You shouldn't get under Minho's skin when he's training, you know that. The hurried whispers of his teammates leaving the field after matches told you this much. But still, it feels a bit unfair of him to make you sit here, after a whole game, having to watch as he leads his team through a “just, like, thirty minutes?” practice. Although annoyed, you understand why he's so hung up on practicing as much as possible—winning this game meant going to the finals, after all. You knew how much this meant to Minho, so you tried your best to be patient whilst sitting on the bleachers.  

Even though you're in a bit of a hurry to get him home, watching Minho play earlier makes it hard to deny that the field is his element, leading the team is his calling. You were completely stunned as you watched your boyfriend play—this being the first game of his you saw which you were actually rooting for his team. It was a bit of a rascal when the team captain introduced the cheerleader of their rivalling team as his girlfriend, but his mates eventually got over it. 

Your relationship with Minho was fun. You were together for a couple months and the freshness and excitement of it all never failed to make your skin tingle each time he looked at you in a certain way. Like the look he's giving you right now—chin up, eyes down, head slightly tilted.  

“I told you to wait.” His uniform's shoulder pads make him look even more intimidating, the bright spotlights behind him turning the white material almost blinding—his shadow casting on you. 

“I have been waiting! It's been like an hour, Min! And you said you'd take thirty minutes…” You hope a slight pout would help your case and soften his heart, but he simply turns his focus to the field for a moment, before looking back at you. Minho takes a few steps closer.  

“What’re you so eager to go home for?” He asks, voice a bit quieter. There's no need to speak this lowly when he's so close, especially when his teammates are so far away and everyone else has gone home by now—but you'll take advantage of whatever you can get from him. Even if it's just the feeling of his eyes on you. 

You look away, arms crossing under your chest as he smirks.  

“What? Cat got your tongue so early on, baby? Speak up.” 

“I'll tell you when we get in the car.” 

His eyebrows furrow. “I don't wanna wait ‘til we get in the car.” 

“Well, then maybe you should hurry.” You turn around, eyes lingering on him for a moment before you make your way to the parking lot. 

Your nerves make you jump a little when you hear Minho shout to his team they're wrapping up the practice—the parking lot getting darker and darker with the distance you put between yourself and the field's spotlights, a cool breeze awakening shivers up your arms as the night hugged you tighter and tighter. You (and the butterflies on your stomach) wouldn't settle until you felt Minho's presence. But you don't wait for him to catch up to you. You don't look back. 

The few minutes you sit in the car feel like hours, your phone's screen lighting up with a notification from your boyfriend finally seizing the constant checkups of your hair and gloss. 

min🖤: locker room  

You: why  im waiting for u  in the car 

min🖤: locker room:)  im waiting  

You: ive been waiting for longer  what if i just dont go 

You slam the car door shut, making a bee line to his location. 

min🖤: if you dont come you wont get what you want when we get home 

You: whatever 

The building's back door shuts loudly behind you.  

min🖤:  if you dont come ur gonna have made me end practice for nothing  

You: idc  ur already mad anyway  

You reach the locker room and as soon as your hand turns the door handle, you feel two hands on your hips pressing your back to the cold metal. 

Minho's tongue is in your mouth before you can even notice he kissed you, the cold air seeping through the open windows contrasting his warm palms on your skin. You're covered in shivers as he controls the kiss—one palm running up your chest to your neck until he reaches the back of your head, tilting it as he pleases.  

“Not mad enough to use numbing cream on you.” The bottle sits menacingly on the wooden bench. He spreads your legs with his thigh, pressing against your core. “So don't push me.” 

You're completely helpless, hands grabbing fistfuls of his uniform as he lightly pulls the hair on your nape every now and again—his mouth latching desperately onto yours. The room is dark, the campus so empty it almost feels like you're in a different dimension, completely by yourselves. Air fills your lungs for the first time in a while—you didn't realize you were that breathless until gasps fill the room as he kisses your neck. 

“I didn't even do anything.” He leaves a harsh bite at your words, sucking on the bruise a moment after. “Ah- I just wanted to congratulate you for winning-” 

“If you wanted to congratulate me”, his voice drips with sarcasm, “you would've sat there and wait for me to finish practice.” Minho hastily pulls the front of your tank top above your chest, not bothering to fully strip you out of it before his hand reaches under your bra, massaging your breast. “You would've been patient until I had the time to bring my pretty little trophy home, hm?” 

Air hitches in your throat when he rips your bra open, the cloth falling to the floor. You struggle through heavy breathing to talk back as he licks his thumb and brings it to your nipple. “I'm not just some trophy.” 

“You're not? What are you, then?” His lips leave your neck so he can look you in the eye, finally allowing to rest for a bit. You don't like the distance. 

You lean your head forward, chasing his smirking lips as he pushes you back against the lockers—the shuffling metal sounds strident in the dead quiet. Minho tilts his head back a bit, rejecting your kiss. “You didn't answer me.” 

“Because I wanna fucking kiss you!” You whine through gritted teeth, leaning towards him one more time. 

The grip he has on your hair stops you once again, but this time, he gets so close his lips touch yours when he whispers. “Tell me what you are, baby. ‘Cause sometimes you act like you're just a desperate little hole for me to fill." 

Minho's dilated pupils stare right into your soul. Your eyes shake but you don't look away. “I'm your fucking girlfriend. It's not my fault you're not good enough of a fuck that I'm never satisfied.” 

You regret the words as soon as they leave your mouth.  

You see, Minho wasn't the type to growl his demands and manhandle you into whatever position he wants—he always tries reasoning with you. He lets you know what it is he would like to do, and if you don't comply, he'd show you why that was the best option for you in the first place. Minho gets off on proving he knows better, showing how he knows what's best for you. 

He takes a small step back, a click of his tongue letting you know his disappointment. “So I don't fuck you right? Okay.”  

“I just- I didn't mean-” 

“No, you're right, you're right. That's why I never make you come, right?” His sarcastic voice coming out a little bit breathless as he shoves your shorts and underwear down your legs, eyes fix on yours. You kick the clothes to the side with trembling legs, bambi eyes looking up at him. 

You didn't exactly know what the outcome of your stubbornness would be, but you did not expect Minho's knees to buckle—his gaze dead set on yours as he reached the ground.  

Suddenly, your boyfriend grabs your hand and latches it to the hair on the back of his head.  

“Why don't you fucking teach me then?” He speaks through gritted teeth, throwing your right leg over his shoulder pad—the unusual angle giving him all the access he needed and leaving you much more exposed.  

Unhappy with how limp your hand stayed in his hair, Minho grabs it once more, pushing himself against your core. 

“Come on, baby.” He mumbles, leaving wet kisses over your outer labia. When he looks up, resting his chin on the skin under your bellybutton, the dim light coming from the window makes his profile glow blue—pearly white grin hypnotizing you. Minho looked like an incubus—eager to suck the life out of you. “Where's your attitude, hmm? Show me what you like.” 

You can see your bare chest heaving with each breath as you look down at him. “Fin... Fingers?” 

He tilts his head to the side, big eyes full of mischief. “Fingers? You're asking?” 

“I… I don't-” 

“You don't know? Of course you do. You're just not thinking straight. Maybe it's stress, right? ‘Cause I'm not good enough?” Without a warning, the tip of his tongue lightly zigzags up and down your pussy. Up, and down again—avoiding your clit each time.  

“You see,” he says, letting his saliva mix with your arousal, “if I use my fingers now, you'll come too fast.” Minho leaves a long peck on your core. “I know that's what you want, but what about dragging it out a little bit? I think you'd like it better.” He flattens his tongue and your body squirms as he licks up. “But I mean, I wouldn't know.” 

Minho's being painfully annoying, but you deserve it. He takes his time dragging his tongue through your core, lapping your arousal and smearing it on your cunt—making your legs shake every now and again. His right hand keeps your squirming hips still as the left one slowly caresses it's way up your body, until he reaches your chest.  

He's looking up at you the entire time, watching every single twitch and reaction to the flow of his tongue on you. When he finally latches onto your clit, you swear you lose your mind a little. Your hips stutter and he follows you promptly, big brown eyes burning through you. The sight of Minho on his knees being illuminated by the moonlight is so ethereal it's almost haunting, and at that moment, you know you'll never really forget this view—you'll never forget how he's making you feel. He really is like a incubus in a way, imprinting his mark on the back of your mind forever. 

Impulsiveness takes over and you force your hips forward, the hand in the back of your boyfriend's head thrusting him against your cunt. Minho's eyes turn impossibly darker, his smirk much more noticeable than before. When he closes his eyes and his eyebrows furrow, you already know you're gone—instincts making you hold onto his locks harsher than ever. 

The soft sucking turns progressively rougher, your eyes squeeze shut as his tongue draws figure-eights on your clit very softly in contrast to how quickly his lips are working the same nerve. 

When your eyes start to water from how overwhelmed you feel, the telltale begins. As soon as your body starts shaking and your hips squirm away from his hold, you open your eyes to look at him just in time to watch as he completely removes himself off of you.  

Your heart drops, hot tears running down your shamed cheeks as you wobble a bit, trying to find balance without his hands on your hips. 

“Fuck, can you even feel anything, baby?” You feel the ghost of gentle fingertips on your labia, following up and down the slit. 

You can tell through your watery eyesight and the poor-lit room that he's now paying attention to the way his fingers play with your cunt, smirk wiped clean off his voice as he watches your arousal coat his fingers. “If I try something like this-” He gently pushes his ring and middle fingers inside you, slowly curling the tip of his fingers in come-hither motion, low voice filling up the emptiness, “does it feel good?” 

Does it feel good? You're long, long gone. Minho's voice sounds like it's coming from inside your head, the stimulation feels like it reflects in white orbits in your vision. You can no longer force yourself to open your eyes—it's for the better, anyway. You'd probably pass out if you caught a glimpse of his pretty brown eyes by now.  

Does it feel good? You don't remember how you got yourself in this situation—you don't even have the brain power to form a phrase involving anything but religious chants of his name. You've become nothing but a warm body for Minho to touch and use as he pleases, you'd be satisfied with the smallest of touch he'd be kind enough to reach for.  

His pouty lips find your clit again and suddenly, fireworks start setting off in your insides way too fast. Your stomach muscles contract in a way that's entirely new for you and you feel like you'll fall to the floor if he doesn't support all your weight. Your start to feel your throat straining, the constant whining suddenly getting higher. Your eyes are shut so tightly you can see blobs of colour behind your pitch-black eyelids. You think you're out of it for a little bit, but you can still hear his voice. 

“Yeah, I don't think I'm doing it right.” The raspiness of his tone almost puts you to sleep—his fingers are still inside you, now pumping back and forth, very slowly. You can hear the embarrassingly loud gushing sound of his fingers moving inside you, and you open your eyes to find your boyfriend's face and chest covered in your arousal. 

“I, I-” You don't know exactly what you have to say, but his loving eyes and the kiss he pressed to your thigh were not helping you find it out. 

“You ruined my fucking jersey.” His lopsided smile makes your breath hitch. 

“Need you.” 

He tilts his head again. “Do you? Really?” 

Your head is heavy as you nod, and you try your best to not lose focus. You know what he needs to hear to finally drop the act, and you know you should give in before your body gives out completely, but there's a little twisted voice inside your head asking how far you can take this—your body seems to be addicted to the thrill, moans immediately spilling out your lips when his fingers pick up pace. 

“You're not satisfied?” He asks, voice sugary sweet. His pouty lips pepper quick pecks on your inner thigh, expectant eyes looking up at you. “I’m not sure I can help you, though. I mean, if it doesn’t feel good it’ll just get painful at some point.” 

You stutter your words through a strained voice. “I’ll let you know if it does.” It takes your entire being to attempt to sound demanding. “We can keep going for now.” 

An amused countenance takes over his sharp features. “Oh, we can? Alright, ma’am. Thank you so much for letting me know.” He stands up, and the sudden shift in atmosphere rising goosebumps on your skin as he now looks down on you. 

Minho stands tall before you, the lighting no longer illuminating his doll-like eyes—shadows now cover most of his face, long hair hiding his gaze. As if he can hear your heartbeat picking up pace, he gets close to whisper against your lips, eyes hazy as he looks down at you. “I think we gotta stretch you out a bit more, hmm? If it didn't feel good, you're probably still tight.” 

Good God, you hate this man. You know what he’s trying to get out of you—you’re just not sure if you want to give him the satisfaction yet.  

So, you look up at him with the sweetest eyes you can possibly muster. “Don’t worry, bunny. You’re not that big.” 

He stares at you for a few seconds, the smile on his lips doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Bench. On your back.” 

Although it seems you’ve worn his patience thin, you stare back. The cogs in your brain working their full capacity trying to figure out a way to make his life a bit harder. A disappointed sigh leaves his lips as he walks towards his locker, looking for his stuff to leave. 

As always, his action is effective. Minho really doesn’t need much to convince you to give in, after all, you know what you’ll get when you do. 

Silence fills the room as you discard your shirt all the way and lay on the bench, legs bent at the knees, heels resting on the cool surface. Anxiety bubbles under your sensitive skin when you hear Minho taking off his clothes. You rest you weight on your elbows to watch—his jersey was gone when you got to look at him, shoulder pads following suit. 

“What made you change your mind?” He opted to leave his white tank top on as he unbuckles his belt, one knee—supported by the bench—between your legs. The moonlight now shining entirely on him.  

“Don't like the emptiness…” Your voice trails off, and you don't mind staring shamelessly as he puts on a little show for you—one hand on your knee and running down your thigh, the other stroking his cock.  

He scoffs, “You say shit like this but doesn't like it when I say you act like a hole.” He taps his tip on your clit, earning a loud whine from you. “Make up your mind, bunny.” 

Minho stays kneeled before you, the cloth of his tank top so thin you could make out the lines of his chest and abs—the muscles on his pale arms shining iridescent in the lighting. 

Your boyfriend moved his hips, slowly grinding over your slit. Your eyes roll to the back of your head without much resistance, mouth watering with each nudge of his tip to your clit. “Whatever you said about me not being too big…” He leans down to leave a quick peck on your lips. “Keep that in mind.” 

With absolutely no warning and much faster than your brain would've been able to process, Minho buries himself as deep as he possibly can inside of you. He lifts your hips off the bench with ease, sitting on his heels—his hold on you so tight you bounced back against him with each thrust of his.  

The stamina of the man above you is unfaltering. You can't do much besides watch him: his biceps flex to support the weight of your hips every time he slams you back on his cock, veins prominent on his arms. Minho's face and neck are covered in the prettiest shade of pink—his wide chest, blushed with the same colour, is struggling with each breath he takes. The moonlight highlights the droplets of sweat sliding down his neck, and he can't seem to decide whether he wants to throw his head back or look down at where your hips align. 

Keeping himself together is the hardest when Minho looks down at you. He got his pretty girl all splayed out for him; her eyebrows furrowed in utter pleasure as the whiniest sounds constantly pour out of her pouty lips. The way your body reacts to him is hypnotic—it's so fun for him, how every little thing he does makes your eyes roll back. The power trip he gets when he watches your skin shiver wherever his hands touch is better than anything he's ever experienced. All because it's you. Because he gets you to feel like this. The fact you're so drunk on Minho gets him even more addicted to the feeling of your body shaking under him. So when your hips suddenly spring back to life rolling desperately against his and Minho's name seems to be the only coherent thought your brain can formulate, his desire increases tenfold. 

