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Love Begins
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NASA
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Cosimo Galluzzi
we're not kids anymore.

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trying on a metaphor

Kaledo Art
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@smhlino
hi this is my reading blog!
you can find my main @trulylino where I do kpop fics <3
thirteen percent.
pairing: minho x reader genre/warnings: established relationship, fluff; mentions of drinking, cursing, hella unedited and tbh i kinda gave up toward the end but i wanted to post smth lmao word count: 1.2k note: inspired by the events of friday night in which i had 1.3 bottle of soju and promptly passed out while unmuted all night in my discord server lmfao
as always, iâd appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading âĄ
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the first thing you do when you wake up is scowl.
at the sun. at the sky. at the cars and at the people going about their day on the street below. at soonie and doongie when you find them just peacefully existing in their respective corners of the room.
at minho who's looking at you from the doorway with an amused expression on his face.
"look who's finally up," he says, approaching the bed with a glass of water in his hands. "it's almost 1pm, heathen."
you groan, covering your face with your hands as you try to sink further into the mattress. "why are you so loud today?"
"this is my normal volume?"
"your normal volume is loud."
"hmm, could this be because last night you knocked back an entire bottle of soju and then some and therefore you have a raging headache right now?"
you blink, still delirious from the night before. it's obvious that the alcohol hasn't completely left your system and minho is right. there's a pounding in your head and you wish it would stop.
you ignore his sassy quip, trying to recall what happened. "how did i get home?"
it was supposed to be a cozy night in with your friends. you'd been looking forward to last night for weeks because all of you had been so busy with your respective lives, and a fun girl's night was desperately needed. to catch up, to gossip about your partners, to escape your tiresome realities for a few hours.
and of course, to unwind and drink. not to the point of being blackout drunk; just to de-stress a little.
"how do you think?" minho asks, holding out the water for you until you muster enough strength to sit up and take it from him. he watches as you greedily gulp down the liquid to satiate your dry throat, giving him back the empty glass when you're done and lying back down again. he sets the glass on your bedside table before he joins you under the covers. "boyfriend of the year went out in the middle of the night to drag your ass home."
"you took me home?"
"i just said boyfriend of the year, didn't i?"
despite his smartass attitude, minho still snakes an arm around your body to pull you close to him, until your head is lying on his chest while he strokes your hair gently.
"it was just soju. plum soju!" you try to justify your actions, throwing a leg over his and snuggling further into the warmth of his body. "only thirteen percent!"
minho scoffs. "that's how they get you. the fun flavors make you think that you're gonna be fine if you do just a couple more shots. next thing you know, you're sending your boyfriend gibberish messages at 2am."
to emphasize his point, minho shows you his phone, goes straight to the text thread you two share.
you mostly sent him nonsense, seemingly a lot of keyboard smashes and blurry drunken selfies of you and your friends. then came the last few messages.
you: oh naue why rom sponnign you: i wsntto go homrr you: mimo tskeeee me homeee
"oh." you purse your lips. "drunk me was a moment."
"no, she was a lot of moments actually. you stayed up for almost two hours after i brought you home."
"doing what?"
your boyfriend looks down at you, an unimpressed look on his face before he rolls his eyes and sighs, recanting the story of how you exhausted him just hours prior.
"stop squirming," minho said, trying to keep your head from lolling to the side as he wiped at your face with a cotton pad doused in micellar water.
but you kept giggling, kept trying to hold his cheeks so you could kiss him. "mimo, you're so pretty. my pretty, pr-" hiccup! "pretty mimo."
it took him thirty whole minutes just to take your makeup off, then another forty five to go through your skincare routine.
-
it was an entire struggle to get you out of your clothes and into your sleepwear because apparently, the feeling of him tugging your blouse over your head and sliding your jeans down your legs tickled that amorous part of your brain - your horndog side, if you will.
you instantly latched onto him, climbing on top of him to sit on his lap, attempting to trail kisses along his neck when all minho was trying to do was put your t-shirt on.
"not now," he scolded you lightly, pushing you away by your shoulders before he held your arms up just long enough to slip the shirt over your body.
"whyyy not?"
"mostly because you're about ten seconds away from passing out."
but that wasn't something that your intoxicated brain could comprehend. all you understood was that your boyfriend didn't want to have sex with you, that he was rejecting you.
you went quiet all of a sudden, your lips pouting, your eyes turning glassy before you practically sob, "you don't want me anymore."
minho could only sigh.
