’ll talk in the morning.”
“Yeah, yeah,” you say sarcastically. “Goodnight. Thanks for answering.”
“Sure thing,” Minho replies before ending the call. And the room is eerily quiet now that he’s awake, the clock on the living room wall ticking with the passing seconds, as the ivy in his chest constricts a little tighter now.
*
Jung’s bachelor party is nothing short of insufferable. It’s loud, it’s rowdy, and it’s neither relaxing nor cathartic. Unless you define the two as getting lap dances in a smoke-filled limousine driving down the freeway a million miles a minute.
Minho sits quietly on one side, refusing every advance from the female strippers as they flaunt their beautifully-sculpted breasts in his face and dance to the loud rap music. He pretends to use his phone, having no service in this part of town, and yet still resorting to switching frantically between the compass feature and the weather app. And then he tips each stripper a generous amount, apologizing to them profusely as he gets off at the first stop and orders a cab. Where exactly the limousine is taking them, he doesn’t even care to know. Jung questions no part of it, not even having wanted to invite Minho in the first place. And while Minho waits for his taxi, he calls you, frantically wishing he could remind you Jung’s possibly the worst person you could have chosen to marry.
“Hi Minho,” you speak into the phone, shuffling about on your end as you tend to some household work. “I thought you didn’t get reception wherever you were going?”
“I found a way,” he responds, lying through his teeth.
You narrow your eyes, pausing your work to listen in to the phone call a little more closely.
“Minho, did you… leave?” You question, taking note of the way there’s not a sound in the background of the call- not Jung’s booming laughter, nor any music of any kind.
“No,” he says quickly, and you let out a deep sigh.
“Now you’re lying,” you remark.
“I’m not-”
“You’re talking in short responses, and I can’t see you but I know you’re doing that blinking thing. Why would you leave?”
Unfortunately for Minho, you know him like the back of your hand, always quick to clock when he’s lying to you through his nervous habits. The same habits you’ve studied since your days together in college, and ones he’s never been able to stop doing no matter how hard he tries. Minho lets out a deep sigh and runs a hand through his hair.
“Look, it’s just not my scene, okay? I’m still going to the wedding, it’s not like ditching a bachelor party is going to ruin your marriage.”
You shake your head and pinch the bridge of your nose in annoyance.
“What am I going to do with you? Why are you so opposed to just bonding with him?”
“I’m not!” Minho exclaims. “He wanted to go swimming. I can’t swim.”
Another lie.
“Look,” you begin. Would you just come over if you’re not going? We can talk about it here.”
Minho nods eagerly, the idea of spending time by your side sounding much more appealing than a weekend with Jung.
“I’m just waiting on a taxi,” he says. “I’ll be there soon.”
And when he hangs up, you stare briefly at the contact phone of you two, running your fingertips over the dimly lit screen. It’s an older photo, of you guys in college out at a bar, Minho smiling enthusiastically and giving you a piggy-back ride. And although it’s still Minho, it doesn’t feel anything like the version of him you know now.
*
“I don’t want this to set the precedent for the rest of our relationship.”
“Don’t want what to set a precedent?” Minho questions back.
“This! You running away from Jung every chance you get so that we’re only able to bond when he’s not around! You’re my best friend, Min. Why can’t you guys just make it work so that I don’t have to divide my time between the two of you like this?”
“You had no problem learning to divide it when we were in college,” Minho says frustratedly. “Now that you’re engaged it’s like I’m engaged to him, too. I don’t like the guy, okay? Whatever we make of that as friends isn’t in my hands, but it also doesn’t mean I’m gonna jump at the chance to go golfing with him every weekend.”
You’re quiet for a moment, his frustrated speech circling your mind as he remains sprawled out on your couch. He’s right, to some degree- you know very well that the two of them never got along well. And try as you might, they’re just incompatible in every way possible. Jung’s loud, he’s stubborn, he’ll never say no to a social outing and he’ll only make an effort to get along with someone for a finite amount of time before he’s disregarding their existence, much like he does Minho’s. And Minho is quiet, soft-spoken, only social when it comes to you and takes his stance on a person just minutes after meeting them. They’ve already reached the stubborn conclusion that they despise each other, and at this point in your life, there’s little you can do to change it.
“I just want to know things are okay between us,” you remark.
“Things are okay between us.”
“We haven’t had a proper hangout in months, Minho. I get married in a few weeks and then I’m afraid we just won’t see each other.”
Minho seems to understand the seriousness in your tone, sitting up from the couch to finally meet your gaze. You look disheartened, an expression Minho is used to seeing when you try to set him up with a date or when he can’t make it out to an event. But this time it seems like it has more weight to it, the way you sag your shoulders as you slouch over one of the barstools in the kitchen, completely terrified at the prospect of losing your best friend.
“I’ll tell you what,” Minho breaks the silence. “How about we plan something, just us? It’ll be like old times, and we don’t have to worry about Jung or your friends or anyone. Just for a weekend.”
You meet his gaze, too, promptly glancing at the ceiling as you think over his proposal.
“I don’t know, Jung probably wouldn’t like it-”
“This is exactly what I mean!” Minho interjects. “Everything you do is based on what Jung likes or doesn’t like. We used to go out together all the time- if you only want to hang out when he’s around then yeah, things might be a little different from here on out.”
And the words pierce through you like a dagger, yet again filling your mind with all the regrets that will come with shutting him out for the purposes of pleasing Jung. Minho is right- he’s been your best friend for years. Jung might be your future spouse, but that doesn’t mean your relationship with him has to be any more important than the lifelong commitment you’ve made to your best friend, too.
“Where would we go?” You ask reluctantly.
Minho shrugs casually, lying back down on the couch with his hands behind his head.
“Anything,” he responds. “Your pick.”
And you think over his offer again, mentally mapping out your schedule at work and what you guys might be able to do on a quick weekend together.
“Camping,” you say suddenly, straightening your posture.
“You hate camping,” Minho retorts, chuckling lightly.
“Yeah, but you love camping. I’m just doing this to spend time with you, Min. I already spent my weekend in the city. Let’s do something you like and we can have an old friend trip like we used to.”
Minho can’t help the grin that tugs at his lips, endeared by the way you always let him drag you to his favorite places just like you used to drag him. And he knows you’re a city girl through and through- you’ve always been very vocally opposed to accompanying him on his camping excursions. But maybe going together, you’ll have some change of heart if it means you won’t have to listen to Jung share all of his unwarranted opinions.
“Let’s do it,” Minho says confidently. “You’re gonna love it.”
“I’m only doing this for you,” you reply with a smile. “I still maintain that I’m going to hate it.”
*
A yoga retreat.
Jung is made to believe you’re at a yoga retreat, three hours out from your shared apartment, with a close girlfriend you haven’t seen in months.
And maybe it’s because he genuinely believes you, or he simply doesn’t care, but he doesn’t press you for any information about the event, sending you off with a chaste kiss and turning his attention back to the sports he watches on television. He doesn’t even inquire about why you fail to bring your yoga mat, leaving it folded neatly in the closet of your bedroom alongside all your workout clothes.
You do pack warm clothes, blankets and even a matching set of flashlights for when it gets pitch dark like you know the mountains do at night. And as you make your way to Minho’s house with your backpack slung over your shoulders, you’re actually a little excited, the idea of getting some fresh air sounding like a well-deserved treat after the week you’ve had in the city.
“Well aren’t you all ready to go camping,” you say to Minho in an amused tone, admiring the outfit he’s put together for the occasion. He sports a simple white t-shirt and a loose-fitting pair of jeans, coupled with a black cap he wears backwards over his brown hair. He looks a lot simpler than usual- in fact, you’re not sure you’ve ever seen Minho in a cap before today.
“You look nice,” you voice to Minho, as he loads his duffel bag in the trunk of the car.
“Me?” He questions, furrowing his brows in genuine confusion. “I’m just dressed for comfort.”
“Yes, you. That cap looks good on you. God forbid I compliment my best friend.”
He chuckles lightly, helping you load your backpack into his car and closing the trunk when he’s finished.
“Ready?” Minho asks, turning to you with a small smile.
“Ready,” you echo, climbing into the passenger seat beside him.
The drive to the campsite is just over an hour long, taking Minho’s vehicle through narrow paths of dirt roads surrounded by trees. The treacherous drive doesn’t seem to faze him at all, as he keeps just one hand on the wheel, while the other rests casually on the car console. You can tell he’s done this drive a number of times before, judging by the way he needs no form of navigation and doesn’t stop to read the directional signs at any point.
“Do we need to pitch a tent when we get there?” You ask, and Minho laughs in response.
“That’s how I can tell you’ve never come here before.”
“What?” You reply with a chuckle of your own. “It’s a totally valid question.”
“Yeah, maybe if we were on Survivor. There’s tents all over the campsite. And picnic tables, and bathrooms and I think there’s a gift shop somewhere.”
You nod at his response, a little more intrigued now that you know it’s not going to be as hands-on as you thought. And when he pulls into the parking lot, he’s right- there are cabins that span the perimeter of the parking lot, presumably bathrooms and information centers about the place.
Minho puts the car into park as he helps you gather your bags, and then you both enter the cabin closest to you, being greeted by an older woman who sits at an information booth.
“Welcome!” She exclaims in a cheerful tone. “Are you folks staying overnight?”
“Yes,” Minho answers, hoisting his duffel bag further up his shoulder. “We’ll be here for two nights.”
“Wonderful!” she replies, gathering a thin stack of pamphlets. She uncaps a red pen, circling a little graphic that indicates a tent, and then slides it over to Minho along the counter.
“You two will occupy this location here- it’s just a few minutes up the hill there. The bathroom is attached to the unit, and there are a few clean towels in the drawers there.”
She slides him two more pamphlets, gesturing to their titles and keeping her gaze on the infographics.
“There’s a guide on plants to avoid, and some wildlife you might run into. Any questions?”
Minho shakes his head, stuffing the pamphlet into his pocket and giving her a small nod.
“No, thank you,” he says, looking over at you.
And the woman shoots you a smile now, gesturing to your hand.
“That is a beautiful ring,” she states, clasping a hand over her heart emotionally.
“Thank you,” you reply with a smile. “I’m getting married.”
She laughs lightly, shooting Minho a thumbs up.
“Enjoy it while you can!”
You’re quick to shake your head at her, taking a step away from Minho.
“Oh god, no, he’s not my fiancé. He’s just a friend.”
And Minho takes a step away, too, giving her a nod.
“We’re just longtime friends,” he echoes your words.
“My apologies,” the woman is quick to say. “Enjoy your stay regardless.”
*
“It never ends,” you say to Minho as you exit. “I can’t believe people still think we’re a couple when we go out.”
“It’s just a common equation,” Minho responds. “Two people. Engagement ring. Camping trip.”
“I know,” you emphasize. “It’s just so weird being so close to my own marriage and still having to tell people we’re not a couple.”
Minho swallows nervously, not entertaining the discussion any further as he takes your aversion to the idea of it as answer enough.
“It’s just up here,” Minho says, gesturing to the narrow dirt path that leads up to your tent.
The tent is a long, rectangular space, the beige tarp even accompanied by clear vinyl windows that zip up for added privacy. The inside houses a small birch wood table pushed against the side, two white folding chairs, and a single bed, just larger than a twin-sized one.
“One bed?” You say as you scan the room, dropping your bags and looking nervously back at Minho.
“All the units have one bed,” he explains casually. “I’ll take the floor.”
“You’re not taking the floor, Minho. It’s freezing.”
“I’ve done it before,” he says, unzipping his bag and pulling out a smaller pouch. “I’ll be fine.”
“But it’s so awkward to have you on the floor while I get a whole bed to myself.”
He disregards your concerns, tossing the pouch to you, which you catch in two hands and examine.
“Bait,” he says with a small smile.
“Bait?” You echo. “You mean like…”
“Fishing,” he says confidently. “We’re catching our dinner tonight.”
*
It’s a fair assumption to say you hadn’t taken Minho’s liking to camping very seriously. Sure, you knew he was partial to the great outdoors and to catching his own dinners. Of course he knows how to pitch a tent and gut a fish. But seeing him do it in action, string a spinnerbait onto his fishing rod and cast his line, watching meticulously as the bobber pulls underwater and he checks if he’s caught a bass yet, you’re admittedly pretty impressed. He looks completely in his element like this, uttering remarks about his “monofilament fishing line” that you don’t understand in the slightest, but you listen to regardless. For a brief moment, you can’t help but feel bad, seeing how much this interests him, when all you’ve ever done in the span of your friendship is drag him to clubs and get takeout together. Maybe you should’ve taken this whole thing more seriously. Maybe you should have accompanied Minho on one of his offers for a fishing trip when you still had the chance to do it without being under Jung’s watchful eye.
“We may need a smaller hook,” Minho says, as he adjusts his rod and stares out at the lake. The atmosphere is lazy and restful, the gentle lull of the lake’s deep blue water sloshing against the rocks that line the shore and swaying with the breeze. There’s a distant buzz of cicadas at this hour, and the swallows circle the vast green trees overhead that rustle in syncopation with the water. You and Minho remain seated on the flat rocks that line the shore, a cooler of ice and a small pouch of bait between the two of you.
Minho’s gaze remains set on the lake, attentively watching the bobber and praying for a bass to latch onto it so that he can instruct you on the de-gutting and cleaning process. But there seems to be no sign of fish anywhere, the only movement being the little ripples that vibrate with the sporadic activity of water bugs.
“When was the first time you went fishing?” You ask Minho suddenly, catching his gaze as he turns to you.
“First time?” He echoes. “I don’t know, maybe age seven? My dad taught me.”
You nod in response, picturing a little Minho alongside his dad, learning the ropes of monofilament fishing lines and all that jazz. You can’t help but smile at the thought of it, knowing Minho was probably so quiet, yet full of curiosity, the same way he is now.
“I wish I would’ve come,” you say finally, letting out a small sigh as you speak. “I wish I came with you on one of these trips.”
Minho shakes his head and waves you off. “Solo camping is one of my favorite things in the world. I didn’t need it to be ruined by all your city girl antics.”
“Hey!” You exclaim with a small laugh, hitting him lightly, and Minho hits you back.
For a moment, the two of you say nothing, admiring the way the sunlight glares overhead and sets the water aglow with glints of light that make it almost hard to look at. Minho takes notice of the more casual look you sport, too, void of any makeup and your hair tied back loosely. Similarly, the little imperfections that mark his skin remind you of the Minho you met in college, back when you were both riddled with zits and drank cans of soda for breakfast. And now across from you, acne scars and a handsome face he’s grown into so well, you can’t help but feel your heart swell at the fact that he’s still here, this many years later, regardless of the roadblocks your relationship has taken you through. It’s a miraculous thing to have someone stick by your side knowing you’re getting wed to a person he despises. And you refuse to part ways with him, too, despite the amount of outings he declines in the name of nothing important. What a fascinating prospect, to be reminded that your most unconditional form of love comes in the form of a best friend more than even your fiancé on most days.
You open your mouth to say something, being promptly interrupted by the reel of the fishing line being pulled back, the rhythmic buzzing of the handle startling you both as it’s pulled in circular motions to indicate a catch.
“Oh my god, what do we do?” You exclaim to Minho, a sense of urgency present in your voice as you await his instruction.
“I’ll teach you,” Minho says, as he rises from his spot and gestures to the fishing rod. “Grab the handle, like- yeah, just like that.”
And you do as you’re told, approaching the rod to steady the handle in your grasp. He guides you through the careful motions, steadying your hands a comfortable distance away from the reel seat, pulling back the handle with slow, yet purposeful movements and raising the fishing line away from the gentle current of the water.
“There’s a lot of resistance,” you comment, as you pull even harder.
“Really?” Minho remarks, his hands on his hips as he looks out upon the water. “I wonder if it’s going to be a big one. Keep pulling.”
And you do, heaving the rod desperately away from the water to pull in your catch. There’s heavy resistance at first, and then a generous amount of give to the force, as the line finally glides across the water and begins to pull up toward you.
“Get ready,” Minho says excitedly. “It’s probably going to be a little skittish, just hold tightly and don’t let go.”
As he watches you pull, he takes note of the way the line struggles to move past a barrier in the water, sending ripples down the shore as you continue to pull, to no avail.
“I need help,” you voice frantically. “Minho, take the rod-”
“Just relax,” Minho echoes, coming around behind you and placing two hands over yours. He stands close behind you as he helps steady the rod, gripping tightly and helping you reel it in.
The two of you watch with bated breath as the line finally begins to move again, erratic ripples of water vibrating in the otherwise still lake as you reel in the catch.
“Here it comes!” Minho exclaims, as he continues to reel over your hands with his, his veins protruding with every slight motion as his slender fingers work around yours.
And then the fishing line is promptly pulled out of the water, swinging in front of your view and slowing its swaying motions as you take a gander.
It’s a large, juicy, vibrant hunk of moss.
No fish in sight, no catch of the day, unless for a bottom feeder. Minho says nothing for a moment, placing his hands on his hips again as he takes in the sight of the forest green mass. And then you break the silence with laughter, doubling over and clutching your stomach as you laugh at the ridiculous view.
“What’s so funny?” Minho inquires with a breathy chuckle, transitioning into his own fit of giggles.
“It’s fucking moss,” you exclaim, gesturing to the fishing rod and laughing again. “We’ve been here for hours and we haven’t caught anything besides a fucking byrophyte.”
Minho laughs, too, setting the rod down to clutch his own stomach.
“It’s not funny,” he says between laughter. “We don’t have dinner tonight.”
“Yeah we do,” you say breathlessly. “We have moss.”
And the two of you almost collapse on the gravel, holding your stomachs as you laugh endlessly at the ridiculousness of the situation. The fishing rod remains propped up against the rocks, the slab of moss dangling and dripping murky water back onto the gravel.
When your laughter dies down, Minho sprawls out onto one of the big rocks, the palms of his feet flat against the warm stone as he meets your gaze again. You occupy the spot beside him, your knees bent too, keeping your gaze locked on his as you smile.
“I missed this,” you say after a moment of silence. “I missed hanging out with you.”
Minho responds in a breathy chuckle, running his hands through his hair and rolling his eyes in a joking manner.
“You should’ve come camping with me ages ago,” he says. “We could’ve been eating moss for dinner instead of fast food.”
You chuckle too, and the sunlight beams over your listless bodies sprawled out on the rocks, glints of light hitting Minho’s golden-brown hair and his sparkling eyes. He looks so angelic in this atmosphere, so at peace with the nature around him and in tune with his emotions. For the first time in a long while, there’s nothing present between you and Minho that hinders the relationship you have to each other. He’s just as important to you in this moment as you are to him. And not even the knowledge that you’ve lied to your fiancé to be here with him can come between that.
*
Lucky for you, Minho always comes prepared. Of course he’s dealt with the situation of catching nothing while fishing and needing a plan to fall back on for dinner. So it’s no surprise to you that his backpack contains cups of instant ramen and bags of chips.
“Shrimp or chicken?” Minho asks, as water boils on his portable kettle.
“Surprise me,” you shoot back, getting comfortable in one of the two camping chairs across the bed. You feel a wave of tiredness wash over your body instantly, but you also feel fulfilled, having bonded with Minho more in the last few hours than any of your double dates with Jung and one of Minho’s picks from a dating app.
Minho shuts off the kettle, tearing open packets of vegetables and mixing them with your noodles as he pours hot water in both cups.
“Careful, it’s hot,” Minho remarks, handing you a cup and sliding a pair of chopsticks across the table to you.
“Today was fun,” you say to him, as you blow on a generous serving of noodles and guide them into your mouth with the wooden chopsticks.
“You’re not half bad at fishing,” Minho states. “I think it’s just emptier this season. But your technique’s good.”
“Really?” You query. “I feel like you did most of the work.”
Minho shakes his head, slurping a portion of his noodles before speaking.
“Maybe if you ditched your lame golf nights with Jung and came camping with me more, you could get some practice.”
“Ha ha,” you muse sarcastically. “His golf nights aren’t lame, they’re actually pretty fun. You’d know if you came out to one.”
“Please,” Minho retorts, gathering more noodles with his chopsticks. “Artificial grass and polo shirts aren’t really my thing. Of course they’d be Jung’s, though.”
“What does that mean?”
“Means even his favorite sport is as fake as he is.”
“Minho!”
“What?” He says in a breathy chuckle. “You asked what I meant.”
You shake your head, stirring broth around in your cup with your chopsticks. You normally don't entertain Minho when he insults Jung like this, knowing he’s just going to get mad and list everything he despises about him. But tonight, being so far away from Jung, it somehow feels permissible. It’s not like Jung is going to materialize out of thin air and find out about his little remarks. You don’t get cell reception out here, and it’s possibly one of your last few intimate moments with Minho to just let loose and joke with him. So you don't say anything, allowing him free reign as he cracks jokes about Jung at his expense. And you don’t feel bad about it, either, knowing Jung wouldn’t hesitate to do the same back at Minho.
