#— scenarios.🌷

[moonjxsung]

Begged & Borrowed

Copyright Ⓒ 2023 by Moonjxsung

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

Pairing: Lee Minho x fem reader

W/c: 30.2k

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

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

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

18+. Mdni!

•

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you sigh again, cocking your head at him.

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

“I’ll call you,” Minho reaffirms.

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

“I promise to answer,” he echoes.

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

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

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

*

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

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

“Hello?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Now you’re lying,” you remark.

“I’m not-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another lie.

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Things are okay between us.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where would we go?” You ask reluctantly.

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

“Anything,” he responds. “Your pick.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

A yoga retreat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She laughs lightly, shooting Minho a thumbs up.

“Enjoy it while you can!”

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bait,” he says with a small smile.

“Bait?” You echo. “You mean like…”

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What does that mean?”

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

“Minho!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah. You wrote about Europe or something.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Honeymoon. Even that word sounds foreign.

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

He laughs lightly, giving you a smile.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

*

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

“It’s really dark,” you comment.

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m nervous,” you say candidly.

“Why?”

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

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

“Are you happy?”

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

“Jung hates me,” Minho says suddenly.

“He doesn’t hate you-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What? Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good,”’Minho says. “Me neither.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What is it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Would you stay like this?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Disloyal. Another man. Cheater.

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

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

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

“Huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I was just- what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s messy,” Minho replies.

“What if I’m bad at it?”

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm?”

“Should we… talk about what happened?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t want you to feel guilty-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah. Like that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fiancé?”

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

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

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

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

“You think?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

Bastard. Facilitator of cheating. Homewrecker.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did something about what?”

“This,” you emphasize. “Us.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why do you say that suddenly?”

“Just… thinking,” Minho finishes.

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey,” Minho says in a shy voice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cue the obnoxious laughter, fake smiles, raised glasses.

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

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

Roaring laughter, unsightly grins and clinking glasses.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Anything. Something dreamy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s not here,” you say simply.

“What? What’s not here?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are we doing?”

“What?” You query in response.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Minho, please-”

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

“Yeah. It is.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stupid. The whole thing feels stupid.

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

“Sure.”

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

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

Lee Minho.

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

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

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

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

Magenta.

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

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

“Hm?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

“What? But you just said-”

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

“What are you talking about?”

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

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

“And why is the wine so fucking expensive?”

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

“No, I don’t want to.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“At the end of the day, there’s the man who tells me how to golf,” you say in a shaky voice. “And there’s the man who guts a fish alongside me, mess and all.”

Jung frowns at your words, visible confusion painting his features.

“What?”

“I have to go,” you say to him, sparing him any sort of explanation.

The hem of your dress is balled into the palms of your hands and pulled up to give yourself room to walk, as you kick off your heels and begin to exit the venue. And before you do leave, you pivot around one last time, letting your gaze meet Jung’s visibly irate expression.

“Here,” you announce, pulling the silver band off your ring finger and setting it down on the tablecloth.

“If you’re going to make a big deal out of anything, at least let it be this.”

*

The polyester-spandex mix of your reception dress isn’t made to run in. It’s much too long, the fabric bunches up at the sides and its bright white color begs to be kept indoors only. And yet you run- and you don’t stop, not even for a second, until the reception building is completely out of your sight, disappearing beyond the trees and the tall grasses that surround it.

Your bare feet scrape the squelching mud that surrounds the grassland after the recent rains, and overhead, the piercing blue sky and a harsh sun beams down over you in encouragement. And you normally hate blue skies and green grasses like this, always equating them to Jung’s stupid golf courses and the corporate events he’s dragged you to for years.

But today it serves as a sort of blessing, like the world is brighter, lighting your path and guiding you to the beacon that is Minho, and all his unconditional, unwavering love for you. Maybe it took you years to finally acquaint yourself with your emotions like this, and maybe you hadn’t even realized what true love was until Minho. And there’s the possibility, of course, that you’re also too late, and that Minho has already settled on the tragic fact that Jung would always remain a part of you.

And that’s true- he will maintain a role of permanence in your life. He was your first serious boyfriend throughout college, your first fiancé and your first true love before you understood it in a less superficial form. And yet he will also permanently remain the man whose life you walked out on, because he helped you realize he’s nothing near what actually fulfills you.

Once the paved roads are in view again, you waste no time waving down a taxi and uttering Minho’s address to the driver with such urgency. Your dress is caked in mud up to the ankles, and your hair is in complete disarray as you glance out the window at the rows of cars, all belonging to guests here for your dinner rehearsal. And you chuckle briefly, at the thought of them emptying the lot and walking out of your life forever.

Contrastly, Minho’s apartment is in complete disarray, too, as he hoists the last of his immediate belongings into a leather bound suitcase and latches it shut.

What a waste, he thinks to himself. What a waste to have spent so much time comfortably in love with the idea of a finite soulmate, and at such close proximity, too. You’re probably off at your rehearsal dinner, sampling finger foods and laughing at all of Jung’s surface-level conversation.

And he’ll never know you the way Minho knows you. He will never comprehend your fears, your reservations, all your little quirks and the things that make you tick. He’ll never fully understand the prospect of being so bound to somebody in both friendship and love that it’s almost indistinguishable what you are to each other. Perhaps that’s where you went wrong, too- because Minho knows it, that his role in your life has always been to love you, near, far and at every point in between. And yet you deem it just a fleeting thing, one implying an end.

There is no discernible point between the end of my friendship and my love for you, Minho wishes he could tell you. Just like the promise of my friendship to you, it’s a blossoming thing, this beautiful phenomenon. And we can run with it, or we can let it die like this- but it will always remain of permanence.

The chestnut suitcase is hoisted into the trunk of his car, also littered with boxes and duffel bags of his belongings. It’s a vulnerable feeling, to pack up and move on like this. Not forever- just for the duration of which you’ll be uttering your vows to Jung. He can’t bear to be in the same city as any of it, he refuses to let himself love at the proximity of you dolled up in a wedding dress, in the sacred environment of a church surrounded by your family. How could a higher power accept the felicitations of the same man who’s been fucking you behind the groom’s back? Within the four walls of which transforms hate to love, and sin to virtue?

What a waste, Minho concludes again. What a waste to have loved this deeply, and to pacify your fears only for another man to reap the benefits. Try as Jung might, he’ll never know you the way Minho does. And the vast trench that separates you from Jung, one which paints a clear divide of friendship and his superficial love for you- that will remain permanent, too.

As Minho starts up the engine, the last of his belongings all packed and ready to go, he glances around the neighborhood with a somber expression. The sun glares down on the empty concrete roads, birds circling the sky like there’s any reason to celebrate. Maybe they’re ravens, and maybe they circle in a mourning ritual. The only event fitting for an afternoon like this one, as Minho prepares to leave for his parents’ house- like the coward he knows he is.

His apartment grows smaller with every passing inch he drives down the concrete road, and a trembling hand reaches up to adjust his rear view mirror, letting out a deep exhale as he prepares to leave all this behind.

And as the faint outline of his apartment grows smaller, a white figure behind him grows bigger.

It starts as a fleeting blur, maybe a shadow, or perhaps the glint of the sunlight in his mirror. But as he quickens the push of his foot to the gas pedal, it grows faster, too, catching up to the drag of his car along the concrete and approaching him with such purpose.

An apparition of sorts, he thinks momentarily.

I’m fucking seeing things. I’ve officially lost it.

But as the frantic call of his name floats through the air and into the crack of his car window, his eyes widen, the lag of his brain finally reaching a halt as he slams on his brakes and throws open the door.

And in rushed motions, he’s climbing out to face you, doubled over as you catch your breath and hold a hand up in surrender.

“Stop!” You shout, waving your hands and motioning for him to cease his movements.

And Minho’s eyes don’t get any smaller, maintaining their shocked expression as he waits for you to speak.

Your white dress, tainted brown up to your knees in mud and grass. Even your face is muddy, streaks of it painting the otherwise stunning face of makeup you flaunt. And you speak in pleading gasps as you finally break the silence between the two of you.

“It’s you,” you say to Minho sheepishly.

“What are you-”

“It’s you, it’s always been you,” you breathe out. “I was so stupid, and I left as soon as I could comfortably come to terms with it. It’s you I love, Minho. Not Jung and not the idealized version of that life I created in my head. I can’t do any of this without you, and I can’t live the rest of my life without having said something. I love you- now, and in ten years time and I want to spend the rest of my life gutting fish alongside you- mess and all.”

Minho doesn’t say anything for a moment- in fact, he wears a poker face as he watches you continue to catch your breath. And then he scoffs lightly as he shakes his head.

“You waited until the day of your wedding to say something?” Minho retorts frustratedly.

“Rehearsal dinner,” you correct him. “This is just a dinner dress.

“Regardless,” Minho says. “I mean, what are we doing? There’s another man waiting for you, and we’re here doing something we should’ve done years ago if it was meant to be in the slightest.”

You feel your heart drop at his words, confirming the theory you’d feared the most. Too late.

“Please,” you beg, and Minho shakes his head.

“We’re terrible people,” he then states, his voice trembling in the process. “Cheaters, and liars. And this is far too rooted in dishonesty and selfishness to be love.”

Tears prick the corners of your eyes as you watch Minho scan your expression. And perhaps he’s right- but it can’t be anything except for love, not when it feels this right with him.

“Where are you going?” You ask Minho quietly, moving a strand of muddied hair out from your eyes.

“My parents’ place,” he replies.

And you give him a small nod, pivoting on your heel to walk out of his life, forever.

Except it’s the realization of this that causes you to turn back around-

There is no forever in the absence of Minho- not when he plays a role of permanence.

He will forever be the man you fell in love with, the man you’ve been in love with for years, one you risked your life to come find and one who’s defined the limitations of what it means to be a best friend and simultaneously a lover.

That will remain with you always, and near, far and everywhere in between, the love will exist the way it always has.

“Loving me was the most selfish thing you ever did,” you call out to Minho, and he turns back around to meet your gaze.

“And yet you did it anyway,” you continue. “You made love to me and you drank my fiancé’s wine and we’re in love so selfishly at this proximity to each other. But it doesn’t change the fact that we’re in love, and that I’m not going back to Jung. And leaving here- depriving yourself of the love you’ve wanted for so long, that’s also a selfish move. You can go as far as you want, but it doesn’t change the fact that the love is still here between us.”

Minho’s lips part to say something, but he doesn’t, instead blinking nervously as he waits for you to finish.

“And at the end of the day, there’s the man who tells me how to golf, and there’s the man who teaches me how to gut a fish, mess and all,” you finally finish.

Minho stays silent, pondering your words, and scanning your expression.

And truth be told, he wants to take you in his arms and run, hearing the words he’s longed to hear all his life. But he stops himself, instead emitting a breathy chuckle from his lips and shaking his head.

“Well what do you propose?” He finally asks, cocking his head as he awaits your reply.

And his response is a weight off your shoulders, as you sigh deeply and shrug in his direction.

“I propose we let ourselves be selfish,” you say to him. “And we spend the rest of our lives seeking forgiveness together.”

Minho chuckles, taking careful note of the way your eyes sparkle as you approach him. He’s not sure he’s ever seen you so relaxed before, and certainly not so sure of yourself. You look like the woman he’s loved both near and far, exuding confidence and passion and unwavering comfort in your demeanor. His best friend and his lover, he thinks encouragingly, as he cups his hands around your cheeks and pulls you in for a tender kiss, one that confirms your proposal and implies all of this permanence.

The roads are still empty in the dull afternoon of the hour, Minho maneuvering the car with one hand as you sit beside him in the passenger seat, your hands intertwined over the center console as the harsh blue sky and bright hues of green grass melt into blurs of color beside you. And he speaks only of Shirakawa as he drives, promising you beautiful snowfalls and chilly walks along the lily ponds upon your arrival.

You can picture everything as the tales escape his lips, full of life as you imagine the brown farmhouses and green hills, where you and Minho promise to love selfishly under the prayer hand thatched roofs, the very place your forgiveness will coincide alongside the permanence.

And as he brings the back of your hand to his lips for a chaste kiss, he can feel the green vines of ivy loosen around his soul, but this time you feel it too, viridian leaves finally putting distance between your venules and their harsh grasp. And perhaps it wasn’t grieving all along, but love for you- love which you’re full of, too.

The vines tangle themselves beautifully between your seated figures, blossoming flowers and color and placing life back into you both.

And for the first time in a long, long time, Minho can finally breathe.

#stray kids #skz #skz smut #lee know fic #lee know smut #lee know scenarios #lee know x reader #lee minho x reader #stray kids hard hours #skz scenarios #lee know stray kids #lee know #🌷 anon #request #Spotify

[yo-yo-yeonkai]

ARE YOU SURE PRINCESS? - KANG TAHEYUN - NSFW

Taehyun x AFAB!reader

Genre: smut

Warning list: best friend! Tae, smoker! Tae, non-smoker! Reader, unprotected, handjob, praise (good girl), pet names (princess, baby, doll), drugs, smoking, feelings involved, barely proofread. 

Word count: 1,858

Summary: You only wanted a taste, and maybe, just maybe you knew one taste would lead to another.

It was only meant to be a taste. Only innocent curiosity. But it became something so much more.

Your best friend smoked weed, and he'd never even suggested you tried it, he simply let you make your own decisions. So when you're at his he asks "are you fine with me smoking here, or do you want me to go outside". He doesn't ask "wanna smoke with me?". No, he'd never ask that. You were too precious for him to coerce like that.

You gazed up at him, through your eyelashes, he leant lazily against his head board, eyes looking down at you lying across his bed comfortably. Dress hardly covering your ass as you swung your legs in the air behind you, tits slipping ever so slightly from the low neckline. He was hungry for more than a smoke.

You make a decision right then that you wanted to try it, but you were too nervous to say. "Smoke here Tyun, I don't mind" you smiled at him, watching as he reached into his bedside table and got out his spliff.

As he placed it between his lips he looked at you and shook his head "are you sure princess?". Oh the nickname, he knew it made you shiver and he only used it when he wanted you to answer him honestly, it's like he knew you wanted him to take control of you and fucking rail you into tomorrow.

You nodded, leaning up on your elbows and placing your chin in your hands to look at him as he lit it. "Whatever you want" he chuckles, and the first drag he exhaled upwards, completely away from you which wasn't what you'd expected. You grew frustrated at your plan going sideways, having to restrain yourself from dragging him to you so he has nowhere else to blow it but towards you.

You let him do this a few more times before you giggled at him "you don't need to do that you know. I don't mind...". You do mind actually you want him to blow it in your mouth, but you'd never admit that, it's too humiliating.

he flicked his gaze down at you in amusement and shrugged his shoulders, indifferent. When he looked at you he held your eyes and suddenly you couldn't hear the music he was playing, all you could think about was him. He took a drag, and this time he blew it directly at you. You tried to sneakily inhale it and he of course saw, but he'd let you try just two more times before he coaxed you over.

You'd never smoked before, you weren't sure how to do it. So when he told you to come over, and patted the space between his spread legs you grew nervous. The second you were on your knees in front of him he smirked at you "ask for my help princess-" he teased. The words made desire pool in your stomach. Beg, he wanted you too beg - Your mouth opened and closed before an exasperated mumbled came out "I don't know what you mean Tae". Play dumb, it was time to play dumb.

He ran his rough finger along your jaw, grasping your chin and pulling your face closer ever so slightly. The feeling of his fingers on you sent sparks through your skin, igniting your body with desperation for him. He chuckles lowly, "I know what you want- just ask".

It wasn't exactly surprising he knew what you wanted, he always read you like a book. There was no point in playing dumb with him anymore. "Tyun please may you teach me how to smoke. I want to try it but I'm nervous I'll do it wrong". The corner of his lips quirked up in a smirk as he nodded at you and placed the spliff in his mouth. “Seeing as asked so nicely princess~”, he muttered, spliff shaking as each word fell from his lips.

Leaning towards you he picked you up and lifted you onto his lap, your legs naturally straddling him. He was touchy sure, but never this much?! Was he on drugs- wait, yeah, yeah he was.

He held the spliff and spoke to you "I'll be easy on you princess- all I want you to do is inhale what I blow towards you. If you aren't sure breath in like normal then take another little breath and breath out. Ready doll?". You listened to him as carefully as you could with your senses slowed from being on top of him and nodded.

You carefully watched as he inhaled then grasped the back of your head and pulled you painfully close to him, blowing the smoke to you. You did as he said, feeling like you'd inhaled it successfully.

He watched as you blew it back out with a smile "good girl" he chuckled. Each time you got better and suddenly on the last drag he kissed you, pushing the smoke directly into your mouth. You tried to inhale, but you could hardly focus. Everything was already feeling dizzy and Taehyun was finally kissing you, how could you be expected to function?

Even once the smoke was long gone his lips stayed on yours, pursuing you in such a way you felt even dizzier. His tongue prodded at your mouth and you knew he wanted to explore you and you'd let him do whatever he wanted.

Your lips parted for him, and he was quick to pull you closer, further into his lap, chests flush against each others. He was desperate to feel you, taste you, hear you. You groaned into the kiss as he grabbed your ass, back arching, grinding against him so sinfully. You were so sensitive for him, so beautiful.

He pulled away from you "you did so well princess. Did exactly as I asked" he compliments, trailing wet kisses from your jaw to your shoulder, pulling the strap of your pretty little dress off your shoulder.

Instead of responding you began grinding on his now hard dick, you'd felt it grow beneath you. He groaned at the feeling and grabbed your hips. "No baby, if you are gonna do that, you are gonna do it on my dick. Take your clothes off" he told you. And from there is was a rush, you were practically ripping off your clothes, and he was tugging at his own, then sitting back down so you could get back to it.

You crawled up to his lap, hooked a leg over his and slowly brought your hand up to your mouth and spat on it, then lowering it back to his dick. You began pumping him, teasing him almost, running a thumb over the tip and dragging his precum down to the base of his cock. He threw his head back and groaned, grasping your hand and collecting himself. "Not now princess, we have plenty of time for that. But right now I need to feel you. I want that pretty pussy wrapped around me, and I know you want to feel me too" he groaned, deep eyes staring into your own eyes as the words left his swollen lips. He was right of course, he was reading you like a book again.

You grabbed his dick but this time you guided it to your dripping hole, moaning as you began to sink down. You didn't even need to lube Taehyun's dick up, you were so wet for him, so very ready to take him, you were always ready to take him. You craved your best friend... it was sinful.

Taehyun was big, and you couldn't take him straight away, you were easing yourself, stretching your pussy to try make him fit. You whined as you tried to take him but only got about half way, "T-Tae I don't think I can take it- you're too big" you whined, humiliated.

He kissed you thrice on the lips then once on each cheek "I'll make it fit princess, don't you worry". Taehyun couldn't take it, the way you were already clenching around him, he'd fucking cum in no time if you kept doing that.

Grabbing your hips, he squeezed them as he slammed you down on him, a scream ripping from your throat at the feeling. No warning, no hesitation, he needed you.

His cock stretched you, made a mess out of you, and he wasn't stopping there. He pulled you all the way up and pushed you down, bottoming out in you, forcing your body to accept his cock, making you feel as good as he felt.

Your body was on fire, head spinning as your hips slammed against his, dick hitting the perfect sensitive spots in you. Your head rested on his shoulder as he used you like a doll, moaning into his ear, his groans meeting your own ear, his breath hitting your shoulder with a hot fan of air. He was wrecking your cunt with each drag of his hips, filling you with his cock. Ruining your composure at each filthy word he spoke "That's it princess, keep bouncing on my cock. You are such a good girl hmmm?" He groaned, kissing your shoulder sweetly as a treat for taking him so well.

You were so whiny, so sensitive, so dumb. And all for Taehyun.

You'd like to blame the weed, you'd like to blame how well Tae was fucking you, but you knew it's cause you fucking liked him. His name continued to slip from your lips like a prayer, as his grip gradually tightened and his fingers dug into your hips, crescent moon marks staining your hips.

"You sound so perfect. So pretty. You are so beautiful" he tells you, sliding his hands up to your back to hold you closer, abit more romantically than before. He grips your shoulders and now used this as his leverage to keep you bouncing on his cock, pushing and pulling like before. "My pretty girl. Mine" he groans and you whined at the sound. "Say it back princess" he tells you, speeding up so dangerously that you could hardly answer.

"Y-yours Tyun- m' yours" you do as asked, voice so weak and pathetic he chuckles at you, but kisses your shoulder regardless. You were his pathetic girl...

Pleasure built and built in your stomach and the line between reality and imagination blurred. His pace grew erratic "my pretty fucking girl. God your pussy feels heavenly" he moans, his own high as near as yours. "Tyun please- m' so close" you slurred a moan into his ear. He huffed as he thrusted faster "I know princess, I'll make you feel good" he promised, and once again Taehyun wasn't wrong.

A few last thrusts into your fucked out cunt and  you'd come undone on his cock, spurts of his cum shooting into you, insides painted white.