-
"what now?" he had finally managed to get your restless ass into bed, thinking you'd surely knock out within seconds of hitting the sheets. but when he returned to the bedroom five minutes later, having cleared away your clothes to be put in the washer in the morning, minho found you lying on your side, your eyes glued to your phone, your face illuminated by the blue light coming from the device. "why aren't you sleeping?"
you were going through your camera roll, watching your old videos like they were your favorite tv show. videos of you and him, videos of him and the cats, or just random videos of him that you took when you thought he wasn't paying attention.
it was cute how you were so immersed, how you kept giggling and making heart eyes at the version of minho captured on your phone. it made him smile, just standing there and watching you like that.
it was beyond endearing, but it was also fucking 4:18am.
minho snatched the device away from you and put it somewhere you couldn't reach before he settled into bed with you.
"i miss my mimo," you whined. "give me back my mimo."
he knew there was no use in telling you that you didn't need to miss him when he, the object of your affection himself, was lying next to you. instead, he just yanked you closer, tucking your face into the crook of his neck and holding you tightly so you couldn't move, hoping that it would eventually lull you to dreamland.
"your mimo is right here. now go to sleep, you menace."
"and not to mention you kept-"
"nope." you put a hand over minho's mouth so he would shut up. "i've heard enough."
he pushes your hand away. "i deserve compensation for what i had to go through last night."
"the satisfaction of taking care of your wonderful girlfriend wasn't enough for you?"
"no," he says. then, you both just stare at each another for a few minutes.
"fine," you relent. "i'll make it up to you with one hundred kisses."
"i want a cat tower."
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all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 14.01.2024]
game over | lee know
pairing: lee know x afab!reader
word count: 6.5k
genre: smut, angst, fluff, best friends to lovers
warnings: minors dni, swearing, use of pet names, nipple play, fingering, protected sex
summary: after a night where the two of you accidentally end up cuddling on his bed, you and minho are forced to confront the feelings youâve had for each other all along.
(a/n): *taps mic* hello?? is this thing on?? cheers to my first fic of 2024!! i have a goal to start writing more this year, so expect to see more of me soon! please accept this as an offering for my re-entry into the world of smut writing. i hope it lives up to your expectations and more. again, feedback is always appreciated! much love! <3
âIâve watched you make Miles circle Harlem Station enough times to memorize the entire layout. If it wasnât in there the first time, why do you think itâll be there now?â
Your character pauses mid-run as you turn to scowl at Minho, the quest prompt taunting you on the left side of the screen.
He blinks like heâs asked an innocent question, like he didnât just state the obvious to rub salt further into your pathetic wound. âIâm trying to cover all of my bases here, Min. What if I missed something?â
âYou know, most people who discover they have superpowers take it as a sign to do something impactful with their life. Become a hero. Start a crime syndicate. Something.â
âButâŠ?â
âBut not Miles Morales. No, he figures he wants a silly purple suit and wages psychological warfare on innocent people with nothing better to do. Inspiring, really.â
You groan, picking the controller back up as Minho prods at your side with his foot. âYouâre so unhelpful.â
Youâve been at it for a while now, perched on the edge of Minhoâs bed, taking up residence in his room while he doom scrolls on his phone, splayed out against his pillows.
Your hangouts are quiet for the most part. But then again, thatâs how itâs always been for you and Minhoâmutually shared silence. More comfortable with each other as you both coexist in the same space than anywhere else.
It also just so happens that Minho has a PS5 and you donât. Something about it being a Christmas present from his very rich, very financially irresponsible roommate who thinks anything expensive is a good gift, even if Minho has never so much as touched a console a day in his life.
You made a joke about it back then, something along the lines of âHey, do you think Changbin needs a girlfriend that he can buy another one for?â to which Minho had thrown you an unreadable look and mumbled that you could come over and use it whenever you wanted. You would never ask him to do that, because youâre a good friend. So thankfully, heâd offered on his own.
Minho is a good friend too. He lets you come over, lets you grab at your hair in frustration while he watches, and even looks things up for you when you really need it. Not that you ever do, because youâre a firm believer in finishing games with integrity rather than pulling up a wiki on how to do it step by step.
But hey, if Minho throws you a very helpful, very not-looked-up tip every once in a while, who are you to complain?
Miles Morales is pretty busy as a teenager. In between learning how to be Spiderman, going to school, and fighting crime, he seemingly always has another side mission for you to do.
You throw yourself back into the game, searching high and low for the sound samples that you need to complete the quest while Minhoâs phone spews facts about the molting process of komodo dragons somewhere behind you. Probably another one of his animal life documentaries.
