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babytaes · 2 years

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no cause why would this be hoshi.. I love this so much 🥺☺️

(un)traditional | kwon soonyoung

alternatively titled: 'til horang do us hae

pairing: kwon soonyoung x fem!reader genre: fluff, wedding au, more...fluff, established relationship, humour warnings: none word count: 1.8k

The digital clock on the hotel night stand flashes the next minute as it passes. A re-run of Law & Order: SVU drones on in the background as you sit at the edge of the bed, staring sleeplessly at your wedding dress hanging on the back of the closet door.

It was a dream in all of its creamy, off white lace and resplendence. A dress you never thought you could even find, let alone afford, tucked away in the corner of a small boutique wedding shop. You had seen so many episodes of Say Yes to the Dress in your lifetime to the point where you were convinced that the people who cried when they found ‘their dress’ were just being dramatic for televisions sake, but the minute you slipped it on and stepped in front of the mirror all of those misgivings melted away into the fog of tears that began to cloud your vision.

The dress itself had never been a focal point for you in terms of wedding planning, but sitting here alone in the bridal suite at 1:30am (10 hours before you were set to walk down the aisle in it), it was the only thing tethering you to the reality that the day had finally arrived. Your eyes flickered from the show on the TV back to the dress and every time they landed on the soft layering of fabric on the bodice, you began to well up at the thought of your husband-to-be seeing you in it. Finally.

It was a long engagement. Unlike almost everything else Soonyoung did, the wedding was not something he really felt too keen on rushing. “Why shouldn’t we just enjoy our time being engaged for a while?” he would say, nuzzling a soft kiss into the crook of your neck as you scrolled through possible wedding venues. “We can,” you would nod, “but then this museum is fully booked for private events for the next two years.”

“But I like introducing you as my fiance,” he would smile, offering you a bit of his pain au chocolat from the bakery by your office.

“Okay Soonie,” the agreement would come out in a sigh, accompanied by an affectionate smile. Who could say no to that, truly? “But you’ll have to seal the deal sooner or later or I’m gonna take Mingyu up on the offer to run away with him to Greece and open a cafe by the sea.”

The date was finally set for three years and 4 months past the day he formally proposed (formally because the original proposal was in panting breaths after an afternoon spent tangled up in each other on vacation). A year of that was spent actually planning the wedding; and now after all of the time, money, and energy spent–the wait was over.

You had wanted to abide by a few classic traditions, despite your fiance's disregard of almost all formalities and willingness to do basically anything unconventional (if his tiger striped tie for the ceremony was anything to judge by). Something borrowed, something blue, something old, something new, and the night before the wedding spent in separate rooms from the man you were to spend the rest of your life with.

The idea, at the time, had seemed like a highly romantic notion to you. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, as the saying goes, and since you didn’t think you could grow any fonder of him anyway, you thought you might put that to the test. What you had not expected upon deciding to follow this tradition was the fact that you had not spent a night sleeping without him in months. Or the fact that it had been even longer since you had slept well without him.

The regret of the choice sank in almost immediately as you kissed him goodnight after dinner, watching as he strolled off to the bar with his friends and you wandered back up to your room alone in an effort to get an early night's rest. Now you sit, sleepless and lonely, at the edge of a stark white hotel bed and ache for the company of your longtime companion.

The spare key to his room next door sits on the credenza next to the TV, glowing at the edge of your vision–tempting you away from the tradition you had insisted on following. Your fingers itch to reach out and grab it and after a moment's contemplation–and a glance back at the clock as it flashes dangerously close to 2:00am–you give in.

Grateful for the proximity of your rooms as you step out into the hallway in slippers and a robe, you pad along the gaudy abstract carpet of the hallway until you come to a stop outside of his room. A small rush of adrenaline floods your body as you raise the keycard to the lock; a small niggle of worry about disturbing him creeps up inside your brain and you raise your fist to knock on the door as you gently push it open–announcing your presence.

All of the lamps are still on as you enter and the brief worry disperses into amusement as Soonyoung comes into view. He’s standing barefoot in his robe (brought with him from home, tiger striped of course. You had bought it for him on his birthday the first year you started dating not knowing he already had three nearly identical ones) in front of the full length mirror–his hair is messy with the attempts of sleep and his hand is curled into his signature pose.