The tent falls quiet for a moment as both of you finish your meals, the only noises present between the two of you being slurping the remainder of your noodles and setting the cups aside. Minho runs his hands through his hair and spreads his legs out in front of him as he slouches back in his camper chair.
“I can’t believe you’re getting fucking married,” he says with a breathy chuckle. “That’s still so weird to me.”
“Imagine how I feel,” you emphasize. “The word ‘wife’ still kinda grosses me out.”
“Well you have about a month to get used to it,” Minho replies. And then he gets quiet, averting his gaze from yours as he blinks. “Or a whole lifetime, I guess.”
You stay quiet, too, pulling up your legs to cross them in your chair and nodding reluctantly.
“Yeah. ‘lifetime’ kinda sounds like a scary word, too.”
Minho purses his lips, and then he turns to meet your gaze again, a solemn smile on his face.
“It doesn’t have to be,” he voices. “It can also imply a lifetime of happiness. And of love. Permanence isn’t a bad thing.”
You smile at him, comforted by the optimism he brings to the atmosphere, despite his dislike for Jung, and especially the prospect of you getting married to him. He doesn’t change- he’s still the Minho you know very well, the one who takes your problems and makes them seem so small, so unimportant, until you can’t, in good conscience, worry about them anymore.
“You’re right,” you say back at him. “I’ll remember that when I say my vows.”
You think over his words momentarily, and then you meet his gaze with a knowing smile.
“Do you remember when we had to write an essay about where we’d want to travel if we won the lottery? In our literary analysis course?”
Minho’s eyes roll to the ceiling as he thinks for a moment, and then he nods.
“Yeah. You wrote about Europe or something.”
“I did,” you recall. “And you wrote about that one historical town. What was it called again?”
“Shirakawa,” Minho responds. “Small mountain village in Japan where it snows a ton and there are little farmhouses everywhere.”
You chuckle lightly, remembering the countless images Minho had shown you when he was producing his paper on the subject. You can still picture the little brown houses and the vibrant green hills in the summertime. And the winter photos looked like something out of a Christmas movie, fresh snow blanketing the village and painting the town with bright hues of white.
You think over his essay for a moment, remembering just how many times you’d peer edited each other’s papers, and Minho wound up getting the best grade in the class for how poetically he spoke of Shirakawa. He talked about it for several months after the assignment, too, always voicing his desire to visit one day and see all the farmhouses for himself.
“I wish we still had time to go,” you say finally. “I always pictured we’d go one day.”
Minho purses his lips in a thin line, your statement echoing in his ears and the words stinging. It’s moments like these he’s especially regretful you’re getting married to Jung- all the stupid, likely intangible plans you made together and promised you’d fulfill sometime down the line. And now with Jung’s obnoxious presence indicating that of permanence, Minho knows there’s zero possibility you’ll be able to fulfill any of the plans you made together.
“You have a whole honeymoon planned on a tropical island,” Minho says somberly. “That’s far better than little old Shirakawa.”
You say nothing in reply, nodding at his words and thinking back to the plans you and Jung have already booked for your honeymoon.
Honeymoon. Even that word sounds foreign.
“Maybe we’ll plan for when I get back,” you tell Minho. “Little camping excursion in the farmhouses. We can get shitfaced and pet all the little goats.”
He laughs lightly, giving you a smile.
“Sure,” Minho affirms. “We can do that.”
And then his gaze darts to his backpack which sits on the floor, his eyes widening as he sits up.
“Speaking of shitfaced,” Minho says. “I think I brought boxed wine.”
“Boxed wine?” You repeat with a chuckle. “Jesus, we really might as well be back in college.”
He rises from the camper chair to make his way over to his backpack, unzipping the larger pouch and pulling out two small black cartons of wine, giving them a small shake before scanning the room as though he’s looking for something else.
“What?” You query, waiting for him to say something.
Minho says nothing, standing up again and taking long strides to where his fishing rod is, grasping it in one hand and fiddling with the hook.
“What are you doing?” You ask, watching as Minho’s expression turns serious again. His slender fingers toy with the small hook, the two cartons of wine balanced in his other hand.
You watch as he unfolds one tab on the box of wine, and then brings down the fishing hook to pierce it through the thin cardboard and string it through securely. When he’s finished, he gives it a little tug, and then raises the box of wine as he lifts the fishing rod once more, reeling the handle in the counter direction to move it out toward you.
“What the hell are you doing?” You ask again, chuckling softly as you watch Minho struggle to balance the carton of wine.
He reels the carton out further, and then slows as he drops it into your lap, moving the rod around in erratic motions and pretending to stabilize the line.
“Get it!” Minho exclaims. “It’s getting away, you have to get it!”
You play along, grasping the carton of wine in your two hands and pretending to steady its slippery grip as it flaps around helplessly.
“It’s slippery!” You exclaim back, holding it up with two hands and angling it toward Minho.
Minho gasps, and then sets his rod down to applaud you generously.
“Congratulations,” he says in a proud voice. “Your first catch. You caught your own dinner.”
And the dark night around you seems to be set aglow as laughter fills the entirety of the tent.
*
Two hours later, it’s half past midnight, empty cartons of wine on the table between you as you talk through your starkly different lives.
Minho shares tales of work you’d missed out on, dating app horror stories and recounts days from college when you’d go to nightclubs together and use fake IDs. You listen attentively for the first time in a long time, no sense of urgency present, nor the desire to set him up with somebody else. It’s you who wants to be here alongside him, rekindling your friendship and reliving your glory days. And Minho feels the same way, a gentle buzz swirling his mind from the cherry merlot and your sweet laugh in response to his tales.
“They so thought we were lying when we turned 21,” you say through laughter. “In hindsight, it’s pretty lucky we didn’t get thrown in jail for a night.”
“Yeah, only because you flirted with the bouncer,” Minho says. “I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t throw you in jail after offering you a drink.”
You laugh lightly, remembering the bizarre encounter, and then you slouch back in your chair as you shut your eyes.
“We should get to sleep,” you say to Minho. “It’s late.”
“Yeah,” he responds. “I’ll get my sleeping bag on the floor.”
“Don’t be such a fucking drag,” you protest.
“What?”
“Just sleep on the bed with me. It’s big enough and there’s less of a chance that you’ll wake up with a broken back. I’m not listening to you complain about your fucked-up joints on tomorrow’s drive home.”
Minho laughs lightly, and then he gestures to the bed.
“If you snore, I’m throwing you to the bears,” he says plainly.
“Yeah, well you kick me, I’m dumping you in the lake.”
*
Minho brushes his teeth over the small steel sink in the corner of the room, swapping out to fix the bed sheets while you brush your teeth, too. When you’re finished, you meet him at the foot of the bed, pulling your corner of the blanket down and climbing in beside him. The ceiling of the tent is barely visible in this level of darkness, just an indistinguishable outline of fabric visible as you cross your hands over your chest and exhale deeply. Minho does the same, and though he’s right beside you, he feels miles away, his exhale sounding distant as he focuses on the ceiling of the tent, too.
“It’s really dark,” you comment.
“Yeah,” he says back. “That’s the outdoors for you.”
He thinks for a brief moment, and then he breaks the silence that washes over the two of you.
“Are you excited for the honeymoon?” He asks quietly.
There’s no answer for several moments, the only sound coming from the gentle sway of the trees just beyond your tent.
And you are excited, but you’re more nervous, uncertain and disappointed knowing that everything will be so different upon your return. It’s like exchanging an old life for a new one- one that could be far worse, for all you know.
“I’m nervous,” you say candidly.
“Why?”
“Because marriage is a big deal. Sometimes I don’t know if I’m even doing the right thing.”
It’s Minho’s turn to remain quiet now, his hands folded over his chest as he ponders your words.
“Are you happy?”
There’s no response from you. Not now, not after a minute and not even after several minutes have passed. And you are happy, but you’re still much of the same- nervous, uncertain and disappointed that this new life implies change.
“Jung hates me,” Minho says suddenly.
“He doesn’t hate you-”
“He hates me,” Minho reaffirms a little louder. “The way he looks at me, or interrupts us whenever we’re talking. I’m sorry that I’m so distant from you when he’s around. The guy hates me.”
You stay quiet, knowing he’s right, but not wanting to fuel the fire that burns between the two of them.
“He probably thought we had something going on,” Minho says. “He’d kill me if he knew I was in the same bed with you.”
You scoff lightly, dismissing Minho’s claims with a wave of your hand.
“Please,” you emphasize. “He hasn’t even touched me in a month.”
And you regret the words the second they leave your lips, bringing two hands up to cover your mouth as Minho props himself up to look at you.
“What? Why?”
“Nothing,” you say quickly. “Forget I said anything.”
“No, I genuinely want to know,” Minho reiterates, keeping his gaze locked on yours. “You’re getting married and you haven’t had sex with your fiancé in a month? Who does that?”
“He told me it was a punishment,” you say in exasperation. “We had a fight, and he told me he wouldn’t touch me if I didn’t admit to being wrong.”
“What?” Minho says, turning audibly irate. “Are you serious? What kind of cruel and unusual punishment is that?”
“Look, I don’t know, okay? Let’s just not talk about it-”
“There go your excuses,” Minho says. “Your future husband won’t touch you, and you’re still defending him. Jesus Christ, it’s worse than I thought it was.”
“Would you stop?” You say to him, sitting up as he slings his elbows around his knees and shakes his head.
“Stop what? Stop being concerned for my best friend who’s clearly suffering at the hands of her own fiancé? Not gonna happen.”
“I’m not suffering,” you relay to him.
“Sure,” Minho says sarcastically. “So you never wanted to have sex in the whole month he’s kept this punishment going.”
You say nothing, swallowing nervously as you keep your gaze locked on Minho’s. He’s at a painfully close proximity to you right now, one strand of hair falling loosely in his face as his eyebrows furrow together in anger. His plain black t-shirt hugs his broad shoulders as he sits up, his basketball shorts riding up to expose a generous amount of his toned thighs. And his lips remain parted, waiting for you to say something, which you don’t. You simply stare at him blankly, your eyes darting over his gaze, down to his lips and then back up to his eyes.
Minho’s expression turns serious, too, unable to look away from your conflicted expression as you watch him.
“Not… really…” you manage to say in short words.
“Maybe not…” you continue, leaning into him a little as his arms loosen around his knees.
He somehow looks so tantalizing right now, in a way you’ve never seen him before. Sure, you’re aware Minho is good looking, and he always has been. And maybe your fleeting crush back when you first met him was short-lived, quickly moving on to date somebody else you met at a party. Maybe you were a little jealous the time his former girlfriend remarked how good he was in bed, or that she got to touch him when he wore that suit you loved so much at graduation. Maybe you even touched yourself once or twice to the thought of him, conjuring some stupid fantasy in your mind for the sole purpose of getting off to it. But nothing was ever going to come to fruition, not when he’s been your friend for years, you have Jung and you’re about to get married.
…At least not with any intention besides being fucked by him the way Jung has neglected of you for a month now.
“Maybe not until now,” you finally breathe out, your heart beating erratically in your chest as you await an answer from him.
Minho’s gaze flickers down to your lips, and then back to your eyes, furrowing his eyebrows as he makes sense of your words.
“Are you drunk right now?” He asks simply.
“No,” you’re quick to respond, shaking your head to affirm the answer.
“Good,”’Minho says. “Me neither.”
And the two of you meet in the middle, his lips crashing against yours roughly as you kiss him for the first time, hands flying to tug at his t-shirt as he brings to hands around the small of your back.
He tastes like wine, transferring the robust flavor of cherry merlot back onto your lips as you kiss him, his plump lips working perfectly against yours as you pull him closer. You want so badly to position yourself differently, to adjust your body’s awkward spot on the bed so that you can be a bit closer to him, so that you can cup his face and pepper it in breathless kisses. But you fear that the minute you pull away, Minho’s going to somehow realize that it’s you he’s kissing, his best friend of so many years, one who’s already engaged.
It’s Minho who pulls away briefly first, getting a little closer to you, while you scoot further back and lie flat on your spot on the bed.
“This is just to prove a point,” Minho says breathlessly, as he hovers over you now and steadies himself over your body with one strong arm. “It’s not cheating,” he emphasizes, and you nod eagerly at the words, suddenly aware that it’s not even the cheating aspect you were worried about. It was solely the possibility of ruining your friendship with Minho, who’s always been so vocal about his distaste for disloyalty.
“It’s just to prove a point,” you repeat, tangling your hands in his hair and pulling him back down to kiss you. “Nobody has to know.”
Minho grins against your lips, pressing repeated, chaste kisses to your already swollen lips and trailing down to paint a line of kisses down the column of your neck. Your heart beats in ways you’ve never felt before, a rapid arrhythmia brought on by the sheer terror of being found out, by the knowledge that this is the one person who could single handedly ruin your engagement to Jung. And yet you couldn’t care less in this moment, as his teeth take your flesh between them and suck bruises down your neck, a generous purple color painting the goosebumps that rise upon your skin.
Are either of you in any place to return with hickeys painting your skin like you spend the weekend at a frat house? Not in the slightest. And yet you can’t help but feel this is what you missed in college all that time, the same actions Minho repeated with the few girlfriends he ran through. Fucking them sweetly in his dorm bed, roping scarves around their necks when he’d send them off and his ears turning a bright shade of red when you’d point them out in your 7am college lectures.
Was there ever a hint of jealousy present between the two of you? Maybe, you think to yourself, as a string of spit connects Minho’s lips to your bruises, peppering them in light kisses. You could never help but wonder what it was like, what those girls had experienced each time they disappeared from his dorm in the early hours of the morning. And Minho, being the gentleman he was, was never one to kiss and tell. The sex was intimate, private, the details living and dying with him only, even if the relationship went awry or fizzled out suddenly.
“We probably shouldn’t go any further,” Minho interrupts, pulling away from you to maintain eye contact. His eyes are hooded with lust, his lips pink and swollen from kissing you so passionately. And his eyebrows arch up in a state of concern, mostly worried you’re going to protest him taking it any further than this. But it’s all you’ve occupied your mind with now, wanting so badly to know what little tricks Minho wears up his sleeve, if he’s just as intrigued with the idea as you are, if he even wants to have sex with you.
“It’s not like we’re dating or anything,” you say to Minho, desperately searching for the words to indicate how badly you want this. “It’s just… some drunken hookup. It’s probably nothing Jung didn’t do at his party last week.”
“But we’re not-” Minho begins, promptly silencing himself. He begins to tell you that he’s not drunk, and you aren’t either- but he’s already caught on to your little plan.
“Yeah,” Minho then says. “I’m a little tipsy.”
“Me too,” you say with a soft chuckle. “Too much wine.”
“Yeah,” he says, leaning into kiss you again. “And I get really horny when I’m drunk.”
“Me too,” you say between kisses. “It’s not like we can just leave each other hanging. Unless you want me to rub one out beside you, and that would be more awkward.”
“Yeah,” he replies. “Might as well… help each other out, right?”
“Right,” you affirm, pulling down your panties as Minho separates to pull off his shirt.
It’s nothing you haven’t seen before, already having witnessed him in this level of undress at every pool party and when you’d come over to his dorm unannounced. But it feels different at this proximity, his tanned skin hovering over yours and brushing against your flesh with every eager kiss.
Minho begins to ask you if he can touch you, but you’re faster than he is, taking his hand in yours and guiding it to your aching clit, letting him circle two fingers around your bundle of nerves as he pulls back to look you in the eyes.
“Jesus,” Minho remarks. “You are wet when you’re drunk.”
And your breath hitches in the back of your throat as he rubs you gently, a smirk growing on his face as you let out little whimpers. It’s been so long since somebody’s touched you like this, Jung hardly even giving attention to the foreplay on most days. His nimble fingers rub at a steady pace, his eyes boring into yours as he makes you writhe in pleasure beneath him. Minho’s eyes are sparkling at this proximity, his big brown pupils exuding curiosity and tenderness as he gauges your every reaction to his touches.
“Minho,” you breathe out desperately, arching into his touch to chase the friction.
“What?” He asks sweetly, his expression shifting into that of concern as he waits for you to speak. But he knows what you’re going to ask, also aware of the tent pitched in his boxers as he works you.
“Don’t make me ask,” you say with a sheepish chuckle.
He chuckles softly, too, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to your lips before pulling his hand away.
“Let me get a condom,” Minho says in a serious tone. And you’d completely forgotten about protection, not even having used a condom in ages, since your only partner for several years has been Jung.
With the painful ache between your legs, you wish so badly you could ask him to fuck you raw and help ease the weeks of waiting you’ve had to do just to feel some sense of relief. And a part of you can’t help but think back to your days of college, when Minho would always ensure he kept a new one between the crisp bills in his wallet. Ones that were put to use with other women, Minho always so careful not to make any stupid mistakes or take risks the way you and Jung often did.
But you can’t let him fuck you raw, being in the middle of nowhere, no access to pills and admittedly not the most punctual at remembering to take your birth control. The last thing you can do right now is show up to your own wedding with Jung- pregnant with Minho’s child.
Minho’s cock is fully erect as he fishes around his backpack for a condom, pulling out his wallet and sorting through the bills for one. You briefly wonder what would happen if he didn’t have one- you’d likely ask him to fuck you anyway, and to finish on your face or your tits. But it’d be such a waste not to let him finish inside of you, not when you’re both this aroused and desperate for some sense of relief
You silently pray he won’t think too hard about any of this. Don’t think about who I am to you. Don’t think about how this will complicate things, and don’t think about the fact that I’m engaged to another man. Just fuck me, and we’ll deal with whatever consequences arise tomorrow.
“Got it,” Minho voices, and you feel yourself exhale the breath you’ve been holding this whole time.
Minho approaches you again, pinching it between his two fingers, tearing open the silver packet with his skewed front teeth and pulling out the white rubber. You watch with bated breath as he rests a knee on the bed beside you, steadying himself with one hand and rolling the condom onto his length with one hand.
It’s the first time you’ve properly taken note of the appearance of his cock, and he’s bigger than you’d imagined. His thick, veiny girth is tinted a bright shade of red in anticipation, his head leaking a bead of precum as the rubber grazes his tip and coats every inch of his flesh. You’re a little disappointed at the sight being obscured by the protection, but you take a sharp breath, anyway, wanting nothing more than to just feel it inside of you.
“Are you sure this is okay?” Minho asks, as he hovers over you again and props himself up with two hands. “If you think we’re making some mistake-”
“We’re not,” you say quickly. “It’s not a mistake. I promise you I’m not drunk or out of my mind or anything. I’m just really fucking horny.”
Minho chuckles lightly, and then he leans into graze his lips over yours just barely, delivering a painfully light kiss as he positions himself in front of you.
“Just tell me if you want me to stop,” he says, pressing another light kiss to your lips. “I promise I won’t get mad or anything.”
You nod eagerly, wrapping your arms around his neck, and then you both maintain eye contact with his hands as he carefully guides the tip of his length inside of you. You feel like you could cum at the sensation of his tip alone, your walls contracting around him desperately as he shuts his eyes in pleasure.
“Jesus,” Minho breathes. “You’re tight.”
“It’s been a month since he fucked me,” you admit shyly. “I haven’t even touched myself.”
And Minho takes it as a signal to snake a hand down between your bodies, latching the pads of his fingers to your clit once more and rubbing in gentle circles.
“He’s a fucking idiot,” Minho says plainly. “What a fucking joke.”
You weave your fingers in his golden brown tresses pulling him in for another kiss as he begins to thrust in and out of you with gentle movements so as not to hurt you. And it feels heavenly, like nothing you’ve ever felt with Jung before. There’s so much fear circling your mind, but it simply elevates the arousal you feel at the same time, your mind and body contracting in syncopation to echo the same sentiment that maybe you have indeed, been jealous of some of the other girls he’s fucked. Maybe your jealousy forced you to shut out the idea of anybody being pleasured like this by your best friend. You silently pray it never felt half this good for any of them, that he simply couldn’t get hard for them or maybe he’d neglected the same parts that drive you crazy in this moment. Because the thought of his cock inside of anybody except for you drives you mad, it feels so unnatural to think about when he’s fucking you so sweetly in the privacy of your tent, here in the middle of nowhere. Virtually impossible to feel an ounce of guilt when the nearest human is likely miles away, made even harder considering the only man who’d even care is much, much farther.