You have no control over how loud your moans or the smack of Minho's hips against yours are. He lowers you back on the bench and is fully above you in the blink of an eye—holding your face as he kisses you so deeply you struggle to keep up. His thrust become less timed but continue as deep as they were. Minho throws his head back, moaning loudly, but quickly brings his gaze back to your lips. His eyebrows are furrowed, lips touching yours as he whispers. 

“Come on, baby. You know how much I love to feel you coming around me. Be good.” 

Be good, be good. Of course you want to be good. When his lips touch yours again, euphoria explodes inside of you. Your eyes being squeezed shut seem to enhance your other senses a bit—you feel every inch of Minho's cock grinding inside you, his hands burning hot where they touch, his loud moans and the wetness spattering between your legs being the only things crystal clear in your cloudy mind.  

“Holy shit, fuck. I'm close, I'm so close.” He pants, face buried in your neck.  

Your weak hands gently soothe his back, you mindlessly mumble your words, “Wanna feel you coming inside me, love. Want it so bad.” 

His strong arms wrap around your waist when he comes, cock buried deep inside of you. Minho shudders with each movement of your hands against his skin, as you now gently scratch his back under his tank top. It feels like a long time has passed until he breaks the silence. 

"Not if you shut up."

He tightens his grip on your hair, gathering it in a makeshift ponytail at the base of your neck.

"That's not fair," you hiss, but the tail end of your sentence breaks off in a moan as his fingers curl upwards inside you. "—Oh, right there."

"Yeah?" Minho mutters, and the rasp of his voice—calm and collected and outlined with just the tiniest bit of ego—is so hot you can't stop yourself from clenching around his fingers.

"And what's not fair, exactly?"

The answer to that question is so easy it is laughable. The words are on the tip of your tongue, ready to spill over: it's not fair that you are so weak for him. That just one look melts you into a puddle, that just one touch sets you alight.

It's not fair that you can't resist him no matter how hard you try (and oh, have you tried.)

Instead, your response is only one word.

"You."

The single syllable slips from your lips right as Minho lays an open mouthed kiss on your pulse point, tugging your hair to the side and baring your neck to him for better access.

His mouth is wet and hot and he flicks his tongue out against your neck. You bite your lip and inhale but remain silent otherwise.

A moment later, he licks a long stripe down your feverish skin in retaliation.

"Really?" Minho raises a brow, his words vibrating against the curve of your throat. "Should I stop, then?"

Inside of you, his fingers come to a painful halt. The loss of movement is visceral, but you are determined to make sure he doesn't know just how frustrated you are, and so you bite your lip hard to remain silent.

"Doesn't matter to me," you say breathlessly.

If this had been a few weeks ago, you probably would have already been begging him to fuck you however he wanted to. If this had been a few weeks ago, your mind would have been blank and your senses would have been overloaded.

But it's not. By now, you've hooked up with Minho countless times—by now, you are in so deep that you aren't willing to (can't) let him know just how much of an effect he has on you.

And so, resolutely, you remain silent.

Still...

You can just imagine how the two of you look right now. Minho, pressing you against the wall in this dark corridor, his body flush against you, his fingers inside you, his mouth against your neck.

Your hands are clinging to his shoulders, your skirt is flipped up, and your skin is so flushed from pleasure and pain both that you think you might pass out soon if he doesn't hurry up.

It's lewd, the way that the image only makes the whole thing hotter. Especially when you weren't supposed to end up like this in the first place.

Downstairs, you can hear the muffled thump of some awful EDM music from the party below. You are supposed to be down there. Today was supposed to be the day when you—finally—were able to think with your head instead of your pussy and actually, truly, be strong enough to resist Lee Minho.

But then he walked into the party with his mischievous smirk and those sinfully tight vinyl pants that he knows you love, and, well... You were a goner.

You didn't even try to resist when, a few hours later, he grabbed you by the wrist and dragged you up the stairs. Not when he pushed you up against the wall and pressed his lips against yours, and definitely not when he hiked your skirt up and slid two fingers inside of you.

It was pathetic, how easily Minho could get you to fold. His hold over you was rapturous, and frankly, rather worrying, considering that the two of you were nothing more than friends that fucked sometimes.

"Doesn't matter?" Minho asks. The look on his face is a familiar one, and the competitive gleam sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine.

The two fingers inside of you remain frozen, but then he lifts his thumb and without warning, presses hard on your clit.

"Oh."

You are unable to stop the breathy moan that slips past your lips, and the satisfied curve of his mouth lets you know that he definitely heard it.

"Hmmm," he muses, and then his fingers are moving once again. His thumb remains on your clit, rubbing tight and precise circles until you see you stars.

Despite your best efforts, your breathing stutters, coming out faster and deeper as pleasure branches outwards through your body.

"I think it does," Minho breathes in your ear.

"No-oh," you shake your head.

His smirk widens as your eyes begin to droop. You don't even have to know what you look like to know you look absolutely fucked out right now—but the longer he continues his skillful ministrations, the less you find yourself caring about standing your ground.

He is just so good with his hands. He smells perfect and feels perfect and is perfect, and the closer he brings you to your orgasm, the less it seems to matter that you have feelings for the man knuckles deep inside of you.

"Are you gonna cum for me, baby?" He asks, and the goading curve of his voice makes the words sound like a taunt, like a challenge.

Stubbornly, you refuse to submit.

"M-maybe," you breathe out.

By now, you are gripping his forearms for support, and his hand in your hair drops to your waist, pulling you even closer to you while simultaneously supporting some of your weight. Underneath you, his fingers continue to work you open with precision that has your thighs quavering.

"And what if I don't want you to cum?" Minho meets your unwavering gaze with his own, moving his thumb quicker against your clit still.

The words are a cruel suggestion, and yet accompanied with the heated look in his eyes, they send a shot of arousal straight to your core. You clench around his fingers once more, and he inhales sharply.

"I-I'll find someone else t-to help, then," you say, but the words hold no real threat. You and Minho both know that you would never, and yet his gaze still narrows at the thought.

"I don't think so," he coos, his dark eyes an unmistakable juxtaposition to his sweet tone.

And then his lips are on yours, devouring you in a messy kiss that is mostly tongue, but some teeth too. The passion in the kiss takes your breath away, and your brain short circuits as his fingers speed up, hooking upwards just right to brush against your spongy g-spot.

Simultaneously, his mouth trails down from the corner of your lips to the column of your neck, and the sensation overload is too much for you. This time, despite your best efforts, you can't stop the moan that slips past your lips.

"Who else can make you feel this good, hmm?" Minho asks, punctuating his words with a particularly vicious thrust of his fingers.

You can tell your high is cresting closer and closer, and the sheer pleasure makes it hard for you to find your words.

His teeth nip at your neck, sucking a deep purple bruise into your skin as the pad of his thumb continues to rub hard and fast against your clit.

"Answer me," Minho says lowly.

You shake your head instead, your teeth digging into your bottom lip as a whine builds in the back of your throat.

"I asked you a question, Y/N." His voice is dangerous, the threat clear when he digs his thumb unforgivingly against you.

"N-No one," you choke out, clenching around his fingers once more. "Only... O-only you."

"That's what I thought."

He is satisfied by your answer, if the movement of his fingers are anything to go off of.

"M-Minho," you pant, your eyelids sliding fully shut. "I-I—"

"Fuck," he groans under his breath, the wet sound of his fingers getting louder and louder.

"I'm s-so close," you whimper.

"I know, baby." His voice sounds strangled, and the thought of how hot he must look right now is the only thing that gives you the strength to open your eyes.

Minho's brow is furrowed in concentration, his face drawn taut as he continues to work his fingers in and out of you. The determination inscribed on his face is even hotter than you imagined it would be. Even outside of the bedroom, it is one of your favorite things about him.

The reminder of it now, however, makes this—a simple quickie at some random party—somehow feel that much more intimate, and it sends a weird pang through your chest.

"Come for me," he whispers then, his voice uncharacteristically soft as he looks up at you with his wide, blown-out brown eyes.

And that—that is what finally sends you over the edge.

"Mmph!" With a muffled whimper, your orgasm hits you, and Minho groans unabashedly at the clenching of your walls around him.

His fingers fuck you through your high, and the entire time, his eyes remain firmly on yours. The desire in his gaze is evident even through the haze of bliss, but there is an undercurrent of something more there, too—something that you don't quite pick up until the after effects of the orgasm have worn off and he is sliding his fingers out of you.

There is something tender about the way he sets you down gently, smoothing your skirt down and patting your hair until it looks less like he finger-fucked you in a dark hallway and more like he was trying to show you where the bathroom is.

But when you look up at him, his face is blank, and you are reminded once again that this isn't special, that he has probably done this countless times before. After all, Minho could have anyone he wanted—in fact, he probably has at some point.

The arrangement between the two of you is just convenient, and there isn't anything more to it. Not for him, anyways. In this equation, you are the sole outlier, the only actual problem.

"Can I..." Your voice trails off, hoarse and slightly awkward in the muffled silence of the hallway.

Your eyes are glued to Minho, watching as he adjusts himself in his pants.

"Can I help you with that?"

You already know the answer before he says it.

"Nah, 'm good," he says easily, a loose smirk on his lips as he runs a hand through his hair. If it wasn't for his blown-out pupils, you would have thought that you didn't affect him at all.

Still, your heart drops to the bottom of your stomach anyways.

His words echo inside your head, and you're sure that he must have figured out the way you feel about him. When you first started sleeping together, Minho had been obsessed with your mouth. Nothing quite got him off the way that you, on your knees in front of him did.

But recently, he has been staunchly rejecting your advances, and you can't think of an answer for why, except one: that he must know that you are in love with him, and he doesn't quite know how to let you down easy.

And, despite how much the thought hurts, you can't quite blame him for it. After all, when you both started this whole thing months ago—on a night with a few too many shots and a scandalously tight dress—the terms had been clear: that this was just sex, nothing more.

You and Minho had never been particularly close; in fact, before you started fucking, you were barely friends. You just happened to run in the same circles, and your best friends somehow ended up also being his best friends.

That is exactly why, after the first time you slept together, the first thing you agreed on was that things would end the moment feelings got involved. Anything that compromised your mutual friendships wasn't worth it, you both concluded.

Except, somehow, feelings got involved for you anyways, and you didn't do anything to stop it.

Which is why, after all this time of shoving down how you feel about Minho, you are left with only one choice.

"Minho," you say quietly after a moment. "I think we should stop doing this."

He pauses where he is straightening out his shirt, his hands frozen in place on the hem of his top. A moment passes. Two.

Then he looks up at you, his expression painfully devoid of any emotion.

Here is the thing: Lee Minho has always been a mystery to you, impossible to read in most circumstances, and difficult to unravel in the rest. But throughout the past few months, you thought you were slowly worming your way past his hard exterior, maybe even learning the puzzle pieces that consist of the real him.

The impassive look on his face, however, tells you otherwise.

And then, finally, he opens his mouth and simply says, "okay."

It is just a single word. One straightforward, lonely word.

And yet, it feels like an arrow through your chest. Your reaction is physical, visceral, as goosebumps trail down your arms and the blood thrums viciously through your ears.

This is what you wanted. This is what you needed—to end things right here, before you could fall any deeper, and for Minho to accept it with no questions at all.

This is what you wanted... So why does it feel like your heart has been cracked in two?

Maybe the third bottle of soju wasn't the brightest idea.

Maybe letting Jisung bully you into coming out tonight, after endless days spent moping alone, wasn't the brightest idea.

Maybe, in fact, fucking Lee Minho and then promptly falling in love with him wasn't the brightest idea.

Then again, you never were one for bright ideas. That is why it is no surprise that, two weeks after you end things with Minho, you find yourself shoved between Felix and Jisung at your favorite barbecue place as you down yet another shot.

The alcohol-induced haze of the night blurs the edges of your vision and your face sports a healthy, fuzzy flush, but no amount of alcohol is enough for you to ignore the elephant in the room with you.

The elephant being, of course, Lee Minho himself.

You had been proud of how diligently you managed to avoid him over the past week. Sure, it is kind of hard to run into a person when you hardly leave your bedroom, but still, the fact stood: you hadn't seen Minho since the party. It had been wishful thinking, hoping that you would be able to avoid him forever.

And yet, you still didn't think it would happen this soon. You hoped beyond all hope that you would be able to avoid seeing him for at least however long it would take for you to sort out your stupid little feelings for him. Then, things could go back to normal. Or, at least as normal as things could be.

The scheme was perfect, too—you and Minho had never been friends anyways, so it wouldn't be suspicious if you two suddenly weren't on speaking terms anymore. And none of your friends knew about the arrangement (aka fucking each others brains out) so it wouldn't make much of a difference to them now that it was over.

Except, in your endless consideration of how to navigate the aftermath, you forgot to take into account one very important factor: Han Jisung.

And perhaps it was stupid of you to think that Minho wouldn't be here tonight. But when Jisung basically dragged you out of your apartment, telling you that the guys were already at the restaurant waiting—well, you missed actual human interaction just enough to forget that wherever Jisung goes, so does Minho.

Which is how you ended up here—sat as far away from Minho as humanly possible, absorbed in some conversation with Felix about his most recent gaming obsession.

"Okay, that's enough of that," Jisung declares drunkenly, his eyes narrowed in on you.

His cheeks sport a warm flush, and his jacket has been abandoned on the back of his chair. The exposed biceps tell you one thing: he's well on his way to full-on drunk mode. If you were a little less absorbed in your own despair, you would have been worried about where he was going to end the night; but you aren't, and so all you can do is raise an eyebrow at him.

"When are you going to tell me what's been going on with you?"

"What do you mean?" You ask, your voice sounding much more level than you feel.

"Something's been off lately," Jisung frowns, "and I was trying to be a good friend, y'know, waiting for you to come to me first and tell me what it is, but it's been weeks!"

"Off?" You laugh awkwardly.

"Off?" Jisung mocks, his face scrunching up as he glares at you. "Yes, off! What the fuck is going on with you?"

"Nothing, Ji," you roll your eyes.

And then, because you can't help it, your eyes drift over to Minho. It is only for a split second, but his attention is focused completely on his food and he doesn't notice.

Not for the first time tonight, your heart clenches.

"I don't believe you," Jisung declares.

"Work's just been a bitch," you sigh. "But seriously, I'm fine. A little tired, but that's all..."

His expression twists in distrust, but there must be something written on your face that even he recognizes, because he decides not to push it any further.

That, or he's reached the point of the night where he starts to lose object permanence and he simply can't see your face anymore.

"Lee Minho, I didn't know you still remembered us," A boisterous voice drags the attention away from you.

Hyunjin, another one of your mutual friends, stumbles over to where Minho is, a bottle in his hands and a playful pout plastered across his face.

"Sorry, who are you?" Minho grins at him, and it is both the first time you have heard him speak and the first time you have seen him smile in two weeks.

It should be criminal, the way your heart flutters at such a simple act.