As you panted, trying to use your hands to push yourself off him he stopped you as you sat up. He held your face up to him as he kissed you then muttered "I'm not done with you yet princess~".

#txt #txt x reader #txt drabbles #txt imagines #txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts #txt smut #taehyun hard hours #txt taehyun #taehyun drabble #taehyun x reader #taehyun imagines #taehyun smut #taehyun scenarios #taehyun hard thoughts #txt scenarios #txt thoughts #taehyun thoughts #Yo-Yo writes 🌷 #Taehyun list 🐿️ #Yo-Yo’s hard hours 🥀

[jungkookschin]

operation true love! enhypen social media au

after y/n finds out that her boyfriend has been cheating on her with her adopted sister, she finds herself entangled with two of the most popular boys at their uni: jake, the handsome lead striker of the soccer team, and heeseung, the devastatingly charismatic boy who keeps to himself! however, she soon discovers that she needs to make someone genuinely fall in love with her to prevent her (potential) gruesome death. so who will she attempt to seduce? her ex boyfriend, jake, or heeseung?

pairing: soccerplayer!jake x reader, tsundere!heeseung x reader

genre: smau, fluff, angst, crack fic

updates: every other day!

taglist: @curly-fr13s

based on the popular webtoon: operation pure love!

profiles

nobody cares about the flop soccer team!

hybe uni's men's soccer team

the VILLAINS

chapters

one: WHOOPS!😧

two: hideous goblin

three: DILFS (dude i love football season!)

four: bro get back to the game😭

five: this was all minwoo's fault 📝

six: #worldpeace advocate

seven: IS HE LYING ?!

eight: 450 for a pc is insane

nine: i just fell to my knees 📝

ten: i know you guys are having an affair

eleven: clown to clown communication

twelve: that's cute 📝

thirteen: y/n and heeseung’s death 😁 (maybe)

fourteen: :0

fifteen: initiating operation true love!

sixteen: love 😂😂😂 triangle 😂😂😂

seventeen: y/n's love points = 0

eighteen: gojo fanfic?!?!

nineteen: so i guess the rumors were true

twenty: y/n's harem>jungwon's harem

twenty one: operation fake love

twenty two: NOT THE GOVERNMENT NAME

twenty three: boooo

twenty four: ra-im redemption arc?!

twenty five: jake has sent you a love point! +1

twenty six: you can be really selfish sometimes

twenty seven: the government beat us to it

twenty eight: we're rich

twenty nine: that shit was so corny

thirty: mf got a nosebleed💀

#enhypen scenarios #enhypen smau #enhypen social media au #enhypen fanfiction #enha smau #enha social media au #enha imagines #enha scenarios #jake scenarios #jake sim scenarios #jake sim smau #jake smau #heeseung smau #heeseung scenarios #heeseung fanfic #heeseung x yn #heeseung social media au #🌷operation true love🌷

[117luv]

THE PARENT TRAP — LHS | CHAPTER 3

synopsis: jungwon and ni-ki met each other at a summer camp and found out they were fraternal twins. this leads to events where the two ex-lovers, heeseung and yn, are reunited after 14 years by their children.

genre: exes to lovers, smau, fluff

pairing: lee heeseung x fem!reader

warnings: cursing, poor attempts in humor, grammatical errors, marriage, pregnancy, parenthood, miscommunication

taglist: CLOSED!

a/n: hi hi ! once my taglist already reach the 50 quota, so im closing the taglist. also anyone who didnt managed to get the 50 quota, my apologies! btw im so grateful for everyone loving the smau and i cant thank everyone enough! enjoy n love yaaa! <3

masterlist | previous | next

Jungwon walked through the dinner hall and spotted Jake waving his hand as he signaled him to go to their table. He slowly walked through the crowd and sat down beside Ni-ki, who was eating peacefully. Jake started asking him questions about his life, which made their atmosphere much more relaxed than before, and soon it was time to go to sleep. They quickly went out and got to their respective rooms. Ni-ki then has the idea to prank Jungwon by drawing on his face just before he wakes up.

 

Morning approached, and Ni-ki walked to Jungwon's room and started to draw a mustache and cat ears as he was sleeping, not knowing this would definitely end badly, but thinking there was nothing wrong with having a little fun. Soon enough, Jungwon had woken up and got up to wash his face when he saw there were drawings on his face, and he could only think of one culprit, and that was Ni-ki. He angrily went to Ni-ki's room and banged on his door to open it. As he opened the door, he punched him directly in the face. This resulted in a minor nose bleed from Ni-ki. The camp counselor happened to be roaming around their rooms when he saw the two boys punching each other, and he had to break the two of them away before any further injuries could be sustained. "Park Jungwon and Lee Ni-ki, pack up your bags right now," the counselor loudly said to the two boys as they begrudgingly went to their rooms to pack their bags.

 

"The two of you will be sharing the same room and reflecting on this. Your parents will be informed about this incident. No more fighting," he said as he closed the door. "This is your fault. If you didn't draw on my face, then I wouldn't have to punch you," Jungwon said as he looked at Ni-ki. "Well, you didn't have to punch me over a simple prank. Learn to have fun," he replied. Unknowingly, this is the start of their unique friendship.

taglist [CLOSED] : @yangwaa @emikisses @yohanabanana @arizejkt19 @skuwu-blog @beatr2x @svarcq @softiehee @enhastolemyheart @deobitifull @emxshu @bucketofhiros @lost-leopard-beanie @soobin-my-beloved @azurez @flwrshee @beomgyusonlywife @lalalalawon @yanagisprettygf @astrae4 @myjaeyunn @sesame-street-lol @yumilovesloona @jhopesucker @omgjwon @yoonjunshi @wannatinyus @yeahhemmings- @coupscheri @dearyjw @neozon3nha @mevalemadrws @wonyoungsvirus @ilvsoup @dneltrise @chirokookie @noascats @sxftiell @onionzzzs @nokacchan @fairy-of-sugar @i-yeseo @02zluvbot @iamliacamila @nicholasluvbot @ilovewonyo @ddazed-lhs @tobiosbbyghorl @youmenotyummy @minhoie

#the parent trap — lhs 🌷 #enhypen #heeseung x reader #enhypen x reader #jay x reader #sunghoon x reader #jake x reader #enhypen imagines #sunoo x reader #enhypen fluff #jungwon x reader #ni-ki x reader #enhypen headcanons #enhypen au #enhypen smau #enhypen masterlist #heeseung imagines #heeseung fluff #heeseung smau #heeseung scenarios #enhypen social media au

[jeongin-lvr]

Hii I saw that you were taking requests and I wanted to see if you couldn’t write Hyunjin x thick!reader? 🫶🏽✨

ᵎ　🍶　⊹ love you more, h. hyunjin

ᝰ✧ 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀！ 𝖼𝗁𝗎𝖻𝖻𝗒！𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋，𝗈𝗋𝖺𝗅 （𝖿！ 𝗋𝖾𝖼𝖾𝗂𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀）， 𝗆𝗂𝗋𝗋𝗈𝗋 𝗌𝖾𝗑， 𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒／𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿 𝗂𝗆𝖺𝗀𝖾， 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝖼𝗋𝗂𝖻𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗄／𝖼𝗎𝗋𝗏𝗒／𝖼𝗁𝗎𝖻𝖻𝗒， 𝗂𝗆𝗉𝗅𝗂𝖾𝖽 𝖧𝗒𝗎𝗇𝗃𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝖺 𝖻𝗂𝗀 𝖽𝗂𝖼𝗄， 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝗉𝗅𝗈𝗍 ／ 𝗎𝗇𝖾𝖽𝗂𝗍𝖾𝖽， 𝖽𝗂𝖽𝗇’𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗍𝗈 𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝗍 𝖼𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌

[ 2723 words ] ✩ [ do not repost ] ✩ [ 𝗆．𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍 ]

𝗜𝗧 𝗔𝗟𝗟 began when I mentioned how out of place I felt at the party. Surrounded by those pretty girls all in their gorgeously draped, diaphanous fabric of choice. All with their makeup done and delicately etched onto their faces like canvas work; some wearing their hair in sweet up-do’s, their locks framing their face, while others opted to just leave their hair free. Curled or straightened, they were all stunning. And maybe comparison isn’t the best choice but how could I not when I was surrounded by them all? Gowns felicitous for the occasion and heels high, the feeling of being completely out of place was hard to bare.

“Everyone’s so… pretty,” I had mumbled to my boyfriend, tugging the sleeve of his tuxedo while scanning the group of gorgeous girls. It hurt to be jealous but it wasn’t just a feeling I could push down; their smiles bright and gowns flowing behind them as they tramped around, the air surrounding them full of giggles.

Hyunjin glanced down at me, perplexed by why I looked so saddened by the sight.

“You’re the prettiest one here,” And every bit of me wanted to believe that. To feel seen and loved and heard by the one I loved the most. But my heart felt like a heavy stone sinking in water, until I felt like it couldn’t go any further. Hyunjin squeezed my hand, bringing me back into reality. A pretty smile on his plump lips, and while no words left his mouth I knew what he was trying to say.

Words were meaningless if they didn’t have intention behind them; so actions were beginning to speak louder.

And the action of his head being between my thighs was enough to make my head spin, warm tongue gliding up and down my slit. Little groans leaving his mouth as I callously tugged on his hair, chanting his name in breathless moans like a song. Synchronized with the way his slender hands delicately felt me up and down, squeezing my thighs like bread dough. Squishing them, enjoying how they’d close tightly around his head each time his tongue would suddenly flick at my clit.

“Love these pretty thighs, baby,” Hyunjin broke free from between my legs, kissing up and down my flesh with his shiny chin and mouth, both drenched in the wetness of my cunt. He still wore that gorgeous red satin tie on his neck, loosened but precedent. His suit crinkled, white button down creased and halfway undone. Hyunjin was far too excited to taste the nectar between my thighs to even worry about his own attire.

His pretty disheveled hair was sticking to the slick on his face as he kissed me more. A trail of precum and saliva trailing up and down my inner thigh, “So fucking pretty when they’re shaky like this.” Another kiss, his teeth nipping at my skin again, a sharp pain that made my leg jerk, “Do I do this to you, baby? Make you feel good? What do you want me to do for you, hon?” Hyunjin’s caramel dewy eyes were practically glowing as he licked a stripe up my leg, going from my calves to my thighs, then kitten-licking my sopping cunt.

“More… Jinnie, please more,” I breathed out in shaky whispers. Maintaining eye contact as he held up my thigh, draping it over his shoulder and dipping his head down again. Lips wrapping around my clit and sucking harshly, eliciting the prettiest moans he loved to hear- borderline pornographic as my fingers meshed with his hair.

“Wan’ more, pretty?” Hyunjin mumbled against my cunt, vibrations from his husky voice making me shiver, “More what? Speak up.”

My eyes shot to the mirror behind Hyunjin, eyeing his crouched figure, head buried in my pussy, tongue desperately lapping up my neediness. Pretty slurps and groans leaving his mouth only to be absorbed by my body, fueling my oncoming orgasm.

“More of you-“ his tongue entered my hole, making my neck crane, falling back into the white pillow beneath my head, “Fuck- your cock, wanna feel it, please-“ I chanted those pleas over and over again, egging him on once I caught wind of his erection growing in the mirror. Hyunjin’s needy rutting into the mattress as he worked diligently between my legs. His fingers held my thighs open, periodically letting them clamp around his head and neck because he silently enjoyed the struggle for hair.

“My cock? You want my cock, honey?” Hyunjin let go of my clit with a wet pop, lewdly swiping at the precum pooling at the end of his chin. Pretty lashes fluttering as he rose his head, finally meeting my face as he pressed a hand to the side of the mattress. Gripping the sheets as he propped his body up above me, tongue flickering over his bottom lip. Patiently waiting for my words.

“Yeah, baby,” I hummed with watery eyes. Hyunjin groaned, just as desperate.

“You’re the prettiest girl,” He lathered my cheeks and lips with kisses, praising me like a goddess. My heart swelled, mind running foggy and pink with lusty haze. His pretty hand cutely held my chin, eyes boring into my lips, “The fucking prettiest. And you’re all mine. Yeah?”

I nodded feverishly, feeling his hard-on press into my inner thigh the more he spoke. Little praises filling the air and drenching the lustful atmosphere with adoration, love. Nothing more pure in the world. Almost as if he was inebriated, his words slurred and dragged on, lips brushing against mine from the close propinquity.

He squeezed the flesh of my thigh, my throat letting out a soft whimper from his touch. He wanted a response fast.

“Yes! All yours, my pretty Jinnie,” His name felt like candy on my tongue, his eyes little golden trinkets that poured passion between us. Drowning us with the prettiest haze of desire.

“You know you’re the prettiest?”

I paused, unsure. My hands lacing together at the back of his hair and gently tugging. Cute mewls leaving my lips as he massaged the fat of my thighs. Insecurity wasn’t supposed to be brought up in the bedroom, I know. But suddenly I was growing aware of myself. My thighs, my belly, my everything. Suddenly I was the fish out of water; the air was no longer hot and warm with lust but nervousness. Not the good kind. Not the kind that generously pooled in my panties.

I closed my legs, thighs squeezing together between his legs. He glanced down, Hyunjin’s lips parting as if to say something.

Then he did, “You don’t believe me?”

My breathe hitched, eyes tracing his expressions, silently searching for something. I didn’t quite know what, though.

I shook my head, lips quivering. My eyes once again fell to the mirror behind him, then the chair beside it that draped my dress. A dress I was so excited to wear to that party until I got there. Because when I got to that little formal event I felt so out of place; everyone else elegantly dressed, meanwhile my mind was racing with how I wasn’t pretty enough. Wasn’t good enough.

His voice lowered to a sensual whisper, softening his eyes as he looked at a me and pressed on, “Want me to show you, baby?”

I head tilted, his pale hands cupping the side of my face as he watched my expressions. His dark hair trickling down to tickle my cheek, kindly holding me like the most delicate glass ever. I felt the warmth of his hand, the gentleness of his actions, and the somber undertone of his voice. He was sincere and that saccharine look in his eyes said it more than words ever could.

I meekly nodded, curious as to what he’d do- what he’d say.

I watched him adjust, moving up from on top of me, sitting beside my body with his legs spread wide and his eyes on me. The man gestured me over, hand beckoning me forward. I crawled over, quickly sitting in his lap, face close to his and thighs around his body.

“Gorgeous, can you turn around,” Hyunjin muttered against my lips, fixing my hair out of my face. I nodded, following his orders obediently. Hyunjin watched as I turned around in his lap, spreading my legs prettily for him while narrowly avoiding the view of the mirror. Hyunjin placed a hand firmly on my jaw, the only force was his words, however, “Look. Look at yourself, pretty.”

I blinked at the reflection, first seeing my widened thighs, exposing my shiny pink cunt that was drenched with arousal. A sinful reflection yet all I saw how my body and the way it moved and curved, every indent catching my eye, every little mark I wasn’t too fond of.

“This is the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen,” Hyunjin muttered, pressing his lips into the skin of my neck, hands raising to my chest, fawning at my breasts with enthusiasm. Fingers playing with my nipples as he peppered kisses up and down my clavicle bone, so gentle. Adorning my skin were fresh blotches of hickeys, teeth indents bruising me along with the shine of his saliva. All of it was reflecting back at me through the shine of the mirror.

Another kiss, “My pretty thing.” Hyunjin’s pretty cock was begging to be freed from its fabric prison, pressing firmly into my ass, each little movement making him hiss. But he stood still, only feeling me and giving me the kisses. The pleasure with his hands, sleeves of his button down tickling my bare flesh. “Wanna have my cock?” Hyunjin whispered, “Show you how pretty you are when you’re fucked out.”

My cunt oozed with thrill at the thought of his cock, my eyes flickering to his bronze gaze in the reflection, a slight head nod, “Yes, so bad.”

“Gonna make you feel so good,” Hyunjin muttered into my skin, running a hand up my cunt and collecting the precum between his fingers, a slight look of mirth on his face, “Get up for me, baby, please.”

I whimpered from his hands, his pointer brushing against my nub as I got up. I watched the boy, undo the button of his pretty dress pants, letting them fall to his ankles while his boxers showcased the thick cock behind the fabric. Limerence filled my soul as I watched him take those off as well, the prettiest pink cock springing out against his crumbled shirt. His hands then holding the base and letting out a stiff whimper at his own touch, hair falling in front of his eyes.

“C’mere, my love,” Hyunjin grabbed my waist, bringing me to his aid. I did so, facing the mirror across the room as I trapped his legs between mine, the soft, supple flesh of my thighs warming his legs, “God, gonna fuck this pretty cunt so good. Ready?” He asked sweetly, lewd words rocking through my head. Every syllable making the feeling of being exposed inch away slowly, draining out my mind.

Hyunjin aligned his gorgeous, sparkling cock with my cunt, teasingly brushing the tip over my folds in a strategic motion. Whines of desire at the tip of my tongue, just about to spill out when I felt the indescribable stretch of his cock inside me, just an inch or two, the rest slowly beginning to rock inside me. My head fell back against his shoulder, stars burring my eyes with pink and white fuzz.

He slid me down all the way, bottoming out with my cunt full and dripping against his thighs. Hyunjin held my waist, a sheen of sweat glistening upon his face and chest, already wanting to pound into me and feel every inch my cunt had to offer. But he resisted, turning his attention onto the mirror.

“Look at yourself,” Hyunjin held my chin, turning my gaze to the mirror before us. My eyes fell to wear our bodies connected, mind numbing pleasure already making my hole clench around his member, twitching from just the pleasurable stretch, “Don’t look away. Want you to see how pretty you look as I make you feel good, kay?” He laid a delicate kiss into my cheek, looping his arms under my thighs and swiftly raising my body gently. Enough to feel the way his cock nearly emptied me, only to have him plow into me, so agonizingly slow. Perfectly dragging across my soaking walls.

I watched in awe, mouth dropping open the more I felt. Wet noises of our sexes meeting, skin slapping was the only sound in the air. Little moans left my throat, suppressing them to focus on keeping my head up. Staring at the reflection in the glass with lidded eyes.

Watching his pretty dick glide in and out of me in the reflection was better than any cinematic film I’ve watched; vein-ridden cock, stretching my pussy so beautifully while the thickness of it was coated in my own juices. Suddenly my reflection was all I wanted to stare at.

“See that, baby? See how good you take it?” Hyunjin placed a hand on my tummy, steadying himself. Quiet moans whispered into my ear from his lips, making my skin crawl in every direction.

“Fuck, Jin, so good,” I moaned, his hips snapping up into me now. Hands still gripping my thighs wide open for the mirror to see.

“You like that?” Hyunjin let out a moan, breathing heavy as he spoke, “My pretty girl like that? Want more, beautiful?”

“M-more,” I whimpered out, grinding my hips desperately each time he’d thrust into me. The speed of his hips blinding me periodically; my brain was so fuzzy I couldn’t see anything but the orgasm I desperately longed for.

The calamity of needed to finish was eating my insides.

Hyunjin’s nails dug into my thighs, pace quickening, the noises more frequent. Little squelch’s as I took him inside of my tight little cunt, wetness all over my inner thighs. I couldn’t withhold my moans anymore, all I could do was moan and watch as he fucked me so good.

“You gonna cum?” Hyunjin asked, watching in the mirror as I dropped my head back, keeping my eyes on myself, “Cum so I can show you how good you look when you do.”

His hand moved to my clit, matching his thrusts with the smooth feeling of his finger rubbing my clit. It was a dangerous combination.

“Cum, baby,” Hyunjin took notice of how my cunt clenched around him, whines less controlled and whiny.

“Gonna cum,” I yelled, shaky breath hitching each time he fucked into me, “Fuck me so good, Hyunjin-“ My words were slurred out, more stars in my eyes. His fingers working so good on my sweet love nub, dick hitting that gummy spot deep inside of me. Filling me only to thrust into me harder, deeper. It was inevitable. I felt my thighs ache, shaking as my own orgasm began to erupt inside me; overwhelming my senses, throaty moans leaving my mouth.

Hyunjin knew where to hit to make my climax drag on so good. He watched in the mirror, holding my chin tightly to make me look back at my reflecting body. Eyeing myself and my clenching, sensitive hole. I watched my own cum French the insides of my thighs, coating his cock in a pretty white.

Then I felt the familiar twitch of his cock inside of me. He pulled out, wrapping a hand around his length, his thick cock about to burst from his own high. To show my appreciation, I replaced his hand and jerked him into his own high, entranced as I watched his pretty pink tip ejaculation onto my tummy and hand, the white fluid hot and non-stop.

Covered in cum, I lulled my head back, vision clearing as I watched the ceiling with intrigue.

“Did so good,” Hyunjin mumbled into my skin, kissing the spots where his love bites burned my skin, “You really are the prettiest, y’know.”

I nodded, turning my head into his neck and kissing lazily, “Thank you, love.”