And Minho hopes you can’t feel that he’s been trying to stave off his own orgasm for the better part of 20 minutes now. His cock twitching with every thrust, his eyes shutting tightly to give attention to the sensation of your cunt clenching desperately around his thick girth. He can’t remember how he’d imagined it all those years, but he knows this feels much, much better than any fantasized version of you that ran rampant in his thoughts. One he had to stop himself from staring at a little too long when you’d opt to wear short skirts and tight little shirts to the clubs you’d frequent. A version of you he swore would one day come around to the realization that Jung isn’t meant for you, that he doesn’t fulfill you emotionally, or intellectually or even physically. Even a version of you that found exhilaration in fucking Minho behind Jung’s back, because having any version of you belong to Minho in one form or another would always take precedence over your inevitable absence following the wedding.
“Talk to me,” Minho says, as his thrusts slow a little. “Tell me what you’re thinking about.”
“You,” you’re quick to respond. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
Minho captures your lips in a drooly kiss, gasping into your parted lips as he thrusts in again and holds it there for a moment.
“Is it still okay?” He asks, like he hasn’t already been fucking you for several minutes now.
“It’s more than okay,” you respond, folding your leg at the knee beside him so that he’s hitting an entirely new angle.
“Jesus Christ,” Minho breathes, squeezing his eyes as his cock grazes your cunt even deeper.
Your breaths are labored now, involuntary gasps escaping your mouth with every thrust inside of you. His cock is completely buried to the hilt inside of you, the condom completely coated in your juices and working out of you with complete ease as he fucks you.
And he fucks you like he’s yours, like he’s the one getting married to you, perhaps subconsciously to prove a point to both you and Jung. He could never fuck you like this. I’m willing to bet he never has. He could never want you the way I do so passionately and unrelenting.
“Minho,” you call to him, arching into his touch as he moves a strand of hair out of your face.
“What is it?”
“This is okay, right?,” you state, though your tone takes the form of a plea, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. “It feels so good, I don’t want to ruin things-”
“It won’t ruin things,” Minho emphasizes. “We’re drunk, remember?” he says with a light chuckle.
His face is promptly buried in the crook of your neck, peppering kisses along the flesh and whispering promises against you that exist only in the intimate space of your shared tent.
“I’m just helping you out while we’re here,” Minho repeats. “And then you have a wedding to run off to.”
You smile up at him, fingers massaging his scalp lightly as he stays still inside of you, his cock pulsating lightly inside of the rubber as you take him.
“I would’ve asked for help a lot sooner if I knew it’d be this good,” you say with a saccharine smile, allowing your fingers to loop in his hair and tug lightly.
Minho chuckles down at you, his smile instilling an almost immediate sense of comfort once more as he begins to move again, his cock grazing your cervix with every slight movement as he lets out little gasps over you.
“I think I’m gonna cum,” you breathe through labored pants. Your tone sounds surprised, almost, at the prospect of your best friend coaxing an orgasm out of you.
And maybe you are, never having thought that this camping trip would end up with him inside of you, making love to you the way you picture the events of your honeymoon to unfold. Your best friend since college, and the most vocally displeased person at the reality of your engagement to Jung.
And the moment Minho’s been fantasizing since he first confronted his own feelings for you, a time completely unbeknownst to him now. Maybe it was the time you let him stay in your dorm bed when he wasn’t feeling good, or the time you baked him his favorite cake for his birthday most people seemed to have forgotten about. But the pinpointed time doesn’t matter right now- he’s here, your entire being is his for the night, and love or not, he’ll take any form of you he can grasp so desperately at.
“Fuck, I’m gonna cum, too,” Minho says back, his hands digging into your waist as he moves a little faster.
For several moments, nothing else is said between the two of you, only the echoing sounds of skin and drool and his toned body working itself in and out of you teeming around the dinky little tent like an erotic film on low volume. The sounds are muffled, both of you doing your best to remain hushed in your words and your breathy exchanges to each other, almost as if it’ll all be too real if you voice it any louder than this.
But all of this is very real, the actions serving as a sealed promise between the two of you to maintain this remarkable relationship you’ve developed with him. One in which you traverse the complexities of dating a man who’s never quite fulfilled you the way Minho caught on to very early on. And in turn, Minho uses the opportunity to fulfill you in every way he’s able to, whether it means being there at 3am to lend a kindly ear, concocting your favorite dishes after waking up hungover as a result of drinking to mask Jung’s shortcomings. And even to fuck away the stress Jung instills inside of you. To meet you halfway with his version of intimacy, one Jung has withheld from you for so long, and to remind you that although the marriage implies permanence, things could still be so, so different.
“Cum for me,” Minho says to you, leaning in to keep his lips pressed to yours. “Just let go of everything. Don’t think about him right now.”
And somehow it’s those words that assist you in reaching your finish, the subtle command to eject Jung from all your thoughts and replace him with Minho and Minho and more Minho.
It’s Minho easing the pain, Minho kissing you so tenderly, Minho thrusting his hardened cock in and out of your soaking cunt as you whimper helplessly beneath him.
And it’s Minho who finishes first, squeezing his eyes tightly as he feels his tip releases strings of cum into the constriction of the rubber condom, the finish feeling as though it’s the heaviest he’s had in months.
And the gentle pulse against your flesh coaxes out your own release, contracting around his wet girth and dribbling cum along the length of the condom as he fucks you through your fervent moans.
“God, you’re amazing,” Minho voices, as he pulls you in for a much gentler kiss. He holds his lips there momentarily, grazing them softly over yours, every part of him wanting to stay right here inside of you.
But as his cock begins to soften against him once more, he pulls out without another word, stripping off the condom while you watch him.
Strands of sweaty hair hang loosely in front of his face, framing his flushed appearance as his nimble fingers work to tie the condom off. He looks so attainable, so forgiving as he moves, and every part of you wants nothing more than to pull him close again and keep him tangled in your needy embrace.
“Minho?” You ask, as you sit up on the palms of your hands to meet his gaze.
“Hm?” He hums in response, discarding the condom and running two hands through his disheveled hair.
“Would you stay like this?”
He chuckles softly, occupying his spot again and pulling the blankets up to his chest.
“I’m not taking the floor anymore, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“No, would you stay... close to me?” You ask shyly, your eyes flickering over his figure as he lies beside you.
He sits up to meet your gaze, reaching a hand out to you, his palm facing upward as he shoots you a sweet smile.
“I can stay close to you,” Minho reaffirms, pulling you close to his chest as he lies flat again, your head resting on his broad chest.
His chest rises and falls with every breath, his eyes shutting gently as he revels in the sensation of you seeking comfort beside him like this. And he can’t help but press a series of soft kisses to your temple, smiling when he hears a soft giggle escape your lips.
When the tent falls quiet once more, your listless bodies welcome the sleepiness that washes over you, euphonious melodies of crickets engaging in the sounds of nightfall outside. And Minho’s hand rubs gentle back and forth motions along the small of your back, reassuring for one last time that you have nothing to feel guilty about.
*
It’s like a moth to a flame, the way you’re drawn to Minho in the morning, despite the promise of it being just one night with him.
You’re hypnotized by the way he pulls on his sweatpants, chuckling as he nearly trips over himself in the confined space of the tent. His veiny hands working nimbly to chop vegetables and crush herbs as he prepares you one of his signature omelets. The silence that falls over you both while you eat, two fascinated gazes stuck on each other knowing very well you’d let him do it all over again if you weren’t so pressed for time. And when he’s helping you hoist your heavy backpack over his shoulders, the pressing urge to kiss him is present again, as though you seek a reminder that what occurred was indeed real and not some lucid dream conjured up within the darkened campsite.
An urge which you act upon, leaning into press your lips to his as he turns to ask if you’re all packed. And one which is reciprocated with a smile from him, grinning against your lips as he takes his time cupping a hand to your cheek and grazing his fingertips along your skin tenderly. With no real purpose, no sexual implication, no rush. Simply a kiss to conclude the trip, which may very well have been everything you needed as it precedes the wedding.
And with shared smiles between the two of you, Minho leads as you make your way back through the informational center. The same woman is sat at the desk, except she says nothing as you pass her by, a scowl on her face at the sight of you. You watch as she bows politely to other guests, inquires about their stay and offers them hard candies from the glass jar in front of her. Except she says nothing to you, almost appearing to shake her head as you pass her by.
“She was nicer yesterday,” you voice to Minho, your concerned gaze scanning his expression for a reaction. But he doesn’t give one, shrugging lightly as he holds the door for you on the way out.
“She’s probably having a bad day,” he says back. “Don’t worry about it.”
And it’s not until he takes your hand in his again that you realize it- this woman who you’d so confidently corrected on the fact that Minho is not in fact your fiancé, has witnessed you kissing him and holding his hand on your way out. Like a scarlet letter you wear upon your chest, except it’s you who put it there. Confirmation that you’re disloyal- a cheater, simply put. You want to defend your actions, but realistically, to whom? Not to Minho, who actively facilitated it. Not to Jung, who would kill you both if he knew.
And not even to the elderly woman, who you can’t explain it to, because it’s different. It’s not cheating, not when it’s Minho. He’s not some drunken hookup from a dive bar, or someone who’s relentlessly pursued you despite your protests. He’s your best friend, one who did you a favor in the absence of your fiancé’s desire to satisfy you. It’s different, you want to say to her. It’s not cheating with Minho- he’s different.
But you settle on the uncomfortable silence that remains when you climb into the passenger seat of Minho’s car, watching the trees melt into a blur of green hues as he backs out of the parking lot. And his hand meets yours over the center console, intertwining your fingers to put your mind at ease like he can somehow read your mind.
Perhaps he can, being the person who’s known every one of your thoughts so intimately since your time in college. And he also reads into your dismissal of the event when you finally let out a gentle sigh, lacing your fingers with his and allowing him to press a kiss to the back of your hand.
*
The arrival home is a non ceremonious one, Minho dropping you off a block before your shared apartment with Jung to avoid the interrogation he knows he’ll get.
He assists in gathering your bags, consolidating your items to ensure you can comfortably carry them up the block. And for a minute, the two of you say nothing as he sends you on your way, a kind of sparkle present in his eyes as he stares at you. He looks different today, a saccharine smile on his face and a much calmer demeanor overall. Every bone in your body wants to jump him and pepper him in kisses, to thank him for relieving the pent up sexual frustration in you and affirming that your fears surrounding this wedding are valid, but they don’t imply that you won’t enjoy married life, either. They’re just… feelings, ones you often find trouble confronting in the presence of Jung, and ones that you realize you’ve probably never confronted at all, if not around Minho.
The fears are valid, and they’re not fleeting in the slightest. But they are lessened with the reminder that Minho’s beside you every step of the way- regardless of how it manifests in your relationship. And the silence remains, as Minho shoots you a small wave, his eyes flickering briefly over the distant outline of your apartment.
“Hey,” you call out to Jung, who’s lazily sprawled out over the sofa, his feet laid flat upon the coffee table.
“How was the trip?” He asks enthusiastically, not taking his eyes off the sports channel that echoes loudly in front of him.
“Oh, you know,” you reply casually. “Just yoga. Always good to see old friends, though.”
“I’ll bet,” Jung replies, chuckling sarcastically as he speaks. “Seems like the only person you’re around these days is Minho.”
And then he reaches for the remote, lazily flipping through channels as you set your bag down.
“He’s my oldest friend,” you say casually, hoping he won’t notice the audible shakiness in your tone. It feels like he can hear how loud your thoughts are, the fears circling your mind, an expression on your face painted with incrimination. You think of your heart racing while Minho kissed you, the way his cock felt inside of you, your clit pulsating gently at the mere memory of it.
“Yeah, well, change is good,” Jung finishes. As you turn the corner, to meet him in front of the couch, you take note of his lap- a small, white cardboard box propped upon his sweatpants, the top ripped to keep it open and his hands working and out of it in rushed motions.
It’s the cake, you quickly realizing, your heart sinking a little at the sight of the frosting in complete disarray, almost half the dessert either smeared around the sides or piled on the fork he brings up to his lips.
“Listen,” Jung says, between a mouthful of food. “I have a golf thing this week and I want you to come see a couple buddies of mine.”
“This week?” You echo, your mind pondering all the potential excuses you can use against him. But nothing comes to mind, as Jung sets the box of cake aside and stands up from the couch.
“Yeah,” he says casually. “My buddy from college is gonna be in town, and he wants to get together before the wedding.”
You want so badly to protest his offer, knowing very well that Jung’s friends are nothing short of insufferable. They very seldom like you, openly voicing their concerns with your flaws, and they’re protective of him, as though Jung is the one who’s sacrificing more by being wed to you.
“Do I have a choice?” You ask, a small smile on your lips to offset the anger that could very well erupt in response to your statement.
But Jung just brings two hands up to your shoulder, rubbing the sides as he turns his attention back to the television.
“Not really. Hey, the game’s on again but make sure to clear your calendar on Thursday for me. And let’s bring that wine we got recently.”
“The white one?” You question, sagging your shoulders a little at his lack of hesitation to offer your favorite wine as a housewarming gift to his friends.
“Yeah, that one,” he says plainly, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead and slinging his body back over the couch.
“By the way,” Jung voices, motioning for you to move out of the view of the tv screen. “Where’s the cake from? Shit’s good.”
Your gaze lands on the box again, completely torn apart, the icing letters indistinguishable and the fondant ribbons in disarray on the cardboard. You can’t help but think of Minho and his careful attention to detail- the way he picked all your favorite colors, the flavors he knows you love, all from your favorite bakery you very seldom even visit because of the steep price points.
“Babe?” Jung calls again, spooning a layer of frosting into his mouth. “I asked where the cake was from.”
And you shrug casually as you pivot on your heel to exit the room.
“Minho picked it,” you say as you stride away from his still-slouched figure. “I wouldn’t know.”
*
“You have to freeze your cake and eat a piece of it every wedding anniversary,” Jung’s friend Kwang explains, as he brings a cigar to his lips and inhales generously. “That’s what we did, and we still have enough red velvet to last fucking years in there.”
“I love it,” Jung replies in a chuckle, slinging an arm over your shoulder and nudging you harshly. “Course, I’m not sure this one could stop herself from eating the rest of our cake for a whole year. She’s got a bigger sweet tooth than I do.”
You distance yourself from Jung a little, fiddling with your golf club as the men share echoing laughter between puffs of smoke.
The golf course Jung frequents is massive, spanning several hectares of land, which means you’re often stuck here for a long while during his golf sessions. His friends are the same detestable group of men he’s usually out with, all old friends from college you’ve since been forced to get acquainted with. And together they talk each others’ ears off about sports, food, making subtle digs at their own wives or partners, and of course, golf. The blinding shade of green hills contrasts harshly against a pale blue sky and depicts an almost cartoon scenery, and you can feel the headache in your temples worsening with every loud chuckle that escapes Jung’s lips.
He hasn’t asked once about your yoga retreat- which may be a blessing of sorts when you recall the events that unfolded. But you know it’s got nothing to do with that, and everything to do with the fact that he doesn’t give a shit.
He probably doesn’t even remember you were gone, nor does he care to fill you in on the details that unfolded while you were away. And it wouldn’t matter, because you know it would be exactly some version of this- his obnoxious friends, golf, sports on tv and bragging about his proximity to a married life with you. Strangely enough, you’re normally able to stomach these conversations when you’re forced to go out with Jung. But somehow today, every word he utters aggravates you, and you’re desperate to find some excuse to make it home again.
Except you also know very well that it’s something else eating away at your mind this afternoon.
“Y/n?” Kwang questions, and you snap your head to look at him, realizing you’ve tuned out most of his talking points up until now.
“Yes?”
“It’s your turn,” he says, gesturing to your golf club. Jung watches you and chuckles, almost embarrassed with you, as he mirrors Kwang’s gesture.
“Go on,” Jung says condescendingly. “Remember how I taught you last time.”
And with the golf club in your timid grasp, you approach the tee, positioning your club out in front of you and doing your best to mimic the way Jung taught you. Or rather the way he yelled at you to memorize, always taking his sports endeavors far too seriously.
The club head rests gently against the golf ball, pulling back momentarily as your hands shift and tighten around the grip again. And Kwang exhales another puff of smoke, a light chuckle escaping his lips as his eyes bore into your standing figure.
“Her form’s gotten a little better,” he remarks to Jung.
“Yeah, because of me,” Jung says back.
“And good thing, too,” Kwang voices. “If she’d gotten better without your help it’d mean someone else was helping her.”
He laughs as he finishes speaking, transitioning to a coughing fit as you turn to meet Jung’s gaze. But Jung doesn’t look back at you, he simply pats Kwang’s back and exchanges laughter of his own.
“That’s true!” Jung echoes through a fit of laughter, like it’s the best joke he’s heard all century.
“Could you imagine if she pulled up here better than you?” Kwang says, flicking stray ashes off his cigar. “Some other man doing your part for you?”
Jung chuckles again, pulling a box of cigars from the pocket inside of his blazer and thumbing at a fresh one. You watch as he flips open a small bronze Zippo lighter, a small metal clink emitting from behind his cupped hand, as he brings the cigar head to the little yellow flame and holds it there momentarily.
“Fuckin’ A,” Jung remarks with the cigar hanging between his lips.
When it’s lit successfully, he pockets the lighter again, taking a generous puff and blowing smoke just past the direction of Kwang’s still-laughing figure.
“They say that’s how you know your wife’s disloyal,” he remarks. “Her sports form never worsens.”
You stand awkwardly, your fingers grazing the rubber of the golf club grip as you say nothing. Their laughter continues to swirl the atmosphere around you, the sound of the birds and the buzzing cicadas drowning out amidst their cackles. The sun beams entirely too bright down over you, the artificial grass seeming to turn an even more obnoxious shade of green as you wait for them to finish.
“Better hope this one’s not disloyal,” Kwang says amidst his jokes, nudging your upper thigh with the tip of his own golf club. “That’s a lot of planning down the drain.”
And somehow the words trigger the familiar arrhythmic beat in your chest, flashbacks of Minho crossing your mind instantaneously. It’s like they know, the way their jokes seem to run on forever, their wicked cackling taunting you with every passing second. They speak of your form and your position, and you can’t help but picture the way Minho had you sprawled over the bed for you, his toned body looming over yours as he fucked you like he was consummating a marriage.
Beads of sweat trickle down your forehead as the sun glares over you, and the feeling is reminiscent of your sweaty bodies tangled together in the confined space of the tent. Was it you who came first? Was it Minho? The details are a little blurry right now as you try to steady your breathing, every single fear coming to life as you use your golf club to keep upright.
Disloyal. Another man. Cheater.
Their words replay in your mind and produce offspring of new ones, alluding to implications of broken trust and shattered plans. Hypothetical talks of one whole year of planning down the drain, another man with his hands all over you fulfilling Jung’s role in his absence and improving your form.
They know. They know you cheated, this is Jung’s way of humiliating you in front of his closest friend before he publicly calls off the marriage. He’s going to confront you about it any second now. He’s going to drag Minho’s name through the mud, and possibly also his corpse when he’s done with him-
“Y/n?” A voice interrupts, and your head snaps in the direction of their still gazes. The atmosphere is quiet now, birds chirping overhead once more, cicadas buzzing rhythmically in the distance again.
“Huh?”
“You want to forfeit your turn?” Jung asks with a chuckle. “We’ve been waiting for you to start for ten minutes now.”
Your gaze falls down to your hands, gripped tightly around the rubber of the club still, the ball remaining immobile on the little red tee.
“Uh, sure,” you reply, handing the golf club to Jung as he shakes his head.
You watch with an embarrassed expression as Jung grasps the club skillfully, pulling back and twisting his heel as he produces a robust hit, the ball lifting off its tee and soaring into the distance over the green hill.
“She can’t be disloyal,” Jung says with a chuckle, as he prods you with his golf club for the nth time today. “She can’t even complete one round successfully. Any other man would’ve taught her that’s not how you golf.”
*
At the one week mark since you’ve seen Minho, he’s aware something is wrong. You haven’t picked up his calls, haven’t responded to a single one of his texts, and you feign tiredness or some made up illness when he offers to stop by at hours he knows Jung isn’t home. But you don’t entertain any of it, fearing still that Jung knows, and that this is going to be the end of your marriage.
A fleeting physical endeavor caused by your fiancé’s stubbornness, and yet it’s effectively going to be the end of what was supposed to be your entire future. Seeing Minho will only reignite every fear present inside of you, causing it to coax the truth out of you and confront your fears in the presence of Jung.
The fear of what a lifetime of marriage implies. Are you meant to feel like teenagers in love for the entirety of it? Do the fights last a lifetime? Are you supposed to find a middle ground, or will there always be a need for somebody like Minho to provide some clarity and help you rekindle things to the best of your abilities?