"Shut up," Hyunjin flops down in the empty chair next to him. "Feels like I haven't seen you in forever."

You want to look away, but it's the first time that Minho has glanced up all night, and now that Jisung's attention has been captured by Changbin, you find that you simply cannot.

"It's been, like, a week," Minho points out.

"It's been two, actually," Hyunjin complains. "You cancelled dinner with me last Friday, so we haven't seen each other since Chan's party."

Minho is silent for a moment. You wonder if he's thinking about what happened at that party—if he's thinking about the dark hallway, his fingers inside of you. If he's thinking about you at all.

He barely even takes a breath, and you think for a moment that he might finally turn and look at you.

But then, the corner of his mouth turns upwards in a smirk.

"I didn't know you were this obsessed with me, Hwang," he teases. "If you want my attention, all you have to do is ask."

"Shut up," Hyunjin says again. "Stop it, I'm mad at you! You barely even said hi to me that night before you disappeared to God knows where. Where's the love and appreciation for your friends, huh? What do you have to say for yourself?"

"When has Minho ever apologized for ditching you for a girl?" Seungmin interrupts from a few chairs down.

A scandalized gasp escapes Hyunjin's lips and your eyes shoot down to the table immediately, embarrassment searing through you.

Nobody knows that you are the girl Seungmin is talking about, and yet you can't help but feel like he has just turned on a glaring spotlight and shined it directly onto you.

Before you can think twice, you pour yourself another shot and throw it back.

"You abandoned me for sex?" Hyunjin screeches, smacking his arm.

"I did not," Minho denies.

And, well, technically it's true. After all, it wasn't anything more than a little fingering in a dark hallway.

"Yeah," Seungmin snorts. "That's why he didn't come home until the next morning."

Or... is it true?

Just because he didn't have sex with you doesn't mean that he didn't have sex at all...

Maybe, in fact, after you left him high and dry, he decided to try his luck with someone else. It wouldn't have been hard to find someone willing—not when he's Lee fucking Minho.

The thought of him caring so little about you makes your stomach turn violently. You were never exclusive, so he was never obligated to only hook up with you, and yet you find that you can't stomach the idea that he chose someone else anyways. That he didn't even hesitate after you ended things pierces you like a bullet, and your next few breaths come out shallow.

This time, you can't stop yourself from staring at him. You're waiting for him to deny it—waiting for him to tell Seungmin to stop fucking around, for him to say something, anything.

Instead, he remains painfully silent, which is all the answer you need.

"You bitch," Hyunjin says, but his voice fades into the background as you try to process the slew of emotions this revelation brings.

And then, for the first time all night, Minho looks up at you.

It's just for a second, if even that, but it is enough to push you over the edge. His buttery gaze is just as it always is—wide and curious, and you feel like you can't breathe.

Abruptly, you push your chair back and stand up.

"What...?" Jisung slurs through his drunken haze, a confused sort of concern on his face.

"I need some air," you tell him. "Feeling a little stuffy in here."

"Want me to come with?" He offers immediately, but the way he sways in his seat makes you wonder if he's even capable of standing, let alone walking.

"I'm fine," you assure him. "I'll be back in a few."

And then, before someone can stop you, or worse, before you implode, you stride towards the exit of the restaurant.

Despite being the middle of summer, the outside air is surprisingly cool. The low buzz of the city at night normally calms you, yet you find yourself feeling only slightly less suffocated than you had only moments before.

Your mind is as it has been for the past few months: occupied by thoughts of the one person you've been trying so desperately to forget.

God, you wish someone would knock some sense into you.

What's so special about Lee Minho, anyways? It's not fair that just one look at him sends your heart racing and your mind spiraling, that just one look from him makes you wish the ground would swallow you whole...

With a sigh you slide down into a squat, gripping the strap of your purse tightly as you take a deep breath.

You didn't think that you had drank that much, but the sudden movement has your head spinning. Your brain feels squeezed tight, your skull feels stuffed with cotton balls, and when you blink slowly, the world looks a degree warmer than it had before.

"You okay there?"

And of course, you have reached the point of drunkness where the familiar timbre of his voice that has haunted your dreams for the past few weeks is now haunting your every waking moment.

Two and a half soju bottles must be just the correct amount for your brain to conjure up an image of Lee Minho for you.

"Go away," you mutter, annoyed that even your subconscious was unable to let go of him.

"No thank you."

"You're talking too much," you pout. "I don't like it."

"Sorry," fake-Minho responds with a laugh, and you pout even more thinking about how real-Minho would have laughed at you if he could see you too.

"You should be," you say.

You sway where you are squatting, caught off guard by how light you feel. Alcohol has always had a tendency to exacerbate your clumsiness, and, well—let's just say your sense of balance isn't that good to begin with.

"Woah," fake-Minho says, and then a hand is on your back, steadying you.

"Seriously, are you okay? Should I get you water or something?"

"What...?"

It takes a moment for the warmth of his skin to register. Almost belatedly, your gaze snaps upwards to the man towering over you.

Because right there, looking as perfect as he always has, the real Minho stares down at you, concern furrowed between the ridges of his brow.

"O-Oh my god," you scramble backwards.

Embarrassment colors your cheeks even as Minho bends down to your level. He reaches for you, as if to offer assistance, but at the last moment pulls away.

"Y/N," hesitancy drips from his voice, and it kills you just how delicious your name sounds falling from his lips.

"I-I'm fine!" You insist, suddenly feeling more sober than you had only moments ago.

Somehow, in your rush to get away from him, you manage to push yourself up from the ground without his help. Your back feels exceptionally cold and you try to ignore the absence of his touch as you stand up straight.

"Okay," Minho says, his voice level as he pushes himself up too.

A moment of silence passes as you try to calm your racing heart. What, exactly, is the correct way to act when interacting with a former fuck buddy who you just so happen to be hopelessly in love with? You would love to know the answer to that.

"S-So," your voice comes out shrill and you wince. "How have you been?"

"Good," Minho nods. "What about you?"

"Yeah, me too."

A crisp breeze ripples through the night air and your grip on your purse tightens.

You can't look at Minho—even the thought of it is overwhelming, and so your gaze focuses on the street as cars pass by. Inside the restaurant, a round of laughter trickles out to you. You wish you were there with them.

"I—" You begin, your brain desperately scheming for ways to get as far away from Minho as quickly as possible.

"That night," he clears his throat, interrupting you. "After you—left. I didn't... I didn't hook up with anyone else."

Far away, the angry sound of a car horn reaches your ears.

"Right," you nod, not really understanding the words coming out of his mouth. "Um. You don't need to, like, justify yourself."

It's a herculean effort to keep your tone steady, to try and sound uninterested even as your stomach turns violently.

"I just wanted you to know that," Minho says, his dark eyes focused on you.

"Okay."

Why is he telling you this? You want to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. You want to yell at him until he leaves you alone. You want to pull him close and beg him to kiss you.

Instead, you roll your shoulders back and purse your lips.

"Well," you try to make yourself sound more cheery than you feel. "It was nice seeing you. I think I'm going to go home now—woah!"

Your efforts to seem cool and collected are ruined when you take a step forward on wobbly knees that decide now is the perfect time to give out. And of course, in a horrible stroke of luck, Minho somehow manages to anticipate your stumble before it happens.

In only a split second, he's right in front of you, wrapping an arm around your waist to steady you.

"Are you okay?" He asks, concern shining in his eyes.

You waste no time in shoving him off of you, brushing his question off.

"Well, let me take you home at least," Minho says finally.

"No!" You exclaim sharply. "I'll be fine on my own!"

He raises a brow. "Really?"

"Yes," you insist. "Jisung can take me home. You don't have to worry."

"Don't be silly," Minho rolls his eyes. "Jisung is so drunk he can't even stand."

One glance into the restaurant is all the confirmation you need to know he is telling the truth. At the table, Jisung is slumped over and can barely lift his head, even as Changbin continues to badger him.

"Just let me walk you home. Please? If not for your sake, then for mine," Minho implores.

His earnestness is clear, and it is like he knows that you have never been able to say no to him—that, likely, you never will.

"...Fine," you say finally.

Minho's shoulders sag in relief, and the tentative half smile that forms on his face is enough to take your breath away.

You turn quickly, determined not to let yourself spiral any deeper.

The only saving grace of the night is that Jisung, in all his glorious idiocy, actually chose a restaurant close to your apartment. Minho remains quiet the entire seven minute walk back, maintaining a precise pace exactly half a step behind you.

Every time you stumble (more than you care to admit), his hand hovers over your back, ready to catch you, but other than that, it is like he isn't even there.

The alcohol running through your veins makes the journey simultaneously quick and also horribly, painfully long. You can't tell if you have been walking for ten minutes or for ten hours by the time you finally arrive in the lobby of your apartment building.

"Well," you say awkwardly. "Thanks... for walking me home."

"Of course," Minho nods. "Text me when you get up?"

"Right."

That's not going to happen because the first thing you did after you ended things with him was block his number, but you don't tell him that.

The walk towards the elevator is excruciating because of the way his eyes bore holes into your back. All you want to do is turn around, just for one last look at him.

A deep breath leaves you when you remain resolute, and you press the button for the elevator. Except, where it would usually light up, it remains dark.

You press again, and then one more time. Dread rises in your stomach, and when you look up, a big red-lettered "out of service" sign greets you.

"Fuck."

"What's wrong?" Minho asks.

"Elevator's broken," you squeeze out, pinching the bridge of your nose.

A sense of panic swells inside of you—how are you supposed to get home now? You could barely walk here. Climbing the four flights of stairs to your apartment seems the wrong side of possible.

Minho reaches the same conclusion at the same time. His gaze lingers on the elevator and then to you as you chew on your lip, contemplating how long it would take you to sober up like this.

Then he crouches down next to you.

"What—?" You begin, noticing the way he hunches over.

"Get on."

Your jaw drops.

"N-No—"

"Are you going to be difficult again," he sighs, craning his neck to look at you. "Or are you going to listen to me and get on?"

If you were a little less drunk, or if his gaze had been a little less piercing, maybe you would have been able to refuse.

Instead, you purse your lips tightly and you do as he says, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"Good," he says, his tone soft and satisfied.

Even in your drunk haze, the single word sends electricity through your entire being. Trying to ignore it, you rest your cheek against his back and relish the feeling of his warmth.

Minho adjusts his grip on your legs, pulling them closer so they wrap around his hips, and the reminder of just how strong he is doesn't do anything to help your situation.

While keeping your distance from him, you were able to deny the visceral effect Lee Minho has on you. In your lowest moments, you were even able to fool yourself into thinking you never cared about him in the first place.

But with him this close, with the scent of him in your knows and the heat of him underneath you, it's undeniable. The soju in your brain and the man carrying you up the stairs to your apartment are confusing enough to cross the wires in your brain.

The only thing you know clearly enough is that you want to hold on tightly and never let go. Your eyelids slide shut, and you decide to savor this moment—no matter how short it is.

"Y/N," Minho murmurs, coming to a stop. "Where are your keys?"

"Purse..." You mumble, not making any move to grab them.

You feel the sensation of him reaching behind, rummaging through your bag, and then the click of a lock echoes.

Beneath your cheek, the soft sound of his breath is like a lullaby. In, out, in, out.

A door opens and then closes, and the familiar scent of your apartment invades your senses. You burrow further into Minho's neck, clinging onto the fading scent of him.

His breath stutters, but you hardly notice as a hum of contentment bubbles up in your chest.

Another door opens and the sound of bare feet padding across carpet fills the room. Then the soft cushion of your mattress appears beneath your legs as he lowers you onto your bed.

"You've got to let go of me," Minho whispers when you cling onto him.

You shake your head, squinting into the darkness of the room. Only a small lamp illuminates the space, casting a warm glow across his face as he looks down at you.

"C'mon," he coaxes, gently prying your fingers apart.

Too hypnotized by the tenderness of his expression, you let him unwrap your arms from around him and lay you down. Your eyes remain on him as he fluffs your pillow and pushes it under your head, before pulling your blanket over you.

Your hand wraps around the edge of the duvet as he trails out of your room. The sound of him rummaging around in the kitchen echoes, then the sound of the tap, and finally Minho appears again.

Your heartbeat kickstarts again at the sight of him, and you want to kick yourself. You feel light and floaty as exhaustion sets in and your eyelids grow heavier. Still, you keep them open, if only to stare at him for a little bit longer.

"I'm going to leave some water here for you," Minho says. "Make sure to drink it."

"Uh huh."

He looks like an angel as he speaks to you, his voice soft.

"Text me or call me if you need anything."

"Yup." The words go in one ear and out the other as you find yourself enraptured by the curve of his jaw, the swoop of his hair, the swell of his lips.

He lifts his hand, as if reaching towards you, but freezes. The cogs in his brain whir almost loud enough for you to hear, even as he slowly lowers his hand again.

"Well..." Minho says, taking half a step back. "Good night."

He turns around and your heart stops. You hardly think as you reach out, your hand wrapping around his wrist.

"Don't go."

He seizes, as if your word have struck every crevice of his body.

"What?"

"Can't you..." you mumble as a strange ache hollows out your chest. "Can you stay with me?"

"Y/N..."

"I know I'm the one who said we should stop..." You whisper. "But... Just this once."

"You're drunk," he says softly, his back still towards you.

"Please?"

He inhales a deep, shuddering breath that wracks his entire frame.

"I'm not going to fuck you while you're drunk," he says tightly.

The words pierce your heart, send a cold chill through your veins as you process them.

"I—no," your voice cracks. "That's not what I meant."

"What did you mean, then?"

"I'm cold," you whisper instead.

"I'll bring you a blanket."

"Minho..." His name falls from your lips like a plea.

The room freezes for a moment and you can hear his breaths as clearly as if your cheek was still pressed against his back.

Blood thrums through your ears—you shouldn't have asked him that. You shouldn't have said anything, really, but the alcohol...

Well, now you aren't even sure you can blame your actions on that.

The silence swells, a tidal wave just waiting to break, and right as you are about to take your words back, Minho turns around to face you. His face is a watercolor mural of uncertainty and something else you can't quite place.

Still, he takes a deep breath and slowly walks towards the other side of the bed. When he sits down and stretches his legs out, his movements are almost robotic. His body remains stiff and on top of the duvet.

Your breath hitches a moment later when he lays his arm hesitantly over your waist. It barely touches you, as if he is making a conscious effort to hold it up.

"Better?"

You nod.

The duvet is thick enough that if you try hard, you can pretend like this isn't as intimate as it seems. You can pretend that you can't feel his body heat radiating onto your skin, you can pretend that you don't notice the irregular staccato of his breathing, you can pretend that you didn't just ask him to stay with you. You can pretend that he didn't listen.

But as you hear to the light hum of your heater in the corner, you know that you can't pretend that this isn't the most alive you have felt in weeks.

"I missed you," you breathe out.

"You can't say things like that," Minho says, voice barely there.

"I—"

"You're going to get my hopes up," he murmurs. "And that's mean."

"What?"

He sighs.

"Go to sleep."

"Minho..."

He doesn't respond. You wait, your heart stuck in your throat, to see if he will say anything else. But as the minutes pass and his breathing evens out, the room remains quiet. And even though you don't want to listen to him, even though his words play over and over in your head, eventually you can't deny the pull of sleep that drags you under, too.