#what is happening #writing #oneshot #stray kids #skz scenarios #skz smut #stray kids smut #🌷 dee rambles #skz #skz fanfic #hyunjin smut #hyunjin drabbles #skz hyunjin #hyunjin oneshot #hyunjin #Hwang hyunjin #stray kids headcanons #stray kids oneshot

[ilovetulips]

BEST FRIENDS?

steve harrington x fem!reader

𖦹 pool day as per steve’s invitation to the ‘gang’ , yet he hadn’t expected to admit his feelings for his crush.

𖦹 swearing, alcohol mentions, mom steve, best friends to lovers? ig?, kissing!! sfw

𖦹 2.3k

—

it was a hot day in hawkins, a rare occurrence really. the sun glaring down upon the ground caused everyone to go into a panicked frenzy on how to cope with the heat. lucky for you, steve harrington had a huge house with a pool in his garden. and sun loungers! could life be more perfect?

he’d invited everyone around to have a pool party, and he means everyone. dustin and his gang, robin, nancy, eddie and even jonathon. you were already at his house before everyone arrived, being his best friend you practically lived there. he shares half his wardrobe with you, so you had everything you need when you stay for a sleepover.

you were changing into more appropriate swim attire when the doorbell sounded throughout the house, steve rushing to the door and muffled sounds of him and the large gathering crowding his doorway talking to each other echoed through the ceiling. you’d grown used to tuning them out, changing into your favourite red bikini and getting ready to sunbathe.

“hey man, thanks for inviting us. don’t know what we’d do without your pool.” eddie expressed.

“no problem! straight through to the back door guys, i’m just gonna grab some snacks n’ shit to put out.” the host says, walking towards his kitchen unaware of the short haired girl following behind him.

“where is she?” robin whispered, making steve quite literally jump out of his skin.

“shit! what the fuck is wrong with you? where’s who?”

“your girlfriend. duh.”

“she’s— she’s not my girlfriend, robs. and she’s upstairs getting ready, i think.” he turns around, avoiding her piercing stare.

“uh huh… not your girlfriend but she basically lives here. you guys constantly flirt too. you ever gonna tell her how you feel?”

“tell who how steve feels? do you have a crush! why didn’t you tell me?” you feel your heart twang with pain when you heard robin ask steve that question, the rest being muted by their whispers.

“[Y/N]! hey. heyy…” steve tries to act casually, his second ‘heyy’ being dragged out as he leaned onto his counter. his eyes widened and his confidence faded when he trailed his eyes down your body. he was screwed.

“hey [Y/N]! shit, you look good. red’s your colour. i’m gonna… check that everyone hasn’t completely destroyed steve’s yard.”

you giggle, the sound permeating through steve’s entire being. “thanks, robin. you look great too! always do, i’m jealous.”

“pshh! i’m the jealous one. see you soon!” she walks away, leaving you and steve in the large kitchen. it felt so small to him, as if the walls were closing in. he couldn’t focus properly on anything other than you, attempts to force out words proved null.

“you… okay? you look a bit flustered.” you say, voice concerned as you step closer to him.

“fine! m’ fine. just getting snacks. you look… amazing.”

“thanks, stevie. it’s not… too much? maybe i should just stick to the black swim suit.”

“no! no. shit no. this… looks so good on you. so so good. gonna have everyone in awe of you, babe.”

you blush. “you need any help?”

“should be good, you relax outside and i’ll bring everything out in a sec ‘kay?”

as soon as you step out you’re hit instantly by the everlasting hawkins heat, quickly followed by the sound of the kids splashing in the pool. you find yourself walking towards the sun loungers, and sitting on the free one next to eddie.

the sound of the sticky footsteps growing closer to him cause him to look up, lowering his sunglasses. you’d settled down, book in hand and were quickly immersed in the plot. however it didn’t last long, as eddie let out an obnoxiously loud whistle.

“goddamn, [Y/L/N]. givin’ me a heart attack over here. that colour on you… wow. bet harrington had a brain aneurysm when he saw you in that.” he comments, settling on his side to chat to you.

“thank you, eds. that means alot, pinky swear.” you let out a small laugh, leaning over to look at the curly haired boy next to you. “wait what d’you mean?”

“oh nothing… nothing.” he sends a wink your way, before standing up and running towards the pool, canon-balling in and splashing the kids in the pool. why he did that was beyond you, but it’s eddie. you’ve learned not to question his actions.

“[Y/N]! hey! it’s been a while.” the sound of nancy’s voice snap you out of your thoughts, as she waves her hand as an invite to come over. you stand next to her lounger, covered by the large umbrella overtop of you all.

“ohmygod nance! you look so good, i’m obsessed with the hair. hey jonathon! how’re you? i’ve missed both of your faces.”

“i’m obsessed with you! this whole…” she waves her hand in circles. “you just look stunning.”

“we’ve missed you too, i’ve been good. too hot to handle though so i’ve been hiding in my house. i burn too easily.” jonathon says, laying next to nancy on his sunbed completely encased in the shade.

“you guys are the sweetest—“ you’re interrupted by hands wrapping around your waist, and you being lifted up into the air. involuntary squeals leave your mouth as the culprit spins you around in the air slightly. smirks plaster nancy and jonathon’s face, as they look at eachother knowingly before laying down and minding their own business.

“keep squealing like that and you’re going in the pool, missy.”

“steve!” you manage to escape his grip, looking up at his grin you loved so much with wide eyes and heavy breaths.

“you’re insane!” you say, walking back to the seat you’d claimed before talking to nancy.

“only for you, sweetheart. you drive me insane with this.” he pulls back the strap of your bikini top, the material snapping back against your shoulder with a loud sound.

“shut up. you’re such an idiot.” you mumble shyly. you’d never been one to be nervous when people compliment you, but steve’s were different. they seemed more heartfelt, but that’s probably because you had a raging crush on him. cliche to have a crush on your best friend right?

“heard that. c’mere.”

“steve! no!” you laugh, as he stalks towards you to grab your waist. matching his pace as you walk backwards, he lunged towards you and slings you over his shoulder.

you’re in hysterics, laughing loudly and swelling steve’s heart with adoration as he relished in the sound of your joy. eddie turns around in the pool to face you two, interrupting his tormenting of dustin. steve and him make eye contact, immediately catching on to each other’s plan.

“you ready, sweetheart?” steve whispers to you.

“what? ready for wha—“

you should’ve expected it, but steve had threw you in the pool. eddie was there to catch you so your landing wasn’t painful as you slapped the water, your arms flailing as you flew through the air. as you swim back up to the surface, the sound of the kids laughs (mostly dustin’s) filled your ears. steve diving in next to you and holding your waist when he floats to the top.

“what the fuck?!”

“language, [Y/L/N], there’s children around.” eddie chimes in sarcastically.

“sock it, munson. or i’ll tell them what i caught you doing the other week.”

“woahhh i need to know this, what’ve you been up to eddie?” steve plays along, hands still on your hips as he guides you to the pool walls.

eddie instantly panics, his mouth closing as he swims away to the opposite end of the pool; not failing to send daggers your way.

“you really do look beautiful today, you know.” steve sheepishly says, faking confidence to mask his internal panic mode.

you wrap your arms around his neck. “thank you, stevie. you look real handsome too. cute little happy trail.” a smile makes it way onto your face.

“oh yeah?” he replies, eyes locking onto your lips.

“oh yeah, totally. i’m swooning over you, harrington.”

“me too… have been for so long.” he says, trying to keep his voice down to not attract attention from the nosey group.

“w-what?” you look down to his lips too, looking even more inviting than they’d been before.

your thoughts, however, are clouded when the boy in front of you pressed his lips to yours. a perfect puzzle, pushing against each other firmly and parting slightly. the feeling is better than you’ve ever imagined, and you’ve imagined it alot.

“okay, lovebirds. i’m hungry, sorry to interrupt this beautiful moment but i want food, harrington. so get that bbq started once you’ve finished kissing our favourite girl.” steve pulls away to the sound of a tired robin’s voice.

“yeah… yeah whatever.” steve mumbles into your neck, meeting your lips again after not paying attention what robin said entirely. he was happy with his girl, in the pool under the sunlight.

“harrington! c’mon man.”

“god… fine. fine! i’m fucking coming.”

your head was still clouded and you were seeing white. had that really just happened? where does that leave you and steve? you lean against the wall and let yourself sink under the water, hoping the silence underneath would help soothe your thoughts.

that was until you’re met with a nosey max mayfield looking back at you with her lime green goggles protecting her eyes, earning a scream that was quite literally just bubbles exiting your mouth.

you rush back to the surface, watching her bright hair rise up too. her freckled face holding a glowing smile, knowing of the events that just happened between you and steve. you had forgotten people were around, his lips put your in a trance of your own little world. just you and him.

“don’t you dare say a word, mayfield. don’t make me tell everyone about you and lucas making out the other day.”

“secret safe with me.” the girl says, sinking back down to swim below the world.

—

the sun was beginning to set, the air cooling down and you all laying on the sun-beds surrounding the pool. you lay between steves legs, back placed on his abs as he played with your hair.

everyone was quiet, taking in the delicate moment of purples and pinks painting the sky. “anyone want a beer?” steve says, reaching towards to cooler next to him and biting the lid off with his teeth. you sit up and move to the bed next to him, steve watching with furrowed brows as he watched; missing the warmth of your body.

everyone old enough to have one takes one, steve offering for everyone to sleep at his house so nobody had to worry about driving home. lucas playing it cool as he tries to grab a beer steals your attention as you watch him with an amused smile.

“hey! sinclair. back up, you little shit.” steve shouts, lucas looking at him with shocked eyes as he fully believed he got away with it. scared by steve’s ‘mom mode’, he shamefully walks back towards the boy towering over him and hands over the bottle.

you can’t help but laugh at the situation; the sad look on lucas’ face, the pointed stare steve was giving him and the giggles from eddie behind you. you couldn’t help turning around and laughing with eddie. everyone else caught and erupted in a fit of giggles too, but steve was only focused on the sound of your laugh.

he snakes his hand around your ankle, pulling you towards him. you can tell he’s being needy, so decide to ignore it just to tease him. eddie sees the mischievous glint in your eyes and decides to watch this unravel.

out of desperation, he trails his other hand along your waist, fanning his hand out against your stomach to get your attention. “babe.” you ignore him. “[Y/N], babe.” the petname rung through your ears, you’d never thought much of it before until he’d kissed you in the pool. he huffs in frustration before grabbing your legs and shoulders to lift you up bridal-style.

“why’re you ignoring me? did i do something?” he says, slight insecurity lacing his sweet voice.

“oh! stevie no, i was jus’ messing with you. you were being needy so i wanted to play around, that’s all.” you say to him wholeheartedly.

he walks you towards the house, leaving everyone in the garden to have their own conversations. he wanted to steal you away, tell you how crazy you make him, how deep he was in for you. he places you on his couch, sitting next to you uncomfortably while he messes with his fingers. yet it’s quickly stopped when you place your hand over his.

“[Y/N]…”

“i know, steve. i know.”

“how?” he stares up at you with pinched eyebrows. small wrinkles littering his forehead that you wanted to desperately smooth out with your thumb.

“nobody kisses their best friend out of the blue steve. especially not like that…”

“like what, hm? remind me, i’ve forgotten.”

you chuckle before leaning into him and speaking against his lips.

“we’re so hopeless.”

you crash your lips together, instant bliss flooding from each other’s mouths into the small bubble building around you two. hands grazing delicately on one another’s faces as the kiss grows more passionate, emotions radiating off of the two of you.

“you’re perfect for me, [Y/N]. so, so perfect for me.” the disheveled boy states, pulling away quickly before diving back in again; kissing you with twice as much force.

#♡｡ﾟ. steve ࿐ ❤️‍🩹 ˚ . ✦ #₊˚. ୭̥ 🌷 celebration ! #joe keery #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #stranger things pov #stranger things scenario #stranger things imagine #stranger things fluff #stranger things 3 #stranger things 4 #stranger things one shot #stranger things fanfic #st #st fanfic #st fluff #joe keery fanfic #joe keery blurb

[ms-no1kpopstan]

All of mickie’s wips!

Moonlight Sunrise ( Ep 002 ) (nishimura riki)

ETA : Tomorrow to day after tomorrow

______________________________________________

You make me giddy giddy giddy giddy all day (nishimura riki)

ETA : ❓❓

______________________________________________

love her less than you used to love me (park jongseong)

ETA : ❓❓

______________________________________________

don’t judge a book by it’s cover (park sunghoon)

ETA : ❓❓

______________________________________________

Baby im yours (nishimura riki)

ETA : Next Week

______________________________________________

school bus (nishimura riki)

ETA : ❓❓

The end!

#enhypen nishimura riki #enha #enhypen scenarios #nishimura riki #enhypen #niki #🌷.in #; ) mickie’s random talk show ! #mickie’s rambles ⭐️ #wip list #park sunghoon

[scintillasofbeomgyu]

➷ epiphany, part two | k.th & h.k.k

✧ pairing: kang taehyun x fem!reader x hueningkai

✧ genre(s): angst, fluff is kinda few and far between with this one, fantasy, sort of victorian-era!au, aristocrat!txt, kind of bridgerton without the badonking

✧ word count: 14.3k 💀

✧ synopsis: the ground is pulled from beneath your feet at the Yoon Ball: nothing in your world is as you believed it to be. who are your friends? who are you? what is your purpose? you are propelled into rediscovering a forgotten life, one filled with love and warmth, with the pain of loss, and with the secrets that could avenge those dear to you.

✧ warnings: themes of loss and trauma; trust issues; anxiety, panic, reader is rly going through it with this one ☹️. loss of family, language, pining, alcohol and blood are mentioned, lmk if anything else!

✧ an: this is a repost ⚠️

prev. | mlist | next

You awoke with a heaviness pressing on your chest, making it burn as you gasped for air. A scream sat lodged in the back of your throat ready to belt, but it never came. Your eyes prickled with tears and sweat clung to your limbs like a layer of plastic film. Forcing yourself up, against whatever force was adamant to keep you weighed down to your bed, you pulled your knees into your chest and squeezed your eyes shut.

In and out. In and out. Slowly, you willed your breaths to even out.

Weeks, nearly the sum of two fortnights, sat between you and your life as it was. Three and twenty days since you had last smelled your sheets in your room at the tavern, three and twenty days since you had attended the ball at Torpe Manor in the prettiest garment your eyes had ever lay upon, three and twenty days since your heart had been torn in two, three and twenty days since you had seen your friends. Three and twenty days since your childhood ailment re-emerged and the nightmares began.

You turned your head slightly to the chair beside your bed. Your daffodil gown lay draped over it, so near yet very out of reach.

Memories of the gazebo: of Taehyun, the spark of the something he made you feel, his lies. Their lies. You felt bile rise in your throat. Your eyes drifted past the dress to the tall mirror on the other side of the room. Your eyes had rings around them so dark and purple they looked bruised. Your hair, unbrushed and unruly, was damp with sweat. Your complexion had become so paled and your cheeks so hollowed that it was as if illness had befallen you.

And it had. You turned away.

Your entire life had been uprooted and turned inside out. Your friends, your family, had lied to you. They had been lying to you for years. And worst of all: even that you would have forgiven. Then you recalled how they behaved as they rushed you from the Manor, how they acted during the carriage ride that took you away. The cold and indifferent manner about them – Taehyun’s, as he wrapped a shawl around your shoulders and shoved you away. You didn’t recognise him – them, anymore. They had thrown you into this hell-hole of a cabin in the woods and left you here, without a promise to return or even so much as an explanation for these preposterous actions and behaviours. Absolutely nothing was left for you, other than a ridiculous title you refused to consider.

“Your majesty,” came Jim’s voice from behind your room door, followed by a light knock. You clenched your teeth and pressed your nails into the palm of your hand. No matter what terrors had come for you during your slumber, opening your eyes everyday had become the true nightmare.

When he had gathered you would not answer, he sighed. “Your majesty, please. I am well aware of your hurt and confusion. I’ve given you time. But you have not eaten, bathed or even left this room for weeks. You need to do something.”

Angry, you picked up the empty bronze candlestick from the bedside table and flung it at the door. He was right. You were confused and hurt. But what of it could he possibly understand?. Nothing was real. You hadn’t the slightest idea what the motives of these people were, nor any actual idea of what was happening at all. One thing you were certain of, however, was that they were not who you had thought they were. And with nowhere to escape to, with no one searching or waiting for you, you could not even summon the energy to escape this prison cell.

You know that is not true, a little voice in your head whispered, you know them. You have them, you have Taehyun.

You stomped on that voice and shoved it back from where it came, into a deep dark black dungeon, before locking the door and leaving it there to rot and throwing away the key. Jim left.

Hours had passed with you curled up on your bed before you heard the cabin’s floorboards creak outside your room once more. There came another knock. “Your highness. I’ve prepared supper. It is imperative that you eat, else you’ll starve to death.”

I should be so lucky, you thought. Without moving from your bed, you squinted through the crack in your heavily barricaded window. The light outside had gone from bright white, to an orange-y gold. Four and twenty days.

Jim cleared his throat, no doubt to indicate that he was still there, then said, “I was going to wait until you’d gained some strength, but in your lack of finding it I hope that perhaps telling you now will motivate you to it. A letter came this morning. The young masters are preparing to depart for our location.”

You froze. Your heart felt as if it had stopped, but that was merely for a moment before it raced, beating fast and hard against your ribcage. It thrust you into rage, into fear, and the traitorous thing it was, into longing and a smidge of excitement.

You pushed off from your bed, slipped on your boots and eyed the shawl piled in the corner of your room where you had thrown it on the night of your arrival. You were in nothing more than dirty cotton undergarments with bare arms, but you didn’t care. You marched right past it and slammed your door open. Jim stared back at you with an infuriatingly amused smirk that only faltered when his eyes assessed your state. And then it was your turn to be amused. You curtseyed, just to piss him off.

The cabin was dark, which didn’t help your weakened eyesight. But through a small window in what you presumed to be the kitchen, an amount of light filtered through that enabled you to see a steaming bowl of broth and a loaf of bread on the table. You shoved past him and threw yourself onto a chair and started eating.

The first of many battles you imagined were lying in wait in your new life would be fought soon. You needed your strength.

Jim pulled out the seat across from you, you didn’t acknowledge him. He poured you a cup of water and you didn’t thank him. When you finished your meal, you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and leaned back.

“When do they arrive?”

Jim examined you for a long moment before he spoke. “Three days time.”

The cabin must be a distance away from the city, you thought. Perhaps in a new city all together.

“I’m supposing you can’t tell me anything until they arrive?” you asked, already knowing the answer. His silence confirmed it so. You forced yourself to look up at him, the only person who had offered you a home and work, who fed you and was kind to you when no one else was. But all you saw in that moment was another person who had driven a knife into your back. Whatever expression you were making made him frown. “Who are you, really? You can tell me that much, can’t you?”

He leaned back into his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. He looked as if he were sorting through which lie or half-truth to tell you before his attention was back on you.

“My name is Noh Jaegeun. I was captain of the Royal Guard and a close friend of your father’s.”

Surprise nudged you upright. “My father? I don’t have a father.” you shook your head, your eyebrows knitting together. “I was abandoned. I made you aware of that when I started working for you.”

He looked as if your response pained him, shattering the glimmer of hope and fear that they had found the wrong person. “Enough talking. Freshen up, Your Majesty. A warm bath and clean clothes await you. Muslin was the best I could find, but it will have to do. There are some novels here that the young masters–”

“I have a better idea, Mr. Noh,” you said, not without the re-emerging queasy feeling in your gut. You steeled yourself. “Since you won’t talk and those bastards – a title not exclusive of yourself, by the way – won’t be here for three more days, we shall have an alarming amount of free time on our hands. I have absolutely no intention of abating my anger and frolicking in the damn daisies with you while you keep me captive, so let us put that time to good use, shall we?”

He didn’t reply, waiting for your proposition.

“I want you to teach me to defend myself.”

A smile curled onto his lips, as if he were thinking the very same thing.

***

The estate was bustling this evening. Nobles from all around the Kingdom of Serafina drank, laughed, danced and gossiped with abandon, as if the end of the world were nearing and it was in this way that they chose to spend their last moments. It made Huening Kai sick to his stomach.

He swirled the wine in his glass, tearing his eyes from the appalling beings floating around the Kang Estate, and took a sip. With all the power and money in the world, these animals spent their time fueling their greed and basking in gluttony, corrupting societies and people as they saw fit. Their status was so important to them, that they’d trample on people and turn a blind eye toward immorality to keep it. He should know, some, if not most, of his family were exactly that.

From his secluded corner in the hall, he spotted the youngest Kang on a sofa in the opposite corner, just in time to see him throw back another drink. On either side of him sat a daughter from a noble family, so consumed with keeping his attention on them that they never even realized they never had it in the first place. They never stood a chance. There was a look on Taehyun’s face that Kai knew far too well. A look that he was likely wearing too: he’d like to be anywhere but here.

Taehyun had just called a busboy for another drink when a gentle hand came down onto Kai’s shoulder drawing his attention. He turned and smiled. “Yujun,” he said warmly, placing a kiss on her cheek.

