Our Secret

Our Secret

Summary: Jisung has a crush on his best friend's girlfriend.

Pairing: Han Jisung x Minho’s Girlfriend

Genre: Smut

Word Count: 3.3K

Warning: cheating, drinking, flirting, biting, teasing, begging, no protection, oral (f receiving) , fingering, hair pulling, idk if i missed any

He knew it was wrong but oh did it feel so right. The way he fit inside of you, as if you were made for him, washed away any feelings of guilt Jisung may have had. Yes, you were Minhos, but right now you were his. Your fingers gripped the bedsheets and your mouth let out calls of his name. Jisung could never get enough of you, kissing your skin as he fucked you, making sure he didn’t leave any marks on you. He so badly wanted to but Jisung knew if he did he would risk not only hurting you, but his best friend.

~

“I like them a lot Jisung, I think I’m gonna ask them out.”

Jisung didn’t expect Minho to say that at all. He knew his friend could hide his feelings pretty well behind teasing remarks and feined annoyance but not like this. He never thought Minho could also like you and now that Minho said something first he knew he couldn’t act on his crush.

“Go for it, Hyung. I’m sure she’ll say yes.”

That was his first mistake.

His second mistake was hanging out with the three of you at a party after you two started dating. Seeing you in your small black dress that didn’t leave much for the imagination and your short hair tied up leaving your neck on display for him. He drank his mind away and then approached the two of you for the first time of the night even though you all came together. It was obvious all three of you were drunk and Minho was so lost in the music he barely realized Jisungs presence there. You grabbed Jisungs hand and started dancing with him, moving in a way that could enchant anyone.

“I’m gonna get another drink and say hi to Hyunjin, ok?”

You nodded at your boyfriend and he was off. Jisung was unfortunately sober enough to feel slightly awkward being with you hand in hand on the dance floor. His movements stiff, causing you to stop for a second before looking at him with a tilted head and a smile.

“Have you never danced with anyone before, or are you just super fucking stiff when drunk?”

He nervously laughed and looked away before you grabbed his face to look at you.

“I see its the first option.”

Your body came unbearably close to his as you started dancing on him, a smile planted on your face. The eye contact you made caused Jisung to breathe a little heavy as you swayed against him. To make matters worse you slid you arms up your body into the air, and then landed them around his neck, bringing the two of you closer than you had ever been.

“You’re fucking breathtaking.”

His mouth moved before he could even think and before he could even panic you giggled.

“As are you, Sungie. It’s a wonder you’re still single, huh? When’s the last time you even got laid?”

His eyes widened at the question, not used to discussing his sex life with anyone but Minho.

“I’m not sure actually, it’s been a while I guess.”

Your face moved closer to his causing his lips to part in anticipation and nervousness.

“That won’t do.”

Your lips were obscenely close to his and he could feel your breath on his lips as you looked up at him with glazed over eyes. You smiled and looked away, seeing Minho returning from his conversation. You released your arms from Jisungs neck and placed them on his chest, smirking at him as you spoke to Minho.

“Hey babe did you get me a drink too?”

Jisung stood there frozen, watching you step towards Minho and kiss him deeply before looking back at him. You grabbed the drink out of Minhos hand before taking a sip.

“Mmm my favorite. Here Sungie, have some.”

You grabbed his face and brought the cup to his mouth forcing him to drink. A bit of the drink fell from the side of his mouth and you were quick to wipe it off with your thumb.

“Bad boy, don’t waste it.”

Jisung looked over to Minho and sawthat he wasn’t even looking, too invested in his own drink and the music blaring over the speakers. You smiled again with half lidded eyes before returning to Minhos side to dance with him. All Jisung could think was what the actual fuck was that??

~

His next mistake was going shopping with the both of you. Once spotting you two at the malls entrance, Jisung was in a slight panic seeing what you wore. You drove in two different cars, Jisung in his own and Minho in his with you. When you arrived, you were wrapped around Minho’s arm in a crop top, a mini skirt, and platform converse. The whole outfit hugged your body in all the right places and the shoes were the ones Jisung got you for your birthday earlier this year. Seeing him eye you up and down you asked him a question.

“Don’t I look pretty?”

Jisung responded with a light nod, refusing to open his mouth for fear he would say something that would clue Minho in on his racing thoughts. You looked at him with a pout that Minho realized so he pat your head and kissed your forehead.

“Don’t mind him, he has awful taste. You look so pretty baby.”

Hanging out at the mall was fun and the three of you enjoyed the time you spent together. After a while you went to use the bathroom and Minho pulled Jisung to the side.

“I wanna get them a really pretty necklace they liked last time we came here on a date as a surprise. Can you keep them occupied?”

Jisung nodded and reassured that he would be able to, then Minho was off. You exited the bathroom to only see Jisung and he explained Minho went to go get something from the car, which was a good excuse for him to be gone for a whilem seeing as the car was all the way in the lot next to the other side of the mall.

“Oh okay let’s continue shopping then for now and meet up with him later. I wanted to get some more clothes anyway.”

You led him to a store and he followed. Rushing to the womans section, you almost left him behind in excitement. After picking some dresses and skirts, you wanted to go to the dressing rooms to try them on and make sure they fit how you wanted them too. Jisung offered to wait at the cash register but you insisted he came with you and waited to judge the outfits.

The first outfit you tried on was a pink dress, it was super pretty and complemented your skin tone. He clapped and you spun before doing a curtsey and going back in to try on more clothes. You came out in a couple skirts and shirts and he complimented every one of them. After trying on another dress you asked him a question.

“Why didn’t you compliment me earlier but are so willing to now? Did Minho make you nervous?”

“What? No, I just uh like these better so I’m more vocal about it, that’s all.”

You made a hm sound and went back in the dressing room. When trying to take off the dress, you realized the zipper was stuck. You smiled at yourself in the mirror, and feigned an innocent voice.

“Um Sungie? Can you help me I’m stuck in this dress.”

He froze in place and tried to talk to you from outside the door.

“Uh you sure you’re stuck? You can’t get out at all?”

“Yeah I’m really stuck please help me out of this. I don’t wanna break it, it was the last one they had!”

You opened the door slightly, allowing Jisung to push the door open the rest of the way to see you looking sadly at him before turning around and parting your hair while putting you neck down to allow him more access to the zipper.

“Lock the door, I don’t want anyone to see us in here and get the wrong idea.”

He locked it and turned to you who was waiting for his help. HIs hands worked carefully to fix the zipper, budging it until it zipped down slightly.

“I got it, you can unzip it now.”

He backed up as if he was going to leave but you grabbed his wrist, stopping him.

“Please Sungie, do it for me! I don’t wanna rip the dress or mess the zipper up because I can’t see it.”

Hesitantly, he put his hand back on the zipper and slowly started unzipping it. The sleeves fell and you let them, revealing a bit of your bra in the large mirror of the dressing room. You held your hands by your chest to hold it up and not reveal your bra in full. His eyes reverted from the mirror to you back as fast as they could. Revealing your back now, he could see your bra strap and the curve of your back right under his fingertips. The dresses zipper went all the way down further than your panty line and Jisung froze a bit when the lacy garment revealed itself to him. Thankfully it only showed a bit of it and he was finally able to take his hand off the zipper. His mind raced and guilt built up in him as he thought about Minho. His thoughts were cut short when you turned to Jisung and embraced him while thanking him. Your innocent smile didn’t match the way your body pressed up against his in this situation. Breasts almost popping out of your bra and pressed up against his chest, the dress opening more due to your quick movement, allowing more of you to be exposed in the mirror behind the two of you. Jisung stuttered out a “you’re welcome” and separated himself from you before unlocking the door and leaving.

Once you paid for your clothes at the register and left the store, you both spotted Minho at a bench in front of the store. He spotted you too and lifted his phone, showing his location app that the three of you shared. Running up to him, you raised your hands to show him the bags of stuff you got. He smiled at you.

“That’s lovely baby. I got you something too.”

Minho revealed the necklace to you and you put your hands over your mouth in shock.

“Is this what you were covering for?”

You looked over at Jisung and he smiled nervously while scratching the side of his head.

“Oh my God Minho it’s gorgeous! Thank you so much!”

“I’m so glad you like it.”

Minho put the necklace on your neck and you turned around to grab his face and kiss him.

“I have bad news though. Hyunjin called and said he needs a ride to work since his car broke down again.”

Jisung giggled at that before scoffing.

“He really needs to get that piece of shit to a dump and get a new car. I know he can afford one.”

“Eh I guess it has sentimental value since it was his first car so he’s not ready to let go of it. Anyway, since Hyunjin lives on an opposite side of town than you I was wondering if you’d be okay if Jisung took you home since he only lives like ten minutes away from you.”

“Yeah I’m okay with that. How about you Jisung, can I drive with you?”

“Uh yeah of course.”

You kissed Minho before getting in Jisungs car. Jisung disconnected his bluetooth and allowed you to take over his radio like he did everytime you were in the car and you excitedly put on your music. The car ride was a little quiet on Jisungs side but you happily spoke to him. Once you arrived to your house you gave him a kiss on the cheek to thank him for driving you. It wasn’t uncommon for you to do that but it caused his whole body to tense from earlier.

“Hey Jisung can you help me bring my bags in?”

“Oh yeah of course.”

That was his third mistake.

The bags were all in the house and you were climbing on top of a breathless Jisung who you had thrown on your bed. He looked up at you with nervous eyes.

“What about Minho?”

He had already asked this when you first kissed him after you’d closed your room door and you only responded by pressing your lips deeper into his, allowing his tongue to explore your mouth. Now on the bed, you gave him a verbal response.

“Can you keep a secret?”

He nervously shook his head yes.

“Good, so let’s make this our little secret.”

You bent down, kissing him again and moaning into his mouth. Jisung was drunk on your taste and his dominance overpowered his anxiety. He flipped the two of you over on the bed, leaving him on top of you. You gasped in excitement and grabbed him by his shirt to kiss him again. Jisung was finally able to taste you, to take you as his, and he wasn’t going to waste this moment on anxiety. He unlatched his lips from yours to kiss and bite your neck.

“You can’t keep a secret if Minho can see it! Be careful!”

Jisung became a bit more gentle but still continued to lick up your neck and kiss down to your collarbones. He lifted your shirt and bra all at once, revealing your breasts to him. Jisung latched onto your left tit as quickly as he could. He massaged and pinched the right one and switched between them both at will, sometimes latching a little hard and causing you to grab his hair. He had always wondered how sensitive your tits were and now that he knew they were this sensitive, he never wanted to unlatch himself from them.

“Sungie touch me more please.”

You whined out at him and he forced himself to let go of your chest and made his way down to your thighs. He kissed them and squeezed the flesh between his fingers before finally removing your skirt. The panties he had seen earlier were now on full display for him and he couldn’t help but dive down to lick the wet spot that had already formed. You gasped at his touch and he smiled, knowing he was able to make you squirm with such a simple touch. Jisung removed them and quickly put his tongue to good use, causing your back to arch and your hands to find his hair and pull. He lapped at your clit with swift motions and moaned into you, loving the way you tasted on his desperate tongue. Jisungs finger made it way to your opening and nudged at it before entering fully. Another finger entered and the combination of his fingers and his eager tongue gave you that familiar knot in your stomach.

“Fuck Sungie just like that! Ah you feel so good.”

Words almost wimpers, you twitched under him and he internally smiled. His pace kept up and you pulled his hair more as your torso lifted and you felt your orgasm about to rush over you.

“Ah I’m cumming! Fuck!”

Your orgasm erupted on his face and he kept going to help you ride out your orgasm. Jisung honestly didn’t ever want to stop but your next words were enough to make him.

“Fuck me, please fuck me Jisung-ah!”

He lifted his head and fully undressed. You ripped off your previously lifted shirt and sat up to kiss him deeply. The taste of you on your lips made you want him even more, knowing how good he just made you feel.

“Do you have a condom?”

“I don’t but I’m on birth control and don’t mind if you wanna-”

“Raw?”

“Mhm, if you want.”

Jisung crashed his lips on yours once again, so fucking excited to be able to fully be inside of you. He pushed you down and aligned his cock with your entrance, rubbing it slowly along you.

“Please don’t tease Sungie, please just fu-”

He thrusted into you in on quick move, causing you to arch your back and grab the bedsheets. His thrusts started slowly but his movements steadily picked up. Within minutes he had you a moaning mess. You brought him down and wrapped your arms around him, scratching his back with your fingernails, He moaned at the pain of his back and fucked you faster, causing you to dig deeper into his skin. Jisung pushed you away and flipped you over, bringing your hips up and entering you roughly. Your face was buried into the pillows and muffled you but Jisung didn’t like that. He lifted your head by your hair and you moaned louder than you had before. His movements were so rough you could feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge.

“Fuck you feel so good wrapped around my cock. Do you like it baby?”

Your moans were an obvious sign you liked it but he wanted to hear you say it.

“Tell me you like it, no tell me you fucking love it.”

“I fucking love it! Ah I love it!”

With that he pulled your hair harder and you came all over him, tightening around his cock. He felt his orgasm approaching and thrusted a few more times before releasing, pulling out and cumming mostly on your back. He stayed on his knees and lifted his head, eyes closed and mouth open panting. You fell over and smiled, dizzy and drunk on Jisung. He opened his eyes to see you on the bed naked covered in his cum and smiled. His smile was shortlived when he saw your phone light up, showing your wallpaper with Minho and a text from him. You grabbed the phone and casually responded to him before putting the phone back down.

“What’d he say?”

Jisung was nervous Minho somehow knew what you two had just done but you just shrugged.

“He asked if I wanted him to bring me food for dinner and I said yes.”

JIsung panicked, knowing Minho would be coming over soon.

“But I’m here!”

“Yeah, and? We hang out all the time. As long as we arent still in bed naked I don’t think he’ll suspect a thing. Oh, and as long as you don’t tell him, remember this is a secret after all.”

You got up and kissed Jisung before walking to the bathroom with your phone. He quickly got dressed and cleaned up your bed a bit since it was now pretty messy. You retured after peeing and cleaning yourself up and put on your clothes.

“I told him I invited you to eat dinner with us too and he said okay.”

“You want me to stay for dinner?”

You didnt even look up from your phone and Jisung wondered how you could be so casual after all of that.

“Duh, come on Jisung you have dinner with us all the time. Don’t freak out over nothing.”

To Jisung this wasn’t nothing, this was his seeing his best friend after having sex with his girlfriend. This was him lying to his friend, something he has never done. But this time he knew he had to lie, to protect both you and Minho. This had to stay a secret, and he was gonna make sure it did.

Just got my head trapped into the thought of: reader is very tired and sleepy, but also very horny, and as the skz boys KNOW reader has a huge kink on being dominated in this situation they just... Fuck her to delirium. If you ever feel like writing something like that, I'm... All in. 🥵

I definitely want to be trapped in your mind if these gorgeous ideas are the ones in it!!!!!ugh thank you so much!!!!!<3

wc: 1.4k

warnings: ot8 creampies, cnc somno, praise, lil degradation etc

The feeling started in the pit of your stomach, a tingle trickling down your thighs. The warm blanket previously burrito-ing your body was being peeled off.

"Baby, we're here." A familiar voice sounds through the room, your ears and brain not fully registering who it was, through your sleepy state.

You hum, trying to will yourself awake. But, your attempts are nearly useless as sleep has still paralyzed your body, your eyelids still heavily closed. With all your might, you strain to open them.

Once they split a millimeter, you can see a fuzzy outline of a new voice, whose tone lets you know its Seungmin.

His voice is like a velvety massage to your eardrums and you smile in your sleep. Whether you do it in reality is another story.

"Channie's talking to you angel." He says, referring to the previous voice no doubt.

"Ch-channie?" you manage, teetering into reality. Even in your sleepy state, you want your daddy near to you as soon as possible.

"Yes baby its me and Seungmin and Felix baby." The warmth of his presence wraps around you. You reach out reflexively, catching what you think is Channie's shirt.

"Ch-Channie, where's everyone?" You’re desperate, knowing that since they're here, more is to come.

He can't help the fuzzy feeling he gets deep in his gut looking at how desperately you want all of your boys around you at once. How your little hand is squeezing his shirt in your sleepy state.

"The rest of the boys are coming baby, they couldn't wait when they heard you're in this state."

You feel a smile part your lips ever so slightly, earning a chuckle out of the boys.

"Look how excited she is," Felix says, peeling off his clothes just as the others do.

Seungmin is nestled between your legs now, gently tracing circles on your bare thighs.