What if in a week, you hate the cake flavor you’ve picked? What if you find yourselves so comfortable it doesn’t feel like love anymore? What if you spend a lifetime picturing it’s Minho fucking you instead of Jung, just to get off at night?
What happens to the marriage then? Does the love fizzle out until it’s a comfortable state of tolerance, one in which you’re sacrificing happiness for stability? Or does it simply exist somewhere else- or with somebody else? What’s implied by a lifetime of this?
Minho’s always been a worrier at heart, though, and he won’t let up until he’s certain your relationship to him isn’t at risk of dissipating, too. So at 11pm on a Friday, when he knows Jung is out with the same group of friends, he makes his move to confront you.
The living room is completely quiet at this hour, a soft ticking noise from the clock overhead as you flip past a page in your book. A romance novel, one littered with smut and cheesy dialogue, true to the lonely housewife you’re already conditioning yourself to be. And as your gaze falls over the first sentence of a new chapter, a knocking at the front door interrupts you.
It’s not Jung- it can’t be at this hour, his return home always signaled by his loud stumbling through the doorway, the jingling of his keys and drunken steps over the shoes he so conveniently forgets to put on the shoe rack.
You wrap your arms around the knit holes of your sweater, approaching the door hesitantly. It’s likely one of Jung’s friends, late to the party, or even one of your own girlfriends, here for a late night gossip session. But when you unlatch the door and pull it open, your heart drops at the sight of Minho, his hands shoved in his pockets and his figure standing slouched as his head looks up to meet your gaze.
“Hi,” says Minho, giving you a thin-lipped smile.
You give him a small nod, unsure of what to reply.
He looks handsome tonight, in a dark denim jacket and a pair of jeans. His golden-brown tresses fall loosely around his chiseled face, and his eyes look a little tired, like he hasn’t gotten much sleep.
“Minho,” you say plainly, fidgeting with a loose hem on the inside of your sleeve. “What are you doing here?”
Minho shrugs, peering into the doorway behind you, and then his eyes lock on yours again.
“I never taught you how to gut a fish,” Minho replies.
“I was just- what?”
“A fish,” Minho repeats. “I never taught you how to gut one.”
“Yeah, because we didn’t catch any,” you reply, a short chuckle escaping your lips.
“I know,” Minho says. “I was wondering if you wanted to come over and gut one.”
“Now?” You reply, glancing at the darkened street behind him. “It’s late.”
“Yeah, and Jung isn’t home until early morning. There’s a salmon defrosting on my counter as we speak, assuming the cats haven’t gotten to it. And I was wondering if you wanted to gut it.”
And he’s doing that thing again, where he takes the problem at hand and makes it so much more miniscule than it actually is. This state between disloyalty and tension you feel toward Jung, and the conflicting feelings you have toward Minho and the trip’s subsequent events. But he doesn’t address any of that- instead, he takes issue with you never having gotten to gut a fish. And that’s a relief, when you think about the other option of verbally confronting the emotions you keep at bay.
“Is it messy?” You ask with a little smile.
“It’s messy,” Minho replies.
“What if I’m bad at it?”
“Then you’re bad at it. But I’ll help you. Mess and all.”
You turn around to peer back into the hallway, at the book lying open and flat on the couch, the second hand on the clock moving painfully slow and the dim lamp illuminating the room around you. There’s not much of anything to stick around for, not when Jung’s still going to be out for hours on end. And not when a part of you is dying to confront the situation with Minho in the privacy of his place.
“You can’t laugh if I’m bad,” you say to Minho as you turn back to face him, slipping on your shoes in the process
“I won’t laugh,” he retorts. “No promises, of course.”
*
Two hours later, the kitchen is littered with napkins, plates, gloves, filet knives and scales. Minho walks you through how to remove the roe and the milt, discarding them for you as you prep your filet knife. He verbally instructs you how to descale the fish, and when you make minimal progress, he guides your hand up and down the length of the salmon with his, giving a little nod as the scales fall off with ease and uncover the smooth finish beneath.
He’s understanding when your reluctant hands fail to cut through to the back bone, chuckling lightly as he helps you cut that, too. And when you successfully pluck the remainder of the pin bones with tweezers, he nods proudly, giving you a thumbs up as you dispose of the fish parts and slide the plate of pink slabs to him across the counter.
“You did really well,” Minho says comfortingly. “You’re very attentive to detail. I don’t think there’s a single pin bone still on there.”
“It’s a little gross,” you say, shaking off your hands and chuckling lightly.
“But the end result will be worth it,” he replies. “Somebody plucked the pin bones off every filet you’ve eaten.”
You hit his arm lightly, as he laughs, coating the slabs in seasoning as you pull your gloves off.
“Minho,” you voice nervously, as he keeps his attention on the plate of fish in front of him.
“Hm?”
“Should we… talk about what happened?”
He sprinkles dried parsley atop the filet, not looking at you as you hold your breath for an answer.
“We can talk about it,” Minho replies simply. “Or we can choose not to. It was just a favor I ran you.”
You nod in response, watching as he swaps out parsley for onion powder and sprinkles lightly.
“Can we talk about it?” You say finally, twiddling your thumbs together.
Minho sets down the glass jar, turning to face you and pulling off his gloves, too.
“Sure,” he says, leaning back against the counter and giving you his undivided attention. Your heartbeat quickens momentarily at the sight of him focusing solely on you, and you struggle to find the words to say. But Minho is faster, taking reins of the conversation and breaking the deafening silence between you two.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” Minho finally says, a kind of sadness evident in his tone.
“I was scared,” you reply. “I felt like Jung knew. It could ruin all of our wedding plans.”
“There’s no way he can find out,” Minho says. “I haven’t said a word to anyone. Unless you felt inclined to say something-”
“God, no,” you reply quickly. “I wouldn’t dare say anything.”
“Good,” Minho then says. “Then it was just a mistake in the heat of the moment. There’s nothing to worry about.”
And somehow the words sting a little, this conclusion that the affair was a mistake. Was it a mistake? You’re not sure- though you are sure of the complete sense of ease it instilled in you, and the fact that it hasn’t left your mind in a whole week.
“Are we okay?” You ask him, a nervous expression painting your face as you wait for an answer.
And Minho nods confidently, pulling on a fresh set of gloves as he reaches for the salt and pepper shakers.
“We’re fine,” Minho reassures. “If you think anything is getting in the way of a decade of you being stuck with me, then you’re mistaken.”
You laugh lightly, pulling on another pair of gloves too and joining Minho in front of the plate of fish.
“You want to pan fry this?” Minho asks, changing the subject. “I’ll walk you through it.”
Your eyes scan the well-seasoned strips of salmon, and then Minho’s comforting figure beside you, as he slides you a pair of tongs.
“Yeah,” you say to him. “Let’s finish this thing.”
Minho’s right- the end result is worth it. The fish is tender, well-seasoned, paired beautifully with his favorite bottle of white wine over an old comedy movie.
And everything feels like it’s back to normal once more as you sit beside him, your plates completely void of food as you finish your glasses of wine and sit back comfortably.
As the end credits roll, Minho lowers the volume, but he doesn’t shut off the television yet, taking another sip from his glass as your gazes fix on the names disappearing on screen.
Your eyes scan Minho’s mostly-vacant walls, at the things and the stuff he’s moved around. And he has, a couple new photographs displayed neatly on the wall in gold frames.
Most of them are black and white photographs you recognize to be cityscapes. And among the collage, placed right in the middle, the only photo with an ounce of color catches your eye.
“Shirakawa,” you say to Minho, cocking your head at the photograph.
It’s a wide shot of the town, bright green grass contrasting the traditional brown farmhouses that span the entirety of the landscape.
“Mhm,” Minho affirms, giving a little nod as he looks over the photograph, too.
You remain like that for a moment, reveling in the view, and then you finally break the comfortable silence once more.
“Could you tell me about it?” You ask him sweetly. “Just anything.”
Minho thinks back to the facts of Shirakawa he stores in the corner of his mind for a moment, sorting through facts and tales he’s held onto since college. Little stories he’s always wished to pass along again one day.
“Those are called Gasshō-Zukuri houses,” Minho says. “Which directly translates to hands in prayer.”
You cock your head in the other direction, nodding at his words, and seeing exactly what he speaks of. The houses do resemble two hands in prayer, the triangular thatched roofs almost reminiscent of a church’s.
“The roofs were designed to prevent heavy snowfall,” he continues. “Which the town is notorious for receiving. But apparently it’s like a little winter land when you’re there.”
His voice trails off a little at the last syllable, getting quiet again as he folds his hands in his lap.
“Which is pretty cool,” Minho finishes, pulling back from divulging too much information about the town he could go on about forever.
And he doesn’t know you’d gladly listen to him talk about it forever, being continuously fascinated with his appreciation for the centuries-old town across the world from you two. You nod in response to his words, imagining the winters those tucked away in that little town must experience- blankets of snow and freezing temperatures, and yet so warm inside those historical homes loved by people all around the world.
“We’ll go one day,” you say to Minho finally, turning to meet his gaze.
He turns to look at you, too, a somber expression on his face as he listens to you speak.
“We’ll go to Shirakawa one day. I promise it.”
Minho swallows nervously, well aware of how close you are to him on the couch now. Your face at such a close distance to him, your limbs resting right beside each other as his eyes flicker over your parted lips.
Minho engages in the nervous habits he always does, blinking nervously a few times and toying with the lobe of his ear. But he doesn’t act on anything, not wanting to push the boundaries you’ve practically just set in place. The same boundaries that concluded it was a mistake in the heat of the moment. So then why do you feel so inclined to kiss him all over again, let your body tangle with his and ease your stress as he assists in confronting all your fears preceding the wedding? Why does the idea of a lifelong commitment feel so much less intimidating when you’re in the presence of Minho? And what are you doing having these thoughts about your best friend when you’re getting married to somebody else in a month?
Thoughts that fail to induce an answer from you- instead interrupted and subsequently silenced by your lips on Minho’s again, kissing him with such desperation the way you did before.
And though desperate, it's still tender, his eyes shutting instinctively as his hands cup your cheeks and pull you closer. And you’ve nowhere to go but his lap, straddling his waist with your legs as you refuse to break away from the kiss, your kisses turning hungrier by the second as his hands find your waist.
This implication to fuck you is far greater this time, a pressing urge between the two of you to mirror the night’s actions and confirm it really did happen. That he did fuck you that night in your tent, and that you both came with each other and for each other, your bodies releasing the pent-up frustration you’re now certain has existed for years.
“Is this okay?” Minho begins to ask, his hands grazing your sides, and your kisses trail down his neck to provide a clear answer to his concern.
“Please,” you plead, nibbling a light bruise into his flesh. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you.”
“I don’t want you to feel guilty-”
“I don’t,” you say, moving to meet his lips again. “It feels so right with you. Please, could we do it again?”
Minho’s breath hitches in his throat as you palm him over the fabric of his jeans, his erection already visible for you.
“I want to,” Minho gasps. “But you’re getting married. I don’t want you to make another mistake-”
“It was never a mistake,” you say breathlessly. “Not the first time, not now. It feels so different with you. Do you feel it too?”
You pull away momentarily, hands cupped around the back of his neck as you wait for his answer. And Minho shoots a nervous smile in response; sheepishly toying with his hair as he struggles to voice his feelings.
“I… do,” Minho begins. “But I want you to-”
“Don’t worry about me,” you say, leaning in to resume pressing kisses along his neck. “Just fuck me like he doesn’t exist,” you finish, your lips working against his once more and guiding his hands down to your waist.
Although you were the one worried of getting found out, you can’t keep your distance from him, wanting nothing more than to feel him inside of you all over again. Coaxing your own arousal out of you, encouraging you to forget all about him the way you’ve been trying to do in the absence of Minho. But with him here in front of you, you know the only way to shut Jung out of your mind is to fill it with thoughts of Minho, and Minho and more Minho.
“I… can do that…” Minho says with another nervous chuckle, as you unzip his jeans and palm him through his boxers.
“Call me something other than my name,” you say to him, pressing a series of chaste kisses to his lips. “Say it like I’m yours.”
And Minho reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, pulling away again to look into your eyes.
“Baby?” He questions nervously, eliciting a smile from you.
“Yeah. Like that.”
“Yeah, baby?” He says again, reciprocating confidently now as you stroke him over his boxers. “You want me to make you forget about him?”
“Please,” you beg again. “You’re so much better than him.”
And amidst the ego boost, Minho can feel his cock swell, painfully hard in your firm grasp now as you stroke him.
“Wait,” Minho says, wincing slightly as you slow your movements. “I don’t want to cum yet.”
“Then hurry up and fuck me,” you smirk down at him, looping your fingers in the waistband of his jeans and tugging slightly. And Minho sits up straighter, smirking back, as he moves to press you down against the couch and hover over you.
“You want me to fuck you?” Minho asks, using one hand to tug his jeans down to his thighs. “God, you haven’t stopped thinking about it, haven’t you?”
“Not once,” you admit, wrapping two arms around his neck and pulling him down toward you. “I would’ve asked you to fuck me years ago if I knew what I was missing out on.”
The two of you share giggles as his jeans are discarded on the floor, followed by his t-shirt, and then your pants and your t-shirt, leaving him in just his boxers, and you in your bra and panties.
Minho lowers himself against your clothed core, rubbing ever so gently against you to provide some relief to his aching shaft as he works his kisses against your drooly lips. And he smiles in between every slight movement, completely satisfied at the fact that it’s him rubbing against you like this and taking care of you instead of Jung. For the second time this month.
The idea that Jung is completely clueless to this game you play behind his back, that he still comes home thinking you belong to anyone except Minho. Both in mind and body, your entire being is intertwined with Minho in every way possible.
And you both know it, judging by the way you grab at each other like a pair of horny teenagers on a first date, trying everything in your ability to hold onto the feeling. Also by the way he’s so patient and forgiving with his movements, stil careful not to move too fast in case you decide you want to stop. And an unspoken promise between the two of you, that no matter what happens, the friendship will remain, that it simply can’t slip through your fingers after a decade of promises to each other.
“Let’s go to Shirakawa,” you say to Minho in a whisper, finally tugging his boxers down and freeing his erection against abdomen.
“You want to?” Minho asks, tugging your panties down, too.
“Yes, I want to,” you reply. “We’ve talked about it for so long. Tell me what we’ll do there.”
“Well we’ll definitely go fishing,” Minho begins, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips as he discards your panties on the floor beside you. “And I’ll help gut all the salmon with you.”
“Mhm,” you voice in a dreamy tone, massaging his hair with the tips of your fingers.
“And then we can see all the animals there,” he continues, positioning himself over you and lifting your leg a little to get a better angle. His hand massages gentle circles in your inner thigh, careful not to enter without ensuring you’re comfortable first.
“And when it snows,” Minho says. “We’ll be trapped inside. But we can occupy the little attic space, where the walls slant inwards. And I promise to make love to you until it stops snowing.”
“When does it stop snowing?” You ask, as Minho pumps his cock gently over you and positions himself in front of your entrance. He chuckles lightly as he leans in to kiss you, your entrance quickly swallowing his tip and caressing his girth with your arousal as he leans in to push himself even further.
“It doesn’t,” Minho replies finally, thrusting himself into you and letting his hands find the small of your back to steady himself. You let out a fervent moan at the sensation, quickly drunk on the feeling all over again. The mesmerizing sensation of his body hovering over you, of his cock inside of you, exactly the way you remembered it from the other night.
And it’s not right, but it feels so right to have him those close to you again, your best friend closing the gap of uncertainty between you and shutting you up with the confirmation that your souls have always belonged to each other this way.
“Fuck, Minho,” you breathe out, beads of sweat dripping down your temples as he buries himself to the hilt inside of you and holds it there, pulsating harshly against your cervix.
“Will you go faster?” You ask him, running your fingertips down his back in encouragement.
“Are you sure?” he says between labored breaths, still careful not to hurt you.
“Please,” you practically beg. “I’m so eager for you, please just do something about it, baby.”
Minho’s eyebrows raise a little at the utterance of a pet name. He’s never heard it from you- not in all your years of friendship. He’s hardly secured a nickname from you in all that time. And yet here you are now, taking him so fully obediently, throwing words like baby at him and begging him to fuck you so that you won’t have to think about Jung.
“Baby?” Minho says curiously, capturing your lips in a kiss.
“Baby,” you reply, rutting your hips up against his as he begins to move a little faster. “Baby, and honey, and fiancé.”
Minho chuckles a little at the last word, cocking his head as he digests your response.
“Fiancé?”
“Yeah,” you say back between little moans that escape your lips. “If we were in Shirakawa I think we’d be engaged. And you could fuck me whenever you wanted to.”
Minho feels his cock twitch at your words, his mind running rampant with the fantasy of being engaged to you. The implication of a lifetime of this, fucking you sweetly in the comfort of a shared home and coaxing all your stress out of you. And furthermore, a lifetime of you- of being dragged to all your favorite bars, takeout meals and cheap comedy movies, camping when the leaves turn orange and gutting salmon alongside you.
A lifetime of security, stability. One of sheer, unwavering happiness.
“What a dream that would be,” Minho voices, moving a little faster at your words now.
“You think?”
“I know,” he affirms, his hands finding the mounds of your breasts and cupping them gently to unclasp your bra.
“What a fucking dream it would be to have you like this every night.”
Your bra is promptly discarded alongside you on the couch, the cool air grazing your erect nipples as he brings his mouth down to latch around one in gentle sucking motions. You can feel yourself clench around his cock, taking in the sight of his drooly lips wrapped around your chest and working you in eager motions. It’s still the same Minho you recognize from years ago- still the dorky, yet handsome figure of permanence always present somewhere in your life. And it feels even less unnatural than the last time you slept with him, simply instilling another wave of eased stress and tranquility deep inside of you. It’s like this is supposed to be the relationship between the two of you now- you live your life catering to the stubborn, unmoving personality of Jung’s. Minho tends to his monotonous life away from you. And when you reunite once more, relishing in tales of your separate lives from each other and laughing over glasses of chenin blanc, he concludes the night with a slow, intimate session of love-making, one to seal the promise between your souls that regardless of where the future takes you, this is still permanent.
Neither the college girls Minho’s fucked so well, nor the shitty men you promise yourself to could come between that. And it’s a comfortable truth you both come to terms with as he gives himself to you so lovingly and wholly.
“Are you close?” Minho asks, moving to your lips once more and indulging you in a slow, sensual kiss.
“Yeah,” you breathe out, wrapping your arms around his neck a little stabler and bringing your gaze down to his cock, where he disappears inside of you with complete ease.
“Where do- fuck- where do you want me to finish?” Minho asks, squeezing his eyes shut momentarily. “I don’t want to pose any risks to you right now.”
And he’s right, both of you knowing very well that just because you’ve addressed your mutual attraction to each other, doesn’t mean you can run around with Minho’s arousal catching in your walls like you just aren’t engaged.
You still have a wedding to tend to, another person to return home to and a promise in the eventual holy sanctity of marriage that Jung is your only lover. But right now that no official certificate holds you to that, you can’t find it inside you to care, wanting nothing more than to be filled by Minho, and Minho and more Minho, and yet knowing it’s simply not a possibility.
“Wherever you want,” you finally breathe out, placing the option in the hands of Minho. Your breasts, your mouth. Inside of you. You don’t care- all you care is that he’s here, and he’s upholding his end of sealing the permanence between you two.
Minho gives a few particularly harsh thrusts, and then he brings a hand to the base of his cock, pulling out carefully and wincing as he staves off his orgasm. Your hands remain wrapped around the back of his neck, your gaze fixed on his as he works himself in quick strokes and leans in to kiss you.
“Can we go to Shirakawa?” You ask him again tenderly, as he continues to pump himself over your lying figure.
“Of course we can,” Minho responds with a sweet smile, his breaths labored as he nears his finish. “We can go wherever you want.”
“As long as you’re there,” you say to him, smiling up at him as he leans forward to kiss you again.
“As long as it’s the two of us,” Minho clarifies. “We can go anywhere.”
His eyes shut once more, his long eyelashes grazing his eyelids as his lips part open, and then he lets out a whimpered moan as he finally reaches his finish, coating your stomach in the milky white release of his orgasm. He kisses you when he finishes, smiling against your lips as he brings a hand down between you and rubs your clit in gentle, circular motions.
Your moans turn whimpered, too, as you reach your finish, clenching around what you wish was his cock and letting go for him.
And the credits on the television reach their end, transitioning to the hushed echo of a commercial playing. But neither of you are in any rush to leave or clean up just yet, allowing your listless bodies to intertwine lazily on the sofa as your giggles fill the quiet space between you and reverberate off the walls with such mutual fondness.