“Kai,” she returned the smile and slipped her arm through his. She looked just as dashing as royalty should: a beautiful champagne-coloured silk gown hugged her hips before falling to her feet, stark white gloves stretched just above her elbows and jewellery glittered off her ears, around her neck and from the small tiara on her head. She looked wonderful, but something about it made sadness tug at his heart. “He’s not doing too well, is he?”

Kai followed her gaze to Taehyun, and it occurred to him that she must have been keeping an eye on them. He chuckled, “None of us are. It is almost a month.”

“I am sorry.” She had a sincere, understanding look in her eyes when she took Kai’s face into her hands. Her thumbs gently caressed his face and her smile returned to her lips. She leaned up to his ear and whispered, “the letter has been delivered. We must leave tonight.”

Hope blossomed in Kai’s chest and he moved to place a grateful kiss to Yujun’s forehead. “Thank you, my friend.”

“Don’t be silly,” she snorted, shoving his shoulder playfully. “I would have done this for you even if there weren’t greater things at play, so your thanks are by no means necessary.” Her gaze then drifted back to Taehyun. She sighed. “You should probably inform him, though. Before he does something idiotic.”

Kai looked at Taehyun. He had pulled the top buttons of his shirt loose and was in the middle of downing yet another drink. He sighed and shook his head. “You underestimate him. If he’s going to lose it at any moment, it’ll not be this one. There is far too much at stake.”

He bid Yujun farewell until they were to leave and threw Taehyun one last glance before deciding to share the news with the others first. His friend wouldn’t lose control now, but that didn’t mean he would not be a bitch to deal with in his current state.

Kai found Yeonjun, Beomgyu and Soobin in the courtyard, along with Haewon. Haewon was sitting on the wall of the koi pond with her knees in her chest, feeding the fish, while Yeonjun, Beomgyu and Soobin were sitting on the stone bench before her. If Kai had walked in on them only a month ago, they would have been dancing and laughing just like every other member of the ton; as if their mission and purpose didn’t exist. They had all been fools, Kai and Taehyun included.

“I guarantee I have news that will make you jump for joy,” Kai said, squeezing in between the boys on the bench. Yeonjun and Beomgyu didn’t even flinch, and Soobin regarded him with an unamused look.

“Unless you are here to tell us that all this shit is over, we can go to (Y/n) and that we have her forgiveness, I must tell you we are deeply otherwise occupied.” Beomgyu said after a while, his eyes still glued onto something in the darkening sky.

Haewon glared at him and flung him with a bread crumb. “Forget him, sweetheart. What is it?”

Kai gave them a grateful smile. “I– ”

“Oh god, this is just sad.”

All of them stiffened, straighter than steel rods. The sound of Yoon Keeho’s wretched laughter filled the air and Yeonjun’s hands balled into fists. He was leaning against the doorway leading to the house with a drink in hand, no doubt a malicious expression etched onto his damned face.

“Do not tell me you’re moping around because your poor little tavern-girl abandoned you,” he laughed again and started toward them. No one faced him. No one dared to. One little slip, and the past month would have been for naught.

He came to a stop in front of them, his lips pulled into a smug smirk. Then he lifted his finger to his chin in thought. “I wonder what it was that even a lowly barmaid cannot be bothered with you lot,” he hummed, tapping his finger. He gasped dramatically, throwing a glance to Haewon before grinning at Yeonjun. “Maybe she’s just a little greedy and prefers to be the only whore in your lives.”

Yeonjun flew to his feet and was inches from making contact with Keeho’s face, before more laughter spilled into the courtyard and made him falter. Taehyun sauntered toward them with a huge grin on his face that made Kai feel dread in the pit of his stomach. Surely this isn’t his end, is it?

He threw back another drink before sending the glass to shatter against a stone wall at the edge of the courtyard. Then he started clapping. Both Keeho and Yeonjun wore matching expressions, something between rage and utter perplexity, while Beomgyu and Soobin jumped up quickly. Kai took the moment to check on Haewon, who gave him a reassuring smile.

“I’ve got to hand it to you, Keeho.” Taehyun said finally, shoving his hands into his pockets. Up close, the amusement on Taehyun’s face was even more frightening. It looked almost… real. “I never imagined you would be the one to have us all figured out. You never really were the bright one, but I suppose people do surprise you.”

Keeho bristled and Yeonjun took a step back as Soobin placed a hand on his shoulder. “Oh shut up, Kang.” then he smiled again, “you made it so easy, what with the way your eyes were always so obviously lusting after her, following her every move. Like a little puppy dog! It is simply beneath us, man.”

Beomgyu slipped between them quickly, “Listen, that is enough, okay?” he put a hand on Keeho’s shoulder and chuckled, “this is a party right, let’s –”

“Do you want her then? I mean, after the little tantrum you threw at Torpe Manor to get all our fathers’ knickers in a twist, I assumed you would go after her while we were all locked up.”

Beomgyu spun on his heel, his expression of pure shock matching Kai’s. Even Keeho appeared to be stunned. But before he could reply, Taehyun shrugged. And then that amusement vanished and a fire raged within his eyes.

“You will never have her, because she is too good even for the likes of us, you repulsive ingrate swine,” he shoved a finger into his chest. He took a step toward Keeho then, so that their faces were mere inches apart, and grinned. “And when the time comes, I should like to see her castrate your beloved, disease-ridden organ and throw it to the flames where you would soon follow.” Keeho gulped and Taehyun smirked, before his lips twisted into a snarl. “Now I dare not rob her of that honor, so you better get the fuck off this property before I kill you myself.”

He was gone within a second. Soobin turned and glared at Taehyun. “Great. Now it appears suspicious that you’ve defended her. You’ve basically handed him a spoon to stir the pot with. Do you even realize how far behind schedule this is going to set us?”

Taehyun ignored him and took a seat beside Haewon. She placed a hand on his shoulder and he gave her a soft smile in return. “I am very sorry you’ve been dragged into this. You should not have had to hear that. It is most untrue.”

She shook her head. “I am alright. I knew what I was getting myself into. And I, for one, am glad you let him have it.”

Kai sighed. “Well, I suppose we’re lucky then.”

“Oh yeah, we’re just… overflowing with all this luck,” Beomgyu mumbled sarcastically, gesturing to all of him.

Kai rolled his eyes. “You would actually think so if you’d only let me say what I came here to tell you.”

“What did you come to say?” Taehyun asked, energy dissipated and returned to the mere shell of a person he was before. Kai pained for him.

“The letter has reached Alvar.” Their necks snapped in his direction and Kai’s chest leapt with hope once more. “We leave tonight.”

***

You inched into the bath slowly, wincing as your aching muscles made contact with the warm water. As soon as the initial pain faded, you sunk to the bottom with a contented sigh.

Noh Jaegeun was a merciless dictator. Clearly, you had no idea what had been lying in wait for you when you had asked him to train you. For the past three days, he had woken you before dawn and dismissed you long after dusk had come and gone. To build your endurance he made you run three miles twice a day; which you absolutely detested, but used to your advantage to try and gain bearings on where exactly you were. But it was no use. There were only damned trees for as far as the eye could see. You had tried to recall the maps you came across in Soobin’s father’s library for any woodlands or mountain ranges, but the topography and terrain didn’t match anything, so you came up blank. It also was challenging to separate those memories from them, and you refused to feel any heart ache over them.

After your morning run, he had begun teaching you various styles of combat. You had been quite bewildered on the evening you asked him to help you, when he had led you further into the cabin instead of out of it. He had taken you into a room that appeared to be a supply closet and pulled up a trapdoor from the floor. Below, a galvanised staircase spiralled down into darkness. On the outside, the cabin was a small, two bedroom place tucked into the vegetation. But when you made it to the bottom of the staircase, you paled.

A secret, makeshift base of sorts had been below you the entire time. A number of closed doors lined the seemingly never-ending hallway. You hadn’t seen another person in nearly a month, but as he escorted you through the base you were certain you could make out voices emanating from some of them. “Do not get curious, Your Majesty. Not yet. Everything in its due time.” Is what Jaegeun had said.

He stopped at a grey-painted metal door and pushed it open. Your room back at Jim’s could fit in there ten times. Thin mattresses lined the floor and the walls were floor-to-ceiling mirrors. A cylindrical beam of varnished wood followed along the front of the mirrors diagonally and served as a sort of railing. In one corner, the only space without mirror, stood a range of different weapons. Swords, daggers, guns, arrows, spears, axes, things that had set your instincts on high alert.

“Not to worry about those things yet, Highness, your first lesson will be in hand-to-hand combat.” Jaegeun chuckled, and before you could retort, he had pulled your legs from under your feet.

Perhaps it would be laughable to liken the past three days of your life to hell, because everything before that was pretty much hell too. But at least the physical exertion had made your body too tired for the nightmares to find.

You sighed, and rested your head against the edge of the tub. Three days had come to an end. As much as you had liked to think that you had turned yourself off emotionally, the idea of confronting the truth that would come with the arrival of your (ex) friends was haunting. That you were not who you had grown up believing you were and that Taehyun, Kai, Yeonjun, Soobin and Beomgyu had never really cared for you. The possible truth that every moment of your life for as long as you could remember had been a lie.

You squeezed your eyes shut to fight back the tears. You would not cry. You would not miss them if they would leave you. You would not miss your life, that was not particularly special anyway. But the mantra would not abate your tears, so you let yourself slip beneath the water. Perhaps, if you held your breath long enough, when you came up everything would return to the way it was.

Heavy banging on the door took you by surprise and you burst out of the water, chest heaving.

“Majesty, supper’s ready.”

“For Christ’s sake, Jim! I’ll be there shortly!”

The sound of his hearty laughter made you want to ring his damned neck. You dried up and slipped into the white muslin dress Jim had given you for sleeping. He had regarded your previous attire with disgust and thrown them into the fire in the kitchen, so you didn’t have much choice in the matter.

The aroma of roasted quail swirled through the cabin and into your nose, making your stomach ache and rumble. You plopped down onto your seat at the kitchen table and took a piece of meat with your fork and put it in your mouth, without waiting for Jaegeun. He still refused to give you the answers you desired, so you would not waste any pleasantries on him. It did bother you that you felt you were indulging in his kindnesses, and despite the circumstances, you were. Being so unwilling to even mutter a thank you made your skin crawl, but every time you wanted to, your hurt would grab those words right back and bury them out of reach.

“Your modesty is wasted, Your Highness.” Jaegeun said as he sat down opposite you. You arched a brow in response. “I am well aware of your appetite, and how much you like roast quail. So feast until your heart’s content.”

Your heart warmed, ever-so-slightly. It made you think, for a split second, that perhaps you did mean something to this man you had seen as a father figure. You opened your mouth to thank him finally, but the sound of heavy hooves against the ground cut you off and you clamped your jaws together. You felt nauseous.

“So, what? This is supposed to make me feel better?” you scoffed. You banged your fork on the table, “I cannot even eat without it being someone’s ulterior motive?”

Before he was any the wiser, you grabbed his hunting knife from the counter and dashed for the front door. You ran out onto the porch with a fire in your heart, your fingers gripping the weapon and adrenaline pumping through your veins. When they climbed out of the carriage, their eyes were already on you. One by one, all of them stepped out, slowly, with their eyes fixed on you. Something swam in their eyes, something you no longer cared to decipher.

You stormed from the porch and picked up pace, raising the knife above your head. Before you knew it, Taehyun was there. You could not even remember if you had seen him get out. He looked into your eyes and his fingers wrapped around your wrist, keeping you steady as your emotions battled within. Again, like that evening by the gazebo, his chocolate-brown eyes seemed to be desperately communicating something with yours without saying anything at all. Your short breaths were evening, and you hated it. You were faltering, and you hated it. Tears were burning in the backs of your eyes, and you despised it.

And then that moment was gone. He flung Jaegeun’s hunting knife to the ground and locked himself behind a bolted door. You didn’t recognize this man who had changed in an instant, one you looked at you so indifferently. You’d rather he hated you.

“Why are you doing this to me?” you croaked rather than said, much to your dismay. You shoved him away. You did not want him to confirm your beliefs; that you were nothing other than flesh to him. You did not want him to see the effect that that truth would have on you. “Why are you holding me prisoner here!”

Yeonjun stepped forward with a strained expression on his face and a hand held up showing he meant no harm. “Darling, let’s not do this here. Okay? Let’s talk inside. I promise we will tell you everything.” he pleaded quietly.

You took a step back and shook your head. “No. No, that’s what you said before. You said you would explain everything to me.” your breaths were quickening again, tears prickling past your eyes. “You said you’d explain everything, but you lied! You couldn’t even look at me. None of you! You threw me here and went away for a month. All of you keep calling me Your Highness as if that makes any damned sense, but you don’t treat me like you even think of me highly at all!”

“(Y/n),” Kai begged, inching toward you slowly. “It is not so simple, okay? Let us just go inside and all will be clear once we talk.”

“Was anything real?” you whispered.

A pair of arms wrapped around you and you were pulled into the warmth and firmness of a familiar chest. “Of course, it was.” Beomgyu breathed into your hair. And you finally let yourself cry. Your shoulders heaved with your sobs and you were so embarrassed you buried your face deeper into him. A month’s worth of tears came cascading down your face like tiny waterfalls.

More arms came and joined in on your embrace, and you felt yourself smile in spite of your pain.

“We missed you. Very much.” Soobin mumbled from somewhere in the tangle of arms and faces.

The cabin seemed different with them inside it. For one, they were bizzarley tall, so it made the space where you and Jaegeun shared meals look that much smaller. You stifled a giggle when Soobin’s head hit one of the top cabinets. The kettle sang from where it hung above the fire in the fireplace, and with a dry cloth, Jaegeun retrieved it and poured everyone a spot of tea.

“It’s none of the fancy stuff you lot are used to, but it is better than nothing.”

Yeonjun sniffed the liquid and recoiled. “What did you use, dried rat shit?”

“Oh, be quiet. It’s not that bad,” you rolled your eyes. But it was. It was that bad. You had only gotten used to the acidic tasting concoction.

“She is right, it could be worse. Like it could be dried rat shit and that mint atrocity you so enjoy.” Beomgyu grinned, but threw his tea into the fire.

“Can’t imagine any of this is good for the environment,” Soobin belched. “What is the acid value like?”

“You’re all being impossible. Imagine how (Y/n) must feel, she’s had to have this stuff for a whole month.” Kai stilled as soon as the words left his mouth.

A solemn silence now enveloped the tiny kitchen space. No one dared to say anything, not eager to end the few seconds of normalcy you had all had for weeks. You let yourself get distracted with the crackling fire, and lifted yourself up from your chair to sprawl before it.

You felt Taehyun’s eyes burn into the back of your head as you moved. He hadn’t spoken a word to you since they had arrived, and when everyone moved into the cabin, he kept to himself in a corner. You refused to give him the satisfaction of being the first to break whatever tension had built between you two. You hadn’t changed, he did. Long gone was the man who comforted you by the lake and danced with you until you laughed.

“What is going on?” you asked no one in particular. You did not care who it was that answered, you just needed to know. The thought of learning the truth did still make you uneasy, but you feared that in avoiding it, the uneasiness would only fester.

Boots stomped against the floorboards and Yeonjun flopped down beside you. “We didn’t lie, love. It is… more complicated than that.”

“Not telling the truth is lying, Yeonjun.” you turned to him. He looked sad.

“We needed to protect you,” he said, gathering your hands in his. “Your protection was infinitely more important than anything else. You must know that.”

“And what makes me so important?”

“I am sure you know by now, Your Majesty.” the roughness in Taehyun’s voice startled you. You looked to him in his corner, and as had you suspected, he was already looking back at you.

“Remember Keeho’s party?” Kai interjected, looking between the two of you. You nodded and a shiver ran down your spine. With all that had happened, you had almost forgotten him. His handsome face that unsettled you, and the look in his eyes that sent you fleeing. It sparked something somewhere in the back of your mind, but it was gone as soon as it came.

“Keeho’s party was a bit of a ruse,” Soobin said next, keeping eyes on the floor with a guilty expression on his face. “on both ends.”

“What do you mean?”

“We had been suspecting for weeks before the party that a small number of Yoon Estate spies had been watching us,” Beomgyu said, dragging his thumb along the rim of his cup. “Our biggest concern was that they had been sent by Keeho's father, but after intercepting them we realized it was simply that heathen Keeho himself.”

““Simply Keeho”?”

Beomgyu nodded. He was quiet for a second, then swallowed and looked at you with apologetic eyes. “We were not sure what he knew, what motivated him to keep informants tailing us. We could not risk everything on the possibility that he was simply bored out of his mind. We knew the party was his ruse, a means to discover what made a barmaid so special for us to concern ourselves with, but it was the perfect excuse for us to confirm what he knew.” he shook his head, “and it wasn’t for naught. Keeho had certainly been suspecting your true identity. The entire soiree had been a sham: the palace simply awaited his word, they were going to reveal you and it was imperative that we get you to safety. You being discovered would risk everything many people have spent years trying to achieve.”

Your head was spinning. You had thought that that night was special, because you were under the impression that your friends wanted you to know how important you were to them, regardless of what the sick society of Serafina believed. That your status didn’t matter to them and they were going to show you. But they had used you as bait. A knot formed in your stomach, but you soldiered on. “And what is it that makes me so important? What have these people you speak of, including yourselves I’m sure, been trying to achieve?”

“You, your Highness, are the daughter of Yihyun and Dam. You are the Crown Princess of the Kingdom of Serafina. The sole heir to your father’s throne.” Taehyun said monotonously before anyone else could.

You shot to your feet in disbelief. You scoffed, “That is - it is just preposterous! I was abandoned on the streets as a child. Orphanages didn’t want me so I worked as a scullery maid before I was kicked out of that household, too! I am an orphaned barmaid, you know this. You know me!”

“How about before that?” Taehyun stepped towards you and you instinctively took steps back. “How about before the age of nine? Do you remember being on the streets then? Surely someone must have taken care of you if you’re standing here with us today?”

You did not like his tone. You did not like what he was saying. You tried to think back, as far as you could, but it felt like hitting a brick wall. Nothing came. The most you could recall were the fits you had when you worked as a scullery maid. You shook your head and laughed, “No. Who of us remembers anything from when they were very little. You have the wrong person, gentlemen. I am no princess.”

Taehyun backed you up against a wall. His warm breath fanned against your cheeks as he spoke. “You are the Princess of Serafina. Your father was murdered by the current King, and you fell ill and were lost whilst attempting to flee. That throne is rightfully yours, your Majesty. Whether you’d like to believe it or not. We will put you there.”

You gulped, the look in his eyes making your insides melt. You tore your eyes from him and searched everyone else’s faces for some sort of different answer. Some sort of sign that this was all some sick, elaborate prank. But in the sea of guilty eyes, you found Noh Jaegeun.

Captain of the Royal Guard. Friend of your father’s.

Something in the back of your mind sparked again. Something that desperately wanted to come to the fore, that your subconscious kept forcing back down. And then all at once, the vivid images of your nightmares filled your vision. Except now you were not sleeping. And you were not sure if they were simply nightmares anymore.

A keyhole. Screams. Tearing flesh. A fire. Blood. Lots of blood.

Hot bile rose in your throat and you shoved Taehyun aside. You pushed through the front door, your friends shouting after you. You ran. You ran and ran and ran. As far as your legs would take you. You tore through bushes and branches and they tore into your clothes and skin. You were not sure how far you had made it before you tripped over a tree root and fell to your face.

Chest heaving and body screaming in pain, you slowly lifted yourself and threw up. You threw up so much you were sure your innards would come up next. Your ears were ringing loudly. You grabbed onto your hair and tugged at your scalp in attempt to lessen the agony.

“Where are you off to, Princess?” Mr. Noh smiled as you marched past him with a small tray in hand. He fell into step with you and you groaned. You did not need to be escorted to your father’s library. You knew where it was.

You stopped and turned to him, keeping the tray in one hand while the other perched on your hip. “I am just bringing daddy some cookies. I made them myself, you know. Because I am old enough to do things on my own now.”

He threw his head back in laughter and your eight year-old face burned with embarrassment. “Of course, My Lady.”

“I could have your head,” you huffed and continued to your father’s library.

Your hand paused on the door as you heard sounds of a scuffle inside. Your father was shouting at someone. He was angry. You did not like when he was angry. You peered up at Mr. Noh. He also looked upset, and kept his hand on his sword. Quickly, you pushed open the door and scurried inside.

The king and his brother stood at opposite ends of his desk. Your father’s face was red, like he was very upset, but his eyes only looked sad. His brother just looked cross.

“Daddy, is everything okay?”

Both heads snapped in your direction. Your father’s face changed instantly, a smile spreading onto his lips. “Everything is alright, my rose. What is it you’ve got there?”

You warily eyed him and your uncle, and then slowly walked toward them. Maybe they were fighting like you and Jaehyun fought sometimes. You and Jaehyun were also siblings. And you still loved your older brother even when you fought. Everything was fine.