"S-Seungminnie," you breathe, suddenly feeling your core warm.

"How did you know it was me angel?" he says, proud.

"Y-your fingers, I missed them."

Just then, another set of hands caress your exposed stomach, sending little chills over your skin.

"What about mine sweetheart?" Felix says, the tiniest bit of jealousy in his deep voice.

The feeling of two of your most sensitive spots being stimulated makes you gush with heavy breaths.

"I'll take that as a yes," Felix says as your body begins to roll just a little.

"Tsk tsk, selfish, selfish boys," you hear Lee Know say as he enters the room. Trailing voices fall behind him.

You stay relaxed, letting sleep carry you in and out of the room as your body stays keenly aware of the impending excitement.

"She looks so sweet," says a rounder, more full voice.

"H-Hyune?" you say, knowing that was him. He always loved to say you looked sweet, something too precious for this world.

"Yes baby love. I'm here."

"P-please," you say, hearing your heavy voice coated with dreamy silence.

Almost in an instant, you feel the air condense, all of the boys surrounding you. They all know that was your cue for them to start.

"Fuck I wanna feel our baby so bad," Jeongin says eagerly and you can just imagine his fists balled up trying to contain his excitement.

Han's leg is bouncing up and down in anticipation. "Wh-when can we start, she's so perfect, smells so good."

"Makne on top right? So I think I should start," Jeongin says cheekily.

Your mouth suddenly opens in a little moan, your brain just processing what was said.

"I think she likes the sound of that," Hyunjin says.

The rest of the boys all undress, the 8 of them now making themselves comfortable around you on the big bed. The room is silent save for the bustling of clothes coming off and the soft whispers of the members.

"Channie's gonna take these panties off baby," Channie says quietly, leaning into you.

"Don't want them to get ruined," Felix says.

You roll your hips slightly off the mattress, to help Chan slide your panties down your legs.

As he's ridding you of your panties, Jeongin is placing himself between your legs.

"She's wet already," he says, his body shivering.

"She knows what's coming," Changbin says in heavy breaths, and you know that his eyes are heavy on you, waiting for that first moment your’re penetrated, to hear your moans.

Each of them concentrated as the they all wait patiently for their turn. They have a rhythm. When one member gets time with you, they fully let that moment be. But in the heat of the moment, there is always one or two members paying close attention to various parts of your body, until they all get too impatient and end up with their hands on you. All 8 members, having their way with you.

"I'm going in. Baby it's me Jeonginnie." He says as he floats his tip on your puffy cunt lips. Slipping the head in, he throws his head back. "O-oh my god she's so tight. H-how can I never get used to this?"

Han runs to get his mouth on your peaked nipples. He rolls his tongue over them repeatedly, feeling you flinch.

Jeongin pulls his hips back, his cock sliding out before slamming back in. His moan coming out low and grumbly, pleasure obviously coursing through his body.

You feel yourself be jerked to the left then to the right as you feel member after member sliding inside of you.

Lee Know's strong fingers grip your hips as he pumps into you steadily. "Such a good little kitten even in her sleep, getting her beauty rest."

"M-Minho, f-feel you s-so d-" your voice cuts off, sleep pulling you back down.

Whispers and murmurs infiltrate your tired mind as hands, cold and warm grab at you, massage you. You feel damp and sticky from their leaking cocks above you and inside of you.

"F-fuck I need another turn," Hyunjin says, still so hard even after his turn. "I'll take her mouth."

"Let me just" he whispers kneeling over your face. "J-just need a little, I'm sorry baby, Hyune is sorry." He slides in and you gag at his length,

"I'll be gentle." He says, his cock throbbing inside your mouth.

As he's working your mouth, you feel Han shake with an orgasm inside of you.

He's so whiny that even in your hazy mind you hear his moans clear as day.

"M-more," is all you can say after each member's warm cum fills you.

A much thicker size slides in, jolting you nearly fully awake.

"Relax bunny, Binnie's thick remember? Can't fit in if you don't relax." He presses your chest down slightly into the mattress and you feel yourself clench at the delicious burn that his heavy hand and heavy cock creates.

Like his words are magic, you intentionally relax your muscles, letting him in.

You're unsure if it's a dream or not, the way they're all taking turns caressing every curve, kissing every dip, licking every scar and mark on your body.

"Hyune, slow down she won't be able to breathe," Chan says, trying to slow him down.

"F-fuck look at her though, she loves it," Hyune whispers right before stilling. Hyunjin twitches in your mouth, his seed spilling into you as his head is thrown back, eyes rolling, his body convulsing.

"Look at her body, she's shaking," Han says his eyes lit up with excitement.

"Should we stop?" Felix asks, concerned.

You wanted to yell out for them not to stop, that it felt so good your body was electrified with each of their touches, but you couldn't muster up the energy.

"No." Lee Know says, eyes dark and shifting over your body. "She's just enjoying it too much, look at her toes." He motions to your toes curling so hard into themselves it nearly looked painful.

"She's so cute," Seungmin says giving a little kiss to your forehead.

"We know how to take care of you right baby?" Channie's voice seems to drip down from the heavens as he slides back into you, making sure not to let any of Binnie's seed spill out.

"Daddy wants to finish you off, hm?"

---

.💒.

Surprise Shower

“I’m going to go have a shower,” you giggled, lying on top of Changbin, giving him a small kiss, “Why don’t you meet me in bed, after?”

He looked at you, smirking suggestively,

“Mhm okay then,” he purred, seductively rubbing up and down your inner left thigh, “I’ll see you soon.”

Smiling, you gave him one more kiss, before jumping off of him and heading to the bathroom next door.

“Are any of the boys home?”

“Not for another couple of hours.”

“Oh, okay then.”

“Why do you ask?”

You said nothing, but began to undress yourself, leaving you in nothing but undergarments. Changbin’s eyes widened at the sight.

“I was just curious.”

Keep reading

---

❥the sun will rise, and we will try again (m)

↳ Minho would tell himself everyday that it was good enough. That he was happy enough. Content enough. Alive just enough.

He chose you over himself, you just never really knew it.

lee minho x fem!reader — friends to lovers, unrequited love, angst, porn with plot, explicit sexual content. [11,6k wc] cws: heavy pining, alcohol consumption, sexual activity under the influence, penetrative sex (unprotected), some light teasing.

Minho has never been sure whether to curse or be forever indebted to his eidetic memory.

On one hand, it made school a breeze, and the majority of his career prospects thereafter similarly simplified. Not that he had taken any of them truly to heart, obviously — given the fact that he had followed you all of the way to another country for not much reason beyond feeling like it.

That’s what he said, that’s always what he would say.

But it’s his eidetic memory that has such a particular way in proposing his suffering. He deliberates that he may always remember exactly what it was that you were wearing that night, and precisely the food stands that surrounded the two of you at that moment in time. It’s been three years since that night and the two of you had attended the Christmas festival each and every time — the same one, same location — and sure, the shop locations and snack booths change year after year; the only constant being the large glühwein stand in the middle of the festival which served as the prime meeting spot for all of the attendees.

A large windmill-looking contraption, seats strewn about as far as one could see and people at every inch of one another — laughing, smiling.

Loving.

And Minho remembers this night in particular because it was the first year that the two of you had moved to Germany together — you for school and Minho for…his own reasons. Years later and of all of the things he does remember, he’s not sure he recalls whichever lie it was that he had told you about why it was that he chose to move to another country with you; the only thing that was for sure, is that whatever he said was not the truth.

Long, tan coat with a burgundy scarf accenting colorfully, Minho remembers watching the way you struggled to hold the strap of your bag up and on your shoulder as you juggled a glass of glühwein in one hand, and your change in euros in another — realizing that dealing in cash was a rather distinctly Berlin sort of thing that would certainly take some getting used to — but taking your bag and slinging it over his shoulder, hearing the desperate exhale of a “thank you” escaping from your lips as if freedom had surely been assumed to never come — he pulls the polaroid camera out from the main pocket and smiles with just the left corner of his mouth, holding it up and dangling it in front of you. “Shall we? Commemorate the move?”

Minho takes one of the two of you together, you snuggled up into his arm next to him in an attempt to fit into the frame — he takes another — and then for the third one, it’s the moment he’ll certainly never forget for as long as he lives, he truly believes that.

The way your arms wrapped around his own in the instant and warm lips pressed to the skin of his cheek just as he takes the photograph. It became quite a topic of humor once the film developed — the look of shock on Minho’s face at the sudden realization of what had physically occurred. And emotionally.

Minho knows that he was in love with you long before that moment — and well aware of it at the time, as well. Figure one would have to be to move to another country just to be around a person — and sure, the two of you were friends and had been for a good while prior but…it was a big change, a huge leap of faith. Minho thinks, his final shot at what could be the rest of his life.

And it was an easy choice for him. A man with no particular ties to home and a hunger for adventure — for seeing, doing, experiencing. Despite having never even been to Germany prior, he found himself now uprooting his entire life to go live there for however long it took. Whatever it was, at least. Acknowledgment? Acceptance? Love? Loss? Minho figured that at the end of this, he would have some answer, and may as well get to experience life while he was at it.

Although, perhaps choosing to live together wasn’t the best option, given the circumstances. His circumstances. Not to be confused with circumstances that the two of you were equally and equivocally involved in and aware of. He was well aware that his feelings were one-sided.

Until they weren’t.

It’s another moment in time in which his photographic memory deserts him in the most cruel ways. All of the test taking and number crunching in the world that served him well, only to betray him like a dagger straight to the heart. A scene that he can’t stop replaying in his mind even still. It’s been years. 

For the most part, Minho has learned to let go — to move on. Minho has learned to be precisely what you need him to be in your life — crushing and deforming himself to fit into the exact mold that you find ideal at any point in time. A friend. A companion.

After two and a half months of perfect dating bliss (if you were to ask him, of course) he still remembers the way you smiled at him — pathetically, like you were cooing at a puppy who wasn’t able to get it’s way — when you told him that you just wanted to be friends. That they should go back, undo, revert the process.

Long, long after Minho had already ingrained the taste of you into his mind for the rest of eternity, and the way you looked the first time he kissed you, when it wasn’t the intent of a couple of drunk friends late one night just having a giggle.

Lee Minho resigned himself to making himself as small as he had to in order to make you feel as big as you could, unbeknownst to you, of course. Any way that he was required to bend and lessen, he was happy to oblige — an alternate state of happiness, perhaps.

You were always going to be the only thing that mattered, forever, he thought; and at the expense of himself, if necessary.

He thinks often about how he simply just doesn’t want you to forget where you belong; and not in a possessive, jealous, weird wannabe-boyfriend kind of way, it’s just that he truly is in love with you and will do anything for you, and that love like that — romantic or otherwise — is hard to come by nowadays. Minho had always prided himself on his absolute devotion to people. To anything that he deemed worthy of himself.

You, the most worthy in his eyes, albeit you would never know, probably.

And that was the burden that Minho had to bear after that night of being told that all of the late night kisses, and cuddling, and holding hands in your center-city loft: for a fleeting moment in time, he was able to live precisely the way that he had dreamed of with you — memories he would have to hold onto to despite the pain that they held, because they also served as the happiest simultaneously. He contemplates often if he should have told you in that moment — told you everything — spilled his guts out for you, a full display of raw emotion and disgusting vulnerability. Would it have mattered? Would it have changed the course of the relationship? Friendship?

Minho looks down at his phone, setting next to him on the concrete flooring of your shared balcony, tapping the screen to illuminate it with intent to read the time.

“Almost 2am, eh?” he says to no one, tipping the beer bottle in his hand all of the way back in an attempt to drip any remainder of alcohol onto his tongue, but to no avail. Rolling his eyes, he abruptly sets the bottle down, clattering with the other four empty bottles also keeping him company.

“Late night,” he adds under his breath, as if to be playing out a conversation between two people despite no one else being present. This is by design, because Minho would rather be dead than ever make his own problems, yours.

But he knows where you are, and he knows what you’re doing.

And most pained of all, he knows who with.

For Minho, moving to Germany with you was an easy decision — not one he had put a lot of thought into. A man that fresh out of college made a good living for himself freelancing photography work along with a handful of other things here or there, it landed him a comfortable amount of money to play around with for a while, and Berlin being the relatively cheap city that it was; affordable accommodation helped make the choice even simpler.

Plus, it was with you, as if he would ever give up the opportunity.

And it wasn’t some deeply considered, manipulative, creepy attempt at trying to mind game you into a relationship with him — that happening was all-in-all, a happy accident. Of course, the ideal outcome of his, but not gamed for, not finagled. More than anything, Minho just wanted to be around you. Exist in your space. Experience a life with you in it; by whatever means necessary.

He would find, however, that this would result in grave emotional torment. Every day waking up and going to sleep feeling the same way: having to swallow the hot dagger of things not being exactly how one wishes them to be. It was good enough, sometimes suffering is. These are the choices we make to coexist with others.

Minho would tell himself everyday that it was good enough. That he was happy enough. Content enough. Alive just enough.

He chose you over himself, you just never really knew it.

When you eventually crawl out of your bedroom at a quarter past eight in the morning, you come to find your roommate already sitting at the shared dining room table — coffee in-hand and newspaper lying on the table. A sight for sore eyes, that Lee Minho. Always stable. Rarely changing. If there was one thing you could count on, it was him — for better or for worse, as it were.

“Morning, sunshine,” he says dryly, eyes not prying themselves from the words laid out in front of him, “long night?”

He’s being funny, or so he thinks — knowing how hungover you are.

“Ha ha, Lino,” you quip back, accessorizing with his nickname from college to express just how unamused you are by the exchange already. “Yeah, I got in pretty late. What time did you go to bed?”

“Around midnight,” he lies, and it feels like a jab to the heart every time he does, not enjoying the habit he’s made recently of telling little fibs to you in the moment.

“Lucky you,” you respond, pouring yourself a coffee and plopping yourself down into a white chair adjacent to the one where he sits. “But I don’t have class today so I suppose it’s fine. Do you want to do anything?”

Minho finally looks up, eyes slowly pulling from the article he had been reading, “are you capable of doing anything today?”

“Oh my god, I had a few drinks, I didn’t get annihilated, calm down. Let me have a coffee and a painkiller and I’ll be fine,” you quickly answer, rolling your eyes. “I want to go to the mall to get a new dress.”

Always somehow the best and worst way to spend a day with you, he thinks to himself.

“Alright, let me know. Alexanderplatz? I might want to take some photos while we’re out that way.” he adds, looking back to his newspaper and sipping from his mug.

“Of course, Princess,” you respond, kicking back the rest of what’s in your mug and standing to head back towards your bedroom. “Anything you want.”

Deep down, despite knowing the joke, Minho always hates it just a tiny amount when you say that — because it’s not true. However, over the years, and especially in Berlin now, Minho has absolutely mastered the art of acting; of not projecting, of maintaining a cool, calm and collected demeanor.

You’ll never know the way he dies by your hand every day. Not if he can help it, at least.

The mall is busy, Alexa Centre typically is, but especially around holiday season with the Christmas festival just across the street, and Minho can’t help but regret just a bit his agreeing to come with you for this excursion.

“What did we come here for, again?” he asks, trying to manage his tone as to not sound exceptionally annoyed. Which he is, but he doesn’t want to sound it.

"I need a dress,” you reply, rolling your eyes because you can see right through him regardless.

And Minho sort of wants to forget the reason again, because he knows what a new dress entails.

“You should get something new, too, you’ve been cycling through the same shit for a few years now,” you tell him, linking an arm into his and pulling him into the direction that you had desired to go.

To Minho, every moment with you happens in slow motion — so that he carefully craft the memory; etch it into his brain for all of eternity, at least that’s what he hopes. Every touch, every split second of intimacy — whether as friends or anything else — he doesn’t care. These are all of his moments. The flip book he proverbially looks through every night before he goes to sleep to remind himself of what he’s doing, and why he’s there, and all of the ways that he has failed as every second passes by.

“Yeah, I guess I should,” he answers, allowing himself to be dragged into a shop and stopping next to you in front of a mannequin — adorned with a silver, loosely fitted, glittery dress and a large, fluffy black coat atop it.

“Wow,” you say, a little bit in awe at the outfit on the mannequin, but more so at what the outfit on the mannequin could mean for your trip to the Centre. “If I'm really able to get this shopping trip done this quickly, it’ll be a fucking miracle.”

Minho laughs and agrees, moseying himself over to the men’s section and rifling through some long-sleeved shirts on the hanger. It’s only a short while before you return to meet him, shopping bags indicating a successful foray into Alexanderplatz, and in record time, at that.