You see him mumbling words to himself and shaking his head–clearly not enjoying the direction–and it takes him a moment to notice your presence has entered the room. “Oh!” he whips around, eyes saucer wide and startled.

“I’m sorry,” you laugh, walking over to smooth down some of the hair sticking up from his head, “I didn't mean to interrupt.”

“No, it’s fine,” he leans into your touch as you fuss over him, laughing away the nerves that had settled in at your sudden appearance. “I thought we weren't supposed to see each other tonight? Is everything okay?”

“It’s fine,” you smile, planting a soft kiss against his cheek before sitting down on the edge of the bed. “I just couldn’t sleep.”

“Me either,” he admits.

The mattress sinks as Soonyoung plops down next to you, his hand idly reaching for yours in the absence of words. You glance around the room that he’s been occupying for the past few hours–a few empty soju bottles are scattered about, along with a hurricane of clothing and personal effects from both Soonyoung himself and his groomsmen. Among all of the chaos surrounding you, his wedding suit and tie hang proudly on the hook across from the bed–displayed in a mirror image of your own dress back in your suite.

“This tradition is silly,” you blurt out the admission and he laughs, nodding in agreement.

“Yes,” his fingers intertwine with yours and he tugs you closer to him on the bed, nestling you into his side. “We spend every night together already anyway, why should this one be any different? I wanted to go and see you hours ago.”

“Why didn't you?”

He shrugs, “you said you wanted to do this.”

“I guess I did,” you laugh, embarrassed that the idea had ever even come from you in the first place considering the inevitable outcome.

“Also Josh threatened me.”

“As he should,” you nod solemnly and Soonyoung whines in protest–whines that fall on deaf ears as you laugh and move away from him to disrobe and slip under the covers. “Can I sleep here?” you ask, burrowing into the duvet as Soonyoung watches you fondly.

“I don’t know, I think my fiance might not like that…” he raises a hand to scratch at the back of his neck, “you know I’m getting married tomorrow right?”

“Oh, congratulations,” you gape at him. He giggles as he slips in next to you and you feel the warmth of his body sink into your skin almost immediately as his legs find yours under the covers. “She must be a very lucky woman.”

He nods, expression shifting to serious as he inches closer to you, “she is.”

“Very funny,” you reach over to deliver a hard smack to his thigh and he lets out a dramatic ‘ouch’ at the blow before pressing a soft kiss to your lips in apology.

“Lucky, but not as lucky as I am to be marrying you,” he grins, knowing the cheesy sentiment is primed to clear him of all charges.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” you roll your eyes at him before twisting around to turn off the bedside lamp. The regular nightly routine of teasing and conversation lulling you finally into the arms of sleep. He follows in kind and the room descends into darkness.

A moment of silence follows as you adjust your positions in bed, your head on his shoulder and his leg thrown over yours. Peace settles in and the nerves of the days that awaits you drift off into nothing as you lay together.

“Soonie,” you mumble against his neck. He responds with a soft hum, already slipping into sleep but still cognizant enough to hear you. “What were you doing when I came in here earlier?”

“Practicing my vows,” he admits with a soft laugh, tracing absent circles over your back with his fingers.

“Those were your vows?” You recall the scene–the concerned expression, the mumbled words, the curled fingers.

“Mhmm,” he replies, all thought absent from his mind.

“And they’re ready for tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” he yawns, pulling you in tighter to his side with an arm around your shoulders. “They’ve been ready for months, I just want to get them right. You didn’t hear them, did you?” His voice takes on a momentary tone of concern at the possibility.

“No,” you draw the word out and he stiffens under you.

“Is something wrong?” he asks, concern more evident in his voice now.

“If you ‘horanghae’ me in your vows in front of all of our friends and families,” you whisper into the dark of the hotel room, listening as he swallows the lump of fear in his throat, “I will divorce you and then marry Seungkwan.”

The wedding goes off without a hitch (or, any hitch beyond the ring bearer (Mingyu’s dog) almost making off with the rings across the hotel grounds 10 minutes before the ceremony).

Soonyoung tears up as you walk down the aisle–you’re sure only in part because of the beauty of the dress itself–and he weeps openly (along with at least half of his groomsmen) at the reception later during his speech. His vows are heartfelt and touching and despite his fingers twitching at his side, he refrains from lifting his hand into his standard pose.