A huge grin found it’s way to your face. “I made cookies! Miss Boyoung in the kitchen taught me how.”

“That is fantastic, my rose. I am sure they taste just as splendid as they look.” your father winked, nudging your nose and ruffling the top of your head. Your grin grew.

You turned to offer your uncle one as well, but he was long gone. So was Mr. Noh.

You looked back to your father who was happily munching on your cookies, as if nothing happened at all.

“Daddy,” you said, a strange feeling in your belly, “you and uncle Yiseok won’t fight anymore, right?”

He pulled you into his lap and kissed the top of your head. Then he looked out of the door from which his brother left. “I hope so.”

***

“Oh this is just fucking brilliant.” Kai seethed, flinging his sword through more bushes.

Taehyun ignored him, searching the ground for any sign you had passed through. Or sprinted through. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t surprised. And a little impressed. One couldn’t have made you run even if one tied a fresh mango to a string and had you chase after it. You would just purchase another mango. Taehyun made a mental note to compliment Jaegeun when they found you.

“Positively, dear Kai. And it is all thanks to our good friend, Taehyun.” Beomgyu faux grinned, slapping a hand onto his back. “Well done, man. You truly are the epitome of elegance and grace.”

Taehyun turned and glared at him. “If anyone is a fool, it would be one of you lot. At least I am not pretending that things aren’t going to change from here on out. She is a princess. This isn’t a game, or some make-believe fantasy. We have a job. We’re to do our job as best we can.”

“Oh for the love of God,” Yeonjun growled, grabbing Taehyun shoulder and slamming his fist into his face. Taehyun fell to the floor. He barely had time to gain his bearings before Yeonjun hoisted him up again by his coat. But before he could say anything, Kai grabbed hold of him and gave him another beating.

“Stop being a fucking coward!” Kai shouted, his chest rumbling with anger.

Everyone fell silent. Taehyun smiled, spitting the metallic taste of blood from his mouth. “Yes, she is a princess. Yes, the gravity of our mission is immense. Yes, we’ve kept the truth from her and yes, she needs to come to terms with it now. But for fuck’s sake man,” Kai huffed out an angry chuckle, “That wasn’t fake. The time we spent with her, and the relationship we’ve all developed with her was not fake. Whether she turned out to be a pivotal part of the retribution or not, we would all do anything to protect her. Stop trying to make yourself believe that the only thing she is to you is a job. You care about her, Taehyun. So stop unnecessarily hurting her and yourself.”

Taehyun chuckled softly, then doubled over in loud eccentric laughter. “That is easy for you to say,” he said with amusement, lifting himself from the floor. He wiped his mouth and cleaned his clothes from the foliage. “None of us will have any excuse to stick around once she claims what is hers. No one,” Taehyun walked toward Kai and shoved a finger to his chest, “except you. So do not tell me what the fuck to do. And if all of you want to save yourself the time and effort,” he called over his shoulder to the rest of them, “I would start creating some of that distance now.”

None of them said anything more. They couldn’t.

Taehyun moved forward without them, keeping an eye out for tracks. After he had put some distance between him and them, he leaned against a tall oak tree. Swallowing a heavy lump in his throat, he took a deep breath and tilted his head up to the big, glittering twilight canvas above. It was a clear night, with a gentle breeze that seemed to want to comfort him with its soft caress.

His last evening, that had a semblance of peace, was just like this one. But it was at a different time and a different place. And in some ways, it felt like it had been in a different world altogether. Instead of being so far away from him, you were right there – right next to him. He could still smell the soft peach scent of your skin, feel your hands in his and hear your lively laughter as you danced under the gazebo at Torpe Manor. It was the perfect night – every second with you was perfect, but something about that night was much more special. There was so much… of you. So much of you seeing him. He had fooled himself into believing that things could remain as they were.

And as quickly as that peace came, the universe so determined to strip everything good away from him, it left just as quickly. Reality was no friend to anyone, after all.

He steeled himself, pushing all thoughts of you from of his mind, and continued through the forest.

Then, between the sounds of cicadas and the nocturnal fauna coming to life, Taehyun could make out faint sobs. He froze, panic setting into his system. Slowly he followed them, and when the sobs got louder his feet kicked into a run. He bulldozed through the distance between you, his mind playing out all sorts of scenarios of the state he’d find you in, his heart in his throat.

He found you curled up in a foetal position against the base of a tree, fists pressed against your temples and face wrought in anguish. Your night dress was tattered and stained with spots of blood. Without sparing a second, he fell to his knees and shrugged his coat off. He bundled you with it tightly and pulled you into his arms. Urgently, he rocked you to and fro.

“Shh,” he consoled you and soothed your cries, subconsciously pressing kisses into your hair. “you are okay, love. You’re okay, (Y/n). I’m here. God, I am so sorry, but I am here.”

It took a few minutes to calm you down, for your breaths to even and for your mind to quiet. It looked as if opening your eyes was of great difficulty to you, but when you did, it was all Taehyun could do not to scream gratitudes to the Heavens above. A smile, unbeknownst to him, cracked onto his lips as he took you in. Ethereal even in the state you were. You smiled back at him and tucked yourself into his chest.

“There you are,” you mumbled wearily into his shirt, “I missed you. You called me by my name.”

He sighed in relief, in contentment, in gratitude, arms tightening around you. His head dropped to yours. “Please do not run off like this again. It is dangerous.”

You were quiet then and he wondered if you had fallen asleep.

“Because I am the princess?”

“Because you will hurt yourself, Princess.” he chuckled. And then you’ll hurt me.

You said something he didn’t quite hear because the thundering sound of hundreds of feet drowned out the sound of your voice. Annoyed, he lifted you and walked back the way he came to see what the commotion was about.

Soldiers in shining metal armour lined the trees with torches in hand. Atop a horse striding through the foliage was a familiar face that made Taehyun smile. He stepped further out and reached out his hand. She spotted him and steered the horse forward.

“Princess,” Taehyun laughed. “Always right on time.”

She rolled her eyes. “For Heaven’s sake, Taehyun. It’s Yujun.”

***

When you came to, you were back at the cabin. You wondered, momentarily, if you had perhaps dreamed up the past few hours. You were not any wiser of your identity, the boys’ whereabouts, or your painful history. Jim would come to wake you any second for your morning run. But for some reason, that thought did not make you happy or being you the contentment you had hoped.

You sat up in bed and were blinded by a bright light spilling in through your window. You squinted and realized that the wooden barricades were gone. You looked around your room, and found it tidier than you remembered leaving it. The candlestick had been polished and refilled, the novels you hadn’t had the time or courage to open were stacked neatly in a corner of your bedside table, a hairbrush sitting atop of it. The chair beside your bed had moved closer, and the shawl Taehyun had given you was draped across the back. A polished, mahogany wardrobe sat in the furthest corner of your room that you did not recall being there before.

The room door opened and a beautiful woman walked in, bringing with her a radiant light of her own. Her dark hair was pinned up and decorated with flowers. She was a little taller than you were, and wore a white blouse paired with brown trousers and black knee-high boots. In her hands were garments varying in style and colour, that she carried to the wardrobe. She placed the garments inside and turned, letting out a little shriek when she realized you were awake.

Now that she faced you, you remembered her clearly. You bowed your head.

“My lady.”

She walked to your bed and sat in the chair, snorting, “Please. None of those formalities are necessary. We are all family here. I am Yujun.”

Family. Your stomach twisted into a knot. The term had become a lot more complicated to you since you upon discovery that those closest to you were keeping things from you, and that the biological parents you only just remembered you had may be dead.

“You’ve had a very difficult few weeks,” Yujun started, kicking her right leg over her left and lacing her fingers over her knee, “And I imagine last night to this morning was the worst of them combined. You have my sincerest apologies for that. We brought you right back here as soon as we found you. You were burning up.”

You examined the bandages on your arms and remembered it had been Taehyun who had found you. Your face turned red. You noticed your dress had been exchanged for a new one, and then your face was crimson. Yujun seemed to pick up on your train of thought instantly, and she smirked.

“Not to worry about that. I was the one who cleaned you up. Although, Mr. Kang did insist on tending to your wounds.” she wiggled her eyebrows and you dropped your burning face into your hands. Were all royalty this brazen?

“Th-Thank you,” you forced a smile.

She jutted her thumb toward the wardrobe. “You will find some clothes in there. Fit for a Queen of the impending war,” she winked and another knot found its way to your stomach. “When you have finished cleaning up, Mr. Noh has prepared breakfast, but is currently patrolling the grounds. The boys are waiting for you in the training area below.”

You remembered the trap door and the secret base, and nodded. She placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder and bid you adieu. Something about business to tend to at the castle.

You picked out an outfit that made you feel ready for battle, even though you did not really feel as if you were: a pirate-sleeved white blouse that you paired with a pale green corset, a pair of black trousers and black boots. You decided to leave your hair as unruly as it was since it was bound to get messed up anyway. You scarfed down the breakfast waiting for you in the kitchen and hurried down to the base.

“Don’t you look ravishing!” Kai exclaimed as you walked into the training room. As if he were one to talk. His shirt hung loosely on his body and his trousers fitted him well. His light hair looked wind-swept in the best way, and fell over his eyes in gentle waves. The rest turned to look at you with similar reactions and you blushed. He walked up to you and ruffled the top of your head.

“I owe it to Lady Yujun, she had the most beautiful outfits picked out for me.” you said coyly.

“If she hears you call her that, she’ll have your head.” Kai laughed. You remembered suddenly that they were familiar, and your smile faltered ever-so slightly.

“Before we start your training,” Taehyun spoke up, and you are embarrassed to say that your head snapped in his direction faster than light, with the anticipation of a drooling puppy, “we all agree it is imperative that we complete our discussion from last night.”

You sucked in a breath. Not because Taehyun, too, looked absolutely insanely inhumanely beautiful, or because his shirt hung so low you could see the top of his chest, or because you recalled how he held you last night, but because, above all, you didn’t feel ready to hear the rest of their story.

“It is okay,” you breathed out after a minute, averting your eyes, hoping to take with them the fluttery feeling that one should by no means feel for a best friend, specifically one who one is also at odds with. “I do not have to hear the rest. I get it.”

“(Y/n),” Kai said beside you. “You need to understand what all this is for. How we came to be friends.”

“But I do understand,” you said. Taehyun raised an eyebrow. “I am an important person. You need to make sure the King does not reach me.”

“I am afraid it is more than that, Darling.” Yeonjun sighed.

You looked to Taehyun. He observed you briefly (and your legs quivered) before he elaborated. “Yes, it is very important that we keep you safe. Jaegeun is of the belief that you may be the sole witness of the crime done to your family.” that powerful surge, of a memory trying to emerge, raked through your brain once more and you clenched your teeth. “If Yiseok is to learn you are alive, he will stop at nothing to end you quickly and quietly. That is why it was so important to send you away after the ball and cut all association with you completely. You needed to disappear.”

“Jaegeun spent months looking for you after the coup. You were all he needed for the people to realize the deeds of their new King. He had just about thought you dead, when he found you in an impoverished town on the outskirts of the city. A young mother was looking after you. You were in a very deep sleep. Jaegeun stayed with you, hoping for the day you would wake up and reveal everything. But when he left to get medicine from a doctor in the city, the mother had disappeared along with her child and you.”

“She sold me to that family. That is how I became a scullery maid,” you said listlessly, as if you were recalling a past life.

Taehyun nodded, “Yes. And by the time Jaegeun found you again, he realized that you did not even realize who you were. You only knew your name, because it was what Jaegeun had given that woman before she sold you off. It was time for a new plan.”

“When you started working at the tavern, Jaegeun contacted us. We were well acquainted with him already because he did a lot of the training of the sons of the high nobility – although we suspect he and the late King were already making preparations for the coup. We were his best students. We were supposed to watch you in the shadows, but we were compromised.” Soobin said, eyeing Taehyun.

“The market,” your eyes widened as you remembered. “A merchant had accused me of immorality,” you smiled, in spite of it all. “Taehyun had given him the most fabulous left-hook I have ever seen.”

“We were annoyed at first, but without that mistake, we would have never known you.” Beomgyu shrugged, softly pinching your cheek.

“What about your families? Is she aware of all this?” you turned to Yeonjun, “Haewon?”

Yeonjun grimaced. “No and yes. Some of our families, like the Lord and Lady Huening, are big supporters of the resistance. Others… are not. Haewon is wise of it all – and do not worry, she is under the protection of the Kingdom of Alvar. As are we.”

The image of the emblem on the door of the carriage the boys arrived in the night before flashed in your mind. A blue griffin in flight. Alvar. You were in Alvar. That explained why you could not recall the topography from Soobin’s maps. Yujun was no duchess. She was a princess.

“What part does Alvar play in all of this? How did you get them to join forces with you and not King Yiseok?”

“Alvar and Serafina have been at odds for hundreds of years. Your father had just about managed peaceful negotiations with them before he was killed. Yiseok was desperate to keep them on his side, which was why he…” Yeonjun trailed off, glancing at Kai. Kai looked like a deer caught in headlights. Like he had forgotten this part of the conversation. “Let’s just say he plans to have a marriage unite the kingdoms. Since he has no children of his own, he will select a member of the court.”

You paled. “Right.” you changed the subject. “How did no one suspect the royal family’s untimely death? I mean surely everyone must have questioned how perfectly healthy people met their end in one night?”

“Luck was not on our side, I’m afraid,” Soobin sighed. “The plague was rife in the city at the time your family died. Yiseok undoubtedly used that to his advantage. He pulled the strings and the filthy royals whose pockets’ he lines sang his song.”

Anger, no, rage burned in your chest. Your memory was still hazy, and there were still patches of your previous life that you could not find, but unbidden rage turned your vision red for the family you had lost, who had their lives taken from them unjustly.

“It is not simply for your protection that we’ve hidden you, (Y/n). We want you to fight.” Beomgyu said. “You give the resistance hope. Hope that the rightful heir will be seated on the throne. That you will take back the city, and return it to what it once was. Our mission was to ensure that you were ready for war when the time comes.”

You let those words churn in your mind. A month ago you were an orphaned barmaid whose biggest problem was keeping her feelings a secret from a nobleman. But now, you were a princess. A princess who had to fight for a kingdom, for vengeance, for the family she could not remember. Your shoulders slumped. You were angry, you wanted to gut your supposed uncle and leave him in a shallow grave. But you did not know if you were ready to shoulder the responsibility that came with a kingdom.

Like your thoughts were his, Taehyun took your hand and his thumb brushed over your knuckles. “You are not alone, Your Majesty. We are going to ensure you are ready and we are going to fight alongside you.”

You nodded, giving him the best smile you could muster. When you looked around you, you found you had been left alone with him. Your heart beat spiked.

“First lesson, Princess.” Before you could put two and two together, the tip of a sword pressed against the side of your neck. “Never ever let your guard down. Not only in battle. You never know when someone will betray you.”

He dropped the sword from your skin and you glared at him. You had been spending time with Jaegeun. You had your own tricks up your sleeve. You ducked and kicked his feet from under him, making a run to grab a sword of your own. When you turned to him with the stance Jaegeun had shown you, he had vanished.

You had only taken a step forward when you were slammed against a hard chest, an arm holding you in place while another held the long edge of the sword to your throat. “Lesson two,” Taehyun whispered, lips brushing against your ear and breath fanning along your neck. You gulped and attempted to banish his closeness and the memory of his chest and Torpe Manor from your mind. “Never turn your back on your enemy. Keep in mind I am going easy on you.”

You took your elbow to his groin and he groaned in pain. You knocked his weapon from his hands and grabbed hold of his arm, flipping him over your head and onto his back.

“Please,” You scoffed, a victorious grin rolling onto your lips as you held your sword to his neck. “That is not necessary.”

He groaned once more and turned onto his side. “I am pretty sure that is a foul, your Highness.”

“All is fair in love and war, Mr. Kang,” you shrugged in amusement. You crossed your legs beside him and flicked his head, “In any event, you have had that one coming for a while. You could have told me everything in the beginning, you did not have to pretend to be my friend.”

He let out a restrained laugh. “We had to make the act believable, after all. In the words of Yoon Keeho, what then would a group of second generation aristocrats be doing with a lowly barmaid?”

Your mouth dried. And then you were under him, your arms pinned to the mattress beneath you. You glared up at the smug expression on his face.

“Lesson three,” he said, leaning toward your face and coming to stop only a breath away from you. His gaze flitted between your eyes and your lips. You gulped. He backed off. “Never let your emotions get the better of you.”

Anger boiled in the pit of your stomach. “Fuck you.” you snapped, shoving his chest and storming off.

You were almost to the door, fury and hurt radiating off from you in waves, when he took hold of your arm. Firm enough to keep you there, gentle enough to let you know he had no intention of hurting you. You stayed that way for a long moment. You remembered the way he held you that morning, as if he was afraid that if he let up for even a second you would vanish.

His personality seemed to be going back and forth so quickly it was giving you whiplash. You knew not what internal war he was having with himself, or why he was pretending that you were simply a job to him – that he did not really care for you when you knew he did.

“If this was a real battle, you would never be able to walk away from it like this, Your Majesty.”

You snatched your hand back and turned to him. “I realize I am the princess. I am aware of what my purpose and yours is in the greater scheme of things,” you said, taking a shaky breath, “but you do not have to carry on this act, as if we are complete strangers. I do not understand why me being the princess means I cannot continue to be your friend, or why you keep pushing me away. You will not even call me by name like the rest do.” you shook your head, “I know you care for me. And you know I care for you. But I am not going to sit around and take your indifference like a good little princess. I have not done anything wrong and, whenever you are quite done throwing your little child-like fit, we can talk.”

You slammed the door behind you.

***

“You know, I can’t help but notice that you and dear Taehyun have not been on good terms lately.”

You snorted at Kai’s statement. It had taken you off guard, so you had to reposition yourself before taking aim again. Then the blade flew from your palm and hit the target dead centre, disturbing the leaves and twigs in its path. A victorious grin spread across your lips. Kai clapped and ruffled your hair.

“Well done, student. You are truly a natural.”

“Or I just have a very good teacher.”

Kai laughed and handed you a cup of water. Ten days had passed since your altercation with Taehyun. Your lessons had continued – Yeonjun taught you with great enthusiasm (to look like some sort of fictional hero, you supposed) to handle firearms, Soobin, to your surprise, introduced you to his arsenal of deadly poisons, sleeping potions and some experimental vials of truth serum you were not allowed to touch. Beomgyu taught you archery and horse-riding, and Kai taught you to use knives; his speciality was throwing daggers.

You learned that the boys actually excelled in all aspects of that which you were being taught. How they taught you was only according to who was the best at what they did. And, truthfully, you thought that your secretly badass friends were very, very cool.

Taehyun did not have another lesson with you since the first one. In fact, you were fairly certain he was avoiding you. You did not hope that he would follow after you that day; you needed to get away from him and clear your head. Everything had been too much to process then, it still was, so it didn’t help that your best friend was only making things harder for you. But after that, that evening, you had expected him to slip into your room and tell you he was sorry. To tell you everything was new and strange and a little unbelievable, but it was going to be okay. And then you would have believed it truly would be okay. He always did make everything okay, didn’t he?

You took a big gulp of water and swallowed down with it all the confusing things floating around in your mind. You did not need him. You did not need anyone. Especially not someone who ran all the way back to Serafina and hadn’t returned for nearly a fortnight.

“I would hope I am never the one on the receiving end of that look.” Kai arched a brow, a lopsided smile forming on his lips.

You shook your head with a smile of your own. “I suppose I am still trying to process all of this.”

He nodded his head, frowning. “No one expected you to be okay immediately, (Y/n). It is… a lot.”

“But I am doing better though. Especially since I am at least a little more inclined to believe you’re all not sickos who get off on imprisoning a girl in a cabin in the middle of nowhere.”

He threw his head back in laughter and your smile grew into a grin. Kai was the embodiment of light whenever he smiled. He was bright and warm and people were just drawn to him. You were no exception.

Your teacher decided you deserved a break, so the two of you made the decision to take a stroll through the forest. Most of your classes still took place in the training room at their base for your protection, but Kai had insisted on bringing you out for his lesson that day. Jaegeun was not happy about it, but the rest had gone to the Alvar to stock up on supplies and to visit Haewon, and without Taehyun to protest, Jaegeun agreed.

“That reminds me,” you said as Kai pushed a bushel from your path, “are your parents not wondering where you are? I mean, you lot have been away from Serafina for almost a fortnight. Wouldn’t Keeho and the King get suspicious?”

The path you were following narrowed. Kai placed a hand on the small of your back and guided you forward, warmth seeping into your body and remaining there even after he moved away. “Mine are fully aware of what we’re doing here. As are the Chois and Haewon’s family. As for the King…” he hesitated, “he believes we’re in Alvar engaging in marriage and peace talks with Yujun’s father.”