“I’m gonna get something,” he says, pulling a few hangers onto his arm and continuing to look around. It was a good trip, things had gone well.

And we can’t have that, now can we?

“Are you still seeing that girl?”

Minho stops in his tracks, frozen in place by the question. It’s certainly not an out of place one by any means — not given the relationship between the two of you. Friends tend to talk about their romantic situations…circumstances…affairs.

But truthfully, he hated talking about it with you, because it made him feel fake.

Minho did date. In fact, he had been seeing the same woman for a few months now. Not anything serious — and yes, she knew that — but it was the phoniness of the entire thing. He sits awake in bed every night pining for another woman that he can’t have while he runs around and attempts to forget it between the legs of the one that he can have.

He hated that man. That man, like every other man. But deeply, Minho was looking for any sign that he could eventually forget you, let you go. Move on. He figured he would be doing you and himself a disservice to not at least try.

Suppose sometimes that comes with collateral damage — albeit, with intent to take the best care he could.

“Yeah,” he finally responds after what feels like hours, “she’s been busy so we haven’t met lately but, yeah.”

“We should all go out together some time!”

Sounds like a fucking miserable idea.

"I’d like that, let me know,” he responds. Fucking fool. God forbid he let you suffer for even a second at the expense of his own well being.

Despite the relative quickness of the shopping trip, rain falls from the skies as the two of you exit the large shopping mall — people crowded around under the awning in feeble attempt to stay dry — the wind not lending itself to the endeavor, and Minho looks over at you as you attempt to shield yourself from the wetness; strands of hair strewn about and squinting, he pulls out his camera for the first time since the two of you have left the apartment and snaps a quick shot of your profile. You slap his arm playfully as he brings the device back down from his face and smiles.

“I must look crazy in that photo, quit it.”

“Nah, you don’t,” he replies, looking back at it on the digital display. He reconsiders not once, but twice, if he should say the thought really running through his mind.

His heart tends to get the best of him, however.

“You look beautiful.”

And you smile at him in response before letting out a quiet “oh shut up,” Minho puts the camera down and away once again.

He finds himself musing to no one all too often, perhaps, “am I allowed to look at her like that?” And unfortunately, never being met with an answer.

Minho is happy for every day that goes by where he is not met with an invitation to go double dating with you and your partner, but as the days drag on with no such invite and more noticeably, you spending more time at the apartment, he begins to feel a worry — a distinct cloud of eerie sadness wafting over the shared living space that is never acknowledged. Every relationship has it’s struggles — Minho forces himself to not wish ill of yours, despite knowing that the wishing of any intent does little in actuality. Would it make him a bad man to wish for you and your partner to break up?

He feels guilt every time the fleeting thought passes by him, but still it passes by all the same.

After a week, Minho startles to the sound of you knocking on his door close to midnight. Meek knocks, knocks entirely unlike you.

“They said it wasn’t working out, I don’t know,” you say, arms crossed and shoulder leaned up against the door frame of Minho’s bedroom. “I didn’t ask a lot of questions.”

“Are you okay?” Minho asks, shifting in his seat — uncomfortable with the topic, and the nervous energy coursing through him at the prospect. He disgusts himself, on some basic, primal level.

You sigh and shrug. “Yeah, I mean, it’s fine,” you start, answering on the exhale. “We weren’t together all that long and it was just kind of casual so…it’s fine.”

Make a move on his newly single best friend, Lee Minho absolutely will not. Not under any circumstances. Minho questions if he would make any sort of move on you at all, under any circumstances at all, and fails to come up with a scenario in which he might.

But it delights him, deep down, no longer having to deal with the intrusive thoughts of the sheets you lie between elsewhere. For now.

“Hey, I know it’s late but uhh,” you begin, changing your demeanor from a solemn one to a more joyous one in an attempt to pick up the mood. “Would you want to like…go get a drink and some take out or something tonight?”

And Minho simply smiles at the proposition.

“Sure, of course I would.”

It’s one of those nights where you’re happy to be living where you are. Berlin — seemingly a city that never really sleeps, with corner stores open for hours on end and selling just about anything you could imagine — including alcohol; it's a stop to the nearest one before the kebab place on the adjacent corner, to then make your way to the dimly lit park only a couple of blocks down from the apartment. A relatively cold night, not one the two of you would be loitering in under normal circumstances certainly — but desperate times call for desperate measures, and to Minho, “anything that you desire” falls into that slot. Thus, chilled to the bone with a bottle of wine to share between the two of you and a kebab each — you sit on a cool, grassy hill just under a couple of trees where the visual of the streets and the very much alive city sidewalks still remain lit. Minho takes it upon himself to steal a few glances at you, of course — some from his peripheral — some much less inconspicuous, as you speak about living in the city and how much you have been enjoying it, how you considered never moving back home.

How you had everything that you needed right here already.

“What do you think?” you ask the man next to you, turning and looking towards him as he stares out towards the streets not too far off from where the two of you sit — wine bottle in hand and taking a swig directly from it before beginning to answer.

Trying to figure out which lie to tell you this evening.

“I like it here too,” he replies, trying to reign in any volume of emotional tone from his words. “It’s nice.”

“It’s nice? That’s it?” you chuckle, stealing the bottle from his hands with playful aggression and sipping from it just the same as he had. “Sounds like you could be anywhere, then.”

Internally, Minho laughs at just how unfathomably untrue that statement is.

“It’s a beautiful city and I enjoy being here,” he amends, carefully and not wanting to give too much of himself to the conversation. “And of course, I enjoy spending time with you.”

Even just saying it makes his heart drop into his stomach, despite it being a completely normal thing for friends to think and feel towards one another. To say 'I enjoy your company, thank you for being a part of my life.'

Minho knows that it feels bad because the intent is off. Truthful words hiding behind a cloak of fictitiousness. It’s true but in all of the wrong ways.

“Truthfully, I couldn’t imagine being here with anyone else.”

Words that flip Minho’s entire world upside down in an instant.

In a movie, this would be the moment where he finally kisses the girl, confesses his feelings for her and empties his heart right at her feet — only for her to joyously accept him and his love, and for them to live happily ever after.

He’d have been lying if he said he didn’t consider it.

But in the end, he settles for the removal of a wine bottle from your hands — drinking down the remains, and standing up in place — reaching a warm hand down to you for you to take.

“It’s getting late, we should get back home.”

When the two of you do arrive back home, taking turns showering in the single shared bathroom and trading off goodnight wishes before retiring to each room, Minho flops himself into his bed for the night — arm draped across his forehead to do his typical pre-sleep routine of torturing himself with countless thoughts of what if’s and what could be’s. On tonight’s agenda; a little special treat of realizing that he is no longer in any position to be dating anyone else — that things have become too entrenched. He was not escaping you, not so long as this continued to go on.

He realizes in the moment that this was always the life that he had chosen. Was it really reasonable to assume that he would ever be capable of being in a good, healthy, committed relationship with another person? Unlikely. Long ago, years ago, when Minho had chosen you, he had chosen all of the things that would go along with that.

Including the endless pining of not being with you, albeit, this not a part of the manual when signing up, of course.

For the first time, Minho acknowledges and makes peace with how unhealthy his pining is. It’s easy to make a case for anything when it’s impact on your life is easy to ignore. They say “when it starts impacting your life negatively, that’s when you know you have a problem.”

He knows, he just doesn’t necessarily want to fix it — not in the way that may be required of him, at least.

“I love you, why won’t you let me.”

The words ring through his brain repeatedly as he dozes off to sleep, but not before sending off a lazy text to the other woman, about how they should have lunch tomorrow — to talk.

such a unique flavor of masochism, unrequited love.

Minho sometimes finds himself wondering what goes through your mind when someone mentions his name to you.

He tries not to allow himself much time to it — because the what if’s make him crazy with unknowns, but certain weak, lonely nights at home — nights when you’re out with friends, or late with class work, he can’t help himself. Does it make you smile? Do you get butterflies? Do you feel anything?

One particularly lonely Wednesday night, he reminisces about the first time he met you. A weekend spent together as a result of a mutual friends gathering: a rental home for an after-semester getaway for partying, relaxing, maybe even hooking up. At least, that had been Minho’s plan. Meet a nice girl, have a nice weekend together, probably never speak to her again after the fact. Nothing against her, he just hadn’t been looking for anything at the time.

Love has a funny way of knowing when you’re least equipped for taking it on.

You walking into the house in your skinny jeans and a loose sweater, bag slung over your shoulder — Minho doesn’t believe in love at first sight on a fundamental level, and he would certainly never attribute the connection the two of you shared to it if he were asked.

It was a thought he kept to himself, completely asinine and unreasonable as it was, he couldn’t ignore the truth of the matter.

He remembers Hyunjin introducing the two of you when the three of you had all found yourselves at the makeshift bar — watching you attempt to find an empty cup that was not previously used with much trouble. Minho holds out an empty and seemingly dry cup from his hand and towards you without saying a word. He remembers the way you stared at him like he was insane, and like he surely thought you were an idiot.

Hyunjin catches the scene, sliding himself over and between the two, “it’s okay,” he assures you. “He’s mine, he means no harm.”

“Kind of nuts for a woman to take a cup from a strange man at a house party, don’t you think?” you say in response, not entirely to Hyunjin alone, but also to the stranger in front of you.

“I accidentally had two,” Minho says dryly, pointing to the bottom of his own cup that had a beverage inside of it. “It was stuck, but you’re welcome to continue on your search.”

It’s against your better judgment in usual circumstances, but with Hyunjin’s glowing approval you take the chance — accepting it and pouring yourself a drink. Holding it up in a bit of a cheers towards the man with the brown hair and the sort of crooked smile, you thank him.

That was the moment, for whatever reason. You didn’t know it, there was no indication at all.

That night, as he stands with you in a group of people, listening to the way you speak and interact with not only them, but him — he thinks that he’s probably going to fall in love with you. Looking back now, he realizes he already had by the time the drunken conversation about whether people have one or two butts had begun to take place in the living room of the rental home.

Minho would find himself spending the next year contemplating all of the ways that the two of you would be perfect for one another. The nature of infatuation — you can convince yourself of it easily, can’t you?

It’s been years now, of Minho never saying what he’s really thinking. Suppose people never really do? That’s what he tells himself.

“Do you want to go to this party tonight?”

Minho looks up from his book, sprawled out lengthwise along his bed in sweatpants and a black shirt with bleached out splotched from the last time he had attempted to do his hair and he finds the question a little hilarious, given the way he currently looks — in no position to be seen by people, and hardly even much of one to be seen by you.

“Um,” he starts, squinting a bit as he attempts to run the idea through his mind. “Where? Who?”

“Couple of friends from my humanities class are having a get together,” you say, shrugging as the words leave your mouth. “We’re not doing much else so figured I’d ask.”

“Yeah, sure,” Minho answers, slowly sitting himself up from his bed and sliding a bookmark in between pages before closing his reading material. “Give me like, thirty minutes?”

You roll your eyes. “Who are you going there to impress?”

People don’t say what they’re really thinking.

“Can’t I not want to look like I just rolled out of bed?”

“You are just rolling out of bed”

“yes, but I don’t want to look like it,” Minho insists, standing and walking towards his clothing rack, “now get the hell out so I can get ready.”

“Oh my god,” you exasperate on your exit.

The playful banter being one of the things Minho loves about your friendship the most. Play fighting made his heart skip a beat or two, every time. A bizarre charming point, perhaps, but a charming point to him all the same.

When the two of you arrive to the apartment, the gathering is already in full swing. A relatively small grouping of people — all from different places in the world — a few drink options sitting out on the kitchen counter but nothing too excessive or over the top, Minho is actually pleased to find that this would probably just end up being a reasonably chill night. A night to just spend time in your presence, and among good company. He introduces himself to your friends and vice versa before settling down on one of the smaller sofas in the general living space with small drinks in hand. You look at him, watching him survey his surroundings in the same way that he always does — taking everything in. Enjoying the moment.

“Tonight will be nice,” you say softly to him, leaning over to nudge him lightly. “Thanks for coming with me.”

“Of course,” he responds before bringing his glass to his lips and sipping, “everyone seems nice.”

“They are,” you affirm as you take a sip of your own.

A few hours into the night, right around 11pm, the host of the party calls for the attendees to gather around the living room for fun and games. Minho raises an inquisitive eyebrow, unsure of what to expect, but another caring nudge from you settles him once again.

It always was just that easy for you with him.

As the host carries on an explanation of what was planned for the rest of the night, you lean into him and ask delicately, “sorry for asking if it’s a sore spot but…did you and that girl stop seeing each other?”

After all, love is a pretty good reason to make everything go wrong.

Minho shifts in his seat a bit, and almost choking on the liquid he had just taken into his mouth he manages to swallow down and sort of chuckle. “Yeah, not a big deal, though. We both agreed.”

Lying to you never got easier no matter how many times he did it.

“Ah,” you respond, unsure of how else to carry on the topic. “Well that’s good — I mean, it’s not good, but it could have been worse…I guess? Sorry.”

Do you know what it’s like to be so in love with someone that you can’t even breathe?

“Yeah, it’s fine, I’m fine.”

Sort of true, depending on how you look at it.

The two of you bring your attention back to the host in just the moment that they mention a game of truth or dare. Minho’s fight or flight response kicks in immediately despite his perfectly managed demeanor on the outside and you can’t help but feel a bit of discomfort yourself. Doing things that you wouldn’t normally do was not your idea of fun, even in the nature of a game.

And as the game carries on among the people in the room, everyone makes it out relatively unscathed. No one being asked to do especially heinous acts, Minho begins to feel a sigh of relief at the fact that he might actually be able to get out of this night having only had to chug a beer, or maybe lick a kitchen floor — all things he can manage without a care.

“Okay Minho, truth or dare,” a blonde girl from across the room shouts a bit louder than necessary.

“Dare, give it your best shot!” he responds enthusiastically, happily playing along with the atmosphere of the evening.

“Okay,” she smirks, tone dropping into something a bit mischievous, and in the moment Minho truly considers that maybe he got a little bit too brave.

“Seven minutes in heaven with her,” she says, pointing towards you. “Should be easy enough, shouldn’t it?”

He swallows hard, because of course it is. The two of you live together. Your entire life is effectively one long game of seven minutes in heaven together, just without all of the spontaneous joys the kids tend to enjoy of it when playing such a game in the teenage years.

“Okay, where?” he answers confidently as the girl walks over to them and drags them both down a hall and into a bedroom.

A bedroom? Really?

While the implications are certainly not lost on him, and despite being absolutely and madly in love with you, Minho finds himself at least a little insulted at the thought that someone would consider that he’s not capable of even being in such a wide open space as a bedroom offers with you. He loves you, and he wants you, but he’s not a fucking snake.

But it’s the fact that the dragging doesn’t end once into the bedroom — still being pulled towards a small door at the other end of the space, the girl pulling it open and shoving the both of you inside and closing it immediately thereafter.

And now Minho suspects that this might just be the tiniest closet ever invented. How do people even make closets this small? Much less use them. What the fuck.

He can hear the girl outside of the bedroom say some words — he can hear her voice, but the actual things she says get lost among his hyper awareness at your body pressed tightly up against his own. Hands splayed out on his chest in an attempt to keep yourself held upright and steady.

You shift against him in an attempt to create space, or comfort. Something. It’s a fleeting attempt. “Sorry,” you whisper.

“It’s okay,” he responds, clearing his throat. Minho stands statuesque in the darkness of the space — surrounded by a handful of coats that smell faintly of old cigarette smoke, cologne and beer.

Silence takes over. It’s awkward. Minho thinks it’s the first time that the two of you have ever felt this uncomfortable in the company of the other. Not even the break up was this bizarre.

And he knows it’s not only radiating off of him. Not with the way you keep shifting against his chest.

“We don’t have to do this,” he says finally, “It’s just a game, we can just go home if you want.”

“No, it’s fine,” you respond quietly. “It’s kind of nice, I haven’t been this close to a man in a while,” you chuckle.

Minho knows it’s a joke, all in good fun,  but the implications of it are impossible to ignore. He wonders for a second — running the sentence through his brain a few times before truly asking himself what he’s really wondering.

Is this…sexual tension?

of course, it’s not the first time he’s ever experienced the concept of sexual tension. But not with you. Not like this. When the two of you briefly dated the first time, sex had never even been on the table; he realized later, after the fact, that this was because you had firmly been in friendship mode the entire time, and never truly viewed him sexually. As someone who could be fucked. Who could fuck you.