A pounding headache snatches you from the deep throes of sleep. When you open your eyes, bright rays of sunlight burn the back of your eyelids and you can't quite remember what you did last night to put you in such an abysmal state.

A glance down at your clothes confirms that when you arrived home, you must have been too drunk to change. Which, now that you think about it... How exactly did you get home last night?

Your head swims when you push yourself up, eyes barely open as you shuck off your current attire in favor of your comfy clothes—aka an oversized shirt that you might have stolen from Minho a few weeks ago and your favorite fuzzy socks.

All you can think about is the Tylenol calling your name from the medicine cabinet as you walk out of your room. The only plus side to your current state is that your roommate isn't here to see how horrible you look.

The pounding in your ears is loud enough to drown out the sizzling coming from the kitchen, strong enough for you to not notice the smell of eggs wafting from the stove.

Unfortunately, it is not potent enough to erase the man standing with your favorite apron wrapped around his waist as he points a spatula at you.

"Good morning."

A surprised yelp leaves your lips as you make eye contact with Minho.

“W-What?”

“I made breakfast.” He says it like its the most normal thing for him to be standing in your apartment, cooking for you.

“…Why are you here?”

He stares at you. “Do you not remember last night?”

Your brow furrows as you think back on the night before. The last thing you remember was taking a step outside of the restaurant to get a breath of fresh air, and then—

Your mouth falls open as the memories flood back—of Minho walking you home, putting you to bed, and…

“You stayed?”

The words come out small and he shrugs.

“You asked me to.”

Your mouth gapes and your stomach turns as you struggle (and fail) to process his words. “But…”

“Sit.” 

Minho takes you by the shoulders and steers you towards the barstool, pushing you down into a seat. You are just disoriented enough to not protest, taking the food of plate he puts in front of you without words.

Your heart flutters when you look down to see he has cooked your eggs just the way you liked them, without even having to ask you. 

“What is this?” You ask faintly.

“Breakfast,” Minho says. “Obviously.”

“No, I mean—” you stutter, but he shushes you.

“Eat first,” he tells you firmly. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“I’m not the one who told you drink so much last night,” he tuts. 

Your lips press together. The reason you were drinking was because of him, but you aren’t sure that’s the best thing to say right now. 

“Eat,” he stresses again. “We’ll talk after.”

“Fine.”

You pick up the fork, torn between threatening him with it or digging into the food he made. In the end, your stomach makes the decision for you when it rumbles loudly. It is slightly uncomfortable the way that he watches you as you eat, but you are so hungry and hungover that the attention eventually fades to the periphery of your awareness as you scarf down the food faster than you probably should.

“Happy?” You ask, setting the fork down.

He nods, taking your plate and putting it in the sink.

“Great. So, about that talk?”

Minho shrugs his shoulder noncommittally, his back facing you as he turns the faucet on and reaches for the dish sponge. He looks so domestic washing your dishes that your stomach clenches.

“Minho,” you push yourself up, walking around the counter to close the distance between you and him.

“Yes?”

“Why are you still here?”

“Is that how you thank someone who just made you breakfast?”

“Stop deflecting,” you say.

“I’m not.”

“Then why are you still here?”

“I already told you.”

You are barely a few feet away from him and he still won’t look at you.

“We aren’t…” you hesitate. “We’re not anything.”

“Believe me, I know,” he mutters.

“Stop acting like this,” you sigh. “Can you answer my question?”

Minho turns off the tap and places the plate on your drying rack.

“What do you want me to say?” He asks finally. 

“The truth, maybe?” You let out, annoyed.

“Really?”

“Yes, really!”

“You want me to tell you that even though it’s only been two weeks since I last saw you, it feels like it’s been forever?”

His words hit you like a punch in the stomach.

“W-What?”

Minho turns around, running a hand through his hair. He still refuses to look at you, but now that you can see his face, you can see the way his expression pinches as he continues on.

“Or that waking up next to you this morning was like a breath of fresh air? That I want to cook you breakfast every day and take you on dates all the time, and tell all our friends about us, and even do cringey things like take those stupid overpriced photobooth pictures because I know how much you like them? That I want to be embarrassing and irritating and overly affectionate with you because I really like you and it kills me that you don’t feel the same way?”

Your jaw drops. Blood thrums through your ears, your head pounds for a reason entirely different than your hangover from last night, and you think your heart might jump out of your throat.

Over the course of the past few months, you have seen Minho in countless compromising positions, but never has he looked more vulnerable than he does now. The rawness of his expression floors you.

And then he takes a deep breath, and the look is gone, his face oddly blank.

“Sorry,” he says, his voice level and controlled. “I didn’t mean to…”

He purses his lips, and you notice his fingers turning white as his digs his nails into his palms. When he notices you looking, he quickly hides his hands behind his back.

“I’m sorry,” Minho repeats. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, I meant to keep that to myself—”

“Do you mean it?” You interrupt.

“—What?”

Your words catch him off guard, and for the first time, he turns to look at you. His eyes are wide and confused as they snag on your face.

“Do you mean all that?” You whisper.

He looks at you—really looks at you—and then, candidly, he says, “yes.”

A moment of silence lapses, and then you burst into laughter.

“Oh my god,” you huff. “We’re both so fucking stupid.”

And then, you take a step towards him, wrap your arms around his neck, and pull his lips down to yours.

He doesn’t move, frozen as you press your mouth against him, his hands frozen at his side. And then, a small noise escapes him and he melts into the kiss, his lips working deliciously against yours. His hands press into your waist, pulling you closer to him.

“W-Wait,” he pants, breaking the kiss.

“I—I can’t do this,” Minho says, taking a step away from you. “You said you wanted to end it, I-I don’t want to feel pressured—”

“Minho,” you sigh. “The only reason I ended things is because I liked you too much. I was literally on the verge of confessing any time you even looked at me.”

This time, it’s his turn to look at you with surprise on his face.

“Seriously?”

“Why do you think I was drinking so much last night?” You ask sarcastically.

“…We really are stupid,” he sighs, and then his mouth is on you again. 

This time, he kisses you gently, tenderly. His hands lift to cup your jaw and his lips move slowly against you, sensual in the way they suck and lick against your mouth. Underneath you, your legs turn to jelly and a small moan slips through as his tongue works its way into your mouth. 

“M-Minho—” you gasp when he nips at your tongue, his teeth grazing your bottom lip in a way that sends arousal flooding your core.

“I missed you,” his words come out muffled against your mouth. 

“Mmm,” you hum in agreement against his lips. He presses further into you, crowding you back until the countertop presses against your spine.

The two of you are chest to chest, bodies flush against each other as he devours you, the kiss going from sensual to downright carnal as Minho kisses you as if he needs it to breathe. A moan worms its way out of you when you feel the way his dick, hard through his pants, rubs against your stomach.

“Y-You’re so—” you gasp, pulling back from his mouth. “Already worked up, just from a kiss?”

“I’ve been hard since you walked out here in nothing but my shirt,” he says as you catch your breath.

“Well,” you bat your eyelashes, your fingers playing with the zipper of his pants. “Why don’t you let me help with that?”

“Fuck,” he hisses through his teeth as you slide down to your knees.

His pupils dilate at the visual of you below him, and a positively delicious groan escapes his lips when you nuzzle your face against his bulge.

“Yes, please,” he breathes. 

You unzip his pants dangerously slowly, relishing the way that he watches you with such intensity. Your mouth waters at the thought of his cock, and you swear just the visual of it when you pull him out of his pants is enough to soak your panties.

A finger runs against his slit, light touches collecting his precum on your finger, and he hisses at the feeling. Your eyes stay glued to his when you push the finger into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it. The taste of him is familiar and has you moaning against your finger.

“Don’t be such a tease,” he grits out. “Your mouth…”

“You’re the one who has spent the last month rejecting my mouth,” you pout. “And now you want it?”

“God,” he groans. “Because I knew if I had my cock in your mouth, I would have told you in three seconds flat how I feel about you.”

“Hmm…” You feign disinterest, even as your thighs clench together.

His jaw tenses, the muscle tightening, and you decide to put him out of his misery. 

You lean forward, placing a kittenish kiss on the head of his cock, and then you suckle him in your mouth, taking inch by torturous inch down your throat until you have him firmly to the hilt. The press of him against the back of your throat is painful and pleasurable in one, and you moan around him just to tease him.

“Fuck.”

His hand laces through your hair, tugging lightly at your scalp.

When you look up at him through hooded eyes, his tight expression has you pulling back off, your tongue running on the underside of his cock as you go.

“So good,” Minho tells you, and you push yourself further down his length.

He gathers your hair in a ponytail, holding it out of your face for you as you build a slow pace, sucking on the head of his cock every time you pull yourself off. Your eyes remain trained on his face, and you take delight in every minute change of his expression—the furrow of his brow, the bite of his lip, the parting of his mouth.

Curiously, you graze your teeth against him lightly. He groans at the feeling, his hips unintentionally jerking forward, and you smile around his cock.

Your hands rise to grip his thighs, and then you speed up, bobbing your head up and down fast and hard, ignoring the burn in your throat when the head of his cock hits the back.

“Fuck, oh my god,” he moans, his hand tightening in your hair. 

And then, he pulls you off completely, panting as you wipe the spit from the side of your mouth.

“Why’d you do that?” You ask, your voice hoarse.

“You were having a little too much fun,” he says, the words coming out more breathy than he probably intends them to.

“I was,” you agree.

“Well, it’s my turn,” Minho says, and then he pulls you up from the ground, lifting you to place you on the countertop behind you.

“Gotta take care of you too, baby, hmm?” 

Your legs part so that he has enough room to stand in between them, and you nod slowly.

“Yeah…”

“Are you gonna let me?” He asks. “Or are you going to stubborn, like last time?”

Your mind flashes back to the party, to the hallway, to his fingers, to the way that you were trying so hard not to slip up and let him know how obsessed you are with him.

“Take care of me,” you mumble, tugging on the hem of his shirt.

“Of course, baby,” he smiles sweetly at you, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

It is a stark juxtaposition to the way that he hooks both of your legs onto his elbows, spreading you further so that your covered cunt is visible to him.

“Hmmm, so wet already?” He teases, running a finger over your soaked panties. You whimper at the feeling of his feather-like touch, leaning back on your elbows to support your weight. 

“I missed you,” you whisper as he continues to feel you over your underwear. 

“I couldn’t tell,” Minho smirks, his thumb rubbing your clothed clit in a way that has you squirming underneath him. 

Your hips lift off of the counter in an attempt to get closer to him, and Minho takes the opportunity to pull your panties off completely. The air against your exposed cunt is cool and sets you on edge, making you starkly aware of how turned on you are.

His thumb comes down on your clit once again, and the feeling is ten times more intense than before. Your hips cant towards him and you moan as he rubs slowly, leisurely, drinking up your reactions.

“I love when you make those noises for me,” Minho says. “Knew you could do it, hmm? Why’d you hide them from me before?”

“C-Couldn’t,” you pant. “Couldn’t let y-you know how much I like you.”

He clicks his tongue.

“You better not hold back right now, baby,” he says, and then his fingers leave you, wrapping around the base of his cock.

You whine when he rubs it against you, his length hot and hard against your wet folds. 

“Ready?”

You nod quickly, a content sigh leaving your lips at the familiar stretch when he pushes into you.

His pace is torturously slow and has you gasping before he even bottoms out. When his length is fully sheathed inside of you, he remains there, staring at your face with wide eyes that have cheeks warming.

“What?” You ask, self-conscious.

“You look so pretty like this,” Minho murmurs, a hand lifting up to smooth down your hair before trailing down to cup your jaw.

The praise has you clenching down on his cock, which in turn has him inhaling sharply.

“You like it when I say nice things to you?” He asks.

You bite your lip and look up at him but don’t answer.

“You’re always so pretty, baby,” he coos, pulling out slightly only to push back in.

Your mouth falls open at the feeling of him inside of you, every line and ridge so easily identifiable because of how slow he moves.

“I like everything about you, hmm,” Minho says, his breathing getting heavier as he repeats the motion until he is rocking into you, his dick brushing against the sensitive bundle of nerves inside of you. “Your voice, your personality, your pussy, you…”

You whine as he presses closer to you so that his face is only inches away from yours. His eyes bore into you as he reaches down and crooks your right leg over his shoulder, spreading you wider. The angle has him hitting deeper than before, and your insides burn with arousal. The slick sound of him inside of you in combination with your whines and his heavy breathing only make it all the more erotic.

“After this,” he pants, his breath fanning out against your face, “will you let me take you out?”

You nod quickly. “Yes, yes, oh.”

His hips snap against you, moving faster in a way that has your eyes rolling back in your head.

“You feel so hot, so good, yeah?” Minho grunts. “Silly girl, thinking that I don’t like you.”

You whimper at his words, rolling your hip upwards to meet his precise thrusts.

“I’m obsessed with you,” he says, kissing your neck. “It’s kind of a problem, actually, fuck.”

You clench down again, a string of breathy moans accompanying the visceral reaction his words have on you.

“You really like that, huh?” He groans, his hips stuttering at the feeling.

“Mhm, I-I really like you,” you whimper. 

“Look at me like that,” he grits out, “and you’re going to make me come.”

“Please,” your eyes glaze over at the idea of the feeling of his cum, warm and wet inside of you, and you roll your hips against him again.

“Fuck, forgot what a cumslut my baby is,” Minho gasps. 

“Min, please,” you whine. 

“Only been a few weeks and you’re still so desperate,” he taunts. “Is this not enough for you?”

“A-Almost—” you moan. “Almost there.”

“Yeah?” He asks. “Gonna come for me?”

You nod. 

“You’re so pretty when you come, god, I love when you come on my cock,” he groans.

Your orgasm is so close you can taste it, and the way that Minho continues to thrust into you hard and deep only eggs it further along. Your toes are tingling, you can barely keep your eyes open, and your core is clenching down so hard on him that you can see stars.

“Come for me baby, hmm?” He coos. “Show me how much you like me.”

All it takes is him leaning down to capture your lips in a searing kiss to push you over the edge. His mouth muffles the drawn out whine that you let out as your walls spasm around him. You aren’t sure how long your orgasm lasts—it feels like it could be minutes or hours, but he continues to fuck you through it, his mouth moving to your ear to mumble praises of how good you’re doing and how amazing you feel until you all but collapse on the counter beneath you, feeling boneless.

“You did so well, baby,” Minho murmurs, his hands gripping your hips as he continues to rock in and out of you slowly.

He is still hard, painfully so, and you can feel him throbbing in your oversensitive cunt.

“M-Min—” you cringe away from him, but his hold on you is firm.

“Think you can take a little bit more, hmm?” He pants.

You whine at the feeling of him inside of you.

“Thought you wanted my cum, baby,” Minho says. You nod your head deliriously, still basking in the afterglow of your orgasm.

“You can give me one more,” he tells you, “it’ll feel good, hm? Being good for me?”

His thumb drifts down to your swollen clit, and your back arches at the pain and pleasure of the direct contact.