You bit down on your lip. Suddenly you were glad you could not see his face and he could not see yours. He did not seem happy about the marriage, and the others had this uncomfortable look about them whenever the betrothal was mentioned. You knew all of it was a ruse, for your sake, but that only made you feel worse. You suddenly had a renewed urgency to become the leader they needed.

Through some thick foliage, the path opened up to a small meadow. A quiet stream flowed through it, cutting its circumference in half. The grass was long and luscious, and beautiful white and yellow daisies stuck out between them. The afternoon sky was a big blue circle, rays of sun lighting it all up like shimmering diamonds. It was like a world within a world. It took your breath away.

You took a seat next to the stream and dipped your fingers inside. The water was clear and cool, so you took a scoop and washed your face. With a contented sigh, you stretched out on the grass and closed your eyes. Kai chuckled, but joined you.

“Did you ever question Jaegeun when he contacted you again?” Many minutes of peaceful silence had passed, but you knew that your life now could be anything but peaceful. You had too many questions. Too many responsibilities and people counting on you.

“We knew what to expect. After what had transpired with your family, he had held secret meetings with our parents. We all grew up expecting the day we’d have to fight for you, for the Kingdom, alongside you.”

You nodded. “Did you ever… know me? Before this.”

Kai thought for a moment. “Yes. We took classes together at the Royal Academy. You might even say we were friends.”

This answer pleased you. The life you once had sounded like a fairy tale. You had a family and friends. You went to school. You wondered if you had a wardrobe full of dresses like the one you wore to Torpe Manor, too. “Friends?” you smiled.

He laughed, “Yes, Your Majesty. You were a little intimidating though. Very self-assured and fearless, I’d like to think not much has changed.”

“Really?” you asked, you cheeks heating. “I am sure that was only because I had a powerful father. Were we all good friends?”

Kai blushed and you arched a brow. “You could say that.” then he laughed, “let’s just say not much has changed there either. Yeonjun and Beomgyu are still the same mental age, Soobin always had his nose stuck in a book – I reckon the two of you were actually a little academically competitive – pretending he was more mature than the rest of us,” you snorted, and a smile blossomed onto Kai’s face, then he blushed again. “You and I were kind of inseperable. I mean, we all were, but you even told your father you’d marry me.”

Your face burned a shade of pink and you slammed your eyes shut, unwilling to look him in the eye. But then images of little boys filled your mind: rough-housing, bantering, adventuring together, getting icing sugar all over your mouths. A father, a mother, a brother. A loving family, in a big castle. You wondered if these were mere dreams or memories. You found yourself hoping for the latter.

“How much time do I have?” you asked.

Kai didn’t reply at first, as if he himself wanted to savour this time. Then he said, “Another four and ten days at best. Then Yiseok will get suspicious.”

Your eyes snapped open and you turned to him in shock. Two weeks? Two weeks? You had to be princess-avenging-her-kingdom ready in two weeks?

You opened your mouth to protest, but Kai’s proximity startled you. If you scooted over just a tiny bit more, your noses would touch. You could feel the moment his breath hitched, you could see his eyes dilate and flit to your lips – you hoped, no, prayed that he could not hear how fast your heart was beating. He reached over, his fingers hesitating before brushing hair from your face. You were now certain you were not breathing at all.

You couldn’t.

You pushed yourself up and turned away. “W-Why has Taehyun left then? If we have so little time? Surely a trip to Serafina throws a spanner in the works.”

When he did not answer, you glanced at him slightly. He was frowning at the place where you once lay. Your chest ached. He lifted himself up, brushing grass and dirt from his clothes.

“Taehyun had to go see his parents.”

You ignored the slight edge to his tone. “Why? I thought you said your parents knew you were here.”

Kai looked at you. “I never said anything about Taehyun’s parents.”

“Huh?” a perplexed expression overtook your features, an uneasy feeling building in your stomach. You wracked your brain, trying to recall everything Kai and the boys had told you. He hadn’t even mentioned Taehyun when he spoke of your past, you had just assumed Taehyun would be there. “No. no, that cannot be right. I am sure you said all your families are part of the resistance.”

“I did not.” Kai said bluntly. You flinched, and his eyes softened apologetically. Then his face contorted with guilt, like he said something he shouldn’t have. Your heartbeat picked up again, but for an entirely different reason. “Taehyun’s parents… they are part of the King’s closest circle.”

You shook your head, taking a step back. “All your families are part of the court, I do not understand.”

“(Y/n),” Kai said, sounding more firm this time. “Taehyun’s parents were part of Yiseok’s coup. They are his most loyal subjects. You might even say his father is the King’s second-in –”

“Stop.” you lifted your hand, some missing slots in your memory flickering to life. You gulped. “That is enough.”

“I am aware that this is not a conversation for me to have with you,” Kai said. You could not bring yourself to look at him and he sounded pained. “But you are going to need to come to terms with it sooner or later, (Y/n).” then he took a breath, “Taehyun is not going to be able to stick around after you take to the throne. After everything his parents have done… they will not spare him.”

He took another step toward you, slowly, as if he was afraid you would run for the hills. In all honesty, you wanted to. But, you were sure cowardice was no desirable quality of a Queen, so you did not. You only took a step back. “That is ridiculous. He is here, he is part of the resistance. He is doing what he can to help the Kingdom, why should they rebuke him?”

You still were not sure how you felt about Taehyun’s parents being the King’s closest friends, but that had nothing to do with him. You knew him. You knew he had not a single evil, selfish bone in his body. All of the boys were unlike any of the other nobles, but Taehyun… Taehyun, especially. He was different. You would not let anything happen to him. You forbid it.

“Even if you gave him some sort of pardon, he would not be safe. To be able to live a normal life. The court of public opinion is ruthless and ever-present.”

“Why are you giving the impression that you do not think he should be forgiven? For God’s sake, I do not believe he should be forgiven either, but only because I believe he did not do a thing necessary of it.” This conversation was making you angry. You did not know why. You knew Kai, you loved Kai. You knew he would never hurt his friend. You knew he was merely telling you the truth. But hot fury grew in the pit of your stomach.

He looked hurt. “That is not what I mean, and you know it.”

“Forgive me,” you sighed, your tense shoulders falling as your anger partially dissipated. You let yourself fall beside the stream again and hugged your arms. “It is just all so frustrating; that you all have to make all these sacrifices for me. And that I was oblivious to it this entire time. Deluding myself with a quiet life that was not special at all, with friends that were very special.” he sat beside you and pulled you into a warm embrace. You did not question why it could not compare to how Taehyun held you, and nuzzled into his chest. “Yeonjun had to drag the person he loved into this and put her at risk, I no longer question why Soobin hasn’t gone to school in the North, why Beomgyu cannot find the time to dabble in his music. Taehyun…” you croaked, warm tears slipping from your eyes.

He hushed, gently petting your hair. “None of us were unwilling to make the sacrifices we knew were necessary, (Y/n). Especially after meeting you again. We were lucky.”

“Well I suppose not everything that came out of it was bad. I was reunited with the dearest friends I never knew I had, and…” you hesitated, smiling up at him. It was genuine. “Although you may be unwilling right now, Lady Yujun is a wonderful match. Of course it should be you who has the pleasure of wedding her.”

He paused. Then he leaned back. “What?”

You chuckled, shoving his shoulder. “Oh come on, my friend. I am not daft. You are the one who has to wed her, are you not? You shall be very happy. It may have started as a ruse, but you will make a wonderful Prince consort, Kai.”

“(Y/n),” Kai said. He was frowning again. “It is a ruse. No one is truly marrying anyone. Alvar has agreed to peace without it, for your father. The marriage is only to disguise our true allegiance, that we are able to hide you here and meet with you like this. I…” he trailed off nervously. “I do not think we should talk about this now.”

You bristled. “No. No more secrets. What is it?”

He considered you for a long moment. Then his shoulders fell and he sighed, before tensing up again. “I am not marrying Yujun, because… before your family’s murder… before the coup… I was betrothed to you.”

***

Taehyun wore a grim look on his face, but when the coach pulled up to the cabin, his chest felt a little lighter. He wanted to see you. Just wanted to catch a glimpse of your face; it would be more than enough to convince him that all would be well. He was not ready to give you any answers yet, and after returning from Serafina his shoulders did not feel any lighter than before. He knew you were angry with him and he knew he shouldn’t, but he craved you. Your eyes, your smile, your laugh, your smell, your touch.

All he wanted was to take you into his arms and run far, far away from all this fuckery.

His boots hit the ground below with a heavy thump. He thanked the coach, and sent it off before walking toward the cabin. Jaegeun was on the porch, taking long drags of his cigar. Normally, he would be polite enough to at least grunt when Taehyun arrived. But the bastard would not even make eye contact.

“You look troubled.” Taehyun said, lowering himself into the wicker chair beside his older friend.

Jaegeun took a deep drag, held, then breathed out a thick cloud of smoke. “What say Serafina?”

Taehyun swatted the mist of death from his face and glared. This man was going to smoke himself to his grave. “They do not suspect anything. Not yet. Lord Yoon, that swine, has made some rumblings. But they do not take him seriously after the dud operation at his ball.”

“Of course not,” Jaegeun snorted, slapping his knee as his potbelly vibrated. “That man has been trying for years to get close to Yiseok. His greed knows no bounds, perhaps he believes they have a lot in common.”

“Those rumblings were enough to make my parents call me back and make me swear to keep an eye on Kai, though.” Taehyun sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck in frustration. “It is not much, but that has great potential to change. We have got to speed things up.”

The two were quiet. Jaegeun took another drag of his cigar before flattening it beneath his feet. The sun was beginning to descend behind the mountain, drowning everything in gold. The light reflected off the treetops, off its leaves, making them look like thousands of wings as the breeze brushed through them. Taehyun lifted his hand, trying to trace his fingers along the rays, wondering if they’d make him glitter too. If it’d burn away the tainted blood flowing through his veins, if it’d make him a new person. One strong and worthy enough to stand at your side.

“Where are you going after this?” Jaegeun asked suddenly.

Taehyun swallowed heavily before steeling himself. “Somewhere far. Maybe off the continent. I came across someone with a boat who trades in foreign lands. He has already made his leave, but he will return to Serafina’s port in a few months. Perhaps I shall go with him.”

Jaegeun’s eyes burned into the side of his face. “You think you’ll be able to?”

“I will have to.”

Another coach pulled to a stop before the cabin. Taehyun squinted, the setting sun still in his eyes. He saw Yeonjun, Beomgyu and Soobin hop out of the carriage with supplies in hand. He got up to see if they needed any help, but also mostly because he wanted to see if you were there. He was only slightly disappointed when you were not.

He helped them carry the sacks of goods into the cabin and took a peek into your room. Then frowned.

“Where’s (Y/n)?”

Yeonjun shrugged. “We left this morning. She had her lesson with Kai, and she will have her lesson with me later on.”

Something strange pulled at Taehyun’s gut. He marched to the supply closet and pulled open the hatch, that feeling propelling him down the stairs and down the hall. He burst through the training room door and found it empty. The space between his breaths were shortening, his heart clenching.

He raced back up to the cabin and ploughed through anything in his path. He slammed open the front door and pulled Jaegeun up by his shirt.

“If you do not have some semblance of a good reason that (Y/n) isn’t here right now, I am going to gut you and feed your entrails to the fucking mountain lions.” Taehyun growled, slamming Jaegeun, a big man, into the side of the cabin. If something happened to you… he would let the beasts take him away too.

“Easy,” Soobin’s hands clamped down onto Taehyun’s shoulders. Taehyun’s neck snapped in his direction with a snare, but Soobin did not waver. Eventually, Taehyun’s grip loosened. Soobin turned his focus to Jaegeun. “What happened?”

Like clockwork, the bushes behind the cabin rustled and you emerged from them. Taehyun’s heart fell to his ass with relief, and he ran to you, clutching your face in his hands. He tilted it from side to side, examining every inch.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere? Did anything happen?” he asked softly, thumbs slightly caressing your cheeks. You looked at him with startled eyes, your face flushed. Then you gulped and shook your head. Annoyance slipped into his voice, his arms folding across his chest, “then where the dickens have you been?”

Kai then emerged after you, looking equally flushed. His hair and clothes were tousled, his skin glistened with sweat and he seemed out of breath. He looked startled to see Taehyun too.

Like he had been caught.

Taehyun’s eyes moved between you and Kai. His hands dropped from his sides and clenched into fists. His chest began heaving, something between sadness and absolute rage wreaking havoc in his mind. He wasn’t sure what expression he was making, but you wore a mused frown before all colour drained from your face.

This was bound to happen. You had always wanted to be with Kai. In both this life and the last, he had been everything you had ever wanted. The two of you were inseparable, always gravitating toward one another as if destined. Before you learned the truth, you had sneaked glances at him when you thought no one was looking. You would sigh dreamily when you thought no one was listening. You thought you loved him and no one would ever know – but everyone did. Kai had always been yours, and Taehyun had only been foolish enough to hope, for even a second, that this time would be different.

You had thought that your life as you knew it came to an end over a month ago, you agonised over how painful and lonely it was – but you had merely lost the delusion that you were undeserving of so much more, that you were anything less than extraordinary.

But Taehyun knew you. Taehyun saw you. He… He had believed he could keep you even though he knew he did not deserve you.

Taehyun tore his gaze away from the two of you and nodded, taking a steadying breath. When he thought he could manage to look at you again, a smile was on his face. With every bit of energy he could muster, he knocked the side of your head gently.

“When running off on trysts with your betrothed, leave a note or something,” he laughed playfully, his heart breaking. “You scared us, princess. But now you are well, so I shall leave you to it. Your Majesty.”

You looked hurt and before you opened your mouth to speak, Taehyun turned on his heel and returned into the cabin. He did not need you to apologize to save him. He just wanted you safe and happy.

And now you were.

He grabbed a bottle of liquor from the cabinet and marched down to the training room.

taglist: @boba-beom (send an ask to be added!)

scintillasofbeomgyu © all rights reserved. do not copy, translate, alter, or repost in any way.

#txt imagines #txt scenarios #taehyun imagines #taehyun scenarios #hueningkai imagines #hueningkai scenarios #txt fluff #txt angst #txt au #txt x reader #taehyun x reader #hueningkai x reader #series: epiphany 🌷

[jeongwife]

making out with joshua while you straddle him only wearing your sweatpants cuz your tank top got discarded pretty quickly (unsurprising he is obsessed with your boobs) and he’s leaning against the headboard with his hands roaming your body while u guys make out n it’s so loving and passionate and deep (?) n u guys smile into the kiss everynow and then until you start kissing down his jaw to his neck, quiet moan he lets out prompts you to pull away for a second to pull his shirt off before you start kissing again pressing your chests against eachother while you grind into him, he’s moaning into the kiss and basically melting in your touch n he starts pulling at your sweatpants wanting them off-

i will let you write the rest :)

hi since ryu gave me horrible chanrot last night i thought i’d return the favour hehe <333

making out while straddling joshua would always start really sweet, his hands on your waist to keep you close to him while your hands toy with the hair at his nape. but it’d only take a short while before things become more heated, and you’d soon find your top discarded to the side as he kisses you with more vigour, his fingers lightly pinching your nipples to hear you whine into the kiss which prompts him to smirk against you.

he lets out the prettiest groans when you start kissing and sucking at his neck to leave behind faint splotches on his skin, his grip on your waist tightening as he helps you grind down on his erection while he tilts his head back to give you better access to his neck. this time, you’d be the one grinning because of how impatient he is for your touch, but you don’t stop him when he starts tugging your sweatpants off because he needs to fuck you immediately.

and as you’re riding him he’d sweetly cup your cheeks to pull you in for a deep kiss, letting out breathy moans into your mouth while his hands grab your hips to push you down further on his cock, making you whine at how deep he feels inside you. soon, you feel his thumb on your clit, rubbing slow circles while he tells you how pretty you look and to cum for him now.

— admin lily (hi ryu <3)

#seventeen smut #svt smut #joshua smut #hong jisoo smut #joshua hong smut #seventeen joshua smut #svt joshua smut #seventeen scenarios #svt scenarios #answered! #🌷 answers!

[windrsr]

Hey (●’◡’●)ﾉ it's 🌷 anon here just wondering what the yandere's reaction to darling on period (if you don't mind)

I don't mind at all!

(Male Yandere OCs x Gender Neutral Reader)

•Henry - He pays more attention to your well being (for once) when you're in this state. He puts you in much more comfortable clothes (and even lets you pick out your own outfit), lets you eat what you want ('cause cravings), and helps you with anything. He's much more gentle than usual.

•Micheal - He groans and rolls his eyes. He can't make you do whatever he wants when you're in this state, so he gives you a break from his harshness (mostly). Instead, he makes you lay in bed all day, strictly telling you not to do anything without him or his permission. He gets everything for you and takes care of you, while getting you everything you need and want. He's annoyed the whole entire time, but he knows it will pass. When this whole thing is over, he will go back to torturing you all over again.

•Miru - At first, he literally thinks your dying and starts crying (poor thing-). When you tell him that this is just a normal thing that your body does, he starts to feel bad for you. He brings you tea, stuffed animals and his pet moth to keep you company. Miru is also worried because he doesn't want you to move around too much, so whenever you need something, he tells you to stay where you are and he'll get it for you. He has lots of questions about the whole period thing, but he wants you to rest and relax, so he doesn't say anything about it.

•Ryan - He's actually a little freaked out because he doesn't want to mess anything up when he's helping you. He's worried about you and starts nagging you on you needing to rest if you try to do anything on your own (lol you can literally get up and he will get mad).

•Loki - He already knew it was coming before you told him. Loki is a little cold about it, though. He expects you to take care of yourself and do everything by yourself since he doesn't know a lot about periods, but if you need any help, he'll try his best to aid you.

•Samuel - He's definitely more protective of you when you're in this state. He doesn't let you get up and do anything, wanting you to rest as much as possible. Samuel brings you food, drinks, and a heating pad for you incase you get cramps. He turns on the TV on for you so you can watch a movie as he sits next to you.

•Aaron - He tells you to stay at home and rushes to the store and gets you all kinds of stuff (pads, tampons, etc), and comfort items such as stuffed animals. Aaron promises he will stay with you for as long as you like.

•Tyler - He tells his boss and allies that he needs a couple of days off from his missions so he can be there for you. But he literally knows nothing about periods, so he doesn't know what he's doing or what you need to have. He tries his best to help, though.

#🌷 anon #{all of them} #yandere oc #male yandere #yandere boy #yandere male #male yandere x reader #yandere #yandere oc x reader #male yandere oc #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios

[yenqa]

10 THINGS I HATE ABOUT YOU — TEASER

READ HERE!

in which...

you hate heeseung. you hate his snobby little voice, his stupid little glasses that are too big for him, his nosiness, and his ability to prove anything or anyone wrong easily. you hate hate hate the way you try to avoid him, but somehow he’s always around, and he can’t see how much you hate him. you swear nothing could make you like him, but after you get caught in a sticky situation with him playing your knight in shining armor, you realize that maybe he isn’t so bad after all.

pairing — heeseung x fem!reader

genre — one sided enemies to lovers, highschool au, he falls first she falls harder, oblivious x obvious, tutor x tutoree (kind of), childhood friends (ish because the whole one sided enemies thing) to lovers, long fic

wordcount — teaser is 1005! fic est. 9k-13k words (hopefully not too ambitious)

warnings — profanity, kissing (no suggestive stuff or nsfw), miscommunication, parties/underage drinking, name calling (bitch, whore, stuff like that), food

featuring — lia of itzy, miyeon of g-idle, hyung line of enhypen (sorry maknaes too many people), ocs : sooyun + teachers

disclaimer — i am not saying this is an accurate representation of these idols or trying to sexualize them at all. this just something i do for fun.

release date — hopefully by mid march?

taglist — open! send an ask or comment to be added!

yenqa — watched the movie on the plane and i was kind of obsessed… but this does not follow the movie plot, i just thought the title fit

YOU WATCH AS THE SNOW FALLS SLOWLY TO THE GROUND

A blanket of white has got you and the guests at your house locked in for the night. You weren’t very happy with these strangers staying at your house for the night—In fact, you had just been completely shut down by your dad when you asked him to kick them out. It was obvious why he did that, but this definitely had to be your least favorite christmas out of the eight you had been through.

You snap out of your thoughts, continuing to eat whatever you had left on your plate, hesitating when you saw the amount of vegetables still left.

“Mom! I’m full.” You try to hide your plate from her, showing her instead a pout with a hand on your stomach. 

It didn’t work—obviously, so you were stuck at the table, a frown on your face as you forced in the greens. Across from you, a boy your age, who didn’t seem to mind, he almost looked like he was enjoying it.

That’s impossible though, no one likes vegetables. Maybe he was doing it so Santa would get him an extra special gift?

You grumble when he finishes his place, showcasing his plate that had been licked clean to his mom. He stared at you for a second looking down at your—full plate then looking back at his mom, she said “Great job Heeseung!”. He returns his plate to the table with a smile. 