Minho doesn’t want to simply fuck you. He figures that if he had played his cards right in any number of situations, it’s possible that he already could have. It’s not completely unheard of for friends to fuck, and the both of you are obviously good-looking.

It’s not what he wants, though. And it’s definitely not worth tanking any potential future just for one night.

It is becoming painfully apparent, however, that the two of you actually share very little physical affection, even just as friends. Feeling your body pressed up against his has Minho realizing that he doesn’t remember the last time that the two of you hugged — really hugged. Not an arm linked or being dragged around by a wrist — but an actual, full embrace.

He snaps back into the present, thinking about checking his phone for the time, but knowing fully well that not more than two minutes could have possibly passed.

Around 2am, games end and cups dry as guests begin exiting the apartment. You both thank the host for the invite and the warm reception before heading out into the chilly night to make your way home. A somewhat bizarrely quiet walk back home, no doubt as a result of the game played.

Minho staunchly disbelieves in wishing death upon anyone, but if emotions were personified, they’d be the first to go.

You turn the second key into the door, lock clicking open and door lightly squeaking as it opens. Minho walks in first, kicking his shoes off and setting his coat up on the hanger — setting his wallet and keys onto the holder next to the door designated just for such things. You follow suit.

But it’s a swift switch of direction, when you reach forward and dig fingers into Minho’s shirt — pulling him towards you, into you, and spinning him so that his back presses up against the door. You push into him, chests meeting just as they had back in the tiny closet at your friends place. All part of the game.

This, however, was not.

And Minho’s head spins, the way your cold lips press up against his own, so fast that he almost doesn’t know what hits him. He doesn’t meet your enthusiasm at first — considering the fact that this is all a mistake, just a misunderstanding. Surely you simply fell into him, this is all just a funny scene in a romcom where the girl accidentally slips into the guy who is desperately in love with her and it doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t mean anything at all.

You pull off of his lips, peppering kisses lightly to the side of his mouth, “Minho,” you whisper between two, “kiss me back.”

“I—” he tries to respond, but before he knows it, your lips are pressed to his hard again and now he knows it’s intentional, despite not knowing why. Part of him wishes he was a better man, a stronger man. A man that could resist the temptation of experiencing bliss for even just a moment in time.

But he isn’t.

Minho brings his hands up, cupping the sides of your face and kissing back against you with matching firmness. He pulls himself off of the door and brings his body forward and against you. He’s all encompassing, feeling as though he’s attempting to devour you. Not far from the truth, perhaps.

It’s sloppy, messy. Minho thinks that the two of you never kissed like this before, not even during the brief stint of dating. He wonders for a moment what has changed, neither of you having drank that much that night, nothing was different in your relationship — not really.

He was forever constant. “I love you” running through his head each second that he’s able to taste you on him in that short time before you carefully pull from him and smile at the sight of his bright red, brutally kissed lips.

“We should go to bed,” you say, gently holding one of his hands in your own.

“Yeah,” the only thing he can manage to utter out that won’t expose him as everything he really is.

“Thank you for tonight, it was really fun,” you say, slowly pulling your hand from his own, and Minho only nods and whispers “sure” in reply as you turn and head towards your bedroom, shutting the door behind you.

Minho stands there in the doorway of the apartment, in the aftermath of a whirlwind that he’s sure will be just as quickly forgotten by you as it had been decided upon. The worst bit, he thinks to himself, is that he’ll probably never forget that moment for as long as he lives, given that they come to him so few and far between.

When he sends himself to sleep that night, opening the scrapbook of memories of us that he has carefully cultivated in his mind, he slots it away along with all of the rest. So, so, many memories of moments in time in which he’s allowed to experience paradise.

The mere existence of you, over the years, grows to be so big inside of him. All consuming.

“Minho.”

And he’s barely conscious at all, only drawn awake by the utterance of his name and the way that every expanse of his flesh that your fingertips touch leaves a trail of fire in it’s wake.

“Touch me.”

It’s all a whisper, barely legible, so little that he believes for a moment he may still just be asleep. He focuses for a second — as hard as he can will himself — on the physical sensation of you pressed up against his side, in his bed, hand roaming the exposed skin of his chest under his duvet — only dipping low enough to brush against the waistband of his boxer briefs and that is the moment that he is brought wide awake and to his senses, tensing strongly under your touch — so strongly that it causes you to pause and slowly pull back from him.

“Should I go?” you ask, and he becomes starkly aware of how standoffish he appears, quickly responding that no, you should not, before reaching over to you and snaking a hand of his own around your waist and under your loose bed time shirt.

As much as he wishes nothing more than to genuinely be lost in the moment, his mind takes him to countless what if’s, as it always does in such situations. Feeling the way you move beside him with every press of his hand into the apex of your thighs, he relishes the look, the sound — of course — but at the fore front of his mind, and his chest, the painful feeling of emotional strangulation in his throat; knowing what this is to you, and precisely what it isn’t.

Equally inconsequential to the both of you but in strikingly different ways: to you, a quick release, and to Minho: the image of you coming just another moment added to the scrapbook of his insignificance.

For the first time possibly ever, when Minho walked into the dining room in the morning for his coffee, you’re already up, sitting there waiting for him. A common scene but flipped, that feels so frequent to him now. Constantly unsettled in all of the ways that he thought he had been.

“Morning,” he says, grabbing a mug from the cupboard and pouring himself a drink, then walking over to join you at the table. “Sleep well?”

“Yeah,” you say. And that’s all.

He had hoped that deep down, the two of you could get out of this situation unscathed. It wasn’t much. Just a hand down your panties and then you retired to your own room again for the night. That’s what Minho told himself for the entire rest of the night that he couldn’t sleep, at least. It wasn’t important. It didn’t matter. Everything will be fine.

“We should talk.”

Ah.

“About last night.”

Minho knew that already.

“Okay,” he says, almost sheepishly — a tone not often worn by him, but with a million thoughts running through his mind and almost all of them meaning the worst, it was all he could manage out in response.

“I’m not blaming you, obviously, I started it,” you begin, rolling your eyes — at yourself mostly, but painfully so to Minho all the same. “But we shouldn’t cross lines like that. Like I said, totally my fault, I just don’t want there to be the wrong idea or anything, ya know?”

Yeah, he knows.

As far as he’s concerned — truly, all things considered — this was the best possible outcome, actually. On a scale of terrible to catastrophic, this was much closer to the terrible end of the spectrum. Obviously, you weren’t going to confess your undying love for him and how you wanted to be with him forever and ever, but if the only wound Minho has to leave with is the reminder that he will only continue to suffer in all of the same ways he already had been; he writes that off as a win, as pathetic as it was.

He chuckles in response, corner of his mouth upturning as he gives you a playfully devilish grin from over his mug, “Wasn’t good enough, huh?”

Laugh through the pain.

“Oh my god Lino, really? Stop it! Don’t make it weird!”

He watches you shy away in embarrassment, hiding behind the newspaper you had in your hand and continues to laugh. He knows it’s not the case, but he has to keep things light — especially because of the way his chest feels so fucking tight in that instant.

Naturally, you take it as his admittance to the terms, which is as intended by him. Meanwhile, Minho wonders how long he can stand being reminded of all of the ways he will never be the one for you. Yes, he chose this. Yes, he would choose it again.

but still, he wonders sometimes.

Placing your used mug in the sink and filling it with water, you grab your belongings and head towards the door, pulling your keys from the rack and waving at him. “I’ll let you know when I’ll be home!” before turning on your heel and running out of the door.

Minho remains in his seat, still staring up at the front door long after it has already closed behind you. Despite being an often self-reflective man, it’s the first time ever — truly ever — that he finds himself feeling almost guilty about the thought that crosses his mind, going just as quickly as it had come. A fleeting conception in a split second of hurt.

It’s so fucking exhausting loving you.

Is this resentment?

When the next party rolls around — only a few weeks later, Minho makes it a point to be more mindful. No more drunk party games, no more passing physical touches. It’s not the end of the longing, not by a long shot.

But suppose it might be time, he thinks to himself. He’s been thinking it to himself since that morning at your dining room table.

You see, the thing about Lee Minho is how he loves totally. Completely. With every fiber of his being, and despite some times coming off as cold or standoffish, the one thing that was always going to be true of him was that once you were his: you were his completely.

Well, the better way of looking at it was that you had him completely, rather than the other way around.

A contract that Minho once happily signed his life away to, now feeling bitter to the thought — for the first time since that night at the house party back home where you met, Minho contemplated letting go. Moving on. Properly.

But he knew that that meant letting you go, and that was a tough pill to swallow.

You had noticed the way that Minho no longer cared after you the way that he once had, but in ways so subtle that you almost questioned if they were there at all. The tiniest gestures and changes: Minho was far from rude, far from mean, not even particularly uncommunicative.

But he was distant. Impersonal in a way that felt brand new, like a stranger of exact likeness had moved in overnight.

Minho contemplates all of the ways in which he can forget you, while you, unknowingly, contemplate all of the ways in which you can retrieve him.

Two people simply never feel exactly the same way about one another at exactly the same moment.

So you try not to think much of it, watching the way the brunette across the room runs her hand down his arm as she laughs at whatever it is that he’s saying to her. You think of how charming and funny and warm Minho is. Kind, constant.

But the clock is ticking, unbeknownst to you.

There is a world in which the greatest tragedy is a love story that, despite both people feeling the same — fails to occur simultaneously. As the sand in the hour glass for Minho ticks away, yours only just begins — and the problem being, you just don’t know. An alternate universe where the glimmer that would appear in Minho’s eye each and every time he met yours — it didn’t live any longer, and it’s typically only in those moments of hindsight that you ever really noticed it had existed at all. In it’s absence.

Minho looks over towards you from across the room during a short pause in the conversation with this other woman, and it’s different. Surely you’re not imagining it now. It’s still him, it’s still warm, and he still carries care, concern for you.

But a glimmer of light behind the eyes dims with every passing second, before turning back to the person in front of him and grinning wide.

Had you always…?

When the night ends and the two of you head home together, it’s silent for the majority of the way. Minho carries a half empty beer bottle in hand with him and a cigarette in another — you weren’t fond of when he smoked but it had become a social drinking thing he picked up since living in the city. Besides, who were you to say anything about it?

Saying anything to Minho at all now felt completely foreign to you.

Getting back to the apartment building, Minho sets the glass bottle down on the street and heads up with you, still in silence and putting out his cigarette at a trash can just before the stairs. it feels like five hundred flights of stairs despite only being five, but finally reaching the front door feels like a god send. Reprieve. Being near him…you now find suffocating.

“Night,” you say in feigned brightness before turning and heading towards your bedroom, hopeful that you can make it out of this night relatively unscathed.

“Is everything alright?”

The first thought to your mind, is “no,” obviously, because it’s not. The second, is the better choice.

“Yeah of course, I’m just tired,” you laugh, “exhausted from watching you flirt with that girl all night I guess!”

It drops from your lips before you even have a chance to control it, petty bitterness lacing each and every word and it’s so obvious, too. Completely transparent in it’s contempt. You wince as you turn back towards your door and can only pray that he takes it as the joke you only barely were capable of tonally implying.

Minho’s taken aback, confusion splashed across his features.

“What?”

“I’m kidding, goodnight!”

“You don’t get to do that.”

And all you want to do is run away to your bedroom and hide, go to sleep, try again tomorrow, but it’s the tone of his voice in those quiet words that stops you. That, and the growing romantic inquisitiveness for him in your heart.

“You don’t get to—” Minho starts again, but pauses, and you can tell the way that he sounds; his voice, his demeanor even without the ability to see him, he’s angry. Years of pent up emotional obstruction, after all. “You can’t act like this, not about that. That’s absolutely not fair.”

You finally turn around to face him as he still lingers in the doorway of the entrance, not even having removed his coat or shoes yet.

Minho wears a mask almost all of the time around you, and for a short while, he remembered what it had been like to live without you being at the forefront of his ever waking thought — incredibly selfish of you, he thinks to himself, to place yourself there once again. He had almost remembered what it had felt like to feel whole again — to not have to wear the mask that hides each and every pathetically tragic thought and feeling that came to him.

The mask is still off, evidently, from the way sorrow graces his every feature in the dimly lit entry way of your apartment. The place that may surely become the grave for you both, in some way or another.

“Minho, I—” you respond quietly, sadly. It sounds exactly the way you sounded when you broke up with him and stings in all of the exact same ways, Minho recalls.

He never was able to forget, after all.

“I don’t know, I must have just had a bit too much to drink,” you say, trying to laugh off the entire situation. “It’s not an excuse, of course, it’s not like you’re my—”

Minho’s eyes had since pulled to the side, jaw clenched in irritation, until the utterance of those words left your mouth. Eyes now pulling in your direction.

“Your move,” he thinks to himself in the moment.

“You’re not my boyfriend or anything,” and it’s the twist of that specific word that just so perfectly does the same to the perpetual knife in the heart that he’s carried for you for years.

You simply chuckle, hoping that the moment passes so that the two of you can go to sleep and carry on like normal in the morning.

“You’re so fucking selfish,” Minho spits, and the words feel like a slap to the face, because what? Where is this coming from?

Little do you know.

“What the fuck?”

“Love to play house, have a man around to go out with, to hold your bags for you, to rub you off one every now and then when it suits you,” he says, the resentment fully flowing through his tone with every word. “And then have the fucking gall to be jealous when I just talk to another woman? Do you hear yourself?”

It’s not the words that he’s saying, because he’s right, but rather the way that he’s saying them. Minho has never spoken to you like this in all of the years that the two of you have known each other.

Words coming from a place of the deepest contempt, and sounding just the same.

“You don’t get to talk to me like this,” you finally respond, walking back in his direction as he goes back to grabbing his wallet and keys — the only things he had happened to set down upon walking in. “Minho, it’s not fucking okay to talk to me like that.”

“Nothing about this situation is okay!” he shouts, turning back towards you and dropping his wallet from his hand; it landing in such a way that numerous items spill from it, although, he notices not — having been caught up in the moment. “You have no idea. You don’t have a clue what it’s like being around you every day. You’ll never fucking get—”

It’s then that Minho pauses, noticing the way that your eyes had stopped watching the way his lips tore into you and had settled towards something on the ground. Following yours, they land on presumably the same item that your own had just moments earlier.

A lone polaroid photograph from the first Christmas festival since moving to Berlin together — your lips playfully planted to his cheek. Even after all of those years, the quality of the photo had not waned. Perhaps Minho had just taken extra special care of it — just as he had with all of your other memories before.

“Minho…”

Perhaps this is it, defeat after all, he contemplates. Years of playing a dangerous game, all leading up to this moment.

Failure. Freedom?

“Here’s the truth,” he says, airy in tone and eyes still dropped to the ground, not daring to look back up and chance meeting yours. “I love you. I’ve been in love with you for years. Nothing makes me happier, and nothing makes me sadder — than you.”

A pause takes the room, neither of you being entirely sure what to say in the moment. It’s been such a long time coming, the confession from Minho — feeling immediately liberated upon the last word leaving his mouth, in spite of what it was, and in spite of what it meant, too.

Maybe this was freedom after all.

“And I’m moving out.” he finalizes his statement, bending down to gather the belongings from his wallet and carefully placing them back into the spots from which they came — the photograph included.

“What if I wanted to try?” you say suddenly. “Again, I mean. Try again.”

And in moments like these, Minho desperately wishes he were a stronger man, a man more capable of doing what’s best, what’s right, what’s safe.

“Don’t,” he responds, a pathetic plea to talk you down from whatever it is that you’re attempting to do. Unconvinced that it’s coming from a place of genuine reciprocation.

Change can be terrifying, sometimes people will do anything to avoid facing whatever may lie ahead. A concept that Minho finds himself all too familiar with.

But it’s the look on your face in that very instant, that has Minho halting with his hand on the doorknob. You won’t beg, you wouldn’t, and it’s not fair;  too much to ask of a man that had already given you everything of himself before you even knew it. Maybe that was his fault, maybe it was yours.

Maybe it was everyone’s, and also no ones.

But what if the timelines did manage to overlap — just briefly — just long enough. Strings of fate barely holding onto each other by a thread before the inevitable snap of discontentment. That is, unless force be relinquished in just the knick of time.

Could they do it? Had they done it?

“For the last time,” Minho starts, and for the first time — in all irony — with full transparency. “I will do anything for you, so tell me.”