Another hour passes, the sky completely dark outside the window above Minhoâs desk. Youâve circled Harlem Station another five times, searching all the same spots, running into walls and alleyways along the street in hopes that something, anything will turn up. Your back is starting to cramp, shoulders tense, so you roll your neck a few times and stretch your arms above your head.
You yawn and lean backwards, fully expecting a pillow to catch you on the way down. Except you fail to remember just how small Minhoâs bed is, especially with two people on it, and collide with his chest.
âShit, sorry,â you say quickly, sitting back up, âDidnât know you were behind me.â
âItâs okay.â Minho mumbles, voice tired. âCome here.â
Thereâs no time to react, no time to process whatâs happening before Minhoâs arm is wrapping around you and youâre being guided back down into his chest.
Your body goes rigid, but then you realize thatâs probably weird, so you force yourself to relax. Minho doesnât say anything, just keeps his attention fixed on his phone screen, footage of a baby red panda rolling around in a pile of bamboo sticks playing at a low volume.
You and Minho donât do this. Youâve never done this.
You and Minho are best friends. When you were younger, the people in your neighborhood even went as far to call the two of you soulmates. Always attached at the hip, never separated. But even after all of that, all the years of hangouts and sleepovers and taking up space in each other's lives, you and Minho have never cuddled.
Is this cuddling?
You brave a glance in Minhoâs direction just to find that heâs still locked in on the documentary. If you focus too hard, you can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back, the rhythmic beating of his heart between your shoulder blades.
This doesnât have to be weird. Itâs fine, really. You and Minho are more than qualified as friends, best friends, to do this. Absolutely.
You take a deep breath, exhaling slowly as you count to four, and reach for the controller again, allowing yourself to fully relax into Minho.
For a split second you canât help but think that this is definitely better than laying against pillows. Minho is broad, his shoulders wide and chest big enough for you to melt into one side comfortably. Pillows are lumpy and inconsistent and definitely donât radiate heat the way Minho is right now, soft puffs of air hitting the top of your head as he breathes.
To no surprise, you find it hard to get back into the game. Miles is running into walls and missing all of his web shots as your brain struggles to keep up, lagging because of the way Minhoâs body is firm beneath yours.
Youâre jolted out of your thoughts when Minho shifts, his elbow coming up to rest against your shoulder andâoh.
Minho slides his fingers into your hair without a second thought, blunt nails dragging against your scalp as they card through leisurely.
Your stomach twists and turns as an unfamiliar fluttering feeling settles deep within your gut. Itâs so unfair, the fact that you feel like your heart is about to sprout wings and fly out of your chest while Minho scrolls through instagram like this is a normal Friday night activity for him.
To make things worse, Minho decides heâs going to rest his cheek against the side of your head, the contact adding the overwhelming feeling ofâwhatever it is that youâre experiencing.
âDoing okay?â Minho asks after a while. His eyes glance over at where Miles is standing in the middle of the street, salsa dancing after sitting idle for the better part of five minutes. You jerk the joystick quickly.
âYup!â You say a little too quickly. âYeah, great, good.â
âTired? I can drive you home.â His hand is still moving softly against your head, slow strokes that make it hard to fight the sleepiness nipping at the back of your mind.
ââS okay, Min. I can walk.â
Minhoâs brow furrows as he shifts to look down his nose at you. You turn your head up at the same time, and itâs then that you realize just how close your faces are.
âYouâre funny if you think Iâm gonna let you walk. I have a car, come on.â He says, sitting up and pushing you with him.
âAre you sure? I donât want you to do anything you donât want to do. Iâll be fine.â
âIâm sure.â He smiles, grabbing his keys off the nightstand. âAnything for you, yeah?â
The drive to your dorm is quiet. Changbin and Minho live an easy two blocks down from campus. Although Minho is still in school, he was quick to jump at the opportunity to get away from dorm life. Anything to ease the hole that his parents were no doubt burning into their pockets to send him to school in Seoul.
You really could have walked. It takes less than five minutes for Minhoâs car to roll to a stop in front of your dorm building, a few students passing by as they return from the library.
âYouâre coming over again tomorrow?â He asks, turning to look at you. His left hand grips the steering wheel, and you canât help but notice how even in the dark his eyes still have that same shine.