*
Mondays are heavy with work. Tuesdays, Jung works late. Wednesdays and Thursdays are dedicated time for his friends from college, and every day after that is a toss-up, but they’re often days you spend with Jung, watching movies in your apartment, going on little dates or in uncomfortable silence alongside him as he spills details of his work and his friends.
And he believes this to be your schedule, because he’s clueless otherwise.
Mondays are really for late-night phone calls with Minho, where you run off to the patio for a few minutes of privacy while Jung catches up on sports broadcasts. Tuesdays, Minho cooks you intricate meals at his apartment, alongside old comedy movies and concluded always by his gentle love-making to you. Wednesdays and Thursdays feel like college again, Minho finally agreeing to accompany you to all your favorite bars again and paying for your drinks as he watches you dance for him, his hands all over you as the two of you exchange needy kisses for everybody to watch.
And though the lights by the bar are far too dim for anybody to recognize you’re out with somebody beside your fiancé, a part of you doesn’t care.
Bastard. Facilitator of cheating. Homewrecker.
Sometimes you and Minho joke about the names they’d call him if they found out. Every derogatory term under the sun, like they haven’t already thought it of him for being quieter than Jung’s douchebag friends. And yet they also fail to see he’s more kind, more attentive and more loving than any of them could ever bring to the table in the presence of their own wives.
You also know they won’t find out- not when you’re virtually invisible to Jung and his friends when he’s not showing you off like some trophy to be won. When corporate holiday parties arise, or the need for an even number of golf participants makes itself known, Jung’s there without hesitation, grasping your hand between his clammy fingers and recounting days of when you’d met.
And yet none of his stories involve the present you. They fail to include your successes at work, or the books you’ve taken a liking to recently, or even the valiant efforts you’ve put into decorating your shared space with him, despite his complete lack of assistance. His stories of you exclude the liking you’ve taken to “yoga retreats” recently. And they definitely don’t know you can gut a fish like your life depends on it.
“This wine is better than the last one,” you say to Minho, as he pours himself a glass and slips a crystal stopper into the spout.
“It cost me less than the loaf of bread,” Minho replies with a breathy chuckle. “I don’t think we’ll ever stop favoring cheap convenience store wine.”
You swirl the cherry red color around in your glass, admiring the way the liquid forms a little whirlpool and settles once again, the strong scent wafting upward in the process.
“Notes of cherry, wood, french vanilla and… pocket money,” you say to Minho wafting the scent up even further with a wave of your hand.
He laughs at your words, taking a sip from his own glass and smacking his lips together once.
“Undertones of fruit and nuttiness. And maybe penny pinching, like in our college days,” Minho replies, the two of you chuckling as you set your glasses down.
You look out at the view from his balcony window, the darkened sky providing little to see at this hour, but still outlining the silhouettes of the trees and the bushels that line his apartment terrace.
“The time passed us by so fast,” Minho says in a somber tone, not turning to face you. You keep your gaze on the trees outside, thinking over your shared actions over the past few weeks. It’s been nothing short of thrilling going behind Jung’s back the way you do, but you’re also aware that with every meetup, you’re a day closer to tying the knot with Jung, preparing for a lifetime of permanence alongside the same person you’ve never felt so unsure about before now.
You turn to face him finally, a sad smile on your face as he waits for your answer.
“I wish we did something about this earlier,” you respond finally, taking note of the glow in his eyes as you speak. He looks marvelous at this proximity to you, so attainable and so enchanting all at the same time.
“Did something about what?”
“This,” you emphasize. “Us.”
Minho blinks nervously a few times, and then he cocks his head slightly as he waits for you to continue, too scared to affirm your words with thoughts of his own first.
“All this time I was trying to validate the fears inside of me surrounding this wedding,” you explain to him. “And then there was you, the same person who makes them nearly nonexistent. I wish we did something about it earlier so that maybe the fear was just lessened to begin with.”
Minho nods nervously, as he understands very well now that you’re on completely separate pages.
Minho, who wishes he could shake some sense into you and confess that this isn’t just some physical endeavor soul-searching the way it is for you- that he’s so madly in love with you, and that he chases the reminder of your permanence because the ivy that constricts his veins will surely kill him in your absence.
And thus, he takes what he can get- you, at your most vulnerable moments, unloved and uncherished by Jung, just seeking a kindly ear and maybe a warm body to remind you that there is some semblance of comfort to be felt in the interim.
And yet you, who only partakes in this fleeting act of physical yearning because you’re scared of commitment to Jung, who maybe doesn’t fulfill you every way you wish he would all the time. So you go behind his back, and you chase the fulfillment yourself, and you act upon the fears and the anxieties that have always circled your mind in the presence of Minho.
Maybe he likes you, maybe he’s jealous, maybe he wants to fuck you.
Statements you’ve heard throughout the entirety of your friendship, ones you couldn’t help but ponder, too, as Minho would grow painfully quiet with Jung in the room. But ones you always brushed off, telling yourself that the two just don’t click. And yet the arousal present with the fear makes for some of the most pleasurable moments together in the privacy of Minho’s home, albeit for Minho, on time begged and borrowed from you. The affair with Minho is not indicative of permanence in any form, and yet it exists to confront your very fear of permanence.
Selfish? Surely. Contradictory? In every sense of the word. The concerns raised to you by Minho himself in any way? Never.
So it remains, this tragic cycle of sleeping with your best friend behind your fiancé’s back, blind to the fact that he’s irrevocably in love with you, in a comfortable state of mind knowing that at least you’ll have felt this state of peace for even just a finite amount of time before you give yourself away to the marriage completely.
And yet it’s a beautiful thing in essence, this shared love between the two of you. A trust instilled so deeply on both sides to give yourselves away to each other every night and close a chapter of what once was, regardless of the differences in how it’s perceived.
The incandescent glow Minho’s tender embraces bring forth in you, no matter the fact that he’s simply grieving a very real, living love that still exists between the two of you. Green leaves of ivy that constrict his throat and force words back down them again, so that he may never admit that he’s jealous, and it’s you, it’s always been you. The same suffocating feeling he ponders late at night, asking himself why he’s been so magnificently cursed to only love you under these circumstances, and never in ones that promise him your permanence in return.
But when you're across from him, a glass of cheap wine in hand and your gentle laughter accompanying his, he can’t help but embrace the grand feeling- tarnished, but still grand.
“Maybe it worked out the way it was supposed to,” Minho settles on saying. “Maybe it wasn’t supposed to be more than this little period of time.”
And there’s a pang of pain in his chest as he utters the words, but he’s met with your small nod in response, visibly comforted by the prospect of his implications.
“Hey,” you say after a moment of silence, sitting up straight and swirling your glass of wine around in your hand again. “There’s a dinner thing Jung’s hosting with some people from the guest list. Don’t say you didn’t get the invite.”
Minho exhales with an audible groan, slouching back in his chair and running his hands through his hair.
“I don’t even like his cooking,” Minho admits frustratedly. “He’s just going to make me feel like an idiot the whole night.”
“But I want you there,” you say to him in a pleading tone. “You’re my best friend. I can’t do this stuff without you.”
“I know you can’t,” Minho replies. “And I don’t want you to have to. But it’s going to be awkward, and painful.”
“I won’t let him cross any boundaries,” you reason with him. “I’ll diffuse anything that comes up. I just want you there, even if it means you’re going to sit there and say nothing. Even that would make me happier than seeing your empty chair all night.”
Minho groans again, swirling his own glass of wine around in his hands and averting your gaze. He’s quiet for a long moment, and then he speaks again, in a reluctant voice.
“He would kill me if he found out, you know. We would never see each other again.”
You feel your heart sink at his words, even the thought of it beyond unnerving to you.
“Why do you say that suddenly?”
“Just… thinking,” Minho finishes.
“Well he has no way of knowing,” you console him. “And I promise to keep things civil.”
Minho thinks for a moment, wanting to press you for more answers about what this even is, about why you’re choosing to let him waste his time like this and what possessed him to agree to attend your pre-wedding dinner as the other man.
But he says nothing, letting a generous sip of alcohol serve as the answer to the requests you press him for- yes, of course he’ll be there, albeit with his long list of fears and reservations. But he’ll do anything, twice even, at your behest.
*
The ebony wood dining table looks particularly elegant when it’s set up for guests. You line the seats with ceramic white platters, shiny silverware and iridescent glasses, paying special attention to even minute details, such as the direction of the prongs for each fork you place on white nylon napkins. Mixed peonies and birchwood make up the long centerpiece, and tall white taper candles are lit in the bronze candleabras.
And the mood is largely set by the guests, who laugh loudly around the table with glasses of expensive beverages in their hands. They speak of their jobs, and their spouses and pop culture references you can’t be bothered to pay attention to. Your eyes scan the emptiness in their eyes, most of them living lives you can tell they’ve simply settled for. And you wonder, briefly, if they’ve ever experienced the unwavering happiness you do in the presence of Minho. Do they ever crack open a bottle of convenience store wine? Do they still let loose at clubs every now and then? Could they gut a fish if they caught one?
You respond to their stories with little nods and fake chuckles, and your head snaps in every direction past your guests to the front door.
Minho’s fashionably late tonight, or at least you hope he is, still holding on to the promise that he’s going to be here. And Minho’s many things- but he’s not dishonest. He’ll show if he says he will, albeit for a few minutes each time when it involves Jung. But he’ll still show, dropping by with a timid smile and greeting the audience before sending you off with a lousy excuse again and leaving his spot vacant for the remainder of the evening. But tonight is different- tonight he’s here as the other man. And you can’t decipher whether that indicates a change in his subsequent actions, that perhaps he won’t show after all, and you’ll be left to your own devices with Jung and his obnoxious friends.
“… And one of our clients is an intern this quarter,” Jung says loudly, as he rants about his work in typical fashion. “Which means I’m going to be carrying most of our partnership.”
The guests laugh and raise their glasses, and you can’t help but wonder how on earth the comment warrants even an ounce of laughter. As Kwang’s wife begins to voice a response, the doorbell rings once, and your head snaps in the direction of the echoing bell.
“I’ll get it,” you say quickly, rising from your seat and smoothing down your skirt. “Excuse me.”
The guests glance briefly in your direction, and then turn their attention back to Jung, who begins to voice another chronicle of his inadequate colleagues. As you march down the hallway, your heart quickens in your chest, admittedly a little nervous to confront Minho after the recent events. You wonder if he’s going to be more awkward, or maybe even shut down entirely around the group. Maybe he’s just here to drop off another cake and send you off with a wave. Endless possibilities you’ve never had to consider when you weren’t actively sleeping with him. You unlatch the front door, taking a deep breath, and then pull it open, your gaze falling instantly onto the standing figure.
And it’s a wave of comfort when he smiles at you, his eyes forming little crescents as he grins and exposes his endearing set of skewed teeth, a breathy chuckle escaping his lips as he does. He’s much more dressed up tonight, in a black collared button down and a black tie, his light brown tresses framing his chiseled jawline so well. And seeing him is more exciting than any other guest you’ve seen tonight, a present urge to pepper him in kisses and remain right here alone, with him.
“Hey,” Minho says in a shy voice.
“Hi,” you respond, trying to stifle the giddy expression on your face from the guests around you who might be looking. “I saved you a seat,” you continue. “Come on.”
Minho enters reluctantly, glancing around the room and giving a small nod to the guests as you direct him to the vacant seat beside you. And somehow, he looks a little more confident, his posture much straighter and a knowing smile on his face as he occupies the seat beside you.
“Hi,” he says to the guests as they meet his gaze, and he even gives a small nod to Jung, who shoots him a subtle scowl.
“Jung,” Minho voices, gesturing to the table. “Pleased to be here.”
Jung just nods at Minho, and then goes back to telling a story of his business accounts.
But your attention is everywhere except for Jung’s story, hardly even able to take your gaze off Minho’s. His eyes sparkle under the hanging pendant lamp, his lips pulling into a little smirk as you watch him with such fascination. There’s something so enticing about the prospect that nobody here knows he’s fucked you, several times since the last time they saw him, and he’ll likely do it tonight when Jung thinks you’re out with a group of girlfriends. They don’t know the world you two have effectively built together, romantic nights of cooking intricate dinners together over glasses of cheap wine. And they don’t know the history you two share, years of walking through your fears and uncertainty alongside one another and bettering yourselves in the process. He’s your other half in so many ways, and you’re not sure it’s something anybody except the two of you could even begin to comprehend.
You watch as Minho picks up a bottle of wine from the table, rotating it in his grasp and examining the contents. It’s one of Jung’s favorites, an expensive bottle of zinfandel he picks up from a special market a few hours out of the city. And it all tastes the same to you anyway, pairing just fine with steak or fish or even fast food at 3am. In fact, it’s subpar in comparison to Minho’s favorites, which taste like safe intimacy, laughing at comedy reruns and love-making under the warmth of his blankets.
“Anyways,” Jung voices loudly, finally garnering your attention from beside him. “We’ve never been more ready for this honeymoon. I need tropical weather and some margaritas.”
“Amen to that,” Kwang chimes in, raising his glass for the nth time tonight.
I hate warm weather, you want to say. I wish it was Shirakawa, under the safety of the prayer hands thatched roofs and blankets of snow.
“If we don’t come back, just know we opted to stay,” Jung then says. “I’ll stay golfing on the beach and you guys can tough out the rest of winter here.”
Cue the obnoxious laughter, fake smiles, raised glasses.
“You’ll have the whole trip to help on her form,” Kwang says loudly, gesturing over to you with the wine bottle in hand.
“We went golfing the other day, and let’s just say there’s ample time for improvement.”
Roaring laughter, unsightly grins and clinking glasses.
And Minho glances over at you, who keeps a smile on your face at the stupid remark.
It’s exactly this that keeps him from acting upon the urge- you look content. You don’t argue, you don’t maintain a blank expression. Instead you smile, and you agree with his friends and your eyes look like they’re still on the same page of devoting entirely yourself to this less-than-desirable relationship you flaunt. Minho knows he’s just a stepping stone in this chapter, and that he’s going to come out of this hurt. But he also knows that despite your fears, you’re content, and he’s not going to insert himself between the love that you deserve, though it may take a while to materialize fully.
You glance over at Minho with a nervous smile, silently hoping he’ll say something. Just ask me to run away with you, you want to say. Tell me to run, and I’ll meet you there. Wherever.
But you know he won’t dare, too set on the idea that this is still what you want. So he’ll remain like this, in the unfamiliar atmosphere of a dining table you share with another man, and he’ll let himself face what becomes of it in due time.
“Are you okay?” Minho asks quietly, leaning in to fill your glass with more expensive wine.
“Peachy,” you say with a smile. And one he returns, shooting you another gentle smile and nodding at your confirmation.
The two of you listen as Jung segues into another story about his business client, and Minho’s leather heel finds your ankle under the table, grazing it softly as you stifle a smile.
There’s no sexual implication rooted in his actions, maybe not not even romantic implication, as his heel moves up and down the back of your bare calf. It’s just a reminder to say this will always be of permanence.
*
Minho’s hands work up and down the sides of your waist as he kisses you, smiling against your lips as you slot yourself between his legs and grasp the back of his neck.
He kisses Jung’s expensive wine back into your mouth, the flavor complementing the mouthwatering look he sports this evening, and you have to remind yourself several times to slow down.
“This looks so good on you,” you say with a smile, fidgeting with his tie and loosening it from around his neck.
“It’s the same one I always wear,” Minho says with a chuckle. “I can’t be bothered to buy a new one.”
“Don’t buy a new one. I want this one. I want it to be this one every time.”
Minho laughs lightly, a form of verbal agreement, and then he pulls you a little closer to him, rubbing little circles in the small of your back as you stay close in his embrace. He’s sprawled out on his couch, strands of hair hanging delicately in his face as he steadies you in his hold over him, his pink lips visibly swollen from having kissed you for the better part of an hour now.
“Tell me something about Shirakawa,” you ask him innocently, unfastening the first few buttons of his collared dress shirt.
”Anything?” Minho responds, bringing an arm up to rest casually behind his head.
“Anything. Something dreamy.”
“Hm,” Minho hums in response. “There are rice fields, and lily ponds and green orchards,” he says finally. “We can walk through all of them without a care in the world, and we can get drunk off little glasses of sake.”
“And the whole town can be ours,” you chime in, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss to his toned chest.
“The whole town,” Minho echoes. “It can be whatever we want it to be.”
“As long as you’re there,” you tell him, trailing your kisses lower and undoing the line of buttons as you near his navel
“Anything you want,” Minho exhales in a dreamy tone. “Say it and it’s yours.”
His eyes shut instinctively as the last of his buttons are undone, exposing his chest to you and promptly covered in eager kisses as you trail down to his hardening cock in his pants.
And his arms rest lazily behind his head, feeling completely taken care of, so needy always for your delicate touch. Your nimble fingers work to graze in slow back and forth motions over his flesh, and then you hoist yourself up a little higher to straddle your hips over his crotch.
“Thank you for showing up tonight,” you say to him in a sweet voice. “It means everything to me.”
“Anything you want,” Minho says for the second time tonight. “Say the word and I’m there.”
“You’re my best friend,” you voice to Minho. “I couldn’t do any of this without you.”
And the utterance of a friend doesn’t even sting for him anymore. It’s fact- you belong to each other, time and time again, as friends, and lovers in the evening, and everything else in between. He doesn’t fight it, because he’s grateful for any role he can play amidst the grand role you play in his.
“Are you hard?” You ask a little quietly, a knowing smile on your face as you rock your hips gently over his.
“A little,” Minho replies, though he’s in no rush to have you take care of it. It’s enough exactly like this, your bodies intertwined together and infatuated with each other in the secrecy of his home.
“You want me to take care of you?” You then ask, one hand trailing up to wrap lightly around his throat.
And as your slender fingers graze the column of his neck, it’s clear to you at this angle. Sticking out like a sore thumb, so glaringly wrong and indecent from this proximity.
Your left ring finger, completely bare, your engagement ring nowhere to be seen.
At first you’re sure you’re hallucinating, pulling your hand back quickly to examine the thin tan where your finger meets your knuckle, one that’s usually covered by the gleaming jewelry. But as you rotate your finger around under the dim lighting, you confirm it’s not in fact some illusion- your engagement ring is gone.
Minho sits up a little, craning his neck a little to examine your worried expression.
“Y/n?” He questions, taking note of the way your eyes remain fixed to your hand. “Is everything okay?”
“It’s not here,” you say simply.
“What? What’s not here?”
“My ring,” you say a little more panicked, climbing off him and glancing around the coffee table.
“Where’s my ring?” You question, moving aside stacks of books and magazines atop the glass table. Minho sits up, glancing around too, searching desperately for the little piece of silver jewelry.
“Let’s stay calm,” Minho says as he stands up. “It has to be around here. When was the last time you saw it?”
“I can’t remember,” you say in a panicked tone, now scrambling to the kitchen and searching the marble counters.
“Okay,” Minho says calmly. “Was it- do you ever take it off to wash it?”
“I never take it off,” you reply. “I never take it off, why the fuck isn’t it on my finger?”
“Let’s stay calm,” Minho repeats. “It has to be in here-”
“Calm?” You finally retort, turning to face him with tears pricking your eyes. “You want me to stay calm? Jung’s going to kill me, do you know how fucking expensive that thing was?”
“Of course,” Minho says, buttoning up his shirt as he continues to search. “Which is why we’re going to find it.”
And you don’t reply for several moments, still frantically scanning the kitchen counters for any sign of your ring. But it’s a moot point, every napkin you unball containing nothing, nothing in the trash cans Minho searches through, even the dishwasher thoroughly searched, to no avail.
And you can’t help but to cry, tears falling nonstop from the corners of your eyes as you rush about the kitchen and think of every worst-case scenario. This is it. Confronting Jung about it means he’s going to know what’s been going on, chew you out about the cost of the ring and your carelessness toward it. And then call off the wedding, and every single one of your friends will know you’re a cheater and a liar.
“It’s not fucking here,” you cry out to Minho, halting your movements to bury your face in the palms of your hands, letting yourself emit muffled sobs into the sleeves of your sweater.
“It has to be,” Minho says, glancing once more around the room, and then approaching you to pull you in for a hug.
“Don’t,” you order, pushing him away from you, and Minho furrows his brows together. “Just don’t fucking touch me right now.”
Minho gives a breathy chuckle, thinking at first you might be joking, and then his expression softens as he realizes you’re being completely serious.
“What- seriously? That’s it?” Minho questions.
“What?” You say with a choked sob. “I can’t find my fucking engagement ring. The one I was given to get married, in case you forgot. Sorry I’m not in the mood.”
Minho scoffs lightly, placing his hands on his hips and shaking his head. And then he meets your gaze once more, a solemn expression on his face.
“What are we doing?”
“What?” You query in response.