You know it’s easier for you in that moment than it’s ever been for him in all of the years that he’s put himself aside to be next to you, but the fact does not do much to quell your fear of the unknown, the what if’s. You wonder how Minho has lasted, living every day in and out just like this — and worse.

But you have to do it.

“I want to try again,” you answer, looking up at him through lashes and tears welling in your eyes ever so slightly. “I know it’s selfish to ask you to stay, but I have to. Please stay. Please try again.”

A man that always prided himself on being a bit cool, tough looking — all too happy to rush towards you and scoop you into his arms after the words finish leaving your lips — wasting no time pressing his own to yours, as well.

“Don’t expect too much of me,” you say, somewhat playfully between kisses, “I haven’t been in love with you for as long as you have with me.”

“Oh shut up,” Minho replies, kissing you hard again.

And it’s not the first time Minho touches you sexually — not even in the month, but this time is different — carrying you with legs around his waist to the couch in the living room, plopping you with back against the cushion and immediately covering you with his entire being, kisses become more and more hurried and needy. So needy. The way you feel in your stomach makes you think you might just be right there with him.

Minho wastes no time pulling his torso off of you and prying his shirt off, following suit with your own before quickly working towards his jeans; the sound of belt buckle clattering and zipper pulling resonating in your ears, and it’s enough just then to realize that this is really happening. Part of you is a little surprised that it hasn’t yet.

Better late than never.

Minho stands to pull his jeans from his legs, and once again follows through with your own — pausing to really take in the sight before him. Sure, he’s seen you in swimwear before, and even changing, but this was different.

This was for him, this was meant for him to see now.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, carefully lowering himself back down to you and shuffling his hips in between your legs; hardened length settling just against your clothed core and eliciting a sigh of relief, but also desire from the both of you, sighs immediately swallowed by the others mouth in between fervent kisses. “You’re perfect.”

You relish in the way that Minho makes an attempt to consume you entirely that night. Lightly toned body pressed fully against your own, his hips gently pressing against your own as his hands snake up and into your hair — fingers wrapping within strands as if you hold you in place, as if to ensure you could never leave him. Not now. Not after all of this.

Chaste kisses following the natural curve of your jawline, down towards your ear and up against it, Minho whispers that he loves you but his voice dripping with desire, with passion, and you believe that truly nothing could sound better to you. Minho still ever so delicately grinding against you — as if with no intent at all — completely encompassing you beneath him and breathing, whispering in your ear, the feeling comes onto you quickly. Not that you will orgasm, but that you desperately need to.

“Minho,” you groan, bucking your hips up to meet his own, “Don’t. Just—”

It’s not really a sentence, and so Minho chooses to not acknowledge it as such.

“Hm?” he quietly responds, pulling his left hand down from it’s entanglement in your hair and caressing the side of you all of the way down until it finds it’s resting place on the underside of your thigh. Pulling it up and out to give Minho a better angle to not fuck you with, it makes you want to cry in desperation. You find it unbelievable how quickly you’ve unraveled beneath him after all of these years. Had this been the case all of this time, or was it a simple matter of the strings of fate perfectly aligning at just the right moment.

The thought it interrupted by the man above you, whispering in your ear if it’s okay, if he can have you, and ignoring all of the patriarchal implications of the concept of a woman giving her body to a man; in the moment, in a vacuum, just between the two of you. It feels right.

And so, you are happy to have him.

Minho allows your leg to drop to free up his hand and release himself from his fabric confines — fingers then gently making their way to the side of your panties and carefully toying at the side — but not enough to make much happen, and Minho laughs at your impatience from under him, huffing against his face at his lack of being inside of you.

“Where did all of this come from?” he quips against the side of your face, and you choose not to acknowledge it in favor of focusing on the main event; the way he finally pulls the fabric aside and exposes you to the tip of his length and wasting no more time pressing into you slowly. Such a delightfully pleasant stretch as you adjust to him — and Minho feels it — every pulse and squeeze of your walls around him as he attempts to steady himself inside of you. It’s been so long, that he’s wished for this moment, he thinks about how it’s somehow even better than he ever could have imagined it being — your warmth enveloping him in every conceivable way and all at the same time. Emotionally, mentally, physically.

You can feel his breath against your ear, the way it already begins to lose it’s cohesion with the first few gentle strokes into you, but really, it’s that first groan of “fuck” into your ear that has you reeling, and your orgasm creeping up on you much faster than you had ever thought possible. The throaty, airy, desperation in his voice — so weak because of you, so absolutely enamored by you in all ways.

It wouldn’t be long, not for either of you. It had already been too long, it turns out.

“M—Minho, I—” you whimper out and against the skin of his shoulder: a desperate plea of your own. “I’m going to come soon, what the fuck,” in much fewer and less complete words, but you’re thankful that somehow he must have caught the memo, lifting his torso up with his hands planted flat against the couch cushion beneath you in an attempt to fuck into you better, more thoroughly, the best attempt he can make in the moment to try to get you there before him. He hasn’t said it, but you can tell that he’s close — too close for his liking, surely.

“Close?” he sputters out, forgoing sentences altogether, and with a quick nod and a biting back of a sharp whine, Minho changes the angle of his hips in such a way that grinds his pelvis right against your clit and you swear in that moment, you think you’ll pass out on the spot. Repeated chants of his name along with desperate requests to not stop and it’s a handful more presses of his hips into your own before your eyes roll into the back of your head before clenching shut; mouth ajar in silent shouting as your orgasm washes over you in intense waves, the man between your legs never relenting until his own catches him, following your lead of pleas of names as he does his best to fuck the both of you through your orgasms, until his body no longer reads capable of cooperating and he collapses — once again pressing his torso flush against your own and panting hot breath into the curve of your neck.

It does cross your mind, albeit briefly: that perhaps this would now be the end of everything as you know it between you and Minho. That maybe everything the two of you had experienced up until that moment had just been a journey to this — that no one was in love, that none of this had been real all along.

But when Minho pulls himself back up a bit, granting enough space between your two bodies to once again allow himself to plant kisses on every centimeter of skin that his mouth could possibly reach, all the while telling you all of the ways in which he’s madly, desperately and completely in love with you, you actually do wonder if maybe sometimes, just maybe, two people can feel the precisely the same way for one another, at precisely the exact same moment in time; because surely if it were possible, it would feel just like this.

Between kisses onto the flesh just below him, Minho contemplates all of the ways in which this was never meant to actually be. He knows that deep down, nothing he did ever put him in a position in which he deserved this, that he was never owed love, or sex, or you.

He wonders how he ended up so lucky, after all. Minho thinks back to the first year that you both moved to Germany together, and the first christmas festival — the night that the two of you took the polaroid photograph that he would forever keep with him everyday since that night, unbeknownst to you. He still remembers every detail perfectly, right down to the way your lips felt pressed against his cheek, despite knowing so many more feelings now.

Minho pulls himself up, just barely — only enough to reach your cheek to kiss you in just the exact spot that you had kissed him that night, and then whispers into the skin, “I love you.”

The single most important moment in Lee Minho’s life: that kiss at that Christmas festival that year. Life is only ever a series of moments that form us, shape us.

And the next second, we are in another moment.

♡ send me your thoughts and feelings in my ask.

—this is a oneshot, there will be no part 2.

---

SAKURA — [18+!]

“What are you saying? Y-You think I’m pretty and smart?”

Fuck. He cannot turn the conversation around and made a complete fool out of himself as it seems.

“I–“ He takes a deep breath.

“Listen. If you were my girlfriend–“

Jisung stops himself again when he sees your eyes widen.

🌸 SYNOPSIS: After seeing your ex with the girl he told you not to worry about, you rush to the café your roommate works at but find Jisung there instead. Despite being in the same friend group, he has always hated your ex and consequently ignored you, too. So, why on earth is he taking care of you then, once you start crying and explain what happened?

This is my entry for skzwritingcafe‘s May/June event “Blossoming Love”!

🍒 CONTENT INFO: jisung x afab reader, enemies/frenemies to lovers, angst/smut/fluff, kinda ‘only one bed’ trope, mutual pining, college au, barista jisung, reader is demisexual although not explicitly mentioned, reader is referred to as girlfriend once, content warnings and smut tags under the cut

🧁 WORD COUNT: 12.4K

☁️ CONTENT WARNING: alcohol consumption, mention of breakup, mention of cheating, past toxic relationship, insecurities and taking the blame for other people’s faults, jealousy, slut shaming

🍰 SMUT: dom/sub dynamics, fingering, oral (f receiving), semi-protected piv, praise kink, possessiveness, marking (m receiving), one pussy slap, dacryphilia, name calling (pretty, good girl, baby, slut)

The characters do not portray any of the skz members in real life, the names are just used for fiction. Minors do not interact, this post contains mature topics. By reading you consent to nswf content and agree that you have read all the warnings above carefully.

You knew it.

You fucking knew it.

Time to pick out that expensive colour palette and draw a stupid clown face on your skin.

After today you will definitely need it.

‘No need to be jealous of her, dear,’ he said back then. And you believed his bullshit.

But what disgusts you the most is the fact it took him less than a month to jump into a new relationship with the girl he told you not to worry about—as it seems, judging the fact you just saw them with your own awake eyes holding hands in public, bickering into each other's ears.

Maybe it has even been going on longer than a month but you don’t want to think about that. Well, you can’t. It makes your stomach twist and turn, an uncomfortable knot in your lungs making it hard to breathe.

That’s the last thing you needed to see. Even injecting bleach in your veins sounds like a five star party in comparison to that. You would rather much live in ignorance, unaware of what you witnessed.

Your fight or flight reflex decided for the latter—actually mentally healthier, once you will have a chance to rethink this situation with a clear mind. But not for now. Escape is your best friend this evening.

Especially, since your actual best friend and roommate, Lee Felix, left the apartment without his charger and for once again his phone must have died some time ago. Not a big problem—you decide to go home instead, already looking forward to some spicy instant ramyeon, an unopened bottle of soju and a new series on Netflix you wanted to start days ago.

But—as it seems today is the worst day to ever exist—and you get reminded of it when you stand in front of your apartment building’s door, ready to open it with your keys. One small problem occurs—you must have left those keys at home. Inside. Just a door, a hallway and another door separating you from it.

You sigh and let your head fall back in annoyance, before you check the time on your phone’s dim lit screen, reading 21:48.

It’s late enough to head to a bar and that’s exactly what you do, finding yourself in a dark, stuffy pub half an hour later, sipping on your second Somaek of the night. The atmosphere doesn’t really brighten up your mood but the alcohol for sure does. The third drink in, you can feel yourself get dizzy, scrolling through the apps on your phone.

Felix still hasn’t texted you but you remember that he met with Hyunjin, telling you they really really have to get some project done for one of his classes that he has failed before. So, you decide to not annoy him further. It’s your fault anyway. You’re the one that forgot their keys and you’re also the one that overreacts completely, whenever the tiniest inconvenience triggers some bad emotions to bubble up.

You just want to start over. You don’t want to be caught in this endlessly running wheel like a stupid hamster. Yes, your ex has left many scars that will bring up the past for some time whenever you think back of it. But you simply don’t want that anymore.

You’re craving closure, real closure. A love that is blossoming with passion instead of coldness, blooming with honesty instead of lies and shining bright with trust instead of doubts.

However, you are aware that those things don’t exist. Maybe in the arts although you’re not quite convinced about that either. No matter if it’s the eighth Netflix show you put on this week but can’t even get through a whole episode, some book you laid aside after it got too unrealistic or a movie they showed in the cinema that makes you mad you spent as much money on a small bag of popcorn as on the ticket itself.

Nothing really touches your heart anymore, nothing gets under your skin. That’s what he did to you.

Or maybe you’re just overthinking, over exaggerating like you always do once the booze hits your brain. You should stop drinking, be responsible. Despite that, there are too many men seeking your attention in this pub and that’s the last thing you want.

Yes, you said you need closure. But not that kind. Well, you need to get laid, too. However, some random idiot isn’t your first choice. It’ll maybe help you forget about your ex but this still isn’t the passion that you need. You’ve never needed someone like this. You crave intimacy that’s characterised by trust. So, how is some stranger supposed to know what satisfies you anyway?

Not even your ex was able to do that. Which makes the fact you’re still crying about that little shit even more pathetic. But, well, at least you know that he won’t be able to make that girl—that he told you not to worry about—cum and that kind of leaves a little triumph to you. At least something.

Maybe you really need to start over. But dating is so fucking exhausting these days. No one wants anything serious anymore and isn’t even interested in getting to know a person first. You’ve never really enjoyed casual hook-ups. You don’t have to be absolutely in love with someone to have passionate, mind-blowing sex with them but there has to be some type of emotional connection, something that keeps you going and already lets you roll your eyes to the back of your head at the sheer thought of their fingers grazing over your skin.

There’s only one person you’ve ever had this dynamic, this utmost wild chemistry with, although nothing has ever happened between the both of you.

Because, unfortunately, you don’t really get along with him. Well, you do. He is the one that is always avoiding you. You’re not even friends but tend to see each other quite often since you’re part of the same group. Still, there’s a special connection between you although it’s hard to believe.

God. You already sense him making fun of you once he finds out that your ex must have been cheating on you. He was already so fucking happy about your breakup. The smile that was plastered all over his stupid, beautiful face was disgusting.

Yes. Your ex and you had been a couple for many years but you’ve never managed to get that other stupid boy out of your head. There’s something about the look in his big brown eyes that he’s got whenever he looks at you after defeating you in yet another round during board game night.

There’s been some tension between the both of you throughout all these years. But not in a common, usual way. It’s a heated desire that under all the hate and mess wants to be more, wants to be the opposite. He has never been necessarily mean to you, simply ignored you and maybe made fun of you during games but that’s it. Still, you’ve always seeked his attention and some delusional part inside your heart tells you he does the same.

God, Y/N. You’re a hopeless little fool.

You feel your thoughts drifting away further, the surroundings becoming as unimportant as your silly little dreams and hopes.

Until two very familiar faces approach the table next to yours. The two plop down on the seats. He helps her out of her jacket, before they start skimming through the menu.

Out of all the pubs, bars and lounges in this freaking big city he chooses to bring the girl he’s told you not to worry about to this stupid place. Idiot. God, you hate him so much. You hate her so much.

There’s an uncomfortable feeling bubbling up in your chest. They haven’t spotted you yet but the urge to go to their table and down the rest of your drink all over him is within reach.

No. Calm the fuck down, Y/N. You’re better than that. You’re better than him. Better than both of them.

Until the waiter comes to their table and even though it’s crowded and loud in here, you’re close enough to catch parts and bits of their conversation.

‘Welcome, my favourite couple.’

‘We’re glad you’re here once again.’

‘Happy five month anniversary.’

Well. You finally have honesty now. A little late but at least you don’t have to worry anymore, think about the ‘what ifs’ and so when you’re indeed aware that he cheated on you.

Maybe the healing process will be easier this way, knowing you can fully blame it on him. If your heart and insecurities let you grasp that.

You want to start over. Be better than him. Better than all this. Ready for a blossoming love that has been waiting for you all this time.

But maybe not today.

At least that’s how you justify your actions, when the liquid in your half empty glass spills all over your ex’s head and you rush out of the venue, knowing for sure you will never go here again anyway.

🌸

Half an hour and half a bottle of water you bought at some shady convenience store later, your bladder announces itself. Fuck. You should have used the bathroom at that pub before probably gaining a ban on entering that place again.

Still no message from Felix which means still no possibility to go home.

You could just go to the next bar, sure. But you’ve lost your interest in getting shit-faced or talking to some stranger a long time ago.

Grabbing your phone from your pants’ pocket, you open Google Maps and search around in the area your drunk self has brought your feet to until you realise you’re pretty close to the workplace of that friend who isn’t replying to you and has the only other key to your shared apartment.

Perhaps, Felix is at the café he works at. He usually gets school stuff done there with Hyunjin, snacking the last delicious brownies that weren’t sold that day and sipping on one caffeinated beverage after another.

You’ll see. Maybe they’re even still open and you can get some lemonade or cupcake to fight against the dizziness in your head. The water has helped a bit but not quite enough. You’re still tipsy and fear having a hangover tomorrow because you mixed different types of alcohol together.

Fuck. You really shouldn’t have drunk out of impulsiveness but unfortunately impulsiveness is practically your middle name.

A little walk later, you end up in front of the house right at the corner of the street. The lights in the café are still turned on. However, the sign reading ‘closed’ shines just as bright. You decide to enter nonetheless. The whole crew knows you quite well, since many people from your friend group work here.