âOh, youâdo you want me to?â
Minho snorts, glances forward for a second before returning his gaze back to you. ââCourse I do. Why wouldnât I?â
You fiddle with your hands in your lap. Itâd be weird to say âI donât know I just thought that you might be weirded out that we cuddledâ in a situation like this, right?
âI just thoughtââ you stop, shaking your head, âNevermind. Yeah, Iâllâyeah. Iâll be there tomorrow.â
Minho watches while you get out of the car, eyebrows furrowed as he follows your every move. Not so much confused, more worried than anything.
âYou sure youâre okay?â he asks, leaning down to peer up at you through the window.
âYes, I promise. Goodnight, Min, Iâll see you tomorrow.â
Minho blinks a few times before giving up. He breaks out into a grin, and you ignore the smattering of butterfly wings in your chest.
âNight.â
You and Minho cuddle now. Itâs a thing. Has been for weeks since that first time.
Every night is the same: you play for a bit, Minho watches his documentaries, and somehow in the middle of it all you find yourself pressed against his chest while he plays with your hair.
Youâve learned how to effectively handle the rapid beating of your heart every time too. Minho, still as casual as ever, hasnât mentioned it even if heâs noticed.
Tonight is no different. Youâre still looking for the stupid sound samples. Miles is running through back alleys in between brick buildings and graffitied walls, nothing to show for it.
School has been shit, too. The past few weeks have brought an increase in assignments and finals are just around the corner, which means youâll no doubt be typing out multiple page papers in no time. All you want to do is beat this stupid game so you can have some sort of achievement to quell the misery youâll be subjected to in about a weekâs time.
Itâs also become increasingly hard to ignore the shift in you and Minhoâs relationship. If you can even call it that.
On the surface level, nothing has changed. But there are little things here and there, little moments that are so small they almost go unnoticed.
When the two of you go out, the touches he leaves on your arms or waist linger for longer than they used to whenever he passes by. Thereâs glances stolen and smiles shared that leave your cheeks flushed pink and his ears red. And, to top it all off, youâve realized that youâre more anxious whenever youâre not in Minhoâs arms, a result of knowing how it feels to have him so close and being unable to forget even after heâs gone.
Because when youâre in Minhoâs arms, the world ceases to exist. Stars align and burn so bright that you feel like your entire body is on fire.
Minhoâs arms feel right.
Your feelings about Minho have always been clear. Heâs your best friend, your other half, someone youâve never once had to question about his place in your life.
Minho is a constant, steady reminder that no matter what happens youâll always have a place to run to, a place to be.
Thatâs what makes this so scary. The tightening of your heart when his hands find purchase in your hair, petting and scratching and making you feel things youâve never felt before. The warmth of his chest against your back as the two of you exist together inside the walls of his bedroom, no one to judge you or make you feel like you need to think about anything other than Minho, Minho, Minho.
Youâve had crushes before. Youâve dealt with the dizziness of attraction and longing. Not with Minho though. Not like this. And because of that, it feels wrong.
Thereâs no way Minho feels the same, no way heâs doing this every night because he also canât sleep once heâs in bed, his mind full of thoughts that include you and the lingering feeling of your touch on his skin or the scent of your shampoo in his nose. Not the way yours is.
Minhoâs last girlfriend was named Yeji. She had hair the color of fire and a sparkle in her eye that made you feel like maybe you didnât have it all figured out the way she did. She kept herself wrapped around his arm and looked at him like he hung the stars. Her love for Minho was fierce and explosive and his for her all the same.
Youâve never been the jealous type, but thinking about it now you realize that maybe whatever feelings youâre harboring for Minho have always been thereâif your annoyance during their relationship was anything to go by.
It was hard for you to be around when he was with Yeji; sometimes youâd leave gatherings early, or youâd decline invites to hang out. At one point, Minho had to corner you in front of your dorm building because youâd stopped answering his texts to come over.
It wasnât your fault though. It was unfair for him to expect you to want to be around them, to sit and watch as he held her hand or planted kisses on her head, to be subjected to feeling like youâd never be able to find something similar to what they had. Absolutely impossible, like squeezing water from a stone.
But regardless, you powered through it. Bit the bullet and stuck it out because you knew that at the end of the day if the only way youâd be able to have Minho by your side was by being nothing more than a friend then youâd take it. Because at least then it wouldâ
Fuck.
Fuck.
Youâre in love with Minho.
The realization hits you like a ton of bricks. Miles is salsa dancing in the middle of the street, taunting you.
âStop that.â Minho says, his eyes burning holes into the back of your head.