That is until you walk outside for the first set of photos and you raise your own hand in tribute for him and he bursts into a strangled mixture of laughter and tears at the sight.

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babytaes · 2 years

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DANGGG… is it hot in here or is it mingyu. Definitely gyu

synopsis. you and mingyu have been best friends and secret friends with benefits for a while. after arriving to his Halloween party dressed as him, he gets distracted.

genre. college!au, fwb!au, smut, f2l!au, slight fluff

wordcount. 5.4k

warnings. mutual pinning, oral, back blowing, mingyu likes it when you wear his clothes, edging, mingyu golden retriever agenda!

author's note. i apologize for the shitty header but I just didn't want to seem like a loser who celebrates a festival a month and a half after it was supposed to be celebrated. anyways, enjoy this belated mingyu halloween fic which I wrote in december👍

“Hey, you’re coming to the Halloween party next week, right?” Mingyu asks, skin still a bit damp and glistening in the moonlight as he ties off the condom.

You frown a bit, stretching out, hand patting around blindly for the blanket. “Uh, I’m not sure. Exams are like right around the corner and-”

He stops you right there by yanking the blankets out of your hand. “Hey!” you say, pushing up on your forearms to glare at him.

Mingyu just rolls his eyes, showing no signs of discomfort at standing in the middle of the room without a lick of clothing on. “You’re going to stay home and study ? Come on, princess; it’s Halloween!” he grumbles before his grin turns wicked. “If you come over, I’ll be sure to have a special treat, just for you,” he all but purrs, sauntering over to the bed, only to dance out of the way with a bark of laughter as you aim a kick at him.

“Dick,” you huff, and his grin just widens.

“That is one part of the treat, yes,” he nods, and not even you can successfully hide your grin as he slides a hand slowly up your calf.

“I don’t even have a costume,” you say weakly, “And I don’t have time to make one either. I have a test the day before.”

“Come as Hot Girl #3 for all I care,” he waves her off, “Or maybe string a bedsheet around yourself so we can match.”

You’re still hesitant, gnawing on your bottom lip. “I don’t know, Gyu. I don’t think I’d be in the party mood after the test. All I’ll want to do is relax, maybe with a B rated horror flick and wine.”

“I can help you relax after,” he offers with a smirk, slinking between your legs. They widen to accommodate him of their own accord. “Or did you forget that’s why we started this thing in the first place?” He nuzzles the crease where your legs join to your hip and you sink back down into the mattress with a sigh. “I don’t mind reminding you.” Your body jerks when he leans in close, close enough that you could feel his short bursts of breath brush across your centre, and you whimper.

“Are you really trying to- ah- coerce me to come to your stupid party with sex?” you ask, breathless, sighing in relief when he swipes his thumb down your slit, spreading around the moisture that has gathered there.

“Someone is coming, that’s for sure.” He presses a chaste kiss, just barely a brush of his lips, against your mound. “I’m playing to my strengths,” he snarks before dragging his tongue determinedly across you. You cry out loudly and try in vain to bring your hips closer. “Is it working?”

“You’re an ass,” you breathe, eyes flickering shut as he finally gets into it, pleasure slowly coiling in your stomach.

For a minute there’s nothing but your harsh pants and the sound of his mouth smacking against your slick flesh, carrying you higher and higher, and then Mingyu pulls away, so abrupt that you actually cry out in annoyance.

“If it helps,” he drawls slowly, mouth and chin wet in a way that does nothing to help your current predicament, “I think you’d like my costume.”

This time your groan is one of frustration rather than pleasure. “Are you fucking- if I say that I’m coming to your stupid party will you shut up and put your mouth to a better use?” you ask through clenched teeth.

“Don’t get all pissy, babe,” he croons, sliding a hand up to tweak your nipple, “I’m just saying, I’ve come to quite like your company from time to time. Mostly when you’re like this of course.” He jerks his chin down at your naked body, splayed out and open to his liking, with your skin flushed as you squirm with want.

“Yeah well,” you mutters furiously under your breath, “I like you a lot better when you don’t stop in the middle of sex to have a chat. If you do that when I come to your damned party, I’m walking out.”

The boyish grin he gives you makes your stomach clench, and he ducks back down between your legs. “As you wish,” he murmurs into your skin, and then gives you absolutely no reason to complain, not stopping until your body is arching off the bed with high pitched keens.