“What the fuck are we doing?” Minho repeats. “What the fuck are you doing here if you’re getting married?”
You shrug frustratedly, wiping tears with the back of your hand and saying nothing in response.
“No, answer me,” Minho commands, his voice raising a little. “What are we doing, going behind his back like this? You come here almost every night spewing your bullshit about Shirakawa and suddenly it’s my fault that you can’t find your fucking engagement ring? I mean, who even cares?”
“Who cares?” You retort. “I do. I’m getting married-”
“Exactly,” he interrupts. “So then what the fuck are we doing? Go get married, for fuck’s sake. Will you just leave, for good then?”
“You want me to walk out of your life just because I’m getting married?”
“I want you to leave because I’m in love with you,” Minho says finally, and a deafening silence washes over you two.
For a moment, all that’s heard are your echoing sniffles and Minho’s heavy breathing, as he struggles to find the words to continue.
“You really don’t see it in the way I look at you? You really haven’t realized I’m only okay being the other man because I’ll take any fucking version of you I can get at this point?”
Your gaze fixes on his, taking note of the way tears prick at the corners of his eyes, too.
“I’ve been in love with you for all these years,” Minho says, his voice coming out in a choked sob. “And what a waste, all these talks of Shirakawa when I’ve known all along it was always going to be him in the end.”
His words circle your mind with a sense of urgency, as you struggle to respond.
You have known it, maybe even reciprocating by this point, but knowing that you can’t, not when you’re getting married in mere weeks. You’re happy, and you’re safe here with Minho. But in terms of love, this isn’t permanent. It’s a fleeting thing, one that has to end like this as you approach the next chapter of the rest of your life.
And yet it hurts, like a knife pierced deep into an existing wound, like thick vines of ivy that caress your veins and pull tightly with every thought of it being Minho all this time, all these years.
“I love you,” Minho says almost sheepishly, throwing his hands at his sides in defeat. “I’ve always loved you. I love you in loud bars and over cheap bottles of wine. And I’m jealous- god, I’m jealous,” Minho admits in a choked sob. “And it’s killing me. I can’t do anything about it except watch you plan a life with somebody I’ll spend the rest of my life wishing was me instead.”
Your lips part to say something, but you can’t, simply wiping the tears that fall onto the sleeve of your sweater.
“I love you in the hands of another man and I’ll still love you if you choose him. But I can’t do it at this proximity to you anymore.”
“Minho, please-”
“There’s nothing else,” Minho says, gasping back his tears. “This is it for us.”
You watch as he exhales deeply, wiping his tears and gesturing back to the kitchen.
“Did you check the soap dish?” Minho then says in a quiet voice.
“What?”
“The soap dish,” he clarifies somberly. “For your ring.”
And Minho watches as your gaze falls to the stainless steel soap dish across the room, a bristle pad sponge occupying the rectangular dish, alongside the familiar glint of your silver engagement ring.
One you removed to ensure you didn’t lose it among the plate of pin bones from the cod you helped Minho prepare. And one you hadn’t even realized has been missing from your finger for several hours now.
Your gaze falls back to Minho’s before you retrieve the ring, and his eyes are swollen and mournful. There’s not a glint of hope present between you two- not in friendship, and certainly not in love.
And neither of you say another word as you pivot on your heel to collect the symbol of yours and Jung’s ode to permanence.
*
The polyester-spandex mix of your reception dress is much itchier than you remembered it to be. It’s a simple white piece, long and cascading behind the heels you’ve chosen, a generous v-cut enhancing the curve of your breasts as you adjust the hem in the mirror.
“Is it more comfortable than your wedding dress?” One of the bridesmaids questions with a smile.
You shoot her a somber smile, nodding at her and fidgeting with the long sleeve of your dress.
“Yeah. It is.”
“It should be,” she responds kindly. “Remember, try not to step on the bottom or we’ll have to get it cleaned off before the real thing.”
You nod at her, checking your reflection once more in the full-length mirror across from you. You love the woman you embody- she looks elegant, and sure of herself and well on the path to a lifetime of stability and happiness.
And yet the girl inside of you can’t feel further from the perception.
You want nothing more than to climb out of the tight-fitting dress and leave all of this, damn this rehearsal dinner to hell and call off the wedding. But this is it- the final stretch. Guests at every corner assume their positions and practice where they’ll stand and how they’ll move about so elegantly as you say your vows.
Jung seems so sure of himself, adjusting the cuffs of his suit and shooting you a wink from across the room as you stare blankly. And you can’t reciprocate, still far too preoccupied with the events of last week to care about any of this. Minho sending you off, the ultimatum to choose between your fiancé and the best friend you’re in love with.
Of course you couldn’t choose Minho, whose role in most of this has been to help lessen your fears and prepare you for a lifetime of giving yourself to Jung. And yet somewhere along the way, you couldn’t help but wonder if that was even true, completely smitten with every part of him, too. The fact remains that you’re in love with him, and yet you’ve both been so magnificently cursed to keep it at a comfortable distance and pray that in some version of this story, it’s you guys in the end.
Your family saunters about the venue in their fancy dressed and suits, and your guests chat amongst themselves and sample the foods that have been laid out for them. And your mind circles with images of Minho, and Minho and more Minho. And what he would look like, instead of Jung, waiting at the end of the aisle for you with a toothy grin and tears in his eyes. The cheap wine you’d choose to cater, just a handful of guests the way you know he’d want it. And an innocent, undemanding love shared between the two of you, sealing your promise to each other with a tender kiss and his breathy laugh.
Yet the fantasy is fleeting, it’s rooted in the delusion of a cheater, in every sense of the word, and it would effectively ruin your life had it come to fruition.
“Which way do we go from here?” Jung questions loudly, and your head snaps up in his direction.
“From here you’ll go to the right, just past the foyer there,” a coordinator responds. “Make sure to smile when you’re walking down an aisle at any given point.”
Stupid. The whole thing feels stupid.
“Did you get that?” Jung questions, and you nod meekly.
“Sure.”
“Let’s take five,” a coordinator says, clasping her hands together.
Jung resumes a conversation with the groomsmen beside him, and your eyes fall to the vacant seat across the table, where Minho’s meant to be sitting. A small white folded card rests delicately on a white platter, his name scribbled in loopy cursive to reserve his spot.
Lee Minho.
And you read his name over a dozen times, replaying every last word of your conversation in your head and wondering what he’d do if he were here. Probably criticize the wine, or make faces at Jung’s phony speeches. And love you from afar, but with his entire heart, regardless.
“What do you think so far?” Jung leans in to whisper.
“Yeah,” you reply, nearly evading the question altogether.
Your eyes scan the room at the carefully placed decorations- rows of lantern lights, white tablecloths and organized dishes for the guests, tapered candles are lit at every table. And in the center, bushels of magenta flower arrangements in cylindrical glass vases.
Magenta.
Your eyes do a double take, carefully examining the color as you furrow your brows. Magenta. Neon, obnoxious shades of magenta at every table. Nothing within the realm of the baby pink you requested. Harsh on the eyes and contrasting repulsively against the rest of the decor.
“The flowers are magenta,” you say to Jung quietly.
“Hm?”
“The flowers,” you repeat. “Are magenta.”
“Yeah,” Jung says, audibly a little confused. “They’re nice, right?”
“I said pink,” you respond. “Baby pink. These aren’t pink.”
Jung furrows his brows together, and then he cocks his head at the floral displays set upon each table.
“You’re right,” he then replies. He snaps his fingers at a staff member, and then he gestures to the floral displays.
“These aren’t pink,” he says harshly. “She requested pink and not magenta. Could we get these swapped out, please?”
A coordinator jots something down in a small notepad, and then gives him an understanding nod.
“That’s what we’re paying you guys for, right?” Jung asks sarcastically. “Come on, don’t let us settle for magenta flowers.”
And when he turns back to you, his chuckles get quieter as he observes the displeased expression on your face.
“Why are you making such a big deal out of this?” You ask him quietly.
“What?”
“Why are you ordering them around like that? They’re just flowers.”
“What? But you just said-”
“You never make things feel like less of a big deal,” you say quietly, a little scoff escaping your lips as you speak.
“What are you talking about?”
“You just take something and run with it. You don’t make things feel like less of a problem than they are. You’re supposed to comfort me, or find the good in magenta flowers. Not yell at the service workers.”
Jung laughs nervously, taking your words for a joke at first, and other guests begin to stare across the table as they watch you rise from your seat.
“And why is the wine so fucking expensive?”
“Please, sit down,” Jung says nervously, waving the guests off as they shoot him concerned looks.
“No, I don’t want to.”
And as you search for the words to say, your heart beating erratically, you realize it’s exactly this that you’ve stopped yourself from doing all this time. Fighting back. Using your voice the way Jung so comfortably weaponizes his against you. Letting your emotions spill out from the years they’ve been bottled up inside of you, and finally coming to terms with the fact that this isn’t the life you want at all.
It’s Minho you love, it’s always been Minho and it’s always going to be Minho.
“I don’t want this,” you say to Jung, as you smooth down your dress and stand up.
“Please, sit,” he says through gritted teeth.
“You don’t know the first thing about me,” you say in a shaky voice. “You don’t fulfill me, you haven’t touched me in weeks, I don’t think you even know that I asked for baby pink flowers, because you’re too busy showing off to all the shitty people you call friends. I don’t think we have ever been friends.”
All of the guests keep their gazes on you, taken aback by your words, but you don’t care, continuing your rant while they watch in horror.
“I hate expensive wine,” you say to Jung. “I want to go on a honeymoon somewhere it snows. I want to watch comedy movies, and go camping and be so madly in love it hardly feels like it some days, because we’re also such good friends when we’re not completely infatuated with each other.”
Jung doesn’t say anything, glancing nervously around the table as the coordinators maintain their silence, too. Your chest rises and falls with gasped breaths as you try to hold back from crying in front of them. And then you shrug, before finishing your speech.
“At the end of the day, there’s the man who tells me how to golf,” you say in a shaky voice. “And there’s the man who guts a fish alongside me, mess and all.”
Jung frowns at your words, visible confusion painting his features.
“What?”
“I have to go,” you say to him, sparing him any sort of explanation.
The hem of your dress is balled into the palms of your hands and pulled up to give yourself room to walk, as you kick off your heels and begin to exit the venue. And before you do leave, you pivot around one last time, letting your gaze meet Jung’s visibly irate expression.
“Here,” you announce, pulling the silver band off your ring finger and setting it down on the tablecloth.
“If you’re going to make a big deal out of anything, at least let it be this.”
*
The polyester-spandex mix of your reception dress isn’t made to run in. It’s much too long, the fabric bunches up at the sides and its bright white color begs to be kept indoors only. And yet you run- and you don’t stop, not even for a second, until the reception building is completely out of your sight, disappearing beyond the trees and the tall grasses that surround it.
Your bare feet scrape the squelching mud that surrounds the grassland after the recent rains, and overhead, the piercing blue sky and a harsh sun beams down over you in encouragement. And you normally hate blue skies and green grasses like this, always equating them to Jung’s stupid golf courses and the corporate events he’s dragged you to for years.
But today it serves as a sort of blessing, like the world is brighter, lighting your path and guiding you to the beacon that is Minho, and all his unconditional, unwavering love for you. Maybe it took you years to finally acquaint yourself with your emotions like this, and maybe you hadn’t even realized what true love was until Minho. And there’s the possibility, of course, that you’re also too late, and that Minho has already settled on the tragic fact that Jung would always remain a part of you.
And that’s true- he will maintain a role of permanence in your life. He was your first serious boyfriend throughout college, your first fiancé and your first true love before you understood it in a less superficial form. And yet he will also permanently remain the man whose life you walked out on, because he helped you realize he’s nothing near what actually fulfills you.
Once the paved roads are in view again, you waste no time waving down a taxi and uttering Minho’s address to the driver with such urgency. Your dress is caked in mud up to the ankles, and your hair is in complete disarray as you glance out the window at the rows of cars, all belonging to guests here for your dinner rehearsal. And you chuckle briefly, at the thought of them emptying the lot and walking out of your life forever.
Contrastly, Minho’s apartment is in complete disarray, too, as he hoists the last of his immediate belongings into a leather bound suitcase and latches it shut.
What a waste, he thinks to himself. What a waste to have spent so much time comfortably in love with the idea of a finite soulmate, and at such close proximity, too. You’re probably off at your rehearsal dinner, sampling finger foods and laughing at all of Jung’s surface-level conversation.
And he’ll never know you the way Minho knows you. He will never comprehend your fears, your reservations, all your little quirks and the things that make you tick. He’ll never fully understand the prospect of being so bound to somebody in both friendship and love that it’s almost indistinguishable what you are to each other. Perhaps that’s where you went wrong, too- because Minho knows it, that his role in your life has always been to love you, near, far and at every point in between. And yet you deem it just a fleeting thing, one implying an end.
There is no discernible point between the end of my friendship and my love for you, Minho wishes he could tell you. Just like the promise of my friendship to you, it’s a blossoming thing, this beautiful phenomenon. And we can run with it, or we can let it die like this- but it will always remain of permanence.
The chestnut suitcase is hoisted into the trunk of his car, also littered with boxes and duffel bags of his belongings. It’s a vulnerable feeling, to pack up and move on like this. Not forever- just for the duration of which you’ll be uttering your vows to Jung. He can’t bear to be in the same city as any of it, he refuses to let himself love at the proximity of you dolled up in a wedding dress, in the sacred environment of a church surrounded by your family. How could a higher power accept the felicitations of the same man who’s been fucking you behind the groom’s back? Within the four walls of which transforms hate to love, and sin to virtue?
What a waste, Minho concludes again. What a waste to have loved this deeply, and to pacify your fears only for another man to reap the benefits. Try as Jung might, he’ll never know you the way Minho does. And the vast trench that separates you from Jung, one which paints a clear divide of friendship and his superficial love for you- that will remain permanent, too.
As Minho starts up the engine, the last of his belongings all packed and ready to go, he glances around the neighborhood with a somber expression. The sun glares down on the empty concrete roads, birds circling the sky like there’s any reason to celebrate. Maybe they’re ravens, and maybe they circle in a mourning ritual. The only event fitting for an afternoon like this one, as Minho prepares to leave for his parents’ house- like the coward he knows he is.
His apartment grows smaller with every passing inch he drives down the concrete road, and a trembling hand reaches up to adjust his rear view mirror, letting out a deep exhale as he prepares to leave all this behind.
And as the faint outline of his apartment grows smaller, a white figure behind him grows bigger.
It starts as a fleeting blur, maybe a shadow, or perhaps the glint of the sunlight in his mirror. But as he quickens the push of his foot to the gas pedal, it grows faster, too, catching up to the drag of his car along the concrete and approaching him with such purpose.
An apparition of sorts, he thinks momentarily.
I’m fucking seeing things. I’ve officially lost it.
But as the frantic call of his name floats through the air and into the crack of his car window, his eyes widen, the lag of his brain finally reaching a halt as he slams on his brakes and throws open the door.
And in rushed motions, he’s climbing out to face you, doubled over as you catch your breath and hold a hand up in surrender.
“Stop!” You shout, waving your hands and motioning for him to cease his movements.
And Minho’s eyes don’t get any smaller, maintaining their shocked expression as he waits for you to speak.
Your white dress, tainted brown up to your knees in mud and grass. Even your face is muddy, streaks of it painting the otherwise stunning face of makeup you flaunt. And you speak in pleading gasps as you finally break the silence between the two of you.
“It’s you,” you say to Minho sheepishly.
“What are you-”
“It’s you, it’s always been you,” you breathe out. “I was so stupid, and I left as soon as I could comfortably come to terms with it. It’s you I love, Minho. Not Jung and not the idealized version of that life I created in my head. I can’t do any of this without you, and I can’t live the rest of my life without having said something. I love you- now, and in ten years time and I want to spend the rest of my life gutting fish alongside you- mess and all.”
Minho doesn’t say anything for a moment- in fact, he wears a poker face as he watches you continue to catch your breath. And then he scoffs lightly as he shakes his head.
“You waited until the day of your wedding to say something?” Minho retorts frustratedly.
“Rehearsal dinner,” you correct him. “This is just a dinner dress.
“Regardless,” Minho says. “I mean, what are we doing? There’s another man waiting for you, and we’re here doing something we should’ve done years ago if it was meant to be in the slightest.”
You feel your heart drop at his words, confirming the theory you’d feared the most. Too late.
“Please,” you beg, and Minho shakes his head.
“We’re terrible people,” he then states, his voice trembling in the process. “Cheaters, and liars. And this is far too rooted in dishonesty and selfishness to be love.”
Tears prick the corners of your eyes as you watch Minho scan your expression. And perhaps he’s right- but it can’t be anything except for love, not when it feels this right with him.
“Where are you going?” You ask Minho quietly, moving a strand of muddied hair out from your eyes.
“My parents’ place,” he replies.
And you give him a small nod, pivoting on your heel to walk out of his life, forever.
Except it’s the realization of this that causes you to turn back around-
There is no forever in the absence of Minho- not when he plays a role of permanence.
He will forever be the man you fell in love with, the man you’ve been in love with for years, one you risked your life to come find and one who’s defined the limitations of what it means to be a best friend and simultaneously a lover.
That will remain with you always, and near, far and everywhere in between, the love will exist the way it always has.
“Loving me was the most selfish thing you ever did,” you call out to Minho, and he turns back around to meet your gaze.
“And yet you did it anyway,” you continue. “You made love to me and you drank my fiancé’s wine and we’re in love so selfishly at this proximity to each other. But it doesn’t change the fact that we’re in love, and that I’m not going back to Jung. And leaving here- depriving yourself of the love you’ve wanted for so long, that’s also a selfish move. You can go as far as you want, but it doesn’t change the fact that the love is still here between us.”
Minho’s lips part to say something, but he doesn’t, instead blinking nervously as he waits for you to finish.
“And at the end of the day, there’s the man who tells me how to golf, and there’s the man who teaches me how to gut a fish, mess and all,” you finally finish.
Minho stays silent, pondering your words, and scanning your expression.
And truth be told, he wants to take you in his arms and run, hearing the words he’s longed to hear all his life. But he stops himself, instead emitting a breathy chuckle from his lips and shaking his head.
“Well what do you propose?” He finally asks, cocking his head as he awaits your reply.
And his response is a weight off your shoulders, as you sigh deeply and shrug in his direction.
“I propose we let ourselves be selfish,” you say to him. “And we spend the rest of our lives seeking forgiveness together.”
Minho chuckles, taking careful note of the way your eyes sparkle as you approach him. He’s not sure he’s ever seen you so relaxed before, and certainly not so sure of yourself. You look like the woman he’s loved both near and far, exuding confidence and passion and unwavering comfort in your demeanor. His best friend and his lover, he thinks encouragingly, as he cups his hands around your cheeks and pulls you in for a tender kiss, one that confirms your proposal and implies all of this permanence.
The roads are still empty in the dull afternoon of the hour, Minho maneuvering the car with one hand as you sit beside him in the passenger seat, your hands intertwined over the center console as the harsh blue sky and bright hues of green grass melt into blurs of color beside you. And he speaks only of Shirakawa as he drives, promising you beautiful snowfalls and chilly walks along the lily ponds upon your arrival.
You can picture everything as the tales escape his lips, full of life as you imagine the brown farmhouses and green hills, where you and Minho promise to love selfishly under the prayer hand thatched roofs, the very place your forgiveness will coincide alongside the permanence.
And as he brings the back of your hand to his lips for a chaste kiss, he can feel the green vines of ivy loosen around his soul, but this time you feel it too, viridian leaves finally putting distance between your venules and their harsh grasp. And perhaps it wasn’t grieving all along, but love for you- love which you’re full of, too.
The vines tangle themselves beautifully between your seated figures, blossoming flowers and color and placing life back into you both.
And for the first time in a long, long time, Minho can finally breathe.