âStop what?â
âThinking. I can hear it from all the way over here.â
âSorry.â you mumble.
âWant to talk about it?â
You let out a breath you hadnât realized youâd been holding. âItâs nothing, really. I justâI have a lot on my mind.â
Itâs not a lie. You do have a lot on your mind. Youâre just leaving out the part where you mention that itâs him.
âHmm,â Minho hums like he knows. Like heâs experiencing the same thing. Maybe he is. A part of you dares to hope. âDo you want to cuddle? Will that help?â
You swallow around a lump in your throat as his words carve out the inside of your chest, leaving you hollow.
So you have been cuddling. You were scared to call it that out loud, werenât sure if you were allowed to.
Already beside yourself, you nod, scooching towards him.
Minho shifts upwards on the bed, his back against the pillows, and parts his knees. You stop, confused, until heâs grabbing your arm and guiding you in between his legs, your back against his chest. He lets his chin rest on the top of your head, one hand resting on the side of your thigh and the other holding his phone.
âBetter?â
No. You think youâre going to die. âYes, thank you.â
Minho starts playing with your hair, just like he always does. He scrolls through instagram where you can see, stops on a post, double taps, keeps scrolling. When a funny video comes up, he laughs and waits for you to laugh too. Itâs so intimate, so unlike the two of you, but for some reason it feels normal. Unlike your frazzled brain five minutes ago, Minhoâs hold brings forth a sense of clarity that youâre certain youâll never be able to find anywhere else.
Minho makes you feel seen, warm, safe.
And youâre undeniably in love with him.
When he notices you squirming, he steadies you by pulling up his knees to incase you into him further.
âI can sing you a song. You used to like that, yeah?â He asks, bumping the tip of his nose against the crown of your head.
You did use to like that. You still do. But itâs been so long since Minho last sang to you, maybe since middle school, so you never had the courage to ask.
âOnly if you want to.â
âAnything for you, remember?â Minho says with conviction, like he doesnât have to think about it twice. His certainty knocks the air out of your lungs.
Minhoâs chest rumbles when he starts to sing, his voice taking on a soft cadence that makes you feel like youâre floating on air. Unlike his higher pitch when you were younger, Minhoâs voice is deep and rich and hits every note with practiced ease.
Minhoâs voice was always your favorite. You could listen to any song, try and distract yourself with music and a pair of headphones, but nothing ever worked quite like Minhoâs singing did. And now, as you sit between his legs, his hand tangled in the strands of your hair, you donât think that anything will ever be able to compare.
Youâre completely melted into him by the time heâs done, your bodies alloying together in a way that makes your insides twist and turn. Minho continues his motions through your hair, humming softly, and then, âWas that okay?â
âMore than okay.â You sigh. âLoved it. Love you.â
The confession hangs in the air, leaden and haunting. You donât process what youâve said until the damage is already done. Your ears fill with static, your blood running cold.
Minhoâs hand stills, so does his chest, like heâs no longer breathing.
No. No. This wasnât supposed to happen. This is his fault. His stupid singing. His stupid warmth. Him, him, him.
Minho, Minho, Minho.
You sit up quickly, trying to hide the tremble of your voice when you manage to squeak out a few words. âI should get going.â
Miles is still salsa dancing on the tv. Minho blinks a few times as you scramble to grab your things, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes. Stupid, stupid, stupid. So much for not wanting to make things weird. So much for trying to be normal. Way to fucking go.
The sinking feeling in your gut worsens when Minho doesnât move, doesnât even bother to say anything. He just watches, his mouth opening and closing like he wants to stop you but he canât find it in him to do so. You donât blame him.
Youâre halfway out the door of his bedroom when he finds his voice again. The same voice that was just filling your ears not too long ago, except this time itâs strained.
âWait, donâtââ
âIâm not sure if Iâll be over tomorrow. I have to study.â
Minhoâs hand stops where it was beginning to reach out for you. He lets it fall to his side, his eyes shifting to the floor. Part of you wants to hear him out, wants to see if maybe heâs not as repulsed as you think he is, but the other part of you knows you canât handle any of that right now.
âOh,â he whispers, âOkay. Youâre gonna be okay?â
âYeah.â You lie. âSorry.â
Minho looks up, something like hurt flickering across his face, and thatâs all you need to see before youâre bolting out the door and into the night air.
The tears begin to fall as soon as Minhoâs apartment is out of sight. It feels like someoneâs reached inside your chest and grabbed your heart in their fist, twisting and twisting until the pain becomes unbearable. All those years