You have been sleeping with Mingyu for the past nine months.

There wasn’t any grand entrance into, no stumbling and hushed words. Just the two of you studying in his room one night, during which you dramatically flung yourself back on his bed after failing to work out a calculus problem and biting out, “Fuck, I need to get laid.”

“Yeah, me too,” he had replied, easy as nothing while he battled with his history paper.

You don't remember doing anything other than exchanging a heated glance and a few more insignificant words, and then he’s getting you off twice with his hands before you fall to your knees to give him what had to be the world’s messiest blowjob, and that was that.

They’ve continued doing it for the better part of the year and none of your friends know.

Or at least you don't think any of your friends know.

But most of them honestly thought that you’ve been fucking since you were year ones, so you don’t really know what to believe. All you know is that no one has called you two out on it thus far- not even when you very conspicuously snuck off to hook up in the bathroom stall of a bar that one time- which you’re going to pretend means that no one knows.

However, everyone knows about your less than platonic feelings towards him. Everyone but the man in question that is.

So what if you were halfway in love with the guy you’ve been casually seeing for the past nine months?

Everything is fine, and normal, and this is totally not going to blow up in your face at all.

You honestly forgot about the Halloween party until Jihyo barges into your room, asking for help with her costume. She’s going as Wonder Woman, all hot pants and bustier top with the lasso of truth clipped onto her brace.

“What are you? Student zombie?” she asks, a single eyebrow raised. You flip her off and pull yourself out of bed with a groan.

“Fuck, I forgot that I promised I’d go to this stupid thing,” you grumble as you throw your hair up in a messy bun. “I still don’t have a costume.”

Jihyo just harrumphs and fishes her phone from somewhere inside her top. “Well, I’m sure pinterest has some last minute ideas you can steal,” she says, already furiously scrolling.

“Yeah, whatever, go wild-” you cut yourself off when you spot a bit of bright red fabric sticking out from underneath a pile of clothes on your desk chair.

“Actually,” you begin slowly, picking your way over to the chair, “I think I’ve just found the perfect costume.”

You grab hold of the edge of fabric and tug, revealing a crumpled fraternity sweatshirt, several sizes too big and with the name ‘Mingyu’ emblazoned on the back of it.

Jihyo’s eyes flicker back and forth for a moment as she tries to piece everything together, but when she does, she flings her head back and cackles .

“Mingyu is going to die ,” she says gleefully and you let a smirk pull at your lips.

It doesn’t take much effort to put your costume together: you throw on the sweatshirt, before pulling out the classic black glasses. A classic Mingyu look, you think.

Jihyo can’t stop laughing the whole way over to the frat house, and you can’t blame her. She does stop for a moment to ask when you managed to get your hands on his prized sweatshirt, and you lie, telling her that he loaned it to you during their last movie night.

In reality, he gave it to you to borrow after accidentally busting the buttons on your blouse last month and you had conveniently forgotten to give it back.

The party is in full swing when you get there, and while not everyone gets your costume, most of the fraternity does, Jihoon going as far as snorting beer out of his nose when he sees you.

“Mingyu is going to flip when he sees you,” he says, a sparkle in his eye that reminds you just how close their bedrooms are and just how thin the walls are. You will yourself not to flush.

“Where is he anyway?” you ask, crossing your arms. “He made me ditch what was surely going to be an entertaining evening of Netflix and chill all by myself to be here tonight.”

“He’s somewhere playing host. I think around the kitchen.” He jerks his chin in the direction of the kitchen.

You grin, and squeeze his shoulder. “Thanks Jihoon,” you say, and he tips his wig at you.

Jihyo’s already long gone, disappearing into the house, no doubt to find someone to flirt aimlessly with her, so you take your time picking through the crowd.

You do find him eventually, talking with some lower classmen she doesn’t know and dressed in fucking Roman Centurion armour. He was right when he said you’d like his costume. You especially like the lack of shirt and took a moment to stare at his back, the hard muscle under smooth skin, the breadth of his shoulders.

Shaking yourself awake, you cross the room and looping your arm around his shoulders like he does to you all the time. It’s definitely a lot more difficult to do being shorter, but you persist, and drag your finger over his bicep as you say, voice pitched low to mimic his, “Hey Princess.”