2K notes · View notes
jamminvroomvroom · 12 days
Note
I absolutely adore your writing,
For the celebration, could you please do virgin reader first time with Oscar?
sunshine.
op x fem!reader - 4k celebration
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in which oscar arrives home to an unexpected guest…
hi hi hi! thank you so much anon, i hope this is what you wanted!! trying to get through requests, loving hearing from you guys! this one is so cute i think, let me know ur thoughts 😚😚
songs to set the mood: fall in love with you by montell fish, fade into you by mazzy star, like real people do by hozier
warnings: 18+!! minors dni!!! smut, fluff, friends to lovers, sleepy baby oscar, teeny tiny bit of angst, mutual pining, r’s first time, swearing
2.9k words
oscar’s exhausted, shoulders sagging beneath the thick material of his mclaren hoodie. he’s glad he left it in his carry on, the miserable london weather not even remotely living up to the warm glow of the middle eastern sun.
he craves his bed, dreamless sleep, entering the code to get into his building and slumping against the cool mirrored wall of the elevator. his eyes droop as the lift travels up, and the ding that sounds when he reaches his floor breathes life back into him.
the double header that kickstarted the season has knackered him, and he longs for alone time and silence to recuperate before he has to deal with the noise of going home and racing in front of a familiar crowd.
his key slides into the lock and he pushes the door open, throwing his bags by the door - he’ll deal with them later. the hoodie is shrugged off and dropped haphazardly on the floor next to the shoes he kicks off. his bed is calling. dazed, he trudges down the hallway, but he’s spooked by a faint sound coming from his bedroom.
as he primes himself to investigate, he hears footsteps, light and quiet against the floorboards. he goes to open his bedroom door, breathing heavy, but he just about jumps out of his skin when it swings open before he gets there. he yelps, and so do you, leaping into the air.
“you scared the shit out of me.” you shout, hand over your thumping heart.
“i scared you? what are you doing here?” oscar bites back, running his hand through his brown locks.
“sorry, sorry, i didn’t mean to be here without your permission but… it’s a long story. i didn’t think you’d be home yet.” you smile apologetically.
“sofa.” oscar mumbles, stalking past his bedroom and towards the living room. “what’s goi- are you wearing my shirt?” he splutters, finally looking at you properly.
your face heats up, and you cross your arms awkwardly.
“um, yeah? god, this is all so embarrassing.” you cover your face, falling onto the sofa. he plonks down beside you.
“tell me what happened.” oscar sighs.
“he dumped me.”
“oh.”
“yeah.”
“why?” oscar asks softly. “ugh, i knew i hated him for a reason.” he wrinkles his nose.
“i don’t know how to explain this without wading into major tmi territory.” your voice is small, quivering slightly.
“you can tell me, love.” he encourages gently.
“he found it weird that i’m, uh, a virgin?” you squeak, your voice raising into a question. oscar goes as red as you are.
“oh. oh.”
“oh god, you’re freaked out too. is there something wrong with me? like, why has this not happened? i thought i was ready with him, but then when it came down to it…” you ramble, trailing off.
“there’s nothing wrong with you.” oscar states, firm and serious. “him, on the other hand.” he shakes his head, disgusted. “he wasn’t good enough for you.” he spits.
“do you mind if i stay here?” you whisper, leaning into his side. “or, keep staying here?” you laugh softly. oscar joins in.
“you know you can always stay here.” he smiles sleepily. you’re just about the only person in the world he can stand right now, and always, actually. “but i need a nap, you coming?”
you nod and follow him to his room. the tv is still on, the one with monica and chandlers wedding playing quietly. oscar smiles. he knows it’s your favourite.
he flops onto his side of the bed, dropping off almost instantly. you watch over him, enamoured and sympathetic, in awe of him and the life he lives. you slip into bed beside him, leaving a respectable distance between you and the aussie.
you pass out right around chandler’s vows.
-
you stir between two thick arms. pale, warm skin is wrapped around you, oscar’s soft breath fanning your face as he sleeps.
you watch him, scanning each and every mole on his face, trying to ground yourself. you combat the anxiety of being in his arms, choosing to enjoy the moment, while he’s still peaceful. it’s nice to feel wanted, even if he’s unconscious.
for the first time, you’re glad your ex broke up with you, because how does it make sense that you feel safer, more wanted in the arms of your best friend?
“stop staring, ‘m gonna blush.” oscar mumbles, clearing his throat. his eyes are still shut, but he just knows you too well.
oscar opens his eyes slowly, blinking away sleep. you stare at each other, comfortable silence eating away at the palpable tension.
you kiss him.
because why wouldn’t you? it’s oscar, your oscar, and he’s sleepy and cosy and gorgeous, and you’ve waited too fucking long. you can’t resist it any longer, free from the bounds of being someone else’s.
his lips are warm, and he’s startled, but the surprise doesn’t falter him; just as quickly as you kiss him, he’s kissing you back. his large hand finds your face, and the other finds your waist, pulling you closer. you melt into him, impossibly closer than you already were.
he’s gentle with you, tentative but firm and you part your lips, letting him lick into your mouth. his tongue strokes softly over yours and you keen at the sensation. he pushes you onto your back, balancing on his elbow half hovering over you. your hair fans out onto the pillow, his soft fingers running through your strands, pushing them away from your flushed face. oscar pulls away, scanning your face.
“sorry.” you smile up at him, breathless.
“apology very much accepted. i’ve been wondering when that would happen.” he laughs incredulously.
“really?”
“what can i say? i’m irresistible.” he replies dryly, exercising his sense of humour that was a foundation of your friendship.
“yeah. you kinda are.” you giggle bashfully.
and then he’s kissing you again, pressing himself even closer to you. you welcome him in, wrapping your arms around his lean frame, feeling over his shoulders. he’s tense, restrained, groaning into you at the feeling of your hands raking over his back.
“we should stop.” he mumbles, noses bumping. you frown.
“why?”
“because you said earlier, you’re not ready for this and i’m… well, things are gonna get real awkward if we keep going.” he chokes out half a laugh, glancing down at his-
“oh.”
“yeah, i just, i don’t want to make you uncomfortable. we can go slow.”
“osc, i wasn’t ready with him,” you pause, collecting your thoughts. “but you’re not him.”
“i suppose that’s true.” he shrugs.
“then you better do something.”
oscar lays you back, climbing over you completely this time. his trails over your jaw, taking your chin between his fingers.
“are you sure about this? we can stop anytime, just say the words.”
“‘m sure, oscar. i want to do this with you.” you coo, reassuringly.
his lips run over your neck, your collarbone, and he mouths at the collar of the t-shirt that you’re wearing. his t-shirt. his.
“gonna take this off, yeah?” he asks, whispering low, right by your ear.
“yeah, please.” you say, your own hands running under his t-shirt and up his muscular back. he’s relaxed now, no tension between his shoulder blades, and so you push the material up, and he slips it over his head. his warm digits peel your shirt off, too, and you’re warm all over when his eyes trail over your chest.
you’d forgone a bra, ditching it when you’d arrived at his place, and his pupils are blown wide, hazel hues sparkling with desire. his hands slide up your ribcage, thumbing at the underside of your breasts, while he plants open mouthed kisses down your chest. your eyes flutter shut, gasping softly as he skims your nipple.
“oscar.” you breathe, the light whimper sending his blood rushing south.
“does that feel good?” he asks, searching your face for answers.
“more.” you sound strained, desperate, and he aches.
his sucks your nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the swollen bud. he toys with the other one, massaging your breast with his skilful fingers, tweaking and pulling until you’re panting beneath him. he pulls away with a pop, licking over to the other side, deciding to test your limits when he nips delicately at the peak. you moan, bucking your hips, hypersensitive to his every move.
you can feel how hard he is, his grey joggers growing tighter with every passing second.
“want all of you, osc.” you plead.
“need to get you ready for me first, okay honey?” he rubs circles into your sides, warm and calloused. you relax fully, lifting your hips.
oscar mouthed over your belly, peppering sunshine-like kisses down your abdomen until he finds the band of your loose shorts. he mumbles something into you navel about taking them off and you nod, enthusiastic and frantic. you can feel his smile branding your sensitive skin. the material glides down your thighs, pooling at your ankles, and you kick them away. he parts your thighs, making himself comfortable on his belly, and thumbs at the crease of your leg, toying with your panties.
he drags his pointer finger over your covered slit, up and down slowly, applying more pressure every time he brushes over your clit. oscar can see where you’re starting to seep through your panties and he stifles a low groan, anxious to peel the cotton off of your body, the final barrier separating him from you, so he does, pulling them slowly down your legs. he studies your face as he does, keeping his eyes firmly on yours. your lip catches between your teeth, aching as you watch, helpless and wet.
oscar kisses your hip bone, sucking gently until he’s stained it purple, and then his warm breath is fanning your cunt. your eyes squeeze shut.
“look at me, baby. gotta keep your eyes on me.” oscar mutters. your pussy clenches around nothing at the tone of his voice. you pry your eyes open, just about managing to prop yourself up on your elbows. “that’s it, honey. has anyone ever done this to you before?”
you shake your head, no. he smiles to himself, like he knows something you don’t, and dives in.
his tongue works in slow strokes, dragging through your slick with intent, eyes locked with yours. you must look like a deer in headlights, pupils blown, shocked with pleasure when you collapse against the mattress. he wraps his lips around your clit, sucking, tasting, and your legs go weak, splayed open all for him. you whimper as he tugs your clit between his teeth, just enough to graze over the sensitive nerves. it sends your hips flying, bucking wildly against his face.
“osc…” you breathe, squeezing your eyes shut.
“‘m gonna give you some more, is that okay?” he asks, nose bumping your clit.
“yes, please.” you don’t know what more is, but you need it like air.
you feel a finger glide over your sodden flesh, rubbing over your entrance. you sigh out, oh, anticipation and bliss sending white heat down your spine. he circles his finger around your opening, coating it in you, and carefully slides it in, feeling out for any sign of tension or discomfort. when you grind your hips onto the single digit, he knows you’re okay.
it feels good, better than anything you’d ever felt on your own, and you writhe against his bedspread. he thrusts a couple of times, experimenting, seeing what makes you squirm for him the right way, and when his finger curls, hooking deliciously, he knows he’s struck gold. you arch off the bed, searching for more, more, anything.
“another one.” you cry, begging, and oscar’s not one to tease. not yet, anyway.
a second finger joins the lonesome first, and he finds some pace, fucking into you faster. he scissors the digits, stretching you out for him, enjoying the pretty view. he’s achingly hard now, rocking discreetly into the mattress, losing his mind as he watches how you drip around his fingers. he wants another taste of you, addicted already to sweet, salty honey, so he has to finish you off, lap your mess off of his long fingers.
“i think- i think-“ you can’t get the words out, they’re lost on your tongue, but oscar knows what you mean.
“that’s it, baby. so good for me, doing so good. cum for me.” he spurs you on, drawing it out of you.
you let go, crashing biblically, the high sending you to heaven and back, two times over. he grinds his fingers, softer, just enough to help you through it and you chant his name like you’re praying at an alter. you know that you’ll never be over this. your oscar.
“holy shit.” you giggle, smiling lazily as you return to the world of the living. he’s licking his fingers clean; you could black out so easily.
“did you enjoy that?” he punctuates with a kiss to your belly, crawling up your body until he’s hovering over you.
“maybe you should do it again, just so that i can really make sure that i did.” you tease. your hand rakes through his hair, pushing it back off of his face. he’s grinning down at you, eyes fluttering shut. “that was amazing.” you whisper. he’s blushing when he kisses you, and then you are too, when you taste yourself on his tongue.
he moans against your lips, making you pull back. your hand leaves his brown strands, joining your other, which is currently voyaging down his back.
“you’re wearing too many clothes.” you whisper, lips bumping his as your hands slide under the waistband of his sweats. something desperate emits from the back of his throat. you push them over his hips, fisting the thick fabric, eager to have him bare on top of you once and for all. oscar helps, kicking them away, boxers too.
you can feel him, thick and wet between your thighs, his breathing uneven. your nails graze his hip and he jolts, collapsing on top of you, his full weight covering your keening body. he kisses into the crook of your neck, frantic; you need him deep, immediately, his urgent change in form leaving you flushed.
“you want me?” he whispers into your ear, leaving you shivering.
“so bad.” you pant.
“i’ll be gentle.” he promises.
he guides himself through your folds, slippery and warm, all for him. he nudges the head inside of you, hips stuttering at the blinding tightness. you gasp, but he catches it in his mouth, softly moulding his lips to yours as he pushes further. you open up for him, pliant, and when he eventually bottoms out, he holds himself there, letting you adjust.
“oh, fuck.” your eyes roll back, nails leaving crescent marks in his shoulders.
“so good for me, so pretty.” oscar grunts. “say when, baby.” he breathes, rubbing soothing circles into your hip.
“move.”
oscar rolls his hips, rocking you into the mattress. he hooks your knee over his waist, driving himself deeper and deeper with every thrust. you’re boneless, lost to the delectable stretch, to the way his cock seems to touch every part of you that makes you quiver.
“tell me how it feels.” oscar murmurs, grip tightening on your thigh.
“fuck, oscar, it’s so good. ‘m so glad it’s you.” your voice shakes, raw with emotion.
“me fucking too.” he mumbles, increasing his pace ever so slightly.
his thrusts lull into more of a grind, reaching your depths and revelling in the way you only get tighter for him. you’re spilling around him, already so close to meeting your end, and all it takes is the calloused pad of his thumb brushing your bundle of nerves to have you convulsing. you’re somewhere else entirely, on a whole other spiritual plane, utterly and completely his as he fucks you through your second orgasm.
when he spills, white hot and sweat slicked, he gushes endless hushed whines of your name. it sounds perfect when he says it like this, rolling off of his tongue with dire urgency.
his dampened hair falls over his darkened eyes, full of stars and total adoration. you’re smiling sleepily up at him like he’s made of sunshine. you always thought he was, and now you know that he most definitely is.
the most beautiful sunshine man.
“hi.” he whispers.
“hi.” you whisper back.
an intimacy, different to the one you’ve just shared, blossoms between you, encapsulating you here with him endlessly.
“i’m gonna clean you up, ‘n then we’re gonna order food.” he gazes fondly, stroking your hair.
“perfect.” you agree.
“put friends back on, i’m gonna run you a bath.” he begrudgingly stands from the bed, trailing towards the en-suite.
“you’re gonna join me in there, right?” you admire his naked frame as he disappears into the bathroom.
“obviously.” he pokes his head out once more to scoff, and you lay there, grinning like the worlds most lovesick idiot, your thoughts dulled by the sound of running water.
when the bath is full of hot water and too many bubbles, he gets in first, and you sink into the revitalising heat. oscar pulls you close, your back to his chest, kissing over your hairline as you mould yourself against him.
“thank god you broke in.”
-
oh i’m soft
-
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1K notes · View notes
veethefreeelf · 5 months
Text
How many times does it take to get smarter? Y.JH
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Summary: 
Jeonghan and you start a fwb relationship after years of being best friends. He only has two rules: no feelings and no kissing. Who’s going to break the rules first?
Wordcount: around 6.3k
Warnings: unprotected sex, vaginal penetration, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, bossy Jeonghan
Requested: Yes, here
P.S - Italic is for thoughts mainly from Y/N’s perspective and quotes. Bold is for text messages and/or calls between characters
As you sit on your couch on your day off and stare at the message in your phone, you ask yourself: How did this all start anyway? How are you sitting here, sexting your best friend in the middle of the afternoon and absolutely loving it? Well, for most of your shared friends, ‘this was bound to happen sooner or later’ as they so lovingly put it but, for both you and Jeonghan (the one on the receiving end of the sexting) this was never supposed to happen and it can end just as abruptly as it started.
You don’t remember exactly who leaned in and started all of this but you do remember the conversation after your boundaries as best friends had been completely crossed. While still naked and tangled, Jeonghan immediately stated he would like to continue doing this with you on a friends with benefits basis only, and if you agreed, he had only two main rules for this whole thing. 
First rule was a pretty cliché one: no feelings. You remember laughing at this when it first said it and teasing him for such a cliché move.
“It’s cliché for a reason, love. It happens more than it should” you remember how serious he sounded.
Second rule was an unbelievable one and it made you laugh even harder than the previous: no kissing. Now it makes sense why he did not kiss you at all during that first time you were together even though you were very (VERY) interested in doing so.
“Hannie, are you being serious? Who am I? The mistress you can’t kiss because if you do, it’s considered cheating on the non-existing housewife waiting for you at home?” you really couldn’t stop laughing.
“Kissing is reserved for people I want a serious relationship with and see myself being with in the long run” he said, even more serious this time around.
You stopped laughing immediately and… It hurt. That comment stung. Looking back on it, you realize this may have been a sign that you should not say yes to his proposition. That there was only one way this ‘agreement’ was going to end: badly. WIth you in tears. 
But you ignored that initial sting and pain. You ignored that initial sign from your brain and heart and said yes.
Jeonghan let you know there were essentially no other rules. You could call and/or text whenever you needed him and wanted to have him and he would do the same. Your friendship would remain the same, still having your weekly dinner and movie/show and, whenever either of you wanted to end this, for whatever reason, it would immediately end. One thing he kept saying was “No matter what, no matter how this ends, I still want you in my life, love. You are one of the most important people in my life, and that will never change”.
You nodded silently. But of course he would not let you get away with just nodding. He takes out his most powerful weapon against you. His pinkie. He wanted you to pinkie promise that your friendship would remain the same after you were done fucking each other casually. You remember how much a pinkie promise means to Jeonghan. The words ‘It can never be broken’ pop up in your mind and you hesitate. 
This was sign two. You got two signs from yourself during that same initial conversation with him to stop this before you both ruined what you have built together over the years.
Yet… You did it. You lifted your pinkie and you made that promise to each other. Why did it suddenly feel like you wouldn’t be able to hold up the end of your promise when the time came? ‘We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it’ you had told yourself.
After that first time, you didn’t speak to each other for two weeks. The only messages exchanged between the two of you were the ones he sent to cancel your weekly meetings. You thought this was very strange. In all the years you have known each other and started this weekly tradition, he missed one, maybe two in all that time. This was unlike the Jeonghan you knew and you started to wonder if the gravity of the situation had finally caught up with him. 
You have always had the tendency to overthink things. And a tendency to: ‘hurt yourself with your own imagination’ as Jeonghan lovingly put it. So you told yourself that maybe he was just busy with work or… Well… Maybe another fuck-buddy or one-night stand. That’s the thing about him, he rarely dates anyone seriously. However, fuck-buddies and one-night stands are something he revels in more than most. 
You never thought about it much. Always just figured he has high standards for who he dates and just wants to keep the loneliness at bay by having these agreements with different women. 
Now that you were one of these women, you wanted to know if this would be an exclusive fuck-buddy relationship. For health purposes, obviously. Not because you are a very jealous person who does not like sharing, of course. God, you hoped he was just busy with work and not with someone else. If he had been with someone else, did this mean you hadn’t been good enough? That whatever happened between the two of you didn’t satisfy him? That would be a depressing revelation since you were left extremely satisfied after your first time with Jeonghan.
As you sit on the edge of your bed, overthinking everything about the last time you and him were face-to-face, your phone starts to ring next to you and of course, it’s the man himself: Yoon Jeonghan.
“You home?” he states plainly.
“Well, hello to you too, Mr. Yoon. How have you been? Good! Me? Been good too, busy with work but you know-”
“Stop the games, Y/N. I’m not in the mood. You home or do I have to call someone else?” he said as he rudely interrupted your very passive aggressive answer.
“I’m home” you answered and swallowed thickly.
“Good. Be there in 30. Be ready” he said in a very low voice and proceeded to hang up on you.
Shit, that was new, you thought. You were not quite sure what to make of that but you remembered the time that you accidentally heard the boys talk about how Jeonghan was less than vanilla with most people he slept with and then you started feeling oh so excited for him to arrive.
Those 30 minutes went by so unbearably slow. You remember it as if it was yesterday. You spent those 30 minutes getting ready for him. You showered, used your strawberry lotion that he loved so much and put on the tiniest, filthiest lingerie piece you had on. You then started to overthink again. Just because he had called like that, it didn’t mean he would want you. Were you being presumptuous? ‘Better put a robe on, just in case I’m extremely wrong’ you thought and you went to your closet to find the baby blue silk robe you loved so much.
He rang your doorbell right on time which was very on brand for the Jeonghan you have known for so long. You were a bit shaky walking to the door but you kept telling yourself ‘It’s just your friend, Jeonghan. Just your friend. Nothing to be shaking for. Your heart has no business beating this hard and fast for him’.
You opened the door and he immediately walked past you into your living room. He started taking off his jacket and shoes. 
“What are you standing there for? Go to the bedroom, take your clothes off and wait for me on the bed” he stated while staring you up and down and realizing you had a much too short robe on you.
“Excuse me?” you defied him. Of course you did. You had always done that as his friend and that was not about to change just because you two had found yourselves in that position at that moment in time.
“Talk back to me again and I’ll leave right now and find myself someone with less of a fucking smart mouth” he said while he looked feral and very ready to be true to his previous words.
You had not answered him. Instead, you went to the bedroom, took off your robe and waited for him on the bed as he had told you. While there, you heard him moving around in the bathroom and started to realize you were probably in for a wild ride that evening.
He walked into the bedroom and when he first looked at you, he stopped and just stared. He was breathing heavily and licking his lips.
“For someone who likes to talk back to me so much, you sure were ready to be fucked tonight weren’t you, love?” he said and you gulped.