Pushing the door open, you enter the building. It smells like blueberry muffins, hot chocolate and vanilla brownies. A slight scent of cherries makes it into your nostrils, helping you feel at ease. They have always been your favourite fruit—reminding you of safety and better days, the blossoming leaves on their trees a metaphor for a new start that you so exhaustingly crave.

You take a few steps further, walking around and spotting some used dishes at the counter. There’s no sound coming from the kitchen. Maybe one of the employees is taking a break before they get back to cleaning up the place.

And Felix isn’t here to study with Hyunjin. Dammit.

Where did that freckled boy go?!

You stay there for a few minutes—standing rooted in the spot, as you contemplate maybe quickly using the bathroom and in case Felix’s colleague gets aware of it, you will just explain the situation to them.

After a quick fresh up and somewhat regaining some dignity despite still being pretty much shit-faced, you decide to have a short pause. That’s why you sink down on one of the chairs, checking your phone but still no message from Felix or anyone else.

This is ridiculous.

Just like your whole fucking life.

You let out a deep groan that’s followed by a sigh.

And then—out of the blue—a voice startles you, making you jump up again from your seat.

“What do you want here?”

It’s Jisung.

The Jisung.

Your longtime enemy—whom you have that incredible tension with—that happens to be a part of your friend group. He has always been adored by all the members. Well except for one.

Your ex.

They’ve never gotten along.

And maybe that’s why Jisung has always ignored you, too.

“Y/N? Are you listening?”

His voice sounds annoyed which isn’t news. He’s always made you feel as if you don’t… exist. Basically ignored you to a point that it made you feel like you’re air.

What you don’t know is that Jisung does in fact view you like air—but more like oxygen. A slightly addicting, toxic oxygen which molecules make him dependent on you so he decided to stay away from you instead to save both you and him. But he still needs you in order to survive.

Apart from that, he has always in fact despised your now ex boyfriend. Not just because of the fact he was with you and—in Jisung’s opinion—not treating you as you deserve. He has never liked the dude in general.

But it’s just now that he realises that his voice suddenly came off too harsh, twice. Fuck. He just can’t think straight around you. Or think at all.

“Yeah– sorry– I d-didn’t know where else to go and I saw the lights were still on in here…” you confess now, as little sniffles fill the room.

Jisung finally grasps that you’re intoxicated and probably confused, maybe don’t even know why you came here and he won’t blame you. He would never. But he’s just as confused, too.

“Y/N… you’re drunk, aren’t you? Why else would you stay when Felix isn’t here? You hate me,” he says and those last three words are so small and almost inaudible but you still catch them.

You don’t hate Jisung. It’s more of a reaction of the lack of interest and almost disliking towards you he has made sure to constantly rub into your face for the past four years.

But that’s not the current debate of the synapses inside your brain.

You don’t want to break down. Not in front of him. Or anyone.

But you’re drunk. You’re exhausted. You are so fucking tired of all this.

There’s no control over the words, they simply spill out of your mouth, slip from your lips.

“I… He… He– He cheated on me.”

You burst out into tears then, eyeliner and mascara ruined as the black paint runs down your face. You hide your eyes behind the palms of your hands and everything becomes a blur, your sobbing the only sound you’re listening to.

“Fucking asshole,” you hear Jisung in the distance.

Footsteps echo through the room and suddenly he’s so close to you that it makes your heart skip a beat and you don’t quite understand why it does that.

Your enemy pulls you into a hug then and your whole body paralyses, as he softly strokes your back. His hand wanders up to your head, giving it a few little pats.

 “Okay. Listen,” he begins again, “you’re obviously drunk. I’ll prepare some food and water for you.”

You let go of him for a second, searching for any sarcasm in his words.

“Why are you so kind?”

Jisung blinks, a little surprised you ask him this question and he can’t differentiate if you’re astonished by him being kind while being your long time enemy or if you don’t expect any kindness from anyone at all. To not add any fuel to the drama, he settles for the second option.

“Don’t praise me for the bare minimum, Y/N. That dude really left some scars.”

Jisung brushes with his hand over your head a second time, before he grabs a tissue. Just when he is about to guide the paper to your swollen eyes, he decides against it and places it in your hand instead.

You wipe some of the tears and mascara away but it doesn’t help that much.

“Here, have some water and a bagel first and tell me what happened,” he says a little later. Jisung sits down on the other side of the table, as he gives you the drink and food.

The tears arrive again when you realise how kind Jisung is to you and that your ex would have never done the same if you showed up at his place after a mental breakdown.

Jisung watches you drink a bit and take a bite from the cake before he hands you another tissue when you spill some of the liquid, the droplets running down your chin and throat.

It takes everything within him to not lose his mind. This is fucking inappropriate. You come here devastated, bawling your eyes out and Jisung’s head is filled with the ideas that aren’t supposed to be there. But your makeup is smudged and the tears are streaming down your cheeks again. Jisung feels like the biggest perv on this planet that your crying face makes him think of unholy thoughts he shouldn’t have.

“Why would… why would you listen?”

His heart breaks. He’s back in reality at least. He assumes it’s caused by your insecurities but he fears that he’s responsible for your distrust, too. After all, he’s never really approached you these past years, staying as far from you as possible. He’s got his reasons for that as well but he could never speak them out loud to you. That would be the end.

“It’s just an offer. I won’t leave you alone like this.”

He wants to say more.

“T-Thank you.”

You thought he hated you? Well, he’s never explicitly said that. But he’s acted that way by ignoring you constantly and since he does in fact dislike your ex boyfriend—which was communicated many times and is a mutual feeling—you assumed Jisung hates you, too.

“I… you remember the girl my ex brought along at our last board game nights?”

Oh, he definitely does. He’s never liked her either and didn’t quite understand why she tagged along with your now ex when he was still with you back then. Inviting a friend is one thing but giving them all attention instead of you, their partner, is a line crossed. Jisung would never do something like this if he was your boyfriend.

“Yeah, I do,” he says. He’s taking a sip from his water, too. Jisung is already expecting the worst and he wouldn’t be surprised if your ex is either now with her or has already had something going on during your relationship.

“Well… I–“

Your throat cuts off the words. Another sniffle escapes and you wipe away the tears once more.

“It’s alright, Y/N. Whenever you’re ready, yeah?”

You nod, trying to ignore the confusion in your head and the butterflies in your heart when his hand softly grazes over your own.

“I saw them together… after my class. So, I wanted to get out of there, just ran away and ended up in some bar. Unfortunately, they had to choose that location as well and I overheard their conversation…”

He is still stroking your hand, attentively listening to every syllable you let out.

“I found out that way that this has been going on for five months, therefore he cheated on me and I got so angry, I spilled my beverage all over his head and–“

“You did what?”

There’s a proud smile on Jisung’s face but due to the countless tears blinding your vision you don’t see it.

“D-Downed my drink on him– fuck, I should really call him and apologise–“

“What?! Why would you apologise?”

Jisungs scoffs. He can’t believe you are taking the blame for such a disgusting thing your ex did. Your reaction is more than understandable. If he was in your position or even saw him do this to you, he would have done way more than that. That bastard deserves all of it.

“He’s… he’s probably got his reasons to choose her,” you quietly say, head hanging low.

“That fucking asshole cheated on you and you’re the one taking the blame?”

Jisung can’t decide if he’s more angry or sad—the dude has practically smashed your self confidence to the ground and stomped on it when you were already on the floor.

“I’ve seen her… You know her, too. She’s prettier and smarter than me anyway.”

Jisung does know your ex’s new girlfriend. After all he invited her to every fucking board game night after they became ‘friends’.

“Okay, Y/N. First of all, there’s no one smarter or prettier than you. Second of all, don’t put the blame on yourself. That’s something I noticed you’re doing quite often. I get that. I know where it’s coming from, but it’s not good for you. If people treat you like their doormat, you have to fight back.”

The synapses of your brain shut off for a moment. If that’s possible. Nonetheless, you can’t think straight. But, well, you’re never able to think at all if you’re around Jisung.

Did he… did he just say you’re pretty and smart?

As if one compliment wasn’t already enough to make your head spin.

“What are you saying?”

Jisung’s eyes hastily blink, a cough follows. He’s readjusting himself, slightly feeling caught but he knows he can turn the conversation around and maybe not make a complete fool out of himself.

“You should stand up for yourself,” he repeats.

“N-No… I know that, in theory. I meant the first thing… y-you think I’m pretty and smart?”

Fuck. He cannot turn the conversation around and made a complete fool out of himself as it seems.

“I–“ He takes a deep breath.

“Listen. If you were my girlfriend–“

Jisung stops himself again when he sees your eyes widen.

“He’s a fucking piece of shit. End of discussion.”

You hold back a giggle and decide to keep wondering if there is more behind those words.

Pretty.

Smart.

Both of it.

Wow.

You take another bite from the bagel—it’s filled with hummus and grilled vegetables—as well as the last sip from your water, before you place the glass back on the round table with a thud.

“What would you like to drink? It’s on the house,” Jisung offers.

He’s already standing up, still severly embarrassed, as he disappears behind the counter. You stand up too, approaching him as if it’s the middle of the day and you’re making your usual order.

It’s rare that Jisung has a shift when you’re here but when he ends up having one, he usually grants you the same nothing of attention as he usually does.

So, this is all so new. Him talking to you. Offering you another drink. Listening to you.

Gosh, you will never get over this stupid crush on him if he–

Fuck.

Well, it’s no secret towards yourself anyway. Hasn’t been anymore for a long time now. But you have always tried to not give it too much thought, knowing he doesn’t like you back.

However, your view shifts a little with these two words.

Pretty. Smart.

It’s the most mundane compliment. But sometimes it’s not that much about what you say and rather about how you say it. Just the way he accidentally slipped it between those other words makes your knees go weak.

“So, what would you like?”

His voice drags you out of your daydreams, bringing you back to reality—somewhat.

Caffeine would be nice.

“Can I have an iced coffee?”

Jisung grabs a fresh glass and the ingredients.

“Sure.”

You don’t know what it is, maybe the comfort, the fun, the general safety to be around him—which the Y/N from half an hour ago would have never believed exists—but you get a little more open around him and with this the urge to tease him grows rapidly.

“You’re not gonna ask me if I want anything with that? Like extra whipped cream, caramel sirup–“

He sighs. “Would you like some extras with that?”

It’s fun being like this. After all he deserves it for the things he’s put you through those past years and you're glad he takes it on the humorous side.

“What do you guys have?”

You’re playing this game perfectly, acting as if you’re actually one of his customers and Jisung gets reminded once again what a pity it is that his shifts are rarely at the same time as you usually enter the café. He could forget about everyone and everything else when you’re around.

But he catches himself drifting off again, it’s way more fun for him too, playing along.

“Ketchup and mayo,” he states.

You scoff but on the inside you’re fighting for life to hold back the immense laughter that’s bubbling up. But you won’t be defeated so easily.

“Okay, Han, forget what I said.”

He chuckles but at the same time pretends to be hurt, placing a hand on his chest. “Stop calling me by my surname.”

You click your tongue, leaning over the counter with your upper body.

“I call you what I want.”

Jisung ignores you first, instead focusing on preparing a beverage for you. With the angle he’s practically disappearing behind all the baked goods in the vitrine, you can’t witness what he’s doing exactly.

A minute later, he stops his actions and turns around towards you again.

“3500 won, please,” he says, looking at you with a fake, bright smile.

“You’re charging me after you said it’s for free?”

He chuckles again, “Only good girls get free drinks.”

Fuck. You feel your knees suddenly becoming all wobbly, as if they’re made of pudding, similar to one of the cakes they offered today at the café.

Han Jisung has always managed to make your head spin and it’s not different now. You’re afraid, though, that he will notice. You need to play along. No matter the cost.

“Okay, sorry, Sungie. Please, please forgive me. I’ll be a good girl for you.”

What has gotten into you, Y/N?!

Jisung tries to ignore what the begging of yours does to him and he’s quite glad that he’s standing behind the counter. Otherwise, you would see the outline of his immense erection that is growing inside his pants. Yes. Just with those few words.

Fuck. He’s dreamt about this so many times—your cute voice asking him to kiss you, to touch you, to shove his cock inside you and rail you into oblivion until you cum all over him.

“Fine,” he says and catches himself, preparing the beverage for you. Grabbing the ingredients, he gets to work as you wait for him, already sitting at the table again. Your drunk eyes hover through the café, admiring the pretty blossom trees. You’ve always liked the decor here.

Once he’s finished and this way awakens you from your daydream, Jisung heads towards you and places the glass right in front of you—an iced coffee latte with caramel swirls and whipped cream on top.

“Here you are.”

When he sees your questioning look, he adds, “I’m not gonna make you a new one. You mentioned these two things so I added them.”

You look at him again, a little apologethic.

“Thank you… it’s just– the milk.”

“It’s plant based,” he explains. “Therefore, lactose free. I know you don’t drink dairy products. Same counts for the cream.”

He remembers?

Han Jisung remembers a stupid detail like this although you’ve never told him? Which is, well, not surprising since the two of you talked more tonight than compared to all those past years combined.

You take a sip from the caramel iced coffee, humming a little when the taste spreads over your tongue and the sweetness helps you forget about all the bad stuff that happened today.

Taking your time, you gulp down the liquid at a much faster pace than usual but you can’t get enough. Your so-called enemy watches every move you make, while he drinks a little bit of his water from time to time, snacking on some bagel—one with mozzarella cheese, tomatoes and basil pesto.

It’s the first time you take in every detail of his appearance now, probably the longest you have ever looked at him—it could almost count as staring—which once again reminds you how beautiful he is.

Jisung’s hair has gotten much longer. But you’d be lying if you said you’re only noticing this now. You’re always admiring him. He’s pretty, handsome and attractive. You can’t deny it.

God. You’re a hopeless fool. Who falls for their enemy?

Well. Maybe we can finally agree that enemy is a little too harsh to describe him. Rather a frenemy. He’s never been a rival of yours, it’s just that there was lots of distance created between the two of you and the wall that has been separating you is finally crumbling down into a thousand tiny pieces.

You notice another thing now.

Jisung is wearing shimmering accessories that look like your favourite fruit and you have to ask him about it. In case it comes off weird you can just pretend you talked about it to find out where he bought them. Not that you would care about any reaction of his. Of course not.

“Wait– are you wearing cherry earrings?”

He nods, “Yeah.”

Great. This makes him even more amazing. As if you weren’t already doomed anyway.

And as if this isn’t enough, your appetite for your favourite fruit announces itself and faster than you’re able to realise that you’re speaking, the words are already spilling from your lips.

“Do you have… anything with cherries here?”

Jisung looks at you dumbfounded.

“Cherries?”

“Hm. I love them,” you say. “Just like the blossom trees. Whenever they bloom it feels like a new beginning to me.”

A new beginning.

Do you mean with him, perhaps?

Probably not.

Because you’re definitely still tipsy. A little philosophical. It’s normal. Jisung shouldn’t aim those words at himself.

Which is hard. Considering he’s had a crush on you for four years. Despite the fact you hate him and he’s never understood why. Sure, he detests your now ex boyfriend—but for a reason.

First, he saw all the red flags and the bad things that guy is up to. Although it hurts him seeing you like this, it doesn’t surprise him that your ex cheated.

Second, jealousy has always been taking over Jisung’s whole body, flooding his veins, demolishing his heart, whenever he saw him touching you or kissing you. At the thought of him on top of you, grazing with his hands over your skin and body, Jisung’s stomach turns.

But… yeah.

You asked a question.

Let’s get back to it, Jisung.

“Anything for you.”

No matter what he does. His precious voice is playing like a song on repeat in your head. Rose-tinted glasses are glued to your face. And everything just feels so comforting with him. As if you’re meant to be here with him. As if he's meant to be taking care of you.

As if the both of you are meant to be together.

Goosebumps. All over your skin. Even though it’s still twenty degrees outside and even warmer in the café. That’s it—the passion you were thinking about. Jisung has literally done nothing but just with a few little words and glances he manages to conquer your stupid little heart. It’s not even to blame on the alcohol—you’re barely tipsy anymore and it’s not as if this is the first time he has had this effect on you.

Fortunately, you’ve got enough time now to both drown in your emotions and observe Jisung preparing a drink for you from afar. He’s taken off his sweater and is now only in a tank top, showing his firm arms to you and you wonder if he’s doing it on purpose. But you don’t want to get your hopes up too high, although they look kind of realistic at the top of the cherry trees here.

A little later, Jisung comes back with a pink drink in his hand, professionally placing it on the table with a small thud before he sits down again.