He turns to face you, eyebrows scrunched together and then-

And then he laughs so hard that you’re afraid he’s going to suffocate.

It's the kind of laugh you've only heard on a handful of occasions. A knee slapping, eye crinkling laugh that takes root in his stomach and blooms in his chest, leaving you pink with pleasure.

“Are you supposed to be me?” he asks, delighted as he pulls on the strings of your hoodie.

You swat him. “Well, it is pretty scary, right? If only I could have gotten a mask to go with it, then I’d be a true nightmare.”

The mirth on his face doesn’t seem to be going away anytime soon. If anything, Mingyu looks at you showing up in his too big clothing and big black glasses as the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

You pinch the inside of his bicep because, well, there’s a lot of skin on display and you can’t help yourself, and then says, “I’m going to go get a drink.”

You turn on your heel, already halfway to the kitchen before remembering to look over your shoulder and ask, “Want anything?”

Except then you see the look on his face as he looks at you and the words die in his throat.

Or, more specifically, you see the way he’s looking at his name, bold across your shoulders.

No longer does mirth cover his face, but something different, something darker, that has your insides turning molten and a current buzzing underneath your skin, like a livewire while he looks at you with unconstrained hunger.

You duck into the kitchen to get your drink before you do something stupid. Like shove him up against the wall right then and there.

Luckily there’s a line for the beer, giving you some time to catch yourself and cool down. It doesn’t stop you from downing at least half your cup of beer before heading back out into the party.

Mingyu is exactly where you left him, arms crossed over his admittedly impressive chest, and when you come back into his line of sight, he looks you up and down in a way that fans the flames licking at your skin.

You squeak when he pulls you closer, his grip mean on your hips for a moment before his palms slowly slide over your backside to tuck into your back pockets. He pulls you into him, head lowering in order to press featherlight kisses to the curve of your cheekbone, and you curl your fists against his chest, not caring that youwere being more than a little obvious right there in public, not caring that anyone can see you.

“I’ve been looking for this all over,” he murmurs, tugging gently at the sweatshirt with one hand while the other squeezes your ass. You sigh into his neck, trailing a finger down his sternum.

“You loaned it to me, remember?” you say with a quirk of your lips, voice pitched low. He whines when you scrape the blunt edges of your nails down his chest, and leans further to nuzzle the juncture of your shoulder and neck.

“Course I remember,” he says gruffly, pressing into you, “You attacked me in the library.”

You splutter. “I attacked you ? I think you got it mixed up, mister.”

“Nope,” he stays resolute, “You lured me away from my work with your feminine wiles. It’s your fault.”

“My bad,” you said dryly, “You definitely weren’t eager and ended up ripping my shirt in two.”

“I’m always eager around you,” he mutters, making you shiver, especially when he bites down on your collarbone.

You try your best to ignore the subtle implications hidden beneath his words. “If you really want your shirt back you can take it. After the party though,” you lean in close to whisper the next part, teeth grazing the shell of his ear, “I’m not wearing much under it.”

The hands on your hips spasm, and just the barest hint of a groan manages to reach your ears before he pulls back to run a critical eye over your form. The hand on your back slides up, up, up, before pressing between your shoulder blades, finger tracing the curve of his name. “Keep it,” he tells you, and you aren't sure if you shiver because of the heat of his palm or the look in his eye. “You look good in it, princess.”

It takes you a moment to gather your bearings- you two don’t do this, never quite so open and visible, but for some reason it sends a thrill through you- and shoots him a shaky smirk. ��It’s not that hard to say I look better than you, Gyu.”

The heat is masked by a cocky look and Mingyu says, “You’re such a brat,” before smacking your ass and pulling away.

You aren't sure if things get better or worse as the night wears on.

For one thing, Mingyu seems unable to leave your side. He starts the night off with an arm around your shoulders as normal while you talk with people and do your best Mingyu impression.

You’ve been friends for years now, close in way that you aren’t with anyone else, and not just because of the sex. He’s your best friend, you realise with a start, in the middle of a rant about raccoons where you're just bullshitting half of your facts. Your very best friend here, who you know from cover to cover, just like he knows you, and the thought makes you bite back a smile, glancing over at him from under your lashes.

The lust from before has softened into something else, not quite gone, but placed on the back burner as the softness grows and grows as the night passes.