“Minho,” you moan, “Oh, please—”

You aren’t sure if you are begging for him to stop or for him to keep going, and the smirk on his face tells you that he knows that. His thumb rubs tight circles on your clit, and you clench down hard on him, feeling another orgasm cresting dangerously close.

“So good,” he sighs, his hips stuttering. “Doing so good for me, baby.”

“Come, please,” you gasp. “Please, please, please.”

Minho’s thrust become sloppier the harder you clench down on him, his breaths coming out in rough pants—yet his thumb remains firmly where it is, rubbing and rubbing until he, dangerously quickly, brings you to your second orgasm.

You cry out as you come again, your hands gripping his wrists tightly as you writhe underneath him.

“Fuck,” he groans, thrusting jerkily into you twice more before pulling out, warm ropes of cum landing on your thighs. 

You watch in blissful satisfaction as he jerks himself off through his orgasm, the veins in his forearm very visible. 

He slumps against you, his forehead pressing against yours, and you smirk at him.

“You missed me that much, huh?”

“Yes,” he sighs. 

“Well, lucky for you, I also missed you a lot.” You press a kiss against his cheek, giggling at the feeling of his hair tickling your face.

“So about that date…” Minho begins. “How long do you think it will take you to get ready?”

You jaw drops. “You wanted to go now?”

He grins. “No time like the present, right?”

"What do you mean?" He asks. "These are my bags."

You deadpan. "Obviously I know that! I mean, who on Earth needs three bags for a weekend trip?"

"Listen," he begins. "I know this is a foreign concept to you, but like... some of us enjoy actually trying to look good."

"Say that again," you threaten, reaching down to take off your slipper.

"Some of us—"

The slipper is off your foot before he has the chance to finish.

"Joking!" He exclaims with a giggle, taking a few bounding steps away from your reach.

"Whatever," you mutter, grabbing your single bag from the back of the car.

"Are you mad at me?" Jeongin asks, trailing after you as you begin the long trek uphill.

"Y/NNNN..." He sings, keeping in step with you despite his huge bags.

"You're so annoying," you mutter. You can already feel the burn in your legs, and the heat beating down isn't doing anything to help.

"That's not very nice to say to someone who planned out this entire vacation just for you," Jeongin points out with a smirk.

"Whatever," you huff childishly.

Your arms are already straining with the weight of your single bag. He, you notice, doesn't seem at all winded despite how heavy you imagine his bags are.

"It's not like I asked you to plan anything anyways... Why did you have to pick a place so far away?"

"Just wait," he insists. "It's worth it, I promise!"

You aren't sure how he has so much energy. The drive had been five hours—the exhaustion is already setting deep into your bones, and you didn't do anything except lounge in the passenger seat and complain about the secrecy of this trip.

To be fair, your brattiness isn't completely unearned. You didn't even know about this trip until this morning, when Jeongin ambushed you at your apartment and all but corralled you into his car.

It didn't matter how many times you asked him where, exactly, he is taking you—he remained tight-lipped on the destination, until the rocky shores of the coastline came into view and you realized he had taken you to the closest seaside town.

After countless years of friendship with Yang Jeongin, you were taken aback by how much his spontaneity continued to surprise you. It never made sense how the two of you remained friends despite your opposite nature, and yet you couldn't imagine a life without him. So, although it did annoy you to no end that he gave you no heads up about this trip, you went along with it anyways.

Deep down, you knew he planned all of this because of how stressed you had been lately. Jeongin isn't always the best when it comes to comforting you, but he tries, and you can't deny it—a weekend away to rest and recharge does sound like the perfect escape.

"That," you pant once you reach the small cottage on the top of the hill. "Was horrible."

"What do you mean?" Jeongin asks cheerfully.

"I literally hate you so much right now."

"Well," he says, grabbing your bag from you with ease. "I was going to tell you about the fun day I had planned, but I guess not..."

"Jeongin," you grit out. He fishes a key out of his pocket and unlocks the door without even sparing you a glance.

Sometimes, it is irritating just how well he knows you. Sure, it might be your fault for getting so riled up, but if there is one thing you hate more than anything, it is surprises.

Jeongin obviously knows that, and his annoying smirk is really getting on your last nerve. So much so that you hardly notice just how perfect the little cottage is.

"Yes?" He asks sweetly, his dimples on display as he flashes you an innocent grin.

You open your mouth to reply, but then he steps inside and opens the door wider, giving you a perfect view of the inside, and your words suddenly evade you.

"What..." you trail off with a gasp.

"Told you it would be worth it," Jeongin says smugly.

The interior of the cottage is whimsical, with exposed wood pillars, the sprawling bookshelf of your dreams, and a pop of pastel here and there, but what really takes your breath away is the view.

On the far facing wall, a large window overlooks the cliffside that the cottage is sat upon, and the idyllic seaside view is so gorgeous your brain starts malfunctioning.

For some reason that you are unable to place, your throat tightens. The cottage is beautiful, but it is the amount of thought that Jeongin put into it—this whole weekend—that catches you off guard.

If you had to sum it up in one word, you would say it's romantic.

Romance and Jeongin in one thought, however, is enough to send you spiraling. He's your best friend—he has been for years, and you would never do anything to compromise that. Ever. So what if your heart clenches sometimes when he's too nice, or your stomach flip flops when he looks particularly adorable, or your legs threaten to give out when you think about how much you care about him?

What the two of you have right now is perfect, and more importantly, it's enough.

"Wow," Jeongin whistles when you take too long to respond. "That good?"

"...It's alright, I guess," you throw back, the burn in the back of your throat still present even as you shrug your shoulders.

"Alright?" He scoffs. "Just alright?"

"Maybe if it didn't cost me an arm and a leg to get up here..." you trail off, walking towards the only bedroom in the cottage.

"I've seen you climb taller hills for half a bag of chips," Jeongin says.

"I have no idea what you're talking about!" You call, swinging the door open.

The bed inside looks just as dreamy as the rest of the house, and you waste no time collapsing into its fluffy mattress. It is only when you take a deep inhale of the cotton that it hits you.

"Jeongin," you begin slowly. "Why is there only one bed?"

"Huh?" His head peeks through the doorframe, gaze falling on where you lie on the bed.

"Hmm. I guess there is only one."

You narrow your eyes. "And you didn't think to check before you booked it?"

The sheepish look that stretches across his face is a familiar one.

"Well, in my defense," he reasons. "I was a little distracted by trying to figure out how I was going to get you here in the first place."

"Oh my god," you groan, facepalming. "I'm best friends with an idiot."

"Hey," he pouts. "Is sharing a bed with me really that bad?"

"Yes!" You burst out.

"You answered that a little bit too quickly."

You purse your lips. That's because the last time we shared a bed I was so turned on I almost begged you to fuck me, you want to scream at him. The words are on the tip of your tongue—but then you remember that he is your best friend, and you stop yourself.

"You hog the blanket," you say instead. "And you're always so warm."

"I thought you liked that."

"Not in the middle of summer, Jeongin!"

"Whatever," he wallows. "I guess I'll just sleep on the couch, then... All alone... By myself..."

His lips pucker in a pout and you raise an eyebrow when he stares at you with wide eyes.

"You're supposed to say 'No, Jeongin, don't do that! Of course I would love to share a bed with you!'" He argues, glaring at you.

"I'm not going to lie," you snort.

He shrugs, picking up one of his bags and throwing it on the right side of the bed.

"Too bad," Jeongin sticks his tongue out at you. "It's my reward for being such a good friend."

"Um," you wrinkle your nose, shoving his bag off the bed.

"...Oh," he freezes, caught off guard by the unexpected action. You can physically pinpoint the moment his expression morphs from playful to unsure.

"Well, o-on a serious note, I'm totally fine sleeping on the couch i-if you're—"

"That's my side of the bed, you roll your eyes. "And if you hog the blankets tonight, I won't hesitate to kick you."

"Ohthankgod," he squeezes out in one breath, collapsing on the bed next to you.

"Yeah, yeah," you brush him off, snuggling deeper into the heavenly mattress. "Now leave me alone for like... two hours. I'm taking a nap."

"Um. No."

"And why the fuck not?"

Jeongin's hand wraps around your ankle. You yelp at the sensation of his warm fingers, and then you yelp again when he pulls you, dragging you to the edge of the bed.

"Let me think," he taps a finger against his chin. "Maybe because it's still the morning, and you spent the whole drive here being a little whiny baby?"

Jeongin towers over you, and your mind short circuits. The image is too suggestive—the pursing of his lips, the downturn of his gaze, not to mention the way that he is halfway straddling you, his legs on either side of your thighs, caging you in.

In another life, this position is leading to something very different. Your lips fall open with a soft puff of air, and all you can do is stare up at him.

But then you remember: he is your best friend.

"And," he continues, and a pang of guilt smacks you in the chest for having such lewd thoughts about him.

"I have a whole day planned for us. You can sleep when we come back."

You remain listless where you are and he frowns.

"Well?"

"I can't really move if you're on top of me," you say, your words coming out more breathy than you intended.

"Oh." Jeongin freezes as if he's only just realized the position you are in. "R-Right."

You aren't sure if you should be insulted by how quickly he scrambles away from you, and it does seem a little bit like overkill when he shoots to the opposite end of the room, but the further away he is, the easier it is to breathe, and so you ignore it.

"At least let me change first," you groan, pushing yourself off of the bed. "Give me five."

"Dibs on shower first!" You holler as you step into the cottage a few hours later.

Jeongin trails in behind you, letting the keys drop slowly from his hands onto the table. Although you hadn't been too enthused about doing anything earlier, the day he had planned out for you was actually very fun.

The café-hopping in particular had been your favorite activity (if there was one thing Jeongin loved to do, it was indulge your incessant sweet tooth), but you had absolutely adored the walk down by the coast as well as the small flea market you had stumbled upon.

The day couldn't have been any more perfect. Even the weather was cooperative; the sun remained out the entire day, but a cool sea breeze sheltered you from the scorching heat of the summer, and you were thankful you had decided to wear your favorite flowy sundress out.

The only issue was that Jeongin seemed a little... distracted throughout it all.

It didn't matter how many times you asked him what was wrong. He remained tight-lipped, insisting that he was fine, that you really needed to stop worrying about him.

But even now, as he flops down onto the couch and stares listlessly at the wall, you can't help but feel a little worried. The glassy, distant look in his eyes makes your heart clench.

"Innie?" You prompt, leaning against the doorframe to the bedroom.

"Y-yeah?" He responds, finally looking at you. Except—no, he's not looking at you. He's looking somewhere past you.

To be more specific, at some distant point above your right shoulder.

"Just... Don't come in, I guess," you sigh.

He nods once.

Despite the cozy and humble atmosphere of the cottage, the bathroom is actually quite modern. A sleek marble countertop encases the pearl sink, and a waterfall shower is hidden within walls of frosted glass. Next to the shower, a large window overlooks the rolling clouds in the sky.

You turn the temperature as high as it goes and slip your dress off, letting it fall into a crumpled heap on the floor.

Once the water is warm enough, you step under the stream. As you go through the motions of washing yourself, your mind trails back to Jeongin.

You can't remember the last time you saw him so off. You can't remember if you've ever seen him like this, in fact.

You're not sure what is wrong with him, but the curiosity (laced with concern) gnaws at your stomach. Half an hour later, when you finally step out from under the steaming water, the thought still remains.

In a haze, you dry yourself and get dressed in an oversized t-shirt and sweats before stepping out in the living room. Jeongin is still glued to the couch, but he seems much more relaxed as he scrolls through his phone.

"Shower's all yours," you say.

When he looks up, you are relieved to find that his gaze seems much more clear and focused than it had all day. And when a groan escapes his lips and he reclines further into the couch, you know that he is definitely much better than he had been earlier.

"Stop being gross," you huff. "Go wash up so we can watch How to Train Your Dragon."

"Yeah, yeah," Jeongin gripes, but eventually pushes himself up.

"And hurry!" You call as he steps into the bedroom. "If you're not out in fifteen, I'm starting the movie without you!"

He flips you off right as he shuts the door, and you roll your eyes as you step into the kitchen.

The wide windows give you a perfect view of the sunset over the cliffs, and your stomach turns. It's so beautiful you feel like you can't breathe.

You pour yourself a glass of water and take a large gulp, a strange sense of calm setting over you. You can't recall the last time you felt this at peace—not with all the stress from work and your recently ended situationship. It only makes you even more thankful to have such an amazing friend like Jeongin.

After you finish your water, you head into the living room and begin tidying up for movie night. It only takes a few minutes to get everything ready—the blankets are laid out, the drinks are set up.

Except, when you reach for your phone to order the pizza, you find it is not there. A moment of panic washes over you, until you remember setting it down right before your shower. Which means that your phone must still be in the bathroom.

The faint sound of running water when you approach the bedroom tells you that Jeongin is still in the shower.

"Jeongin?" You knock on the door, but there is no answer. He must not be able to hear you, you think to yourself as you push the bedroom door open and step inside.

The water is louder, and you call his name out again. "Innie?"

No response still.

You knock twice, hoping that he'll be able to hear that at least, but the only reply you get comes in the form of a soft, pained grunt, as if he has just stubbed his toe.

"Jeongin, hello?"

Your hand hovers over the doorknob, a conflicting swirl of emotions welling up inside you. Should you go in? Your phone is on the counter right next to the door, and the shower is frosted glass. It's not like you would see anything, and you would be in and out so quick he wouldn't notice.

And besides, even if you did see something, it wouldn't be the first time. You don't go so many years being best friends with a person and not seeing them naked accidentally at least once.

Yeah, you reason to yourself, it's no big deal. And besides, you really wanted that pizza...

When you turn the doorknob, you're half surprised to meet no resistance. Then again, Jeongin is the type to forget to lock the door.

You push the door open slowly, breathing a sigh of relief when your phone on the counter comes into view. Your eyes drop down to the ground, and you notice that your phone isn't the only thing you left in the bathroom—you had left your dress on the ground, too.

And right next to it lies a pile of Jeongin's discarded clothes.

Your face flushes. There is something strangely intimate about seeing your clothes and his right next to each other. It's so embarrassing to be worked up over such a small thing, and you want to smack yourself for how middle-school it is that such a silly coincidence sends your heart fluttering.

Instead, you take a step inside, slowly, reaching for your phone.

Your hand has just closed around it, a sense of accomplishment-slash-relief swelling in your chest, when you hear a choked moan coming from the shower.

Your heart stops in your chest, and then starts again with a sputter.

What the fuck was that?

And then, you hear the sound again.

Your phone clatters from your grasp as ice sparks through your veins.

There's no way, you think to yourself.

There is no way you just walked in on Jeongin jerking off in the shower.

Is there?

Almost as if you're possessed, you turn towards the shower, towards where your best friend is naked and under the steady stream of water only a few feet away from you.

And even though the glass walls of the shower are frosted only from the neck down, the vague shape of his hand wrapped around himself is unmistakable.

Unbidden, a gasp slips from your lips as a strange mixture of arousal and shame hits you in the chest. Even though you can't see anything, the insinuation is enough to make your blood run hot.

And then, in the most unfortunate turn of events, Jeongin chooses that exact moment to look up.

The scream that escapes his lips would have been comical, if you hadn't also screamed. But hey, what else were you supposed to do? You didn't expect him to actually look up at you. No, actually—you didn't expect to walk in on him jacking off at all.