“Better safe than sorry. I like being prepared”
“Hmm… Good girl” he responded and you almost melted into your mattress right then and there. 
“Are you going to do something or just stare at me all night, Hannie?”
“Let me be clear since you don’t seem to know your place. I make the rules here, not you. I move when I want to. I do what I want to. And you will be a good girl and take everything I give you, when I give you. Do you understand?” he asked and you audibly scoffed at him.
He squinted his eyes at you and cracked his neck. You got scared he was going to walk out and in that moment you deeply hated your mouth for always being so fucking honest.
“One more scoff or mouthy comeback and I’m walking out of here. That’s a fucking promise. Now, are you going to be a good girl and know your place from now on or do I need to leave and end this fucking deal?” 
“Stay. I’ll be good…” you answered in a barely audible voice.
“You’ll have to speak louder, love. Don’t be embarrassed. It’s just me. Your Hannie, yeah? You trust me, right?”
“Of course I do. This is just… Very new. Maybe… Be a bit patient with me if I screw up, yeah?” you asked him in what you considered to be your most innocent look.
“You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll be more patient. Just had a very shitty day” he said while he walked closer to you.
“Let me make it better, Hannie” you said while you started to unbuckle his belt and undo his zipper. He looked down at you and held your face with both hands.
“You look so fucking gorgeous in that tiny fucking thing, love. You know that, hmm?” he said while he held your face.
“Thank you, Hannie…” you answered shyly while you continued to take his pants and underwear off.
Once his bottom half was fully displayed to you, you started to stroke his cock while you both stared at each other. It started to leak with pre-cum and you took advantage of that to stroke harder and faster.
“You gonna put this cock in your mouth or just stroke it like we’re teenagers hiding from our parents, baby?” he said breathily. And, for a split second your mind started to think about that pet name. Baby. He had never called any of his flings by that pet name. Well, at least not in front of you but you rationalized that behind closed doors he probably had done it before. You were not different nor special.
You chose not to answer him. You just pushed him a bit away from you, you moved from the bed to the floor, on your knees and dove in.
You had never really enjoyed sucking dick. It had always been something you do for your partner but it never had any effect on you. Until this man, that is. At that moment, you were desperate. You wanted to suck the life out of him through his dick. You were going to make sure he would never forget the kind of head you gave him. 
You were sloppy and loud. Spit was running down your chin and you had started easing up into fitting his whole cock in your mouth (and throat). It had been a long while since you had had a cock this big and since you deep throated. When you had finally managed to fully swallow all of him, he pulled you back with a groan. He was panting hard when he pulled you up to your feet by one of your hands and by your hair.
“You’re so greedy. You need to be taught some manners” he said as he backed you up until you reached your bed.
He took off the last pieces of clothing he had on and pushed you down on the bed. You moved up on the bed with him as he started to settle between your legs.
“Look at you. So fucking sloppy…” he said while he spread the remaining spit on your chin all over your face.
“Hmm… Just the way I like it though…” he continued praising you.
He started touching you. Started by slowly running his hand from your neck down to your hip bone while he stared at you. This had been very different from the first time you two had been together. The first time had been rushed. No suspense, mostly no foreplay. Straight to the point. This time, it seemed he was wanting to take his time and was in no mood to rush anything.
Fuck, you wanted to kiss him. Bad. You had to keep reminding yourself ‘No kissing. Don’t kiss him. Don’t lean in. Don’t you dare ruin this’. You decided to start touching him, to try and prevent your urges from coming through and breaking one of his rules.
You started to run your fingers through his hair and use your nails on his scalp, just the way he had always loved it. You then moved your other hand down his chest and lightly scratched his chest in the process. He hissed and slapped your thigh.
“No scratching and no marks, baby” he said while he started to kiss down your neck.
“Are those new rules, Hannie?” you asked as you started to get more and more breathless. 
“In a sense, yes. They apply for me but not for you. No marking me but I can mark you however I see fit. Understood?” 
“Unfair…” you stated as you began to pout at him.
“No pouting. These are my rules. Not too late to back out, love” he said while then moving his hand to your back to undo your bra. 
All you could do was moan. Something flashed in your mind ‘Not too late to back out’. You quickly put that idea out of your mind. You didn’t want to back out. You had wanted this and you were going to continue with this deal.
That was the third real sign. Just a quick flash. A brief warning from your heart most likely. But again, you ignored it.
“I need an answer, love. Is this too much for you?” he asked and stopped moving to look into your eyes while he waited for your answer.
“No, it’s fine. Just… I might forget them in the heat of the moment, so I’ll need your help enforcing the rules” you answered and he laughed, almost mocking you.
“Don’t worry, love. I definitely won’t forget them. I’ll stop you if it gets to that” he said and then continued to take off your bra. 
With the bra out of the way, he started to kiss and leave hickies all over your chest. Wherever his mouth wasn’t, his hands were. You felt so surrounded, so engulfed. You were getting louder by the second and you knew he was enjoying it. He kept humming when you got particularly loud and continued to abuse that specific spot until a full mark had begun to form. 
Once he was satisfied with his work, he leaned back on his heels between your legs and stared at you while running his hands through your legs. 
“You look even better with my marks all over you, baby” he said and he noticed you started to get a bit red and shy and refused to look him in the eye. He tapped your thigh twice and you looked at him (finally). He then smiled at you, leaned over and completely cupped your pussy with his hand. You started to pant almost instantly.
“Shit, baby. You’re already so fucking wet. You were trying to give me shit on marking you but look at this fucking mess you’re making” he said as he started to run his fingers through the wet patch in your (now) soaked panties.
“Hannie…” you moaned as he kept stroking you ever so lightly.
“Hmm… You sound so pretty, baby” he whispered in your ear.
He then began to slide your panties off. He was being so slow, so meticulous. You didn’t know how much longer you could wait for him to touch you. You also knew that if you had started to protest, he would have probably given you an even more difficult time. 
He finally leaned in. Head between your legs, he began to blow air on your now swollen and begging to be touched clit while he held your pussy lips open with one hand. You hummed and instinctively moved your hips close to his mouth. You immediately thought you had fucked up.
The look you had in your eyes must have shown that fear because next thing you know Jeonghan is laughing at you. 
“I’ll let that one slide since I feel generous at the moment” he said and before you could have thanked him, he dove in and latched his mouth to your pussy. He grabbed your thighs with both hands and started to eat you out desperately. If you thought you had been sloppy when sucking his dick, he was even sloppier while eating you out. He was making out with your pussy like his life depended on it. Your moans had started to get louder, especially anytime he sucked and rolled your clit on his tongue. 
He kept humming and moaning along with you until he finally decided to insert one finger into your pussy. He had not kept that finger alone for too long and decided to join a second finger into your wet pussy. With two fingers and with how wet you were, the noises echoing through your bedroom were indecent, filthy. And you began to get closer and closer to the edge and it was when he moved his other hand to your tit and began to grab and massage it that you were pushed over the edge with a cry and moan of his name.
He moved back up your body and started to kiss your cheeks and neck softly while you were coming down from your high. 
“You were so fucking good for me, baby. So good… Let me know when you’re ready” he said while you tried to calm your breathing down.
“Fuck… I’m ready… Please, Hannie… Don’t make me wait anymore…” you moaned in desperation.
He started to move his cock up and down your folds and as he was about to get inside of you, you stopped him.
“Condom? Tell me you brought one, please” you said while you looked in his eyes.
“I thought since we started this deal, we wouldn’t need it anymore. I know you’re on birth control”
“I mean… As long as you’re not fucking anyone else while you’re fucking me… I guess we can. But if you plan to have more fuck-buddies or one-night stands or whatever you want to call them, then no. We will need a condom” you said very seriously. You wanted him to understand that it was your turn to set up at least this one rule for yourself.
He looked at you with a strange expression. Almost disappointed that you even thought about him fucking other people when just two weeks before, he had proposed this deal to you.
“Of course I’m not fucking anyone else. You know I don’t have multiple fuck-buddies at the same time. Definitely not now, when I have this deal with you, love” he said and he inched closer to your face. You held your breath. ‘Is he gonna kiss me?’ you asked yourself. He rubbed his nose in yours and asked:
“So… Condom? No condom? Your call, love” and he continued rubbing his cock in your folds.
“No condom. Just get inside me. Now”
“Bossy” he smirked and finally (finally) got inside you. You both sighed and cursed under your breath when he bottomed out which made you both giggle.
He licked his lips, leaned back and placed both your legs on his shoulders. Then, he started with long strokes which quickly transformed into him pounding into you. He was fucking you hard. And with this position, he was kept at a distance from your lips which made you think about how fucking brilliant the man between your legs truly was. 
The sound of skin slapping, of how wet your pussy was, was driving you both insane. You could tell he was quickly losing his composure and so were you. You were still sensitive and you were already beginning to feel that familiar burning inside of you. Fuck, you were close. Very close.
He leaned in, bent you like a pretzel and whispered so so close to your lips:
“I got you. Cum, baby. Let go. I’m right here”
With his hand around your thigh and thumb on your clit rubbing furiously, you came with a loud scream of his name.
“Hannie… Hannie… Sensitive…” you said still panting.
“I know, baby. I’m right there… Fuck… Where? Tell me where”
You knew exactly what he was asking and your answer may not have been the smartest in that moment, but honestly, you didn’t give a fuck about being smart, not while he was between your legs looking at you like that.
“Inside, please. Please, Hannie. I need it”
And then, it was his turn to spill ropes of cum into you. ‘Begging. Of course. Predictable but expected’ you had thought about what triggered him to finally let go. 
Jeonghan laid on you, trying to keep most of his weight off of you while still recovering from his high. 
It was like everything hit you at once. You went there again. You two really crossed that line again and from the looks of it, it would continue happening after that moment. You… Didn’t know exactly what you were feeling. Looking back now… Maybe you knew exactly what you were feeling and that’s why you were so scared in that moment after everything that had transpired between you that night.
He got up, went to the bathroom and came back to clean you. He didn’t say a word and neither did you. He laid back down and pulled you close. You remembered thinking ‘This is not how fuck-buddies are supposed to act’. And you asked him:
“Do you cuddle all your fuck-buddies or should I consider myself lucky?”
“You should consider yourself special, love” he said right before falling asleep and you had felt it then. The fourth sign. You made a terrible mistake that night. You believed him.
The next morning he had left and said he would call you or text you or ‘whatever the fuck’. Ever the poet. And this is how this journey that you are now contemplating while sitting on your couch waiting for his text started.
After that second time, you two had met up regularly, sometimes multiple times a week. You always stayed at each other's place overnight and had always continued moving forward in your life. 
Your friendship was still the same, nothing major had changed and it was going great. But you kept waiting for that other shoe to drop. You knew sooner or later that it would because after the last time you were together, you remembered thinking that you didn’t want him to leave that morning. That maybe, instead of meeting up in your bed next time, you could meet up at the restaurant you’ve always wanted to go down the street from his house that he never took you to because ‘That is way too romantic for us, love’. 
That last time you were together, the one that made you think all of this… It was strange. You had felt at the time, something had shifted for him too because while he was fucking you on his kitchen counter, he leaned in so close… You could almost taste him… And then he moved away and flipped you over so that you were now bent over the counter and as far away from his lips as possible. Jeonghan had wanted to kiss you then, you were sure of it. You didn’t know what to feel. Happy because he had wanted to? Or devastated at the fact he still didn’t kiss you?
Fifth sign. You were devastated. You considered stopping everything. Just putting an end to your arrangement. You already knew you were fucked for him and you were also painfully aware that he did not feel the same way.
You didn’t text or call him. He, in turn, texted and called you multiple times. You had claimed you were on a business trip and out of the country. You were just hiding at home. Too much of a coward to break it off and too hurt to see him.
Of course this didn’t last long. Jeonghan knew you better than anyone and he knew when you were lying and avoiding something. Even though he knew, he had left you alone for that week. He probably had figured you needed time to deal with whatever was holding you back. But after that week, he showed up at your door. You didn’t make a sound, wondering if he would just leave if you did not answer any of the rings or knocks.
“I know you’re in there, Y/N. I gave you a week of lying and hiding. No more. Let me in, please, love”
Nothing. You didn’t want to see him. ‘Why is he like this?’ you had asked yourself. But you knew if the roles were reversed, you would be doing the exact same thing at his door and would not be leaving until he opened it so you knew the only way out of this was through it.
You opened the door, turned and started walking to your couch. You started playing whatever you were watching before he showed up and pretended to be paying attention to it. ‘Shit’ you thought. You knew he saw right through you.
“Are you really going to do this? You think I don’t know you enough to know what you’re pulling?” he asked, sitting on the couch with you and staring at you.
“I’m fine, Hannie. Just wanted to be alone for a while. Simple” you told him. You hated playing this card on him but he knew that once in a while you got a bit down about your family and the struggles with those relationships and you always used to tell him ‘Sometimes all I need is some alone time and I figure it out’. 
“You could’ve told me instead of lying though. You know I hate lies. You promised a long time ago, no lies between us, remember?”
You stared at him.
“I’m sorry, Hannie. Didn’t want to burden you, that’s all”
He had looked at you almost as if trying to figure out what you were thinking. Trying to understand why you had lied and kept lying. He must have decided then, it wasn’t worth asking anymore and he just put his arm around you, looked at the TV and asked:
“What are we watching, then?”
You had indeed started to watch the show with him but that quickly turned into something else. And again, this time was even stranger than the last. 
He had been so gentle with you, always whispering sweet nothings. Things you thought should only be whispered to a significant other, not a friend, not a fuck-buddy. No. This felt very different. 
That night, it felt like he made love to you. He laid you back on the couch after stripping both of you naked. He took his time eating you out like you were his last meal and only after you came 3 times from his mouth alone did he start fucking you. Or at the time, you thought he was going to fuck you but he surprised you. He held both your hands and kept them intertwined while he slowly thrusted into you. You lost track of time. It felt surreal, it felt like you were dreaming.
In the middle of all the moaning and panting and whispering, he did something that you never expected. He… Kissed you. It wasn’t soft or gentle. It was a passionate kiss, tongues intertwined, moaning like he needed this like he needed air to breathe. Such a contrast from how he was thrusting into you. And you let him. You kissed him back and you remember thinking ‘A kiss between friends shouldn’t feel this way’. 
Your heart was pounding and you wanted to feel his but he had kept your hands above your head intertwined with his and would not let go.
That night, after you both came and he cleaned you up. He didn’t say a word, just like during your second time. Except this time, he did not stay the night.
He got dressed and walked out. Without even a spare glance at you. You knew then. The sixth and final sign before you had decided, it was time to come clean and end this.
And that’s precisely what you were trying to do when you started texting him. However, as usual he had other plans and that’s why texting turned into sexting which turned into you reliving everything that has happened in the last couple of months between you.
This realization snaps you back into reality and you abruptly delete the very graphic text you were about to send and send another one instead.
“Come over whenever you can. I need to talk to you about something” you sent.
“What a way to kill a boner, Y/N. Let’s keep having fun now, I’ll come over when this meeting ends” and you wondered why you even thought his response was going to be any different.
“I’m serious, Jeonghan. No more games for today. Come over when you can and we’ll talk then” you sent and put your phone on silent. You didn’t want a back and forth, you needed him to know you were serious.
You were sure he knew though. Very rarely did you call him Jeonghan. It was always ‘angel’ or ‘Hannie’. Never Jeonghan.
You knew what was going to happen once he was there. Your heart was about to be broken by your favorite person in the world. You wanted to have hope, but you knew better than that. You knew him better than that. You were never special. The only difference between you and the usual girls he found, was that you had been best friends before. That was it. Nothing else to it.
After thinking about how you were going to tell him the truth. You decided to be as blunt as possible. He always loved that about you. When you were completely honest with him about everything. Even if the shit you said sometimes hurt to hear.
He got to your apartment almost an hour after that text. That was fairly quickly during his work day so he must have known you meant what you texted.
“So… Should I sit down for this, love? You’re not dying are you?” he joked. 
However, when he saw the look in your eyes he knew. This was not a joking matter and this moment wasn’t about him. It was about you.
“I love you, Jeonghan”
He stared at you.
“And no, I don’t mean in a ‘best friends’ type of way. I’m in love with you. If I’m being honest with both of us, I always have been. From the day I met you. But I knew.. I was never your type. Not then… Definitely not now. So I settled. I became your best friend. I realized I wanted to stay by your side even if you never saw me the way I wanted you too. It was… well… Stupid of me. Of course I only realized this once you started dating someone. It was painful but I pushed it down. If I’ve learned anything about my shitty childhood and most of my shitty life is to compartmentalize things. So, I put the box with all my feelings for you deep inside of my soul and pushed it down anytime I thought that dam would break. Until now. You were right. Clichés are clichés for a reason. Except in this case, I was already in love with you. I just hoped you would fall too.”
You knew it was a lot to process but now that you opened this dam, you couldn’t close it anymore. You were sobbing now looking at him and you couldn’t tell what he was thinking at all. No emotion was showing in his face. He too knew all too well to compartmentalize and he had a much better poker face than yours.
“Don’t worry though. I have no illusions that you feel the same way. I know you don’t. You made that perfectly clear after we fucked the first time. ‘Kissing is reserved for people I want a serious relationship with and see myself being with in the long run’. That really fucking hurt. The person I loved most in the world telling me I’m simply not good enough for them. I’m good enough to fuck though, apparently” you chuckled darkly.
“I know you kept saying that no matter what, you still wanted me in your life. What you forgot to wonder was if at the end of this deal, I would still want you in my life. I do. But not as a friend. Not as a fuck-buddy. I want all of it. And…I know you can’t give that to me. Even if you kissed me last time. I know you didn’t mean it like that. That’s why you left, right? Because you thought I was going to get sentimental about it. Well… I did. Cried myself to sleep in fact. You may have broken that rule first but I broke the most important rule long before we started this.” you kept going and now… Now he was also holding back tears, realizing this is not just the end of the deal. It’s the end of you two.
“I don’t blame you for any of it. In fact, you gave me plenty of options to back out. But I was greedy. I wanted to know what it was like. To be with you. Even if it was pretend, even if none of it was ever real. I wanted to feel it. What the ones good enough for you felt before me and what others will in the future. I needed to know. Even if now I am hurting and will keep hurting for a long time… Maybe for the rest of my life.” 
You were done. Now, the worst part came. You were about to give him an out and you knew he was going to take it but you had to know. You had to be sure.
“I know this is a lot to take in and I know you probably feel blindsided and overwhelmed. But I also know your answer. I just needed you to hear my side. Now that you have, it’s time to make your choice. Stay here and talk to me about this, which means giving us a chance. Or leave, without saying a word. Without looking back, like you did the last time we saw each other. And I’ll know for sure.”
He started to move.
“Before you make your decision though, know that whatever decision you make is final. There will be no regrets. No reconnecting in a few years when you think enough time has passed. If you walk out. We are done. Our paths will never converge or cross again. I love you Jeonghan. But I have to love myself more.”
He nodded. Audibly gulped. And then did what you were already expecting from him.
He left.
He left you.
Just as abruptly as it started, it had now ended. 
Not just the deal, no.
Everything.
You knew. You knew this would be his choice but why did it still fucking hurt this much.
There will never be another Jeonghan in your life. He was everything to you, even now. While you are crying and tearing pictures apart. You know.
Life as you know it was done. You will have to carry on with a broken heart that will never be healed.
But you are proud of yourself. You spent so much of your life choosing others over yourself and today, you chose yourself.
Eventually, the broken heart won’t be as loud. Time will help. You will still hurt, always for him but you will be better. You will be yourself again just with a few more scars.
As for Jeonghan… He also knew.
He knew there will never be another you.
He knew that night when he left. He doesn’t kiss anyone accidentally. No, he learned that the hard way a long time ago. He had wanted to kiss you. And not just that night. All the other times before then too.
He told himself it was the sex. It was just too good. It was clouding his judgment.
He didn’t have feelings for you, not at all. It just wasn’t possible. Not after all these years. Right? Or did he.. Always feel this way? Was that why he acted the way he did and jumped at the first opportunity to have you in his bed? 
He knew. Finally.
He also knows now you will never forgive him. The pinky promise had finally been broken.
He will have to settle. All his worries about the future. About dating only the right people. People worthy of him. Everything makes sense now.
Most people were not worthy of him only after he met you. You showed him what love was from the start and no one could measure up.
It’s too late now.
And besides, he’s the one that was never worthy of you. Never once. And he never will be.
Please let me know if you’d like a part 2 of this. I am a happy endings fan so I might be down to write it if you guys want it too so please reach out and let me know! And let me know if you liked it please CHEERS 🥂
PS: You can find part 2 here
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