Stabbing your fork back into your food, you stuff it into your face, hoping that you would enjoy it as much as Heeseung did. Again, it didn’t work, and the bitter taste returned to your mouth.

After what felt like hours of groaning and complaining, you had taken the last bite of your food, a proud smirk on your face when you made eye contact with the boy from earlier, who only smiled at you in return. 

Throwing away your plastic plate, you realized that now it was present time, and Santa just had to reward you for your good deeds.

Rushing over to the tree, you spot everyone gathered around the area, opening their presents. You run to your present, recognizing the wrapping paper from last year. Looking at your mom for approval, she nods and you tear apart the paper, lifting up the box inside.

You squeal when you see the picture, you had been begging your mom for weeks for a Lego set, specifically if it was minecraft themed. And Santa had gotten you just that. You hug the box, squeezing it. You exclaim a loud “Thank you Santa!” before running up to your room to assemble the build.

Reading the directions, you start the house, quickly getting confused on how it isn’t looking like how it does in the picture. 

“I think that’s the wrong piece.” A voice says, you whip your head around to see the same boy who sat across from you.

“Who are you?” Your eyebrows furrow at the sight, confused on why those were the first words he said instead of “Hi!” or something.

“My name’s Heeseung—Um, my mom told me to come upstairs and said we should be friends. Do you want to be friends?” 

You huff, “I’m Y/n. Also no, I don’t want to be friends, you’re mean.” You force your legos together, frustrated already with the pieces. You continue to reread the directions, pushing—what you think are—the exact legos to the board. But it doesn’t seem like it’ll fit. Maybe if you push it harder?

“Oh—okay.” You jump slightly, too focused to realize how he's been watching you for the past few minutes. “Do you need some help?”

Yes, you need help. But did you want to accept his help?  . This was your christmas gift from Santa, you shouldn’t have to share.

Glancing at the picture then to the building that had looked like an abstract rendition of it, you let out a sigh. I mean, it wouldn’t hurt, right? “Yeah, I guess.”

He takes a seat on the carpet next to you, focusing hard on the directions before breaking off the wrong pieces, reassembling it so you’ll be on the right track.

“Does this go here, do you think?” “No, it goes here.”  That was a summary of what the conversation was between you, and somehow you were always the one asking the question. Sighing, you lean back, taking a short stretch break before starting again.

You’re shocked at his speed and efficiency, it almost seems like he’s always a step ahead of you. Geez does this guy ever slow down? 

The roles are quickly switched as you are sitting watching him instead. Rummaging through each box only for his eyes to lighten up one he finds the right one. You watch him for a while, getting a break that you very much needed.

You hope that he waits for you to finish it, or that he doesn’t completely do it all by himself because again,  it’s your Christmas gift, and he wouldn’t do that, right?

Not right, because apparently he’s a machine—he finishes the build. He stands up, pushes his stupid glasses up also and smiles at you, heading to the door. You think he’s going to say something else like “Sorry for taking away your present!” instead, he thanks you for sharing and happily skipping away. 

Heeseung. Even his name infuriates you. He was very unpredictable and you hated that. Why did he just do that? He’s so rude. People don’t make sense—especially boys, they have cooties.

Your head was filled with calling him the rudest things you could think of—You even said a few curse words.

Though later you realized that you probably would never see him again, you were ecstatic, so ecstatic you had disassembled your legos just to rebuild it, to completely forget about your bad experience with the boy. 

Only two weeks later were you disappointed to see that same boy, sitting across from you during dinner once again.

perm taglist — @jwnghyuns @ja4hyvn @trsrina @redm4ri @badmuni @yeokii @enhastolemyheart @softpia @s00buwu @ox1-lovesick @boyfhee @hanniluvi @teddywonss

yenqa © please do not copy, steal or translate.

#kflixnet #k-labels #k-films #enhablr #10 things i hate about you — yenqa 🌷 #heeseung x y/n #heeseung x reader #heeseung fic #heeseung headcanons #heeseung angst #heeseung drabble #heeseung scenarios #heeseung fanfic #heeseung imagines #heeseung au #heeseung fluff #enhypen x reader #enhypen fic #enhypen au #enhypen fics #enhypen scenarios #enhypen x yn #enhypen imagines #enhypen social media au #enhypen angst #enhypen fluff #enhypen fake texts #enhypen drabbles #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen fanfic

[moonjxsung]

Okay you’ve been doing a lot of hard hours hard thoughts etc and I just want your opinion on Minho with a soft tummy instead of abs. Like. I feel like I’m the minority on this because 🥲 the few times we got a glimpse of his tummy it was soft and cute and 🥺 I like to think he doesn’t have abs but a soft baby tummy where you can lay your head and maybe poke it and place little kisses on it.

And maybe he’d be a little insecure about it the first time you have sex because most people just assume he has hard rock abs for some reason so he’s worried you’re going to be disappointed 🥺

Feel free to insert hard thoughts about this if you’d like because this just makes me too soft to think about anything other than fluff.

In other words SOFT TUMMY MINHO SUPREMACY

~🌷~

SOFT TUMMY MINHO SUPREMACY 🗣️‼️‼️🦅

It’s so funny you say this bc this specific photo:

Literally lives on my Pinterest home page RENT FREE and every time I see it I’m like yeah ofc he looks mouth watering and sexy as fuck but his tummy def looks SOOOO CUUUUTE under that tank top :( I feel like exactly the way he gets insecure about his scar he’d get insecure about his tummy and he would constantly be making jokes about how he really needs to start bench pressing more or doing sit ups bc his abs are nonexistent. And of course he’s still super toned but he’s not six pack, you know? And the first time you guys have sex he’s probably more insecure than you are bc he hates that he can’t flaunt some sculpted six pack for you and he plays it off by laughing a ton (his cute ass lil melodic giggle) and being all “stop, you’re gonna laugh at me!” When he removes his shirt and covers his torso. And it’s literally nothing to laugh at in the slightest, like it’s just a normal torso leaning toward muscular but he’s still so soft, all his delicate little curves and the way his chest rises and falls when he laughs and his stomach frames his collar bones sooo beautifully and he just looks SO ETHEREAL. And obviously the sex is fucking amazing and it’s always amazing but it’s particularly sexy when his stomach contracts while you’re on your knees sucking him off before he cums. Or the way his abs clench when you’re riding him and he’s desperately trying not to cum just yet and you make it even harder when you sprawl your fingers out over his stomach and glide your fingertips along his skin. It just becomes such a central part of your fucking sessions together like running your hands all over his stomach and paying attention to the way his stomach sucks in a little before he cums and it’s so sexy. Not to mention cute bc when you guys aren’t fucking you’re definitely showering him with kisses and tracing little hearts on his skin there. And sometimes cuddle sessions are exclusively your head on his stomach with his shirt rolled up so that you can lay on his bare flesh and press little kisses while he talks about his day :( and he doesn’t love his body but he acknowledges that it’s quickly become one of your favorite parts about him so he stops insulting himself so much bc why would he insult something you love :( soft tummy Minho cuddle sessions could heal me I just know it

#🌷 anon #UR SO REAL FOR THIS #soft thoughts #hard thoughts #stray kids #skz #skz smut #stray kids hard hours #skz scenarios #lee know #lee know smut #ask

[yo-yo-yeonkai]

ONE DATE - CHOI BEOMGYU - NSFW

Beomgyu x AFAB!reader

Genre: smut

Warning list: kinda brat tamer! beomgyu x kinda brat! reader (there’s isn’t much emphasis), private in public, fingering! F receiving, pet names (Sweetheart, pretty girl), mention of withheld orgasm, I don’t think there is anything else- let me know if I missed something.

Word count: 2,169

Summary: Beomgyu was desperate since the day he saw your face, and to get you he’d decided a pick up line MUST work— right?

A/N: this is my entry for @matchaxmatcha ‘s Valentine’s Day event! I hope you all enjoy!

Every day without fail he stood there, in front of the counter with another dumb pick up line, followed by a question.

"if you were a vegetable you'd be a cutecumber!" He smiles at you, a smile you'd grown to love. Then he says the question "will you let me take you out on a date?".

The wording of the question had changed over the weeks from "go on a date with me", "please go on a date with me", to fairly recently "let me go on a date with you please". It was cute in a way, that he wanted to go out with you so badly that he changed the wording to make it more special.

You remember the first time you'd seen him. The bell on the door clung charmingly as he entered, and you looked up from your book and smiled at him "good evening". It was how you greeted everyone who entered. But this time you were caught of guard, it wasn't an older person waking into the small bookshop like normal, no, it was a man, seemingly your age. His hair was fairly long, enough to tuck behind his ears, his eyes were a deep pretty brown, and his smile, oh his smile. He caught your eye instantly. He smiled back at you, lips curving beautifully, "good evening right back at you!".

You were hoping he'd continue to speak to you , but he didn't, he opened his phone and seemingly scrolled. Normally you'd go back to your book but instead you pulled out your phone and opened the camera to check you looked at least okay. Noticing your hair looks messy you put your phone down and began tying your hair back up, hands in your hair, bobble gently between your lips. And suddenly he peeks out from a bookcase and speaks "hey there-" he paused, looking at you for a second then chuckled and continued as you rushed to tie your hair "I was wondering if you could help me find a book. It's for my friend. He told me it was called 'before the coffee goes cold'."

Finally done with your hair you smiled at him, leaving the counter "oh yep, we definitely have it. Do you know if he's looking for the first of the series or a different number?" You questioned, making sure you did your very best.

Shrugging, he pulled out his phone with a swift movement and called his friend "here, Soobin, you speak to this lovely bookstore lady" and then he hands you his phone with a smile. You bashfully took it "hello?" You mutter. And the man on the other end sighs "hello, sorry about him, he's stupid. Do you have the stock of the full series of before the coffee goes cold? I don't want them all now, only the first, but if I like the first I want to know I could get the others" he explains.

You giggle lightly "yup, we have the full set. Your friend here can buy number one today and I'll put the others on hold. What name do you want me to put them under?" You questioned.

The man you knew was called Soobin chuckled to himself "thank you so much. Can you put them under Choi Beomgyu please". That certainly wasn't his name, but if that's what he wanted.

"Of course, have a lovely day, and I hope you enjoy the book" you tell him, as if you were serving him in the shop.

Handing the phone back to the man infront of you he said bye to his friend then gazed up at you. "So? What did he decide?" He asked, genuinely curious.

You began walking to where the set was and you heard him follow behind you "he wants the first one today. And I'm putting the rest of the set on hold for him" you explained grabbing up the four books and taking them to the till.

There you continued to serve the man and he made small talk. "What's your name then?" He questioned, watching as you wrapped up the first book so prettily. "I'm (L/N) (Y/N), and you?". He smiles at you, that fucking gorgeous smile "Choi Beomgyu. You have a pretty name". You suddenly realized what Soobin was up to, he was planning on sending his clueless friend in every time he wanted a book, but why?

You wrote him name on the paper and put it on top of the remaining stack and moved it to the side as you charged him and handed him the book. By the time he left he knew: how old you were, your name, that you had a cat, that you loved working here. And you were sure, with his curiosity he'd know more on his next visit.

And he did, each week he visited for a new book for Soobin, and each week slowly became every other day, which quickly became every day, with pick up lines, and the invite for a date.

As much as accepting his offer excited you, teasing him was so much more fun. You liked that he was adamant, and by this point you would call him a friend.

Until today, where everything became different. He normally came in midday, most likely after he's done something else, attended a class, worked his shift? You weren't really sure, that was something you meant to ask. But today he payed his daily visit in the evening right before the shop was meant to close, a minute before the shop was meant to close.

The door chimes with the usual bell, and you inwardly groaned at an annoying customer, until you looked up and realised it wasn't a customer, it was only Beomgyu. "What do you want Beomgyu?" You smiled at him, moving past to lock the shop door so nobody else could come in. Then you began tidying up, accepting that he wouldn't leave anytime soon.

He smiles at you "you. I want you." He muttered, knowingly loud enough for you to hear it. You smacked him around the shoulder lightly with a book, then moved down the aisle to put it back where it belongs. "Don't be so suggestive Beomgyu~ I haven't even said yes to the date yet". And you knew the second that you'd said 'yet' you'd screwed yourself over.

As you slotted the book back where it belongs he chuckles, an obvious smirk in the sound. "Yet? Oooo~ I knew you wanted me too. Do you want me to go about my normal routine or do you want to just say yes now?" He teased.

You continued to put the books away, him following shortly behind you. You giggled "no, do indulge me Beomgyu... I want to know how bad it'll be today."

He chuckled and spoke "Are you a basketball hoop? Because I'd love to put my balls in your basket.".

You spun around a deadpanned "What is that even meant to mean Gyu?". At first you belived Beomgyu was genuinely coming up with them, but now you were sure his search history was full of ‘best pick up lines’, ‘pick up lines that get a girl’, ‘pick up lines that work’. You had no doubt in your mind

He chuckled at you and took a few steps closer "Whatever you want it to mean, sweetheart". There was a daring look in his eyes as he looked down at your lips, the thought of kissing you crossing his mind several times in the span of a second.

You caught yourself thinking the same thing, you wanted to feel him, to be with him, to finally say yes to him. "Yes, okay yes I'll go on a date with you!" You borderline shout, and instead of kissing you he teased "I knew you'd say yes one day! I'm so-"

"Shut the fuck up, and kiss me you idiot!". You cut him off, grabbing his shirt in your fist and pulling him towards you, the distance mere centimeters at this point.

Beomgyu had been trying to do this for atleast 3 months, He wasn't going to say no now. So he met you half way, hands finding their place on your waist as your lips pressed together so desperately. It was pure lust, pure desire, you wanted him just as badly as he wanted you. He was driving you crazy each day, but you were too stubborn to say yes, it was just too fun making him work for it. But now, lord, now you have him.

Your hands slid into his long hair, tugging gently on his locks and feeling him groan into the kiss. His hands slowly climbed from your hips under your top, your bare skin burning under his touch. The way he felt against you was more than you could’ve ever asked for, it was electric, like he was the one for you. Nobody has ever made you feel the way Beomgyu does.

He begun walking you backwards, hands running higher under your shirt until he got to your chest. Your back slammed into the bookshelf and Beomgyu chuckled as a book fell off “gonna have to clean that up pretty girl~”.

You ran one hand from Beomgyu’s hair down his chest and to his belt as you spoke “mhmm~ gonna have to clean you up aswell”.

Beomgyu had never had someone come back at him with the energy he was giving, but he loved it. He couldn’t wait to rip that energy out of you by fucking you dumb. He’d make you the perfect little toy tonight. “Dream on sweetheart” he chuckled, head falling to your neck to kiss messy marks down your soft supple skin.

His fingers rolled your nipples between his fingers, pulling moans from you as you tried to undo his belt. You were pathetic, not even being able to undo his belt, it was almost cute. Beomgyu released one of your boobs and pushed his hand under your small skirt, hand landing between your legs on your clothed cunt.

“I’m gonna make such a mess of you, right here where you work-“ he chuckled against your neck, sucking a soft red mark into your skin right after. You gave up on Beomgyu’s belt as soon as he begun pushing your panties to the side to rub your clit. His fingers slid in between your folds collecting your desire and dragging it to your clit. He drew small circles on you, slowly but steadily, whilst his other hand continued to play with your tits. Small whimpers fell from your lips, so pathetic and so cute. Beomgyu loved it-

You body felt hot, and you needed him, needed to really feel him. “Gyu please, wan’ more”, you stuttered the words out over your whines. In return beomgyu smirked, a stupid cocky smirk. You loved it.

His hand falls from your tit and grabs your leg and holds it up at his waist so he can get to your pussy better. “You need more pretty girl? Then beg for me” he teased, stopping his ministrations on your cunt entirely.

You nearly sobbed at the loss of contact “please Gyu, please, I need you - I need more- I wanna cum” you babbled, hands gripping his shirt tightly, pulling him closer to you.

“As you wish then sweetheart” he smiled, leaning in to kiss your lips as his fingers slid to your dripping hole, squeezing around nothing at the thought of him. He thrusted his fingers into you, your tightness making it difficult for him to even move his fingers, and god he became desperate for you. Couldn’t wait to feel that tight little pussy wrapped around him, you’d make him feel so good.

He set a pace with his fingers, brutally bringing you closer and closer to a high as moans ripped from you. He looked at your face and wondered what you’d look like when you came, would you be as beautiful as normal- or better? Flushed a pretty pink, lips swollen, sweat dripping… god he’d want you all over again. Or would you look better if he denied you of your orgasm? Eyes wide in shock as you looked at him and begun begging, pushing yourself onto him more. Ahhh- he couldn’t decide.

You clenched around him and he chuckled at you “wanna cum sweetheart? Wanna cum on my fingers?” He teased you. You nodded aggressively at his words, and gripped his shoulders tightly, trying to keep yourself balanced. “Gyu please- gonna cum- please-“ you begged subconsciously, not even aware of the words falling from your lips.

Only a few more thrusts of his fingers and you had cum all over then. Wetness dripping down your thighs, body twitching as he continued to fuck you through it, head thrown against the bookcase as you tried to catch your breath.

You looked perfect- and he couldn’t wait to make you do that all over again on his cock.

#txt #txt x reader #txt drabbles #txt imagines #txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts #txt smut #txt scenarios #beomgyu drabbles #beomgyu x reader #beomgyu imagines #beomgyu scenarios #txt beomgyu #beomgyu #beomgyu smut #beomgyu hard thoughts #beomgyu hard hours #txt thoughts #Yo-Yo writes 🌷 #Yo-Yo’s hard hours 🥀 #Beomgyu list 🐻

[jungkookschin]

operation true love!

thirteen: y/n and heeseung's death 😄 (maybe)

prev/next

*reading this chapter is crucial in understanding the plot for the rest of the story*

Since when did a celebrity go to your school? Heeseung's walking towards you, and everyone is acting like he's walking down the red carpet.

The thing is, Heeseung looks as nonchalant ever: clad in ripped jeans, an oversized black tee, socks and slides, with his backpack lazily slung over a single shoulder. Heeseung doesn't even have the courtesy to look up from his phone as he nonsensically approaches you.

He doesn't look at anyone but everyone is looking at him.

His mere presence parts the crowd of students as people cluster around him to avoid getting in his way- as if the mere thought of inconveniencing him was the worst thing in the world.

Heeseung was just on a different level- and as much as you hate socially constructed concepts like popularity, Heeseung amazingly drew the attention of everyone he walked past.

He finally looks up from his phone when he stops at the bench you're sitting on. "Hey Y/N," he greets with casual indifference- the bored expression on his face obviously indicative that he wants to get this interaction over with.

He lazily shuffles through the unorganized binders, notebooks, and folders in his backpack before he fishes out a sealed envelope. He hands it to you, giving you quite the judgemental expression when all you do is owlishly blink at him.

You shake your head, snapping out of your trance. "Sorry- I don't mean to be weird. I've just heard of you a lot from Jungwon. He-he was devastated after he learned he wouldn't be playing with you- um- anymore," you explain, even though he didn't ask for an explanation.

A smirk creeps onto his face as he eyes you.

"I know you too, Y/N. I actually started watching Blue Lock because Jungwon mentioned that you liked it during practice."

"Jungwon talks about me?"

"He did when we played together, but I haven't spoken to him in months so I wouldn't know." He shrugs his shoulders and you decide that you don't want to cross his boundaries so you press your lips into a tight line and nod.

You hand him your own envelope with the payment for the Nagi photocard and he gladly snatches it from your grasp. Opening the envelope, he shuffles through the cash. It's exactly what he expects: four 100's and one 50.

But he quickly notices one more thing hidden in the envelope. He pulls out a decorated toploader from the envelope, neatly decorated with soccer stickers and cutouts from the Blue Lock manga.

He gives you a skeptical look, but you don't even notice because you're too busy admiring the Nagi photocard. Heeseung holds back laughter at the way your eyes are practically sparkling at a literal piece of paper.

"What's this Y/N?" he asks, pulling you from your trance.

You blink at Heeseung, who is holding the toploader with two fingers.

"Oh, it's a toploader. I thought we could be friends since we both like Blue Lock- but if you don't want it it's fine," you respond.

You're met with silence.

He stares at the toploader, eye twitching before he trains his pupils on you, then the toploader, then you again. He seems like he's having some internal battle before he gives in with a groan.

“Fuck,” he sputters out, tossing the envelope onto your lap. “Just take the photocard for free. I'll take the toploader as payment."

He plops down on the vacant spot next to you, groaning again as he pulls out his phone and scrolls through his twitter feed.

"Wait what? I thought this was an expensive photocard."

Heeseung scoffs. "It is. But I got it for free at the pop up event. I don't even collect photocards so you can have it- I just wanted some extra cash."

You hesitate, deciding not to pry any further. "Thanks Heeseung. That was really nice of you," you smile at him and he looks from his phone to you.

He returns the smile. "You're welcome Y/N."

-

So that's how you ended up sitting next to Heeseung at the assembly. You awkwardly fidget besides him, hugging your backpack to your chest while Heeseung looks as indifferent as ever.