“A sakura latte. But my own version with cherries at the bottom of the glass,” he says, his cheeks coloured in the same shade as the beverage.

“Thank you, Sungie.”

It just slipped out. The nickname.

And the thin rose tinted layer on his face turns cerise now, copying the fruits at the bottom of the glass.

But can he blame himself?

The odds have never been in his favour but tonight everything seems as if it’s meant to be, as if it’s destiny screaming at him to finally make a move. Jisung has been referring to you as his chérie in his head for some time now but he would never admit that.

It’s too weird—an hour ago the both of you still believed that you’re longterm enemies just to realise that you get along quite well. More than that. And on top of that, the intense desire, the utmost tension is still lingering in the air, increasing its density with each fracture of a second.

Your eyes hover around, when you get a little shy after Jisung has been looking at you for a sole minute. Your gaze hits the remaining sweets that were offered today when the sun was still up. Getting up, your feet bring you a little closer now, appetite announcing itself once again.

You read the little cards with names attached to them, as you place your index finger on the glass, pointing at the colourful cupcakes.

“The blueberry-vanilla muffins are called Little Sin?”

Jisung chuckles, “Yeah. Minho came up with the idea.”

This doesn’t surprise you. Minho—Jisung’s best friend and unofficial boss of the café—has always had the funniest ideas, his personality seems to work with a fourth dimension. You like him, he’s part of your friend group too, and the only one who’s desperately been trying to convince you to, first, leave your now ex boyfriend and, second, give Jisung a chance to at least become friends.

You’ve always wondered why. Especially, why you were supposed to approach him when you’re the one who gets ignored. But it makes sense now. Being with him has granted you more safety, comfort and excitement in a little more than an hour than all those years being with your ex combined.

You smile then, when you read the name of the other cupcake.

“And naming the raspberry-vanilla ones Hot Love was his impressive creativity, too?”

“Exactly,” Jisung says, laughing out loud.

“Of course. Should have seen that coming.” You turn around completely now. “Can I have one?”

Jisung instantly gets up from his seat, getting behind the counter.

“Of course. Which one?”

You tilt your head, your index finger tapping your mouth, as you try to choose.

“Hm… can’t decide,” you admit.

“You can have one of each, you know?” Jisung offers, until another idea hits him. “Or… we could share.”

“O-Okay,” you immediately respond.

A minute later you find yourself once again at the table, sharing the sweet goods. It feels so familiar and not at all uncomfortable. Jisung doesn’t make you shy around him, if any, he worms out the potential that has been slumbering inside you. You feel at ease, being near him.

“Jisung?”

Another half an hour has passed and the two of you have talked about almost every imaginable topic, realising you get along quite well when you both try.

“Yeah?”

He feels comfortable around you too and he wants to regret not approaching you earlier but it doesn’t matter when he sees you smile whenever he cracks the dumbest joke, when he witnesses you get flustered after a compliment or when he observes your eyes flickering around in the room, looking at the cherry trees.

“I’ve always liked the decoration inside the café. The blossom trees, you know. Who came up with the idea?”

Are you reading his mind, perhaps?

“Uhm… it was me,” Jisung confesses.

“You like cherries and blossom trees, too?”

Yes, but I like you more and that’s why I chose that theme.

Jisung decides to simply nod instead.

“We have more in common than I thought,” you say, downing the rest of your sakura latte as Jisung does the same since he made one for himself, too.

“W-We do…”

He gets a little shy now, even shyer than he usually is. But luckily, you’re the one taking the initiative now.

“Wow, we could have really become friends earlier if you hadn’t ignored me for the past four years,” you say, not really thinking about your words before speaking them out loud but that’s the effect Jisung has on you—you can be completely honest and share whatever appears on your mind.

“I-I’m sorry…”

Silence fills the room for a minute until you speak again.

“I just… I’ve always wondered why. It’s because of him, right?”

Jisung hesitates.

“Hm, I fucking hate that dude, to be honest. I’ve always had. But… with the way he treated you– I–“

“Yeah… he’s the worst. I seriously don’t understand how I stayed with him for that long,” you quietly admit with a forced smile.

“Please don’t blame yourself for this, yeah?” Jisung adds, reaching for your hand and you let him.

His skin feels so smooth and warm against your own, heating your heart up from the inside, similar to the sakura latte and the warm muffins you shared earlier.

“He… he always said that… that I make everything about myself. As if I’m some self-centered bitch,” you say.

You don't care if it ruins the mood or if it’s inappropriate to talk about your ex with the guy you… like.

But it’s different with Jisung. Besides that, you know how much he despises him, probably even more than you detest that piece of shit.

“You?”

You nod and Jisung squeezes your hand tighter when he sees the hurt swirling around in your beautiful eyes. God, he could get lost in that view but he absolutely hates seeing you like this. You deserve to be treated like a queen, worshiped like a goddess.

“Yeah… because I’m passionate about the things I like or when I engage in conversations I tend to share my personal experiences, that’s just how I show my interest and affection,” you explain, head hanging low.

Jisung’s other hand comes to your face now, placed under your chin, so he can tilt your head in an angle that you're forced to look into his eyes.

“Y/N, listen,” he begins, his jaw clenching at the thought of how much your ex destroyed your confidence. “You’re not self-centered at all. He definitely is, though. Besides that, there’s nothing more beautiful than listening to people talking about something that touches them or just makes them smile.”

There it is.

A smile appearing on your face again and you believe what he says.

“T-Thank you.”

“Not for that,” he reminds you once more.

“Jisung?”

His gaze shoots up from where your hands meet up to your face.

“Yeah?”

“Just so you know, I’ve never hated you either. If anything, I’ve always liked you and wanted to get to know you better,” you say.

And there it is.

A smile appearing on his face as well and he believes what you say.

You stay like this for a solid minute, enjoying the atmosphere.

Until a vibrating sound startles you, indicating you received a message.

You excuse yourself, grabbing your phone from your pants’ pocket. Opening the chat with your roommate, you reread your own text from earlier first.

[You 21:32]: felix are you at home?

You realise that you’ve never mentioned that you aren’t at home either and you’re glad about this now. Otherwise, Felix would have probably gotten a heart attack reading your words. At least you can tell he’s somewhat calm—despite the stress caused by his uni project—judging his message.

[Felix 🐥 01:56]: sorry for the late reply my phone died but i’m not coming home tonight, Hyunjin and I really need to finish that project, love you 💕

But fuck—it clicks then.

You will not be able to get home today. It’s ridiculous to stay up all night and what are you supposed to tell Jisung?

Jisung. Right.

No… that’s a dumb idea. You can’t ask him that.

“Jisung?”

His eyes find yours again, after you put away your phone.

“Hm?”

Deep breaths. It’s gonna be okay.

It’s weird isn’t it?

But it’s also two in the morning.

You will just emphasize you only have innocent intentions.

Well. Is that the truth, though?

You don’t want to scare him away but, again, you feel comfortable and safe enough to propose that idea.

So, that’s exactly what you do.

“I don’t want you to think I mean it in this way but– can I stay at your place tonight?”

Fuck. His heart skips a beat. Of course, you said you don’t mean it like that. But the sole idea of you being in the same room as him for more additional hours makes him absolutely excited.

“A-At my place?”

Shit. You already regret it. It’s in fact weird. A few hours ago you didn’t even talk to him and now you’re behaving as if you’ve been friends for centuries.

But the even weirder thing is that it actually feels like it.

It doesn’t help that you’ve had this incredible crush on him for such a long time now.

And it doesn’t help Jisung either that he feels the same about you.

“Felix has this important project and I forgot my keys inside the apartment and I don’t want to annoy–“

“Of course. Whatever you need,” Jisung interrupts you.

Despite the (not so) obvious feelings for you, he will not leave you alone at night.

“Thank you,” you say.

“Not for that.”

That’s the bare minimum again and Jisung will remind you from now on that you shouldn’t settle for just that.

“Are you already tired? We can head home, if you like,” he offers, when he takes a quick glance at his phone, realising how late it is.

“S-Sounds good.”

🌸

Jisung’s one room apartment is small but cosy. A tiny kitchen leads to a balcony. You can’t quite explain what it is but every detail seems carefully chosen, reflecting Jisung’s personality perfectly. It’s not as if he’s put lots of thought into the little decorations but maybe that’s exactly what makes you think of him—an insane intuition without any intention behind it.

“You can sleep in my bed, I’ll stay on the couch,” he says, as he points at the furniture.

“Don’t be ridiculous… there’s enough space for the both of us,” you tell him.

You appreciate the respect but a quick glance at his sofa tells you that not even an elementary student could sleep on it without breaking their neck.

“A-Are… are you sure about that?”

It’s almost cute that he’s become so shy again. That’s what’s fascinated you the most about him all this time. Jisung is versatile and still so predictable at once.

“Hm, it’s the famous trope after all,” you tease.

He looks at you dumbfounded, as he heads to the kitchen in order to bring water for the both of you. You sink down on the couch, reaching into the opened bag of crisps as if you’ve been here nth times before.

“Tro– what?”

Jisung plops down next to you, handing you the beverage.

He’s oblivious. You won’t tease him more. It was a joke after all.

Wasn’t it?

“Nothing,” you giggle.

Taking a sip from your glass, you grab your phone from inside your pocket and place it on the couch table. The screen lights up in an instant.

It’s just now that you’re realising you’ve missed a bunch of notifications since looking at your phone the last time when Jisung drove the both of you to his apartment a few minutes ago.

[idiot]: (8) missed calls

That’s when time starts standing still.

You probably dissociate for at least half a minute and everything becomes a blur. Since Jisung opened the balcony door, a breeze of fresh air enters and hits your skin but you barely notice it. The same counts for the sakura taste on your tongue, it’s still present but you can’t focus on anything right now.

“Are you okay, Y/N?”

You blink once. Twice. A third time.

Until you manage to turn your head towards Jisung.

“I… He– He texted me.”

He scoffs, his eyes growing wide, “God… that’s pathetic.”

“Hm,” is all you’re able to let out. You grab your phone from the table next, staring at the notifications. You’ve got a message from him as well but you need to open the app first to read it.

Fuck. What are you gonna do now?

The most rational answer would be to ignore it. But you can’t. Messages make you emotional although they shouldn’t. They get under your skin and pretty often you have the urge to immediately reply when receiving some risky text and then responding way too emotional.

Maybe Jisung knows what to do.

“Can you… can you help me?”

He gives you a soft smile, as he nods and places his hand on your shoulder. Jisung squeezes it a bit just like he did with your hand earlier at the café.

“You can always just ignore him, you know?”

It is the most rational answer. But you don’t want to be rational right now.

“Yeah… but I also always have that immense urge to have the last word,” you admit.

Jisung chuckles, “Very relatable.” The palm of his other hand is directed towards the ceiling now, telling you to give him your phone. “Let me see.”

You’re glad he doesn’t argue with you and just supports what you think is right for you. Your ex would have never done the same.

Jisung opens the messenger app and you both carefully read the disaster of a text.

[idiot 02:18]: Y/N… please answer… I swear it’s not what it looked like… it happened after our breakup 😔💔

“That guy… I doubt he’s even believing himself,” Jisung hisses, which makes you laugh a little.

You get back the device and start typing. Once you’re done, you press ‘send’.

[You 02:34]: stfu I overheard your conversation

“Yup. Very valid,” Jisung says.

It doesn’t even take another full minute for the next message to follow.

[idiot 02:35]: I am at your house with cookies and a bottle of wine… we can talk about everything… I’m not with her anymore 🥺😘

“He can’t be for real,” you mumble and at the same second get another one.

[idiot 02:35]: if i really think about it, i have only ever wanted to be with you, baby ❤️❤️🥺

“God… he is in fact fucking pathetic,” you laugh.

“What I’m saying,” Jisung adds.

You have a great idea what to respond and immediately start typing again.

[You 02:36]: if it was possible i would punch you through the phone screen

“That’s my girl,” Jisung mutters under his breath but you still hear him.

The three little dots appear on the screen before they vanish away again. They make a comeback and a second later you get bombarded with the following monstrosity…

[idiot 02:37]: baby… please. i’m in front of your house. why aren’t you opening the door for me? we can discuss everything 🥰😘❤️ and then get back together… I missed you 😔🥺❤️❤️

Jisung cringes. You do the same.

“God, the way he texts should have been a reason enough to break up with him, pretty.”

You chuckle. And ignore how the use of the pet name makes you feel.

Then you type something again.

Maybe without thinking enough but impulsiveness is still your middle name.

[You 02:37]: I’m at Jisung’s

“Y/N– I don’t know if that was such a good idea,” he says, a little bit of fear audible in his words.

“Fuck– I’m sorry– I didn’t want to drag you into this–“

“No, no. Not because of me. I think he will turn this against you,” Jisung says.

And as if he’s summoned it, his thoughts become reality.

[idiot 02:38]: Jisung?? tsk i should have known

“Fuck.”

“You don’t have to answer, you know that, right?”

You don’t have to reply and at this point you don’t want to anymore. Laying the phone aside is probably the best idea.

But your ex is faster to double text.

[idiot 02:39]: that pathetic loser has always wanted to fuck you… but i’d never expected you to be such a whore… I wonder for how long this has been going on

“Y/N.”

Jisung’s voice is strict.

“Huh?”

You turn your head around, looking at him. His jaw is clenched and there’s nervousness spreading all over his face.

“Give me the phone. Now.”

You obey his words, trusting him completely as you try to ignore the effect the tone of his voice has on you.

Jisung sends a message, hesitates and adds another one before he hands the device back to you.

You read the first one.

[You 02:41]: Jisung’s here. Watch your mouth before I stuff it with tissues. I’m just here for her and taking care of the mess you made.

You giggle. The tissue thing sounds like something he learnt from Minho.

You read the second message.

And your heart skips a beat.

[You 02:42]: Just for your interest: I’ve never fucked her, you idiot. But I can promise you that tonight I’ll definitely have her screaming my name ;)

Fuck.

You lock your phone and lay it aside, screen facing the table.

Your head is spinning again.

But this time in a positive way, if that makes any sense.

Does he mean it?

No. That was probably just to end this nerve wracking conversation.

Yes, you know now that Jisung is indeed not your enemy but wants to be your friend instead.

But that’s it, right?

On the other hand, you’re still thinking about the fact he called you pretty and smart three hours ago and that he said something along the lines of ‘if you were my girlfriend’.

But that was just to prove some point… nothing… nothing personal.

Right?

But fuck it.

You’ve never been so close to tasting everything you’ve ever wanted and although you’ve never believed in destiny, you know that all this can’t be a coincidence.

Now or never.

“I-Is it true?”

Jisung looks at you with those big doe eyes. God. Your heart could melt at the sight.

“W-What?”

Deep breaths, Y/N.

“That you have always wanted me?”

He shyly giggles. “Y-Yeah.”

Oh.

You wouldn’t have expected him to, first, actually return those feelings and, second, to confess it so quickly.

It grants you an insane boost of confidence.

Especially when you think back to the last message he sent.

Tonight I’ll definitely have her screaming my name.

You hesitate. But you don’t want to test the waters, you want the whole ocean right now.

“The other thing, too, Sungie?”

He gulps. “What d-do you mean?”

“That you’re gonna fuck me tonight,” you say, catching your lower lip between your teeth.

The boy instantly turns red, hiding his face behind the palms of his hands.

“Y/N– I’m sorry I– I thought that maybe he would stop text–“

“Because I’ll let you,” you cut him off.

His face appears again and where there was an absolute shy look a second ago, there are dark eyes now staring right at you with the utmost form of pure lust swirling around inside them.

“Say that again,” Jisung challenges you with a husky whisper.

“I’ll let you fuck me,” you admit. “I’ve wanted this for so long, too.”

He lets his head fall back and when he tilts it down again, you watch his tongue wet his lips first and then graze over his upper teeth.

“Are you kidding me?”

Fuck.

Have you gone too far?

You probably have.

You shake your head. “No. Of course, only if you want to–“

Jisung interrupts you by smashing his lips into yours.

You stay like this for some seconds—mouths being pressed against one another until he slowly starts moving.

And when he invites your tongue in, you can sense some hints of the sakura flavour from the beverage earlier since he had one of those rose tinted drinks too.

That’s when it hits you.

Cherry blossoms are blooming all over and around you. He tastes like your favourite fruit but even better. The goosebumps are back on your skin when he pulls you closer.

That’s it.

The passion you’ve been hoping for, no, that you have been craving all this time.

You want to turn back time.

Make up for all the missed years.