"W-What—?" Jeongin splutters, flushed—in embarrassment or arousal, you aren't sure.

"I'm sorry!" You screech, your face on fire as you avert your eyes by staring upwards at the ceiling. "I was just trying to get my phone!"

"Oh my god," Jeongin groans, his eyes squeezing shut. "Oh my god, this isn't happening."

"I'm leaving, I'm leaving!" You chant. "I'm so sorry!"

You run out so fast he barely has the chance to respond, and the slamming of the door behind you is so loud it echoes throughout the cottage.

The silence is deafening as you collapse onto the couch in the living room, a hand held to your chest to help calm your racing heart.

You can't think about what you just saw—you refuse to. So, to distract yourself, you turn on the TV and raise the volume loud enough to drown out your thoughts.

Still, you find it impossible to focus on whatever is playing on the screen in front of you.

Ten minutes later, the sound of the shower fades away. Your heart races as you think about what Jeongin is doing in there for so long—did he just continue on after you ran out?

It isn't your place to think thoughts like that about him, however, so you remain seated where you are and wait for him to come out and join you.

Only, he never does. Which you should have expected. After all, is movie night really still in the cards? In your rush to escape the bathroom, you had forgotten your phone in there, so there was no pizza anyways. Not to mention the elephant in the cottage with you...

"Innie?" You peek into the bedroom, only to find him cocooned in the bedsheets, his face hidden from sight.

"Are you awake?"

He doesn't respond, but his breathing gets a little shallower at the sound of your voice.

When you settle down on your side of the bed, he rolls over to face away from you.

"Go away," he mumbles.

"Why?"

"I'm embarrassed," he whines, "and I don't want to look at you or I might cry."

"I'm sorry," you apologize immediately, a frown creeping onto your face.

"Ugh," he groans. "It's not your fault..."

"It kind of is," you point out.

He shakes his head.

"Listen," you sigh. "There's no need to be embarrassed about this, if you really think about it! Masturbating is a natural, healthy thing, and you shouldn't be ashamed of your virility."

"Shut up," Jeongin whines. "Why did you have to say it like that?"

"Because it's true!" You insist, trying to will away the image of what his hand wrapped around his dick might look like if there hadn't been a frosted pane of fucking glass between the two of you earlier.

"And besides," you continue. "We're best friends. I've seen you do loads of embarrassing things. Jerking off in the shower doesn't even make the top five."

"Gee, thanks," his face is still buried under the sheets, but you don't have to see it to know that he is rolling his eyes.

"If it makes you feel better, I'll pretend I never saw anything," you tell him.

He is silent for a moment.

Then, he throws the covers off of himself and sits up, looking you dead in the eye.

"Whatever!" He exclaims finally, pouting at you. "It doesn't matter anyways."

"Exactly!" You nod vigorously. "And besides, it's not like I saw much."

Strands of his damp hair cling to his forehead, and his brow furrows.

"Your loss," he shrugs. "I'm, like, insanely hot."

You scoff at how serious he looks. "You're so annoying."

"And you're a perv," he snarks back.

"Fuck you," you bite.

"You wish!"

"Shut up," you deadpan. "Now, are you done being a baby? We still have a movie to watch."

The next morning when you wake up, it is with buttery sunbeams on your face and Jeongin's dick against your back.

In your half-awake haze, you haven't quite processed where you are. The last thing you remember is falling asleep on opposite ends of the bed after a very emotional rewatch of Jeongin's favorite movie.

And now? Well, it's safe to say that distance was not maintained throughout the night.

In this moment, there are only three truths: a warm, heavy arm is splayed over your torso, pinning you to the bed. Something solid is firm and hard against the small of your back. And when you roll your hips upwards against it, a muffle moan sounds behind you.

The noise is so enticing that you can't help but roll your hips again, relishing the feeling.

Only, half a moment later, do you realize what exactly it is—who exactly it is. Your eyes snap open.

Now, there are four truths: Jeongin's arm is wrapped around you, his dick is hard against your back, you are insanely turned on... And you need to get away from him before he wakes up.

Despite your racing heart, you try you best to pry his arm off of you gently. You can't imagine the embarrassment (on both your parts) if he was to wake up right now. Especially not after last night.

Thankfully, though, he remains asleep once you escape his grasp, stretching out his limbs. Your skin is flushed as you stand over the bed, and you can't help but feel like a creep. First, you accidentally walk in on him jerking off, and then you rub yourself all over him while he's sleeping?

You are the worst friend ever.

Shame washed over you as you hurry into the bathroom. In an attempt to calm yourself down, you spend longer than usual on your morning routine. So maybe it doesn't take ten minutes to tone your face, but you are still dazed with arousal and embarrassment, both of which cause you to move slower than usual.

Thirty minutes later when you walk back into the bedroom, you find Jeongin awake and scrolling through his phone.

"Hey," he greets you, his messy hair falling into his eyes.

"Hi," you say back, hoping you don't sound as awkward as you feel.

"Did you sleep well?" He asks innocently. Your face heats up.

"Y-Yup!" You exclaim.

Jeongin's gaze lingers on you, his lips pursed.

"Anyways," you continue quickly. "What's the plan for today?"

"Oh," he visibly brightens. "Well, I was thinking we could take a walk around town, and then maybe do a boat tour in the afternoon, if you're down for it?"

The bashful way he asks you makes your heart melt, especially with the dangerous knowledge that he's probably already booked the boat tour, just in case you say yes.

"That sounds great," you tell him.

He grins and his eyes disappear behind his dimples, which in turn makes you want to disappear.

"Great," he says happily. "What d'you say we leave in an hour?"

"An hour?" You raise a brow teasingly. "You sure that's enough time for you to get ready?"

He scoffs, pushing himself up from the bed. "Don't be rude."

"Better get a head start," you call as he walks towards the bathroom. Predictably, he sticks his tongue out in your direction before letting the door shut.

As Jeongin gets ready, you rifle through your bag, trying to decide on an outfit for the day. The weather is nice and sunny, and it doesn't take long for you to decide on a dress, similar to the one you wore yesterday: this time, it is light green, short, and flowy enough that you won't have to worry about overheating.

In the time it takes him to finish getting ready, you manage to work your way through an ungodly amount of true crime Youtube videos. You are stretched out on the bed, stomach down, as a mukbang-style recount of a serial killer spree plays on your phone when Jeongin finally walks out of the bathroom.

"Finally," you complain, pushing yourself up into a sitting position. "Are you ready?"

He takes a moment too long to respond, and concern washes over you. When you look up at the way he is all but gaping at you, that concern only intensifies.

"Oh..." Jeongin stutters, frozen in the doorway.

"What?" You ask, self-conscious under his piercing gaze. "Is there something wrong?"

Your brow furrows as you look down at yourself, trying to figure out if your clothes are inside out, or if there is some horrific toothpaste stain that you managed to miss. However, a quick perusal of your outfit indicates that nothing seems to be out of place.

You look back up and Jeongin is still staring.

"Does it... Does it not look good?"

This was your first time wearing this dress. You bought it a few months ago when it caught your eye in the store, hoping that maybe you'd get to dress up and look nicer than usual. It wasn't something you did often but you had just started seeing someone new back then, so you thought—well, why not?

"Jaehyun didn't like it much," you blabber on. "But I thought it was fine. Although, maybe it does look a little off... Should I change? I should change, right?"

Jaehyun was a nice guy, for all intents and purposes. You met him through a friend of a friend, and when he asked you out you said yes immediately, if only because you were bored and desperately in need of a distraction from your turbulent feelings for your best friend.

You liked him well enough, even if he did sometimes say things without thinking. Like how he didn't think green suited you, or that he thought you looked infinitely better in pants instead of dresses. When things ended with him, you weren't too torn up about it, however, so you must not have liked him that much.

At the mention of your ex, Jeongin scoffs.

"That asshole? Don't listen to anything he says. You look great... Beautiful, really."

Your cheeks heat up at the fervor in his voice.

"R-Really?"

He nods vigorously.

"Thanks, Innie..." You mumble.

He is still standing in the doorway, but whatever spell he is under seems to break as he looks at you. Suddenly shy under his gaze, you avoid eye contact as you fidget with the hem of your dress.

"If you don't mind me asking..." Jeongin hesitates. "Why did you end things with him, anyways? Not that I'm complaining! You just, y'know, never really told me what happened."

"Oh, I didn't end things," you say. "He did, actually."

"What?" Jeongin hisses as if he has been physically hit.

You nod.

"Why would he do that?" The genuine disbelief in his voice, as if he can't possibly wrap his mind around what you are saying, floors you. He sounds so personally offended, and you can't help but smile at what a loyal friend he is.

Then his question actually registers and your smile fades away, discomfort churning in your stomach.

"He, uh," you pause. "Well. He didn't like... How close you and I are."

"You're joking."

You shake your head.

Jeongin's eyes are wide and he asks, "did he, like, tell you to choose between me and him?"

He laughs slightly at the end as if it is a joke, but you remain silent.

"No way," he says. "No way."

"Yeah," you suck in a breath. "That was pretty much my reaction, too."

"What an asshole," he scoffs. "Why did you even stay with him for so long?"

There is an edge to his voice, and your brow furrows.

"Because he was nice, and I liked him," you say, slightly irritated at the accusation in his tone.

"Really?" He pins you with a look, as if to say he doesn't think the reason is good enough.

"Yes, Jeongin, and he liked me too. Why else do people see each other?"

"Well it doesn't sound like he liked you that much," Jeongin mutters.

You frown, not liking the way his words pierce you. Maybe it was true that Jaehyun didn't like you that much. But he did like you, which was more than you could say about Jeongin. Who was he to have an opinion on your love life? He might be your best friend, but you don't appreciate the way he is judging you right now—especially for something that is well and truly over.

"I..." You feel more vulnerable than you would like. "You asked what happened and I told you. Why... Why are you mad at me for this?"

"I'm not mad at you," Jeongin says automatically, and his words are softer, lacking the heat they had only moments before.

"It sounds like you are..."

"No," he inhales, chewing on his lip. "God, no. I'm not mad at you, I'm mad at him."

"Really...?" You ask dubiously.

"Really!" Jeongin exclaims. "It just pisses me off that he treated you like that. Like, who does he think he is? God, he's always been such a dick!"

You pause, taking in the taut lines of agitation on his face. By now, he has abandoned his position in the doorway in favor of pacing around the room.

"What...?" You say, lost. "But I thought you liked him!"

"Uh, fuck no," he rolls his eyes. "I've never liked him. Literally anyways could treat you better than he did."

A moment passes.

"I could treat you better."

Your breath catches in your throat.

Under any other circumstances, his words would seem normal. You might have been able to brush it off as a joke, maybe even laughed a little.

But the earnest way he is looking at you, the resolute way his hands wring together as he looks at you—really looks at you, tells you that there is more to what he is saying.

HIs pacing has come to a halt, and even from the opposite end of the room, you can see the uneasy rawness in his expression.

"What..." You hiccup. "Why do you say that?"

He considers your question for a moment, a thousand thoughts brewing in his head. It seems as if he is on the precipice of two impossible choices. Then, he takes a steely breath and nods.

"Because I mean it."

The words leave his lips and your heartbeat quickens.

"I don't understand..." You say faintly.

Frustrated, Jeongin runs a hand through his hair. His pacing resumes and he fidgets with his fingers as you watch, unsure what he is going to do next.

"Am I really...?" He mutters, more to himself than to you. "Really...? Okay, yeah, I am."

As you watch, he rolls his shoulders back and then sets his eyes on you, walking over and taking a seat on the bed next to you.

He is close enough that your things are touching and your heart stutters at the imploring look in his eyes. His hand wraps around yours, pulling it into his lap.

You look down at your joined hands, and then up at him again.

"Jeongin?" You ask tentatively.

"Just..." He practically chokes, his eyes sliding shut.

"Are you okay?" A concoction of worry and anticipation swirls inside you.

"Yeah, okay. I'm just going to say it."

"Okay."

"This is kind of embarrassing," he laughs. "I mean, why is this so hard? You literally just walked in on me with my hand around my dick yesterday but this seems, like, ten times worse."

Heat shoots through you.

"W-What...?" You breathe unable to stop the way your gaze drops to his covered crotch, only a few inches away from your joined hands.

Jeongin had decided on wearing jeans today, the baggy dad-fit kind, and although they are loose, you can't help but imagine what might lie underneath.

"Wait..." Jeongin says. "Are you staring at my dick right now?"

"What? No!"

"Really? It sure looks like you are."

"There's a stain," you fib, dragging your eyes away from him.

"I just bought these two days ago."

"Okay," you inhale. "Fine. Maybe I was. But also, y'know, maybe I wasn't."

When you look at his face, a small smile threatens to break out across it.

"D'you want a closer look?" He teases.

You scoff, yanking your hand out of his.

"Weren't you saying something?" You ask pointedly.

"Sorry, you're right," he nods, gently taking your hand back. Except this time, he pulls the rest of you along with it, dragging you flush onto his lap.

Your cheeks flush immediately, but Jeongin doesn't seem at all embarrassed by this new position.

"I'm trying to confess my feelings for you right now," he continues. "We can talk about my dick later."

"You're... what for me?!"

He raises a brow, surprisingly calm.

"Feelings," Jeongin says slowly. "I have them. For you. Romantically, y'know."

You scoff. "Don't be condescending. I heard what you said!"

"I was just trying to help," he tells you innocently. "You seemed confused.

"Because I am!" You cry. "What are you saying? Y-You can't be serious."

"Yes, I am," he rolls his eyes. "I like you, a lot, in case you couldn't tell."

You gape at him.

"And you must like me too," he adds, "considering the way you were just staring at my dick."

You glare at him, unable to fight the fierce heat that rises to your cheeks even as you break your hand free from his grasp once again.

"Shut up," you groan, placing your hands square on his chest. A teasing smile stretches across his face, and then slowly slips away as you wiggle in his lap, trying to get off of him.

Jeongin's breath catches in his throat and his hands automatically drift to your hips, holding you in place.

"Let me go," you whine, increasing your efforts. "You're saying weird things and I, like, need a moment."

"Oh my god. You need to stop doing that."

"Doing what?" You snark.

He looks at you pointedly, a dark look in his eyes, and you wriggle some more, until—

"Oh," you gasp, surprising by the hard feeling poking against your thigh. "Jeongin, w-what the hell?"

"It's not my fault," he groans. "I told you to stop! And you look so good in this stupid dress I-I couldn't help it..."

"I don't understand," you stutter, arousal shooting straight to your core. "Where is this coming from?"

"You can't be serious," Jeongin mutters, and against your will, you squirm at the hoarse quality of his voice.

"—Fuck, please don't do that."

He sounds physically in pain, and you inhale sharply as his grip tightens on your hips, bruising as he holds you in place. His hands are so big—a fact you have always known, but seems somehow unavoidable now that they are holding you down on his lap.

"I—" You begin.

"You really had no idea how I feel about you?" Jeongin asks, pulling you closer to him. "Like, at all?"

"Oh," the moan escapes your lips at the delicious drag of your clothed core against his leg.