You have goosebumps, and it’s not just from his hands brushing up against you, slipping from your shoulders to your waist, then your hips, fingers dragging everywhere, especially over the ‘M’ in his name, as you engage in a game of chicken, trying to see who will cave first.

“Have I mentioned how much I like your costume?” he whispers in your ear as you watch a game of beer pong. He’s pressed against you, all solid muscle and heat that you can feel through the sweatshirt while his fingers drum against your hips. His tongue flicks the shell of your ear, uncaring of who sees the both of you, and you lean into his touch.

You hum happily. “I like yours too,” you say, letting your hands dance up his side, making sure to graze the spot under his ribs where he’s most sensitive. Mingyu hisses, and the hands on your hips clench.

“Although,” you continue, acting as though you didn’t notice his reaction, “I don’t like the lack of shirt.”

“Oh?” he says, surprised, flexing against your back. “I thought that would have been your favourite.”

You chuckles. “Don’t get me wrong,” you start, before turning in his arms to face him properly, “I do love it quite a lot. But I don’t like that everyone else gets to see it.”

The heat is back in his eyes, and his voice is hoarse when he asks, “And why is that?”

You would love blame the alcohol you've been drinking all night, but you’re nowhere near drunk and besides, it’s all 100% you when you says,

“Because you’re mine”

Mingyu closes his eyes and groans, letting his head drop in the space between your shoulder and neck, mouth warm and wet on your skin, making you shiver.

“Fuck, princess,” he groans, pulling you closer and you deliberately rub against him, “You’re killing me here.”

You grin even though he can’t see it and press a swift kiss beneath his jaw. “I distinctly remember someone promising me- what was it again?” you ponder, letting your hands slip to his belt and he pulls back to stare at you. “Oh right, a special treat, just for me.”

The look he gives you is obscene, and this time you don't even repress the shudder that dances down your spine.

“Fucking minx,” he grunts, grabbing your hand and pulling you through the throngs of people as you head to the stairway. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

“I’m doing no such thing,” you faux gasp, even as you rub yourself against him as you stumble up the stairs. Mingyu swears again, this time pulling you in front of him, grinding against you in a way that you think you might just melt into a puddle, right then and there.

Eventually you do make it to his room, stumbling against the door. His hands have found their way underneath your hoodie while yours trace patterns across his exposed chest, lingering on his sternum, resting a closed fist against his heart. You can feel it, a rapid pulsing beneath your fist, almost in time with yours, and you kiss him harder.

You do get inside soon enough, and that’s when he slows them down a bit, taking your face in both his hands as he kisses you, thoroughly, languidly, softly, so heartbreakingly tender that you feel your throat clog up.

“Hey,” he says, pulling back and nosing your cheek. You open your eyes and the world is a little bit bleary, the edges of your vision soft and filled with nothing but Mingyu. You squeeze his bicep and smile dopily back at him.

“You’re, uh- you’re my best friend. You know that?” he says, a little bit shy, even as he slides a knuckle across your ribs.

It’s not just a best friend he means, and you get that, getting it from the way his tongue wraps around the word, so carefully, how the edges are soft and vulnerable and you nod once before leaning up to kiss him back.

And though he doesn’t have to do it, not when you already know exactly what he means, he still mumbles against your lips, “You’re mine too,” and it sends a bolt of heat right down your spine.

You break the kiss this time, letting your hands fall first to his belt, tracing a line where his skin meets his ridiculous costume, and then lower, cupping him in your hands, hard and hot and ready, squeezing gently.

“Good,” you say firmly, watching him steadily as she does it again, this time eliciting a groan from him. “Now get this off.”

His smile is nothing but a glint of teeth in the dark. “Yes ma’am.”

You already feel like you’re about to combust, wound up from his teasing all night, and hurries to kick off your shoes and jeans while he struggles with the row of clasps and hooks holding his costume up. He swears when you’re down to just the sweatshirt and your underwear, your own hand drifting to the juncture between your thighs to grind on, to alleviate some of the pressure building there. Fire licks up your spine and you do it again, wondering if it was possible for the two of you to burn the house down. It certainly felt like that.

“Tease,” he grunts, tripping over his own feet when you flick a finger beneath the edge of elastic. His hands catch on your waist, and he throws you none too gently on the bed. “Fucking tease.”