He doesn't even seem to be impacted by the fact that everyone is literally staring at him and whispering about how handsome he is.

"If you don't want to be here, I can give you a rundown of what happened," you whisper. Heeseung looks at you with a small frown on his lips.

"Why would I want to leave?"

A blush creeps onto your cheeks. "Well- people are talking about you so I thought you might be uncomfortable," you quickly respond.

"Oh." Heeseung looks around the auditorium. "It's fine. I'm used to it," he shrugs.

"Oh okay-"

"Welcome business students of HYBE University!" a voice booms from the speakers, and a man with blonde hair makes his grand entrance onto the stage.

You uncomfortably shift in your seat, redirecting your focus towards the man gallivanting on the stage. Heeseung similarly turns from you and onto the man.

The man is.. quite the figure to say the least. He's parading around on stage in a bright green suit, golden shoes, and a bright red bowtie.

"I'm a representative from Marang Entertainment! And I'm here to offer you..." he points his index finger towards the audience, but for some reason you feel like he's pointing directly at you and Heeseung. Heeseung feels the same, because he nudges you with his elbow and gives you a skeptical glance.

"...a business opportunity!" he finishes, throwing his hands up into the air.

You clutch onto your backpack even tighter.

"I haven't done my research, but I know for a fact that each and every student here knows of Marang Entertainment. We're home to the world's biggest stars: BTS, Blackpink, Enhypen, Justin Bieber- any singer you like? They're under our brand," he continues.

"But today, I'm here to reveal why Marang's artists are so successful!" he exclaims, jumping up and down on the stage.

"Marang Entertainment uses the most advanced, state of the art, and exclusive technology: the quantitative love meter!"

Pointing to the powerpoint slide, he continues to explain. "The quantitative love meter tells us how many love points you have. You can acquire a love point if you've made someone's heart flutter, made someone shy, made someone jealous, or made someone fall for you! Basically, any form of love given to you will boost your love meter by one point!"

He pauses and moves on to the next slide. "The number on the left tells us how many times that has happened during your life span, and the number on the right tells us the potential of love points you will ever receive!"

"Let's analyze one of Marang Entertainment's biggest stars: Jeon Jungkook. The amount of love points Jungkook has received in his life is around 3 and a half billion. However, Jungkook has the potential to receive 100 billion love points in his life! This is why Marang entertainment quickly acquired him as a talent and debuted him in BTS!"

In awe of the presentation in front of you, you don't even realize that Heeseung is aggressively shaking your arm. "Y/N, Y/N.. Y/N! Why the fuck are we the only ones in the auditorium?" Heeseung whisper shouts into your ear.

As if your body is frozen, only your eyes can scan the auditorium and your heart nearly stops in your chest when you realize that you and Heeseung are the only ones left in the auditorium.

Panic erupts into your system, and Heeseung grabs onto your clammy hands, forcing you up. "Let's get the fuck out of here," he urgently expresses, and you gulp, following his lead.

"Heeseung? Y/N? Why are we leaving the party so early?" And just like that, the man appears right in front of you, as if he teleported from the stage and into the audience.

The man scoffs, weaving a hand through his hair. "If you don't want to listen to the presentation, then let's get straight to the point," he spits out.

He snaps his fingers, and suddenly, you and Heeseung are magically strapped back into your seats.

"What the fuck?-"

"Lee Heeseung. Within the entirety of Marang Entertainment history, you have the highest love meter score in the world."

Heeseungs jolts in his seat, trying to escape, but he can't. He's chained onto the seat by whatever spell that man put onto him. "And Y/N, you have the lowest love meter score in history. Ze-ro," the man makes the point to enunicate, making a zero with his hand as he mocks you with his sadistic smirk.

You're horrified. Your heart drops in your chest and you're sweating profusely. You don't even realize that you're crying until the lubricant of your tears hits your palms that are glued together on your lap.

"I'm here to strike a deal with you two," the man exclaims cockily as he grins at you. "Heeseung. Join Marang Entertainment-"

"I said that I wouldn't," Heeseung seethes menacingly, "you've had people stalking me for months and I've already said no!"

"Would you do it to save Y/N's life?" the man responds with a cocky tilt of his head.

Your breath hitches in your throat. What?

"I've come to HYBE University to give you an ultimatum." He strolls around the room casually, as if he didn't just mention your potential death.

"We will kill Y/N if you don't join Marang Entertainment, Heeseung. Y/N, if you can raise your love meter, then Heeseung won't have to join us."

Your body begins to shake violently at his postulation. "If neither happens within the next month, then you both will die."

And the next time you blink, you're suddenly at the top of a skyscraper. The man smirks at you before he pushes you off the building, and the second you hit the floor you open your eyes again and you're back in the auditorium.

He hands Heeseung his business card and snaps his fingers.

With the snap of his fingers, the auditorium has returned to its original form. The students are back in auditorium, as if nothing had ever happened. You recognize your fellow classmates fighting to stay awake as the dean of the business school drones on about credits.

You whip your head to Heeseung, who looks as distraught as you are. He's holding onto his backpack, wheezing as his pupils fill with terror.

His eyes meet yours, and he quickly laces his fingers through yours, dragging you out of the auditorium.

"Let's get the fuck out of here."

And as you're mindlessly letting Heeseung lead you away, another realization hits you.

This means that Jake never liked you.

taglist: @curly-fr13s , @viagumi , @gyurtl  , @haechansbbg  , @vexstrils , @flamiricky , @lomzy5 , @loves0ft , @ilymarkchan , @paragonofroyalty , @whippedforbeomgyu ,  @duolingofanaccount , @rikizm

#🌷operation true love🌷 #enhypen smau #enha scenarios #enhypen social media au #enha imagines #enha smau #jake sim smau #jake sim scenarios #jake social media au #jake scenarios #heeseung x yn #heeseung scenarios #heeseung social media au #heeseung fanfic #heeseung smau

[117luv]

THE PARENT TRAP — LHS | CHAPTER 18

synopsis: jungwon and ni-ki met each other at a summer camp and found out they were fraternal twins. this leads to events where the two ex-lovers, heeseung and yn, are reunited after 14 years by their children.

genre: exes to lovers, smau, fluff

pairing: lee heeseung x fem!reader

warnings: cursing, poor attempts in humor, grammatical errors, marriage, pregnancy, parenthood, miscommunication

taglist: CLOSED!

a/n: 2024 is here and i cant believe how time flies so fast. also cant believe i didnt follow my sched for finishing the smau before 2023 ends but writers block and finals slowed me badly but im back and this time around, i will be finishing the smau this month. although im not to sure about the bonus chapters but will try to make one, ne ways i love every single one of you and i hope this year brings you all the best.

masterlist | previous | next

Heeseung had been preparing the proposal for months. He wanted everything to be perfect and prepared everything, from the ring to the location. He felt a rush of nervousness as he prepared the remaining things. He is remarrying the woman he loved for many years, and this time they can be together without any hindrance. He wanted the memories made with her to be nothing but full of happiness.

The boys were in charge of making sure that their mom arrived at the venue without raising any suspicion. They asked their mom to drop them off at a place where they would meet their friends, which was a lie to get her to the location. The boys alerted their dad in regards to their upcoming arrival. The moment they arrived at the venue, they made their mom walk with them until she reached a pathway.

"Follow the flowers," written on the sign in front of her, left her confused looking at her sons, but they persuaded her to just follow the sign. She was hesitant at first, but eventually followed through. As she reached the end, classical music started playing in the background. Heeseung was holding a bouquet of flowers as she walked towards him. "What is this all for?" she asked while he gave her the flowers. "My way of showing you the love that you deserve after all these years," he said as he started to kneel in front of her. "I know our time together in the beginning was rough. It has been nothing but pain and sadness after those events, but I know that was the only way at that time for the boys. But this time around, I wanted to be with you for a lifetime, and I will do everything to keep you and the boys by my side. Yn, will you marry me?" while pulling a ring box in his pocket. She quickly hugged him and uttered multiple "yes" as she grabbed his face to kiss him. He was startled for a moment, but he returned the kiss. She couldn't ask for more, and she wishes to stay like this for a long time.

After almost a year of preparation, the wedding day is finally approaching. It was a day before the wedding, and everyone was preparing for the big day. Everyone is excited, but much more so for the bride and groom. She had invited her father and brother to the wedding, while her father was hesitant to join due to their past. She wanted him to be the one to walk her down the aisle, and he was happy to do so. Sunghoon volunteered to be the ring bearer, despite her thinking he was joking at first.

The big day had come, and everyone was busy preparing for it. As she finished up her touch-ups, she walked to the door where her dad and brother were waiting. Her father saw her in the dress and couldn't help but tear up while complimenting her. Sunghoon hugged her as he wished for her to finally have the life she deserved after all these years. Now, it's time to walk down the aisle and finally meet the groom. As she walked alongside her father, Heeseung couldn't control his tears as he watched her father pass her to him. The ceremony went by, and they kissed. It was a day to cherish for years to come, and they finally got their well-deserved happiness.

taglist [CLOSED] : @yangwaa @emikisses @yohanabanana @arizejkt19 @skuwu-blog @beatr2x @svarcq @softiehee @enhastolemyheart @deobitifull @emxshu @bucketofhiros @lost-leopard-beanie @soobin-my-beloved @azurez @flwrshee @beomgyusonlywife @lalalalawon @yanagisprettygf @astrae4 @myjaeyunn @sesame-street-lol @yumilovesloona @omgjwon @yoonjunshi @wannatinyus @yeahhemmings- @coupscheri @neozon3nha @mevalemadrws @wonyoungsvirus @ilvsoup @dneltrise @chirokookie @noascats @sxftiell @onionzzzs @nokacchan @i-yeseo @02zluvbot @iamliacamila @en-happiness @nicholasluvbot @ilovewonyo @ddazed-lhs @enhaz1 @tobiosbbyghorl @youmenotyummy @minhoie @beoms-sugar

#the parent trap — lhs 🌷 #enhypen #heeseung x reader #jake x reader #enhypen x reader #jay x reader #sunghoon x reader #jungwon x reader #sunoo x reader #ni-ki x reader #enhypen imagines #enhypen fluff #enhypen headcanons #enhypen au #enhypen smau #enhypen scenarios #enhypen masterlist #heeseung imagines #heeseung fluff #heeseung headcanons #heeseung au #heeseung smau #enhypen social media au

[jeongin-lvr]

Can I pls request dry humping with subby felix 🫶🏻

ᵎ　🍶　⊹ play thing, l. felix

✧ 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀！𝗌𝗎𝖻！𝖿𝖾𝗅𝗂𝗑， 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖻𝖾𝗇𝖾𝖿𝗂𝗍𝗌，𝗁𝖾’𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝗈 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽𝗒 𝗂𝗍’𝗌 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗆𝖾 𝖿𝖾𝗋𝖺𝗅， 𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗎𝗆𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗉𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝗅𝗈𝗅， 𝗂𝗆𝗉𝗅𝗂𝖾𝖽 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾． 𝗎𝗇𝖾𝖽𝗂𝗍𝖾𝖽 ＆ 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖻𝖺𝖻𝗅𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗋𝗍𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖨’𝗏𝖾 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗇 𝗈𝗇 𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾.

[ 2096 words ] ✩ [ do not repost ] ✩ [ 𝗆．𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍 ]

𝗙𝗘𝗟𝗜𝗫 couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. Not with you wearing such a revealing top like that. Cleavage peaking through the square necked top just right, giving him that divine look at those two mounds perfectly perched at your chest. Paired with the silver glitter of your necklace that shimmered and jingled with every movement. Not with your skirt perfectly hugging your curvaceous hips so nicely.

Felix couldn’t keep his mouth from watering. His dick twitching behind the fabric prison in his pants. That ache for release already pining through his body and fluttering around like a lost butterfly. Minute by minutes overtaken by the sheer want he felt.

“Lix, did you hear what I said?” I interrupted his thoughts, watching as his brownie batter eyes lit aglow as if my words had given him new life.

“Eh, no. Sorry, was just… thinking,” Felix’s eyes wandered elsewhere, not on me. His eyes going past my head to the beige wall behind me.

I quirked a brow and shrugged, adjusting my focus to the TV playing to no one; clearly no one was interested in watching whatever random sitcom. I gazed back at Felix, looking at his slightly reddened cheeks, the way his eyes sparkled as he was off in his own mind. So round and wide, almost like he was a puppy. A delicate little thing.

His blonde hair ruffled back all prettily while his lips parted, saying something quietly. I couldn’t hear shit, so I just watched him mumble with flushed cheeks and puffy lips.

“Are you okay…?” I asked, poking his arm with a slight smile on my lips to loosen the mood.

Felix almost jolted, not a bit of electricity in his veins but rather the heat of want. Flushing into his system, his eyes refusing to meet mine in shame. For what, who knows. Felix scrunched his nose and chuckled in that deep vibrato that had my insides turning all mushy, my eyes watching him adjust uncomfortably underneath his own clothes. Sweat forming on his honey-kissed skin, freckles dancing like stars with every breathe he let slip.

The poor boy was breathing like an animal, shakily and with tiny whimpers in between every movement.

His pretty, porcelain hands attached to the front of his pants, grabbing the front of the fabric and a pillow beside him. I was unsure if he knew that I was looking at him, as his eyes were dead set on the motion-picture playing incredulously in the background. He looked transfixed, but not on that show. No, whatever going on in his mind had his hands clammy and his body reacting.

Then I watched him turn to me, those sweet eyes of his- the eyes that looked too pure for this world -they fell to my chest. Instantly without hesitation. As if my eyes had fallen over to my shirt.

Then just as quickly they snapped back to my face, and I could see that look of instant guilt. The malice unintentional but there. Yet, I didn’t feel grossed out or violated. Instead my heart throbbed and my eyes trailed over that glossy look in his eyes; so fucking pretty.

And now I know that the look of innocence was more of a front. This boy was far from it.

“N-not really-“ Felix mumbled, face growing crimson. Cheeks burning like lava with every little syllable, “I think I should go-“ and as he tried to stand I finally got that sweet confirmation of whatever was happening in his body. In his pants more specifically. The grey sweatpants he wore were tented, cock perched like a castle for all those nearby to see.

Preferably for me.

Instantaneously, his hands cupped said member, shame mixing with a spout of desire. Both equally as addicting to see in those buttery-soft eyes of his; diaphanous fabric of his soft sweatpants doing no justice to whatever was underneath them.

“Oh…”

“Shit, I’ll go. I’m sorry,” Felix ran a shameful hand over his face, dragging his hair along with it. The pairing of seeing his hair all messy, that little coat of sweat at the back of his neck so tempting to kiss, and, of course, the obvious boner in his pants was all so enlightening.

Now all those times I’d catch him staring at me, incongruous gaze drawing glances at me every chance he got, and almost always my eyes catching him in the act. When we’d be on FaceTime and he’d grow quiet, those little whines that slipped through the cracks of his volume. And the slight shake of the screen. No, I wasn’t fucking dumb. I knew what he was doing, what he was thinking. But now that this was happening right here and now, a sudden rush of cockiness winded through my veins. Twirling my heart and rolling through my cunt, suddenly eager to see what happens next.

“No, don’t.” The words left my lips faster than I could think. No way in hell was I letting this opportunity slip away.

Felix’s eyes widened, even more crimson dancing around his cheeks. Those pretty pink lips of his permanently pulled open in a surprised look to match the gloss in his eye.

“What?”

“Stay. I’ll help you… if you want.” I moved my body, hand finding the intense heat of his cock so perfectly malleable to mine. So hot and ready and slightly damp from the continuous amount of precum spilling from his body, just desperation. A groan slipped out of his mouth, then a whine. And now I’m addicted.

My hand palming him generously through his pants; the space between our bodies now none, but I don’t really remember how we got there.

Trembling hands traced over the barren, heating skin across my thighs. Freckle-kissed skin burning with lust, eyes glossed over as if he had nothing going on in his brain, nothing but neediness.

My thighs draped over his, caging him in with my hands and legs, easily overpowering the hypnotized male. When his eyes were marbled like that with the haze of desire painting over them, god, the sight was so pretty. Like an acrylic painting of a bronze sea. I needed to feel every bit of him, the warmth and glow enveloping me in such delight so easily. So simply. It wasn’t hard to find a steady rhythm.

“You wanna use me, baby?” I cooed in his ear, that sensual shiver followed by a deep, spine-rattling groan he gave me was enough confirmation. His raging boner already telling me the entire story; the things he wanted to do and say or have me do and say- he could taste them on his tongue deliciously.

It was almost presented to him in a palette of illustrious flavors.

“Y-yes, please.” Felix felt that slow friction from our bodies connecting, but I never gave him too much. I could see it in his eyes how desperate he was; if he wanted it he needed to tell me how badly.

His hands tightened on my waist, eyes appearing almost teary eyed though no touch was exchanged, “God, need it so bad.”

I hummed, propping both of my arms on his shoulders with a look of delight. His words making my mind swirl and my tummy flip in the best ways. Seeing someone unwind so easily underneath my touch, that was the icing on the cake. I licked my lips, gently brushing against his lower lip as I spoke with affirming intention in my voice.

“Use me, then.” I smiled peacefully, but even my own words felt so good to say.

“Can I? Really?” Felix asked so politely, squinting eyes dwindling in the light.

I nodded, enjoying the slight innocence in his eyes. The power such a beautiful thing held in those chocolate batter eyes. My lip caught between my teeth as he began to search my face, and for a brief intermission it was tense silence.

Then that sweet thing called friction. The rubbing of bodies and the delicious taste of slight relief.

God, it wasn’t enough.

Felix kept his grip on my hips hard, giving the illusion of control, but every time that effect angle was hit he would whimper shamelessly. His caramel eyes so dark and hazy with lust. Those petite hands of his only holding onto me for the sake of some grounding force; to feel tethered to the thing that was bringing him all the good feelings.

He could’ve sworn this was the best thing he’s ever felt. All those times he would have his dick in hand, all pretty and perked up with excitement, he’d imagine his hand was something else. His brain would wander, imagining a pretty cunt swallowing it whole while he unraveled so easily. And maybe his mind would wander to you. Okay, every single time his mind would wander to you. How could he not?

But now was so different. Felix wasn’t even close to penetration yet this was the best he’s ever felt. Ever.

His callous hands now confidently rubbed up down my body. Caressing and feeling every bit of skin he could. Eyes trained on my chest in particular, slowly letting his own hands fall between the cavity between my breasts, sucking in a painful breath.

I tilted my head down, admiring the way his gentle touch trembled against my skin. From the hungry way he was watching me, I knew he wanted to see more, so my hands pulled up at the hem of my top, exposing my chest to him.

The boy nearly choked, eyeing the mounds dutifully, never blinking away. I simply uttered a ‘touch me’ into his skin, taking his shaky hand into mine and letting him fondle me.

He began to groan at the feeling, meddling with the soft tissue of my tit with complete care and grace. Fingertips grazing at my perky nipples, earning little sounds from me, edging him on as his other hand worked dangerously quick on our bodies rubbing.

“F-fuck, ah, god, you feel so g-good,” Felix’s eyes fluttered across my face. Lips dangerously close to mine. I soaked in that pretty, fucked-out look on his face and decided to close the space between our faces. Kissing him so feverishly, with so much want embedded in the kiss. I kissed him until he was panting breathlessly into my lips. I swallowed those little whines and whimpers like they were water, I was dying of dehydration.

The raw touch of our bodies wasn’t enough for me but it clearly was enough for him. The way his face contorted and those gorgeously melodic moans filled the space around us. It was so clear he was close.

“Feel good?” I cooed, shaking a little as I bent to his ear. Sweat and drool pooled on his lips and chin, desperation in the way he quickly rutted his hips into mine.

“Mhm, so g-good,” Felix felt both in control and completely lost in the haze. He didn’t have any sense of what he was doing, self-awareness was gone. This new feeling was so damn pleasurable, “Might- god, I think-“

He dangerously rubbed our sexes together, then quickly unwinded. His pretty long hair falling in front of his eyes as they swept over that lost expression. Felix’s hands shaking along with his thighs. All of it was addicting to see, but the best part was his face all twisted; the way his nose wiggled with every breathe; how his eyes struggled to stay open; his star-streaked skin tanned with sweat.

He finished in his pants. The dampness of the blue jeans he wore darkened from his own cum. Wet and hot and everywhere.

“Did- did you cum in your pants?” I gawked down at where our bodies once collided. The spot was at least the size of my hand, and it seemed to easily seep through the thickness of the denim, even leaking onto my inner thighs.

“I’m sorry,” Felix said in slurred words, taking his hands off my hips and hiding his red face away from my eyes, “That’s so embarrassing.”

I smiled softly, admiring the way every bit of him trembled from both his orgasm and his cute embarrassment. I held his wrists, gently pulling them off his face with soft affirming words. My lips close to his again, trying my best to stay warm and soft for him.

“That was so hot,” I hummed, grazing his lower lip with my own, kissing the tip of his nose soon after.

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