"Fuck, I wasn't going to tell you like this," he mumbles, his head falling against your shoulder. "I wasn't going to tell you at all. But I just—"

He inhales.

"I wanted to do this the right way, at least," Jeongin's jaw clenches.

"You are definitely doing this the right way," you say lowly, and then immediately blush afterwards. The words weren't supposed to come out, but his fingers tighten on your hips, and your thighs tighten around his leg.

"Shut up," he huffs, but there is a burgeoning hope underlying his tone. "I'm trying to be romantic here."

You consider his words. This position is making you delirious—you have always dreamed of this, Jeongin under you... no, Jeongin having feelings for you. It's euphoric, knowing that he actually cares about you the way you care about him. But the heat building up in the pit of your stomach is increasingly distracting, and all you want to do right now is grind down and get some relief.

You worry your bottom lip between your teeth, and then look up at him with wide eyes.

"You can be romantic after you fuck me," you say boldly.

A muffled groan escapes his lips and his hips ruth shallowly upwards at your words.

"Don't say things like that," he whines. "I—"

"Yes?" One of your hands creeps up his thighs.

"No," Jeongin glares at you. He snatches your sneaky wrist, yanking it away from you, and his unforgiving grip only sends another shot of arousal through you.

"If I fuck you," he breathes, "it'll be after I tell you how I feel."

You perk up. "So that means you are going to fuck me?"

He runs a frustrated hand through his hair. "Not if you keep acting like a brat."

You raise a brow wordlessly, and Jeongin's hold on your wrist loosens at the look in your eyes.

In this position, your dress is ridden up to the top of your thighs, leaving little to nothing to the imagination. You don't miss the way that his gaze travels up your legs, snagging on the green material as he chews on the inside of his cheek.

A mischievous, horny half-thought forms in your head. Your hands drift to the hem of your dress, and then before he can stop you—or worse, before you can stop yourself—you tug it up high enough to put your lace panties on display.

"Y/N." Your name is a choked whine as it leaves his lips.

"Yes?"

Jeongin takes a deep breath, his eyes focused on the ceiling in an attempt to collect himself.

"I don't—I mean, I want—" He struggles.

"Is something wrong, Innie?"

"I'm trying to tell you that I like you, but you're being so fucking difficult. Can't you wait, like, two minutes?"

"Oh my god, shut up," you breathe finally, squirming closer to him. "You like me, I get it! I like you too, obviously. I would like you better if your dick was inside me, but whatever. Can we fuck now?"

Your hand inches up his thigh again, and this time he doesn't have the chance to stop you before you're dragging a finger along the crotch of his jeans.

Half a sigh escapes his lips and then he grabs your hand, adjusting your grip so that you are fully palming him through the thick material.

"If you're going to be a brat," he groans, "at least do it right."

A wicked grin stretches across your lips.

"Gladly."

You reach for his zipper, eager to get his pants off so you can feel the full weight of him in your hands. But before you have the chance, Jeongin's hand wraps around the back of your neck, pulling you down to his lips.

"You—" he presses his lips against yours, hard. "—are such—" The words vibrate against your lips and you fight the urge to whimper, "—a tease."

"I'm trying to touch your dick," you pout between kisses.

Technically, you are touching his dick, but it's not enough. Not since yesterday, when the tantalizing what if wormed its way into your mind. It is pure torment, knowing all the lies between you and your prize is one measly layer of denim.

It is even more annoying that Jeongin has decided to distract you with pecks on the lips that are surprisingly tame, considering that he is insanely hard beneath you.

"And I," he glares, "am trying to tell you how much I adore and admire you."

The effect of his resolve is half-lost when his eyes flicker down to your chest, glazing over in lust as he stares at the shape of your body.

"Do that later," you hiss.

Your efforts with your hands are momentarily forgotten as you focus your attention solely on his lips.

Determined to deepen the kiss, you wrap your arms around his neck and pull yourself as close as you can, scooting up in his lap and molding the front of your body to his.

In this new position, your core is directly over his clothed cock and you grind down on him at the same time that you lick a long stripe against the seam of his lip.

Your actions have the desired effect when Jeongin's lips part in a soundless moan. His willpower quakes when your tongue slides into his mouth, and the way he kisses you back is sloppy, as if he is trying to swallow you whole.

But then, almost too quickly, he remembers himself. With a surprisingly sexy amount of self control, he manages to pull himself away from you.

A small whine escapes you and your lips try to follow his, but Jeongin's hand wraps around your throat and holds you where you are.

"Who said you could do that?" He asks. His lips are red and swollen as they turn upwards in a foreboding smirk.

"Sorry, I didn't know I needed permission to kiss you," you scoff. "Or did you not like it?"

"Oh, I liked it," Jeongin says, unaffected by your taunt. "What I would like more is for you to shut up and actually listen to me, but it's okay. We'll get there eventually."

"Sure," you roll your eyes.

A competitive glint steals its way into his gaze. "Is that a challenge?"

"And if it is?"

"Mmm, baby, I was hoping you would say that."

And then, before you can react, he pushes you roughly off of him. Not expecting the motion, you fall into a heap on top of the bed sheets, a gasp caught in your throat.

When you look up, Jeongin peels his shirt off, maintaining eye contact even as he settles against the headboard, palming himself through his pants.

"That wasn't very nice," you push yourself up onto your knees.

He raises a brow, his gaze raking up and down your body.

"Why are you so far away?" You complain. "I thought you were going to fuck me."

"Hasn't anyone ever told you that patience is a virtue?"

You can't deny how hot it is, being so close but so far away, able to look but not touch him. There is something vaguely humiliating in the distance between the two of you, and Jeongin's heated gaze pins you in place.

"Patience is for losers," you huff childishly. "Are you going to touch me or do I have to do all the work myself?"

You realize your mistake a moment too late.

"Hmm, you're right," he muses. "Why should I touch you when you can do it yourself?"

It's too late to take it back, and you refuse to beg, so you keep your mouth shut.

"It's only fair, don't you think? You saw me, now it's my turn."

Jeongin's innocent smile coupled with his sharp words is enough to set you alight.

Still, you hesitate, your lips parted in a half 'o' as you consider his words.

"Touch yourself for me, or I won't touch you at all."

"Ugh," you whine finally, seeing the promise in his eyes. "Fine."

"Don't be a brat," Jeongin warns.

You can't help but roll your eyes, and yet when you bring your hand down to your clothed core, a shy flush works itself onto your face.

It isn't like you have never touched yourself before, but you can't remember the last time you had such a rapt audience, and it isn't just anyone watching you—it's Jeongin.

There is a sort of thrill to the way he stares you down, strong desire evident in his gaze even as he remains perfectly still. That thrill is then only heightened by the fact that you are still completely clothed, your skirt flipped up so that he has a perfect view of what is underneath.

With a deep breath, you run a hesitant finger once over the fabric of your panties, then twice. Jeongin is only able to watch your timid ministrations with a singular focus, and it emboldens you enough to push the thin fabric covering you to the side.

He inhales sharply at the sight.

"Oh my god," the strangled words barely escape his mouth, and you don't miss the way he squeezes himself tighter.

You lick your lips at the sight and slowly trail a finger down, circling yourself bare with small, light figure eights.

"Does that feel good?" Jeongin asks, and the eagerness in his voice surprises you. His voice is steady, and if you weren't able to see his blown out pupils for yourself, you would think that he was genuinely, objectively interested in the answer to the question.

"I guess..."

Even though you are insanely turned on, your fingers aren't doing much for you right now. You have always needed something else—a toy, a helping hand, anything—to help you get off this way. Jeongin's surveilling gaze is certainly helping, but predictably, you can't help but feel a little bit stuck.

"You don't sound very sure." You aren't sure how he manages to sound both condescending and caring at the same time.

Your lip snags between your teeth in frustration.

"It's... It's not enough."

"Hmm," he remains still.

"Jeongin..." His name comes out breathy.

"Aww," he coos. "D'you need some help?"

"You're so annoying," you growl.

"And you're so mouthy," he rolls his eyes and a hand wraps around your ankle, yanking you towards him.

In only a second, you all but fall onto his lap. You can't help the moan that escapes you at his manhandling, and his lips twist in a smirk when he hears it.

"Is this better?" He teases.

Your thighs lay over his, but your core is far away from where you want it to be most: flush against his dick. In an attempt to get closer, you wriggle your hips, but Jeongin's hands come down and hold them firmly in place.

"Can you get off like this?"

You glare at him. The tone in which he asks the question hints that he already knows the answer is no.

"Try," he says, "and maybe if you're good, I'll give you a reward."

Frustrated, you bring two fingers down to your clit and continue your slow circling, faster this time as you teeter between the desire to ease the pressure and the desire to defy Jeongin.

"Wanna know what I was thinking about yesterday?" He asks casually, his eyes focused again on the languid movement of your fingers.

"H-Huh?"

"When you walked in on me," he clarifies.

"Oh."

"I was thinking about you," Jeongin says. "You and that stupid fucking dress you were wearing."

Your breath catches in your throat and you clench around nothing. his eyes are dark and his hand drifts down to squeeze himself as he continues.

"Every time you wear one of those dresses," he inhales, tugging on the hem of your skirt, "It makes me lose my mind. Did you know that?"

You bite your lip, your fingers pressing down harder against you.

"They're just so... ugh." He pants, squeezing himself tighter. "It would be so easy to flip it up and have my way with you."

His words are torture, especially with the devout way he refuses to touch you. You breathe shakily, trying to ignore the way his voice goes straight through you.

"Just one move, mmm, and you could sit on my dick, anywhere you want. Nobody would even have to know."

His hips rut upwards, and you know that he isn't as unaffected as he seems.

"Would you like that?" He asks. "I bet you would."

"And who said I would let you?"

His eyes darken.

"I-I mean, you'd have to earn it first," you lick your lips.

"Earn it?" he murmurs. "How? Like this?"

And then he pulls you forward so that your body is flush with his. The position is reminiscent of a few moments ago, when your tongue had been down his throat, but this time Jeongin's lips go straight for your throat and his fingers make their way to your core, pushing yours out of the way.

"Oh."

It astounds you just how different his hand feels from your own. He keeps the same pace as you, and yet arousal sparks through your veins in a way that you have never been able to achieve on your own.

"You're so wet," he says against your skin, sucking a bruise under the curve of your jaw. "How are you this wet?"

That, of course, only sends more arousal shooting down to your core, gushing against his fingers, and his eyes roll back.

"You're so hot. Oh my god."

"Keep talking like that," you sigh, "and you'll definitely earn something."

"Like what?" His hips roll up right as he presses down deeper and you swear you almost black out.

"S-something like your dick in my mouth, maybe."

"Ugh," Jeongin hisses, and his hand stills.

"What—?" You quiver on his lap from the sudden loss of sensation.

"Sorry," his eyes screw shut and his hand move to your hips, repositioning you on his lap so that you are no longer directly on his dick.

"I—hmm, I need a moment."

"Did I do something wrong?" You ask, dazed.

"No!" Jeongin exclaims immediately. "It's just..."

He purses his lips, a light blush rising to his cheeks.

"Yes?"

"I was like, two seconds away from coming in my pants, and that would have been so embarrassing."

His confession is surprisingly candid for how abashed he sounds.

"Oh my god," you whimper, clenching down on nothing. "That's so hot."

"Fuck. You're like, insane. What the fuck?"

You narrow your eyes. "We've been best friends for years. You're only realizing that now?"

"I was a little distracted by other things about you," he breathes against your neck.

You huff, a retort ready, but then his mouth is on you again.

"C-Can you just fuck me already?" You whine instead. "I—I need to feel you or I'll die."

"You're so dramatic," he rolls his eyes.

Your hands have a mind of their own as they travel down to his pants, squeezing him through them. His head falls into the crook of your shoulder with a moan, but he doesn't stop you even as you drag the zipper down.

And then, he lets out the most delicious sound as you reach into his boxers and wrap your fingers around the head of his cock. The weight of it feels perfect in your hands and you waste no time in pulling him out of his boxers.

Your mouth goes dry at the first real look at him. He's big, bigger than you thought he would be, and you are dizzy at the thought of it.

How would he feel inside you? Would be even fit? The heat inside your chest sparks further.

"Stop looking at me like that," Jeongin grinds out.

You watch in awe as you give him an experimental stroke and his mouth drops open. Another stroke, and a strangled moan leaves his lips.

Curiously, you run a finger over the tip, gathering his precum before running your hand down his shaft once more.

"Oh my god," he moans into your shoulder. Jeongin's gaze is focused on your small hand moving over his cock, and your gaze is focused on face and the small reactions he gives you.

"You're evil," Jeongin hisses after a particularly vindictive squeeze.

"And you're hot," you say.

"O-okay, that's enough—"

He halts your hand, unwrapping your fingers from his cock. His face screws up and his hips unconsciously follow your touch as it leaves, but he remains steady when he pulls you away.

"But—" you pout.

"You can do that later," Jeongin breathes. "Unless you would rather I come in your hands instead of inside you?"

"No," you shake your head quickly. "The second one. Let's do that one."

A smirk slips across his face and then one hand is on your hip again, pulling you even closer as the other wraps around the base of his cock.

"I'm going to..." he breathes. "Can I fuck you now?"

"Hmm..." You tap a finger to your chin. "i dunno, what happened to not fucking me until you told me how you feel?"

"I hate you, that's how I feel," he mutters, his brow furrowed.

"I don't think so—oh."

Your taunt trails off as he brushes the head of his dick against your core. The feeling of him hot in between your legs is enough for you to whimper.

"Let me fuck you," he says again. "Please?"

You nod, lightheaded as he continues to rub his cock against you.

"Yeah. Yes. Please, fuck me."

"Thank god," he breathes.

His fingers hook your panties even further to the side and then you lift your hips up so that you are hovering just above him. With an unsteady breath, Jeongin positions his dick right at your entrance.

He looks up at you, his pupils blown out with lust.

"Ready?" He asks in a voice that is surprisingly tender.

You nod again, and then slowly sink down on him.

"Fuck," he chokes out.

The stretch is unfamiliar, and you bite down on your lip to stifle the sound that threatens to escape. You knew he was big, but the burn of him opening you up still catches you off guard.

Jeongin notices your expression immediately, and his hands on your hips stop you in your path.

"Are you okay?" His voice is laced with concern.

"I'm good. Just—so big."

"Sorry," he whispers. "We... we don't have to do this right now."

"No!" You shake your head. "No, I want to. Just... give me a second."

He nods understandingly.

"Take your time."

He is barely even halfway inside you at this point, but you breathe in through your nose as you wait to adjust to his size. A few moments later, the burn fades mostly away into a dull ache, which then gives way to the threads of arousal that had previously been wrapping around you.

All it takes is one look at Jeongin's wrecked expression for that arousal to increase tenfold. You can feel yourself growing wetter at the expression on his face, and then he groans, and you know that he must have felt it too.

"What—" He begins, but his sentence breaks off into a moan as you roll your hips forward and then slowly push yourself downward once more.

"You—oh, you feel so..." Jeongin blabbers.

"Yes?" You ask, pleasantly surprised as the pain slowly fades into pleasure.

"So good," he gasps. His eyes are unfocused, and when you finally are able to take him fully to the hilt, he squeezes your hips.