His mouth crashes into yours, all teeth and tongue and spit, while his fingers replace yours, unforgivingly rough against the lace, making you mewl into his mouth.

Mingyu pulls back, lips red and swollen and you snarl in displeasure- one that chokes off into a gasp when he suddenly drops to his knees, pulling your hips to the edge of the bed. He leans in, nuzzling against you, just the barest hint of teeth grazing you through the lace before he sits back on his haunches, looking up at you.

“Trick or treat?” he asks with an insufferable grin. You kind of want to kick him in his pretty face.

“Really? Are you gonna fucking do this now?” you demand, thoroughly unimpressed. You’re squirming with want and need, aching for him to get back to business.

You receive a stinging slap to your inner thigh for that, and you squeak, in pleasure or pain, you don't know. “Mouthy,” he tells you, grinning widely. His thumbs dig into your hips for a second before curling around the elastic band of your underwear. “Trick it is.”

You don't get to ask him what the hell it is he means by that because he wrenches your panties off, so roughly that you vaguely wonder if he’s ripped those too, and then seals his mouth over you, licking into your folds. You cry out when his lips close around your clit, fingers sliding against your skin as he barely brushes against your entrance. He groans against you, slipping one, then two fingers inside before licking you deep, leaving you thrashing against his sheets.

He keeps on building you up, the match that lit your fuse, and it’s only a matter of time before you explode into a supernova.

You’re almost getting to that point, the point where you can’t see anything, can’t hear anything, nothing except Mingyu all around you, the taste of his name sweet on your tongue as you repeat it like a prayer, urging him onwards, waiting for him to give you that final twist of his fingers that would have you-

And then he pulls back, ripping a cry from your throat as you scramble up to glare at him.

He flashes you that same indolent smile, petting a hand over your soft stomach before lapping at you gently, a stark contrast to the way he was going at it previously. You’re still embarrassingly wet, still feel that need crackling under your skin like electricity, though not quite as potent as before, and you sigh, relaxing back into the mattress as your hands drift to his hair.

They tangle in his curls, tugging slightly, and Mingyu makes a soft sound of approval, nipping the crease of your hip. Ever so slowly, the fire burns brighter and higher, taking you right back to the edge again, only for him to stop and pull you back down.

“Gyu,” you whine, trying to lift your hips. They're made almost immobile by the muscled forearm thrown across them. “ Please .”

He just smirks at you, biting the flesh around your bellybutton with blunt teeth, even as his fingers continue to tease you. “Easy princess,” he murmurs into your skin, “Patience is a virtue.”

“I hate you.”

“Nah,” he smirks and then winks at you while his thumb rubs circles into your clit, “You don’t.”

He continues doing that for who knows how long, taking you to the brink before stopping and letting you float back down before jumping into it again. You want to yell and curse at him, but it’s impossible with the way you’re shuddering and shaking, every nerve ending on fire, every pore, every fibre, every molecule of your being just wanting him.

When he scissors his fingers, tongue dipping to twist inside you, you shatter apart with a wail powerful enough to rock the universe.

It takes you a few moments to find yourself again, to realise that you must be hurting him with the grip you have on his hair, and when you let go, he pulls back, still soothing you with the soft brush of his fingers.

You beckon him closer and he obliges, mouth slick on yours when you kiss him, trying to lick the taste out of his mouth.

“Trick or treat?” you ask when you pull back. You tugs him so that he’s lying flat on his back. “Really?”

Mingyu grins at you when you lift yourself to straddle him, limbs still loose and sated. “I think it was fun.”

“Yeah, will I think you’re an idiot,” you grumble, leaning over to grab a condom out of the nightstand.

He mouths at your breasts, swinging distractedly in his face. “Didn’t hear you complaining though,” he says smugly, jerking up with a muffled swear when you trail a finger down his cock in retaliation.

“Shut up,” you mutter, slapping the condom against his chest and leaning back.

“Didn’t hear much of anything really,” he continues, easily ignoring you as he tears it open with his teeth, “Except you screaming my name.”

You feel yourself flush all the way up to your roots. “I did not.”

“You did,” he says, rolling it on, before looking up at you with a wicked smirk. He runs a finger over your mouth, raising up on his forearms and saying, “You like when I make you beg for it.”