Or at least switch back to a minute ago so you can experience the feeling of his lips aligning with your own, sending the first spark through your whole body, for the first time once more. Over and over again.

Your initial idea with this was to deal with the tension but it’s about time that you stop denying and lying to yourself.

It’s not just that. It’s so much more.

You feel a little dumb for only fully realising now but Jisung is all you’ve ever wanted, ever needed—on every level imaginable.

And as much as you want him to take of each layer of your clothing, he has to know first that this means more to you than just a one time thing that happened in the heat of the moment.

“Sung– wait–“

He immediately pulls away. Jisung fears he’s gone too fast, too much, too far.

Fuck.

He wishes the first kiss between the both of you would have been in a more romantic setting. As cliché as it sounds—aligning his lips with yours while you’re standing under those pastel pink trees would have been a dream come true and what you truly deserve.

But can he really be blamed when his long-time crush asks, no, begs him to basically devour them like a five star meal?

“Do you want to stop?” he asks then.

You can see the fear in his eyes. That’s the last thing you want.

“N-No– it’s…”

But it’s hard speaking up about all those thoughts that are running at high speed in your mind. Especially, when he’s looking at you with his beautiful brown eyes that have gotten a few shades darker since the first kiss.

Fortunately, Jisung senses you’re just as shy to speak as he is but he still manages to initiate the conversation. He dearly hopes he’s not misinterpreting something. In case you regret what has happened so far, his heart will immediately shatter into a thousand pieces.

“What’s on your mind, pretty?”

You giggle when you hear the pet name. But you have to be serious now. It’s so important that you don’t give the wrong impression to him.

You want this. You really do. But you want this to be more after and not just a one time thing. Jisung is way too important to you and your stupid little heart.

“I don’t want you to think this is a rebound… I–“

“I know it’s not,” he cuts you off.

He’s got his truth now and Jisung can officially call himself the fucking happiest man on earth, if not even in the whole universe and whatever follows after that.

“How do you know?”

It’s hard to explain. But, subconsciously, he’s known for some time. Jisung’s insecurities simply have gotten in the way, telling him it’s just his imagination.

But the conversations you shared in the café earlier, the way you allowed him to take care of you, the fact you’re at his apartment now and, fuck, the way that kiss felt—filled with such a passion he has been craving for years, if not his whole life, convinced him.

“I’ve had my doubts for years and was sure it’s just my desperate feelings for you telling me you might return them but I know now you might like me just as much,” he says, adding a little teasing smirk at the end.

“H-How… so obvious?”

“You’re fucking obvious, baby,” Jisung continues, grabbing you by the waist and placing you in his lap and you just let him. “Maybe that’s why I’ve never given up. I was convinced you hated me, understandable, since I ignored you all this time and do in fact hate your ex.”

“Don’t mention–“

He places a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“Sorry. But do you wanna know why I’ve ignored you for four years?”

You look into his eyes again and you can already feel the secrets unveil themselves in a heartbeat. Although you seem to already know what he’s about to say.

“Why, Jisung?”

He gets closer now, his mouth dangerously near to your face, lips practically hovering over your skin if there wasn’t a thin layer of air separating you.

“I had to hold myself back. For several reasons”—a kiss on your cheek—“to not… sorry for the mention but punch that dude in his face”—a kiss on your jawline—“To ignore my own feelings for you. But, also”—a kiss on your neck—“to not bend you over the next surface, if I’m honest.”

You’ve always known there’s been utmost desire blooming between the both of you. A blossoming connection as bright as the leaves of your favourite tree.

And it feels exactly like this when Jisung aligns his lips with yours another time and you’ve never wanted to drown in a feeling this much before—he tastes like everything you long for. The sweetness of the blueberry and raspberry muffins. The freshness of the sakura latte. The comfort of the safety he grants you. The passion of the desire you have for him.

That’s why you allow him to take the next step, when he slowly pushes you down on the sofa, towering over you now. Jisung tugs a strand of your hair behind your ear, as he looks at you with the warmest smile this earth has ever witnessed.

But there’s no time to react or do anything, when his mouth collides with your neck again and as if you’re on autopilot, you spread your legs for him, allowing Jisung a more comfortable and intimate position.

One of his hands wanders up to cup your breast, massaging it through the fabric of your shirt and bra. In an instant, you prop yourself up on your elbows and Jisung seems to be able to read your mind when he helps you out of those distracting barriers.

He becomes that cute guy again when his eyes flicker down to your bare breasts and it makes you almost as shy as he is right now.

“Sungie… don’t look at me like that,” you say, covering your chest with your hands but he softly pulls them away.

“No, no. You can’t look as beautiful as this and then hide.”

You allow him to continue, rolling your eyes to the back of your head when his kisses meet one of your breasts. Jisung starts twirling his tongue around the hardening nub, while his hand is busy playing with the other.

A moan slips out of your mouth but you don’t even try to hold it back since there’s neither a reason nor a need for it.

“Sungie?” you call for him again when you notice something.

He looks up at you through his thick lashes, big eyes staring right into yours.

“Yeah, pretty?”

You giggle because of the name again, “You know, it’s kinda unfair that you’re still wearing your shirt…”

He chuckles and within a few seconds the fabric lands on the pile of clothes on the floor and your gaze on his upper body. You’ve always expected him to be on the more muscular, athletic side but this beats all of your expectations.

“Wow… you’re beautiful,” you let out.

Jisung shies away but you grab his face and direct it back towards you.

“You can’t look as beautiful as this and then hide,” you quote him.

That’s all he needs for his eyes to turn ten shades darker again and a few moments later, he’s carrying you bridal style towards his bed. Your body meets the mattress, the weight of it shifting underneath you and Jisung wastes no second to help you out of your pants, leaving you under him in only your underwear.

“Fuck… pretty,” is all he says, brain turning into mush at the sole sight of your almost completely naked body.

Jisung positions himself between your legs then, thighs lying on his shoulders when his mouth approaches your covered pussy. Even in the dim lights of his room, Jisung is able to witness the little wet patch on your cerise laces. He giggles to himself, before he lets his tongue collide with the fabric. Licking a long stripe over your hidden clit, he makes you arch your back because of this slightest touch.

And it’s enough for you to desperately, impatiently beg for more.

“Take them off,” you cry out, already freeing yourself from your panties.

With the most evil smirk to ever exist, Jisung helps you slide them down, leaving you naked on his bed for him and him only.

He dives back in, about to devour you like a five star meal, when his mouth comes in contact with your mound. Jisung starts with small little kisses, as two of his fingers painfully slowly spread your pussy lips apart and he could come undone untouched at the spot when he sees and feels how drenched you are.

“Sit up for a second,” he tells you and you follow suit.

Jisung is on eye level with you now, bringing two of his fingers close to your face.

“Open, pretty.”

You do as you’re told, inviting his digits in before you start sucking on them.

“Fuck…”

His eyes are practically glued to your mouth, watching how you take his fingers in and Jisung wonders how heavenly it would feel if he replaced them with his cock—which has by the way already been painfully hard since the two of you started kissing.

But it’s about you now. Jisung has waited for four years for this moment, being selfish is the last thing he wants.

That’s why he gets back to his previous position. In an instant, his tongue is back on your clit—this time without a layer of fabric between them—and his fingers are circling around your entrance, teasing you to beg for more.

Jisung hears another moan spill from your lips and it’s the most beautiful melody his ears have ever witnessed. He wishes he could record it, play it over and over again as a memory of tonight and all the following nights after this one.

“Sungie,” you call for him again, as you hide your face behind the palms of your hand. The anticipation is practically killing you by now, a feeling so intense it makes it impossible to hold back any longer.

“Need you…”

Jisung chuckles. “You need me, baby?”

His voice has dropped down low by probably two octaves.

“Yeah… your fingers, inside me,” you manage to speak.

Jisung follows suit, as he enters you, immediately feeling you clench around him. He lets out a moan himself now, before he slowly starts thrusting into you, stretching you so deliciously.

“Fuck–“

You arch your back when his tongue meets your sensitive bud again, drawing the prettiest movements around it, making you curl your toes.

Jisung lets go for a second, but keeps his fingers inside your tight hole as he slows down the pace.

“Baby?”

“Hm?”

He chuckles a little when he sees your fucked out face.

“Listen how wet you are, pretty. For me, hm? Only for me,” Jisung says. His fingers start thrusting faster into you now, as squelching sounds echo through the room.

“For you…” you whisper under your breath, before your head falls back again.

He picks up his pace, adding a third finger before he begins curling all three of them so he’s able to brush that certain spot inside you.

That’s it. The build up is getting more intense with each second that passes. You’re overdosing on pleasure.

“Sung–“ your words get cut off, when his tongue once again starts making out with your clit, saliva running all over it.

Jisung moans against your heat, not even thinking about stopping any time soon but it seems as if it won’t take you that much longer to reach that sweet relief.

“Come on, baby,” he encourages you, continuing with his movements like an expert, “cum all over my tongue and fingers.”

As if he’s flipped a switch on you, his demand turns into reality, when time stands still and the indescribable feeling takes over your body, possesses your mind and soul. It’s like a thousand sparks of fireworks, a million blossoms of those cherry trees blinding your vision when the sensation spreads through your core and gets welcomed by your whole system.

Jisung helps you ride out your high, his movements becoming slower when he feels the overstimulation kicking in. He slips his fingers out of your hole, giving your clit one last but soft kiss before he licks his digits clean from your essences.

He stares at you for a solid minute, waiting for the next move to follow from you this time.

But it seems as if he doesn’t have to be impatient, when you’re already sitting up again, pulling him closer by his neck, as you whisper, “You… you c-can’t eat me out like that and– you have to finish what you started, Sungie.”

He chuckles, before his lips crash into yours and you can taste yourself on his tongue.

“Then let me fuck you, yeah?”

You fall down on your back again, as you watch Jisung dangerously slowly fumble with his belt. The leather drops to the floor and he wastes no time to let his jeans follow. The tip of his cock is staining his boxers, a wet patch very visible for your eyes. It looks uncomfortable, almost painful, how restricted he is behind the fabric, the tent proving it quite much.

“Please– c-can’t wait no more–“

Jisung pulls the remaining fabric down, kicking it to the rest of the clothes and you gulp when you see him fully naked for the first time. The head is leaking precum, the length a little above average but the girth is probably what makes your head the dizziest.

“Let me go grab a condom real quick, pretty.”

You circle your hand around his wrist, stopping him from making a move.

“I’m on birth control. I’m fine without one, if you’re, too.”

He smiles at you, truly touched by the trust you have for him and it surprises him once again how the two of you used to be anything like this a few hours ago. Well, maybe it wasn’t ever like this. Maybe this is how it was supposed to be all along.

“Of course.”

His hands wander under your thighs then, as you’re still spreading your legs so beautifully obediently for him and Jisung pulls you closer, until your ass is practically right at the edge of the bed. He’s still standing in front of it, his cock back in his hand as he starts stroking it.

“You’re gonna beg for it, pretty. Beg for my cock, beg me to make you cum again, hm?”

Fuck.

How on earth are you supposed to survive this?

Jisung spits in his hand, smearing the saliva all over his length before he brings it closer to your pussy, tip slowly grazing over your clit which forces a moan out of you.

“Sungie– please, please, please,” you beg, just how he asked for it.

But that’s not enough for him.

“A little more, baby.”

Instead of finally sliding his cock into you, he continues teasing you, brushing it over your clit until the grip of his hand tightens and those soft movements do a one hundred and eighty degree turn, when his length collides with your clit, as he slaps it against your sensitive nub.

You let out the so far loudest moan that night, unable to wait any longer.

“Please, fuck me. I need you– need you to stretch me with your cock– need you inside–“

“Alright, alright,” he chuckles, “I adore how desperate you are for me.”

“Only for you, Jisung.”

And that’s when he pushes just the tip inside, your pussy walls inviting him in as you start clenching around him. Jisung takes his time with you, checking your face regularly but all you do is impatiently begging him for more. Centimetre after centimetre follows until he’s bottoming you out completely.

“You better be,” he adds, still referring to his possessiveness.

You usually don’t like it when guys act that way but it’s different with Jisung. It’s not as if he’s doing it out of jealousy but you’re aware he’s driven by his utmost desire for you.

Positioning your legs over his shoulder to reach that certain angle, he starts thrusting into you at a steady pace.

And, fuck, does it feel good. You’re convinced the both of you are anatomically made for each other, destined to be connected in the most intimate way to ever exist.

“Fuck– I’ve dreamt about this for years– fucking years,” he cries out in between thrusts.

“Feels so good,” you compliment him, more and more synapses in your brain shutting off with each second. But you don’t need to think right now anyway. All you need is Jisung to take care of you, pleasure you, make you cum once more. Over and over again.

You’re a little dragged out of your daydreaming, when Jisung slips his length out, earning a whine from you. He grabs you by the waist and turns you on your stomach.

“Ass up,” he says and like a puppy you follow suit like you always do.

A few seconds later, he’s stuffing you full of his cock again, pounding into your desperate hole at a merciless speed.

“You’re such a good girl– only for me, yeah?”

“Hm, yours, only yours,” you whimper.

Your head is buried into a pillow, as you’re drooling all over the fabric. Your eyes are rolling to the back of your head but that’s nothing new.

“Good little slut– fuck, I can’t believe I-I’m gonna be able to be inside that tight cunt every day from now on–“

“Yes, please–“ you cry out, not quite sure what you’re asking for but subconsciously the idea of having Jisung fill you whenever you need him is everything you’ve ever wanted.

“You’re mine, yeah? You get that?”

You slam your hand against the headboard, desperately trying to find some balance but failing miserably when Jisung rams his thick cock into your quivering hole like that.

“Yes, yes!”

He chuckles, “Good girl.”

And faster than you’re able to realise what’s happening, he’s got you in the previous position now, but this time Jisung is even closer. Your legs are thrown over his shoulders and his face is so close that he wastes no time to kiss you. It’s both once again so soft and passionate at the same time.

He’s still rutting into you although he’s lost some speed because his movements are getting a little sloppier too. Especially, whenever you clench around him, as two of his fingers are between your legs, playing with your clit to bring you closer to that sweet relief that you’re so desperately longing for

You bury your head in the crook of his neck. The beautiful marks you leave on his skin are destined to stay there for a while, like a tattoo that’s supposed to be a memory of tonight.

A few moans escape Jisung’s mouth. He pulls back a bit so that he can both stretch out the time until his orgasm washes over him and get a closer look of your face. He admires the few littles tears running down your cheeks, caused by the stimulation he is granting your body with his fingers, his cock and his words that follow next.

“You belong to me– I’m the only one who gets to fuck you like this–“

Fuck. You won’t be able to hold on any longer, you can practically already taste your climax again, when your cunt quivers around him.

“Hm, more– please– don’t stop, Sungie–“

So, he follows your instructions and Jisung watches how you come undone once more, this time much more intensely than the previous one. You fear you black out for a second when the white glittering sparks fill your vision again and you allow the feeling to take over you.

Jisung’s movements become even clumsier.

“Please– inside, Sungie– I’m begging–“

He lets out a moan at the thought of stuffing you full of his seeds. Jisung places another sloppy kiss on your lips before he can’t hold back any longer.

“Whatever my g-good slut asks for, s-she’ll get,” Jisung says, before his cum seeps into your aching hole, painting your walls white.

Everything after that becomes a blur and a few minutes later, Jisung has already taken care of your exhausted body, cleaning you all carefully before he puts you into some of his clothes.

He joins you under the covers a little later, pulling you close to him as he watches your eyes almost fall shut. Jisung adds a soft kiss to your forehead, simultaneously stroking your cheek.

“I’m happy you came to the café tonight, you know?”

You nod, “I’m happy that we’re finally on the same page.”

“It was getting exhausting, to be honest, pretending that I’m not interested in you,” he says.

You chuckle, kissing him on the cheek.

“Same here.”

Staying like this for a while, the both of you get ready for bed a little later until you meet in his bed again. Jisung turns off the lights, as he cuddles closer to you.

“We should get some sleep, pretty, so that we’re well rested for our date tomorrow.”

🩷 AUTHOR’S NOTE: I'm so grateful that I was able to participate in this event. It was lots of fun! Thanks so much for reading! If you enjoyed this story, please consider reblogging it and sharing your thoughts with me—there are no limits, from keyboard smashes to long essays, every kind comment is dearly appreciated and the number one motivation for authors to keep going. Have a nice day!

© j-0ne25 2023 | copying, translating or stealing my work is prohibited

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