"You're—" he breathes. "You're doing so well."

The praise sends more heat through you and you unintentionally clench down on him.

"Holy shit," he whines.

"You're so big," you hiss.

He nods quickly, and you aren't sure if he heard what you said.

"Can you," he begins. "Well, I mean, whenever you're ready, can you maybe move?"

"O-only because you asked so nicely."

And then, quicker than he can process, you lift yourself up and swivel your hips downwards.

"Oh," you both moan at the same time.

Experimentally you repeat the motion, and a shot of heat moves through you when it garners the same reaction. It doesn't take long before you have built up a steady rhythm, riding him as he moans beneath you.

"Where—oh, where d-did you learn how to do this?" He pants, his arms wrapping around you to pull you closer.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" You tease, breathing heavy from both pleasure and exertion.

"You're so good," he murmurs against your neck, moaning when you roll your hips a way that allows him to reach inside deeper than before. "So, so good, oh my god."

His mouth moves to your throat, placing sloppy kisses up and down the column of your neck.

"You're so pretty like this. And I'm the only one who gets to see, hmm?"

"Yeah," you breathe. "O-only you."

The force of your riding allows the skirt of your dress, previously rolled up to your torso, to fall back down. There is something sensual and dirty about the way that you are both still clothed—you, with your panties haphazardly pushed to the side and him, with his cock just barely pulled out of his pants. It makes you go crazy, how you can't even see the way you sink down on him because of all the fabric in between.

"Jeongin," you whimper. "I—oh my god, you feel so good, I think I-I'm close..."

"Already?" He teases, panting as he sucks a bruise against your jaw.

You nod, your movements getting more and more sloppy as the pleasure builds.

"I—" you moan, but the build is too slow to actually push you over the edge. "I can't."

The frustration in your voice has Jeongin thrusting upwards to meet the roll of your hips.

"Not enough?" He asks, and you nod pathetically.

He pulls away, his hands on your hips moving to stop you. You are so fucked out that you hardly notice that he is pulling out of you until you feel the glaring absence of him.

"What—" You whimper, close to tears at the visceral loss.

"Shh," he soothes, swallowing your words with a chaste kiss to the lips. "Don't worry, baby, I'm going to take care of you."

Jeongin's tongue peeks out of his mouth as he pushes you down, slowly, until you are laid flat on your back. A small whine builds in the back of your throat and you fist the sheets beneath you, not really knowing what is going on except that Jeongin was fucking you and now no longer is.

Then, before you even have to ask, he is back at your entrance, pushing into you.

This time, it is much easier to accommodate the stretch. His first stroke is enough to bring you back to the precipice you had been on earlier, and Jeongin chokes audibly when you clench down on him.

"So tight," he grunts, thrusting into you again. "You feel like heaven."

You bite into the heel of your palm as the whimpers begin to build up in your throat.

"Don't do that," Jeongin groans, his next stroke languid and deep enough to have you seeing stars.

His hand wraps around your wrist, pulling it away from your mouth.

"Wanna hear you," he pants. You moan as he thrusts into you again, somehow even deeper. "Yeah, just like that."

His fingers push your palm flat against the bed next to you, and then gently intertwine with yours, an intimate juxtaposition to the precise snap of his hips above you.

"You're so beautiful," he groans. "I like you so much."

"Jeongin," you whimper when he brushes against your g-spot. "I-I'm close. Please, please."

"Yeah?"

"M-more," you nod, your eyes glazed over.

The frantic pace that he builds up has him moaning as he pulls your hips towards him.

"You look so perfect like this," he gasps. "I'll never be able to look at you in a dress again without thinking of this, fuck."

His fingers fist the hem of your dress, pushing it up until it bunches just under your chin.

"Close," you whisper. "Sososo close, oh my god, please Innie..."

"Are you gonna come?" He asks. "It's okay baby, come for me. Please, wanna feel it."

His movements are jerky now but you hardly notice because his words are enough to finally push you past your breaking point. One more well positioned thrust right against your g-spot has you seeing white, and with a gasp of his name, you come.

"Fuck, oh my god," his eyes screw tight. "You feel so good, so, so, so good. Holy shit, how are you even real?"

The words sound fuzzy as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm.

It is only a few moments, once you have finally come down from your high, that you are able to get a good look at Jeongin. His pace is still fast as he fucks into you, and you can't help but cringe away from the oversensitivity. But then, when you notice his flushed face and his taut eyebrows, you decide that the slight sting between your thighs is worth it.

After all, he looks so hot like this—frantic and desperate and so, so close.

"I'm gonna come," he gasps. "Where can I come?"

You blink slowly, wanting to engrain the image of him into your brain forever.

Then, you look up at him with wide eyes, and instead of responding, you simply open your mouth and stick your tongue out immediately.

"Fuuuuck," Jeongin groans. "Don't do this to me, holy shit."

He thrusts shallowly into you once more, and then swiftly pulls out, positioning himself over your mouth.

"You're not real," he says, "I—god, you're so hot."

He jerks himself off quickly, precisely, and with a gasp, he comes. You make sure to get every last drop, licking your lips slowly while maintaining brutal eye contact.

"Fuck," he whispers to himself, and then collapses on the bed next to you.

"So..." you say a few moments later. "What was that you were saying about how much you adore and admire me?"

"Sorry, what are you talking about?" Jeongin shoots back.

You roll over to face him, a pout stretched across your lips.

"Innie..."

He glares at you. "Oh, so now you want to talk about feelings."

You twirl a strand of hair around your fingers, looking away from him.

"You're such a brat," he groans, pulling you closer so he can wrap an arm around you. "...It's really unfortunately that I like you so much."

The grin that stretches across your face is blinding.

"I like you too," you add. "Y'know, just for the record."

"Really? I thought you fucked all your friends like that."

"Just the special ones," you simper.

"Whatever," he says, but then presses a tender kiss to your forehead.

You melt into his embrace, feeling more content than you had for weeks.

"Anyways," Jeongin declares. "As fun as that was, I think we need to get cleaned up quickly now."

"For what?" You ask, confused.

He raises a brow, pushing himself up. "We still have that boat tour to go on."

"...You're not serious."

You follow suit, sitting up so you can stare at him.

"Oh, I definitely am."

"C'mon," you whine, grabbing his hand. "For real?"

He nods. "Yup. There's no way you're getting out of this."

You pause.

"No way at all...?" You pout a little too innocently.

"Nope."

"...Really?" You fidget with the hem of your dress. And then, with a little smirk on your face, you pull it completely over your head.

Jeongin's eyes go wide and he stares at you, his gaze darkening once again.

"Well..." He mutters, pushing you so that you are flat on your back again. "I guess we can always try tomorrow..."

Contrary to popular belief, Minho sulks often. You do understand why people would believe that isn’t the case—your boyfriend’s dry jokes followed by a sarcastic smile being one of the reasons why you were drawn to him in the first place. When you first met him a couple years back, when he was still doing busking events with his dance crew alongside a common friend of yours, you’d watch in doe-eyed adoration as he’d flash his bunny teeth in a playful grin to his crewmates each time they got one move slightly wrong. What pissed them off the most is they could never get back at Minho—he never forgot any moves, never missed a beat. His justifiable confidence made him oh so irritating—you were attracted like moth to a flame to his character, his knife-sharp features matching his equally piercing sense of humour were fuel to the fire. 

But the thing about your boyfriend's sulking is that it is often unjustifiable. Of course he doesn't need a reason to want to be pampered by you, but it'd be nice if Minho admitted he also likes to be taken care of at least once in a while.  

“What did I do to deserve this torture?” The ever so intimidating choreographer mumbles from his spot on your bed, your pastel pink pillowcases being a little counterproductive to the assertive tone he's been trying to use on you. 

Minho can’t suppress the smirk forming on his lips at your scoff, “Torture? I'm just asking you to wait! These bedsheets got here like, two weeks ago!” You're on your feet, struggling to fold one of the new huge linens to store in your closet. “If they stay in these bags any longer they're gonna start smelling weird.” 

“You know that's not how it works, right?” 

“I don't care. You know you should be helping me, right?” You look back, a smirk of your own automatically taking place when your eyes find his. 

Despite the lopsided smile that seems to be permanently plastered on his face, Minho grunts as he drags his body out of the comforter and towards you, “You know you should wash these before putting them away, right?”  

And as soon as your eyebrows raise and he sees the very familiar smile on your lips as you push the sheet into his arms, your boyfriend realizes he fell right into your trap, “Have it your way, then!” 

The man watches as you jump in bed, getting comfortable on the spot he previously was—eyes filled with the similar overwhelming fondness they usually hold when Minho looks at you. “You’re annoying.” He takes off the rest of the sheeting from it’s flimsy plastic bags, making his way to the laundry room. “Don’t fall asleep!” He exclaims from the hallway. 

“I’m not making any promises!” 

“Don’t sleep! I wanna spend time with you!” Unfortunately, no amount of stubbornness can take away Minho's super power of having you giggling into your pillow. He wants to spend time with you. He's the love of your life and he wants to spend time with you.  

Those are the feelings you can't quite understand. You’ve been with Minho for so long—at least long enough you've been through the “honeymoon stage” everyone seems to fear the ending of. For you, it feels like this stage never seems to be over. You pray it never ends.  

So here you are, kicking your feet because your long term boyfriend said he wants to spend time with you. At least you know he's as obsessive as you are, if not slightly more. 

Minho's way of showering you with love was overwhelming. He isn't the type to communicate his feelings through words, instead, he'd do things like casually tell you about getting into a rather serious argument with his manager, trying to get the day off so he’d spend your birthday with you. Of course he would be busy, cooking your favourite meal as he casually narrates the dramatics him and his group went through trying to get his needs respected. He doesn't look you in the eye when he says he got emotional, the only reason why his manager gave in being Minho “never behaved like this before”. This is his way of saying you're his utmost priority, can't you tell? The redness of his ears and fidgety eyes are a big hint of the nervousness Minho prayed you wouldn't pick up on. Unfortunately for him, you know him like the back of your hand.  

You know that a quick glance your way means someone said something he found amusing in a way. If his hand fell to your lower back in social gatherings, it means Minho is a bit nervous and needs some grounding. If he's too silent, you know to sit beside him and wait until it all comes pouring out. With you, it always does. If he's vocalizing how tired he is, you know he'd enjoy talking for hours on end about anything that comes to his mind. Minho always needs you, he just has very specific patterns to show you exactly what he's currently craving from you. Fortunately for him, he's your favourite subject matter. He's the only thing you ever want to pay attention to–the sole owner of your entire focus.  

That's why you know exactly what he needs when he flops back on the bed, and after a few moments of silence, blurts out “I miss you. I missed you a lot this week." 

You crawl out of your nest and straddle your boyfriend's lap, dragging your comforter along and covering you both with it.  

You're both silent as you hold his cheeks, taking your time as you kiss them, then his forehead, and the mole on his nose—at least a couple times each. Minho's hand slides down your lower back when your lips find his, tongue slowly tasting his as you feel his heart beating tranquilly against the palm of your hand sliding up and down his chest. You feel his right hand gently cupping the back of your neck, holding you close against him as the other sneaked under your shirt, slowly caressing your bare back.  

Minho doesn't try to take control of the kiss like he usually does—neither do you. Your bodies seem to move in harmony, the glacial movements of his tongue making you sigh against his mouth every now and again, promptly resulting in a smirk of his. You loved kissing his smile. 

“Missed you so much, baby.” He repeated softly against your lips. Minho now had both hands under your shirt, his touch leaving goosebumps as he caressed up and down your sides.  

“Missed you too. Always miss you so much, Min.” Your breathing is a bit compromised now, hands moving on their own as you remove your own shirt.  

Minho quickly follows, his palms back on your hips as soon as his shirt is tossed to the side. “I know you do, pretty. I know.” 

His hands lay on your ass, groping as he whispers against your lips. “Spent the entire week thinking about fucking you. Gonna lay on your side for me, pretty? Hm? Gonna do it just how I like it?” 

Too much, too much, too much. You don't think you're really moaning anymore, but you're sure your mouth's been hanging open for a while. Minho’s hips are slow as he hits the deepest parts of you, holding your squirming body for a few seconds each time he bottoms out. The sweet, lazy drag of his cock inside you make your lust disable all of your senses. He felt heavy, thick, so deep inside you. Full. You felt so, so full.  

Somewhere in the haze you feel his palms making their way towards your chest, you process a bit of squirming as he squeezes them, massaging your breasts as he continued his torturously slow assault on your g-spot. 

Minho can feel every cell fighting against his urge to mount and pump into you as fast as he pleases, but he'd endure anything if it means he gets to hear your drawn out whines as he rocks his hips back and forth, your entire body shivering every time he pauses deep inside of you for a few moments.

He runs his hand through the goosebumps of your arms and back to your chest again. After feeling you up a bit more, your boyfriend takes your hand and drags it south as he presses on your lower stomach, making you feel him moving inside you. 

“You're feeling how good I fill you up, honey? Can you feel it?” His breathing is much more ragged now, Minho's body is visibly shuddering behind you as well. You squeeze around and him, bringing his hips to a stop. 

You look back, staring at his open mouth as you inhale each other's heavy breaths. As if snapped out of a trance, Minho kisses you roughly. He swallows each of your moans when his hips start swaying back and forth again, still as slow and rough as he was.  

His hand leaves yours as he reaches for your chin, spit dribbling down your lips. 

“So fucked out you're drooling for me. God, you're so good, baby. You take it so good.” 

“Holy shit, Minho! So close, so close, so close-” Your voice is no longer a whisper as it's pitch gets higher, your orgasm dangling in front of you in a fever dream. You feel him everywhere and it's almost too much, but certainly not enough. You're so overstimulated you don't know what to focus on to reach your high—both your senses and judgment so clouded you can't muster the brainpower to figure out what you need. 

Luckily for you, Minho knows you like the back of his hand. “I love you. Love you so much.” 

You can't tell how long it lasts, you're barely able to process Minho coming inside you. You feel the ghost of his hands holding your hips still as he whimpers in your ear—the sound alone making you shiver all over again. Your body shakes in his hold, limbs giving out after a prolonged orgasm you're not used to experiencing.  

“Love you too… Love you so much…” The words mindlessly escape your lips as your head slowly sways, fingers twirling the ends of your splayed out hair. 

Your eyes are closed as he lays you on your back, adjusting the pillow under your head as he chuckles. “Love you too, pretty. Hang in there just a second.” 

You feel his hands caressing your body as he handles you, a sixth sense making you chuckle when you realize he spread your legs but didn't start cleaning you up. 

His hands run down your thighs, you can hear the smirk on his voice. “What's up?” 

“Stop staring.” You say, humming with your eyes still closed. 

“Don't wanna.” You feel his fingers sliding through your core. “Mouth wide open for me, baby. Come on.” 

You sigh when you get a taste of his coated fingers, lips wrapping around as your tongue licks in between them. You open your eyes to find him hovering above you, eyes fix in your mouth. 

The look you give Minho makes him dizzy—the way you stare up at him with your big doe eyes in such adoration while sucking cum off his fingers almost made his heart burst. He can feel how each beat of it belongs to you, his heartbeat chained to a rhythm that followed your own.