You push him back down onto the bed with a harrumph. “Dick,” you snark, gripping the hem of the sweatshirt you still wear.

A hand on your wrist stops you and you quirk an eyebrow up at him, he can’t seem to meet your eyes as he rumbles out, “Leave it on?”

You smirk but let your hands fall away, brushing them over his muscles. “Alright then.” You laugh a little as he watches in fascination as you take off her bra without removing the shirt, and then sneak your own hand up to tweak your nipple.

He groans and wrenches his eyes shut. “You’re insufferable,” he bites out through clenched teeth, hissing when you rub yourself over him.

“And you like it when I wear your clothes,” you say on a gasp, slipping down an inch on him. You lean in close, pulling at his earlobe with your teeth. “You like it almost as much as I like you, quote unquote, making me beg for it.”

His hands are tight on your waist, and Mingyu snarls when he flips you over, landing you on your hands and knees while he kneels behind you, the heat of his thighs searing into you. Gently, he gathers your hair into a fist, letting it rest right against his name, the sweatshirt hanging loose off your frame. It makes you shiver, body arching into him.

He slides in with one quick thrust and they both groan, You at the feel of being full and Mingyu feeling your cunt clinging to every inch of his cock.

Your fingers grapple with the sheets, cheek pressed into a pillow and mouth hanging open as you gasp for breath when he pulls out, only to thrust back in mind numbingly slowly.

“God, you look so good like this,” you hear him groan into the night while his hips snap furiously into yours. You find yourself pressing back into him, unrestrained moans spilling out of your mouth at each move.

His head falls forward, and you hear his harsh pants right next to your ear. “You feel so good like this.”

You keen, muscles quivering, “Mingyu,” you groan, long and drawn out, the only word you seem able to say at the moment. Her heartbeat roars in her ears.

“Gyu,” you try again, eyebrows furrowing, “Please”

“What do you want, princess?” he asks, free hand palming your breast through the shirt, “What do you need?”

“Touch me,” you whimper, eyes closed and he smirks, trailing his hand over your skin.

A hand snakes between your joined bodies, thumbing at your clit and you cry out, twisting your head to the side to try and kiss him. He obliges, desperate himself, and the kiss is more tooth than lip.

His other hand doesn’t move from atop the solid black lettering, the heat of it soaking through the thick material of the sweatshirt, as though he wanted to sear the name into you- his name into you- and you shudder with it, clenching around him.

Used to reading your body’s cues, Mingyu knows you’re almost there, just waiting for that final push and all it takes is him pulling out, almost completely, and slamming back into you while grinding down on your clit, and you’re gone, his name a mix of a shriek and a sob dropping from your lips.

It feels like you’re floating, surrounded by starlight, and the only thing tethering you to earth is Mingyu, his hand now holding onto you tightly, keeping it still as he seeks his own release, the aftershocks of your own orgasm getting him there.

Your knees give out when you come back down, and you groan, hearing him chuckle behind you. It takes some maneuvering to untangle their limbs, and when he flops down besides you, you curl into him, tracing the sinews of his neck, like you always do in the aftermath.

“You good?” he asks, throwing an arm around your waist and pulling you close. His lips find yours, kissing you deep and slow until he’s interrupted by your yawn.

“Shut up,” you mumble, smacking him in the chest. It does nothing to wipe the smug look off his face.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Your face did.”

“You like my face.”

“I like you .”

Mingyu softens at that, and takes his time tangling your fingers together, bringing it up to his mouth. He brushes his lips against your knuckles in a soft kiss. “I like you too,” he tells you, “And I meant what I said before.”

“Good,” you say, a smile threatening to split your face in two. You tuck your face into his side, content with just breathing him in for a moment.

“I lied before,” you say after a pause, twisting to throw him a cheeky grin. “You’re not getting your sweatshirt back.”

He heaves a dramatic sigh and then says as if it’s some great burden, “Well, I guess if you keep stealing my clothes then I better give you an incentive to keep taking them.” His hands drag across your stomach and roll to settle between your thighs.

You cup his cheek, the sweet smile that pulls at your lips oddly at contrast with the mischievous glint in your eyes. “Are you saying you’re going to rip all my clothes off me from now on?”

Mingyu swipes another quick kiss from you, grinning toothily. “That is exactly what I’m saying.”

©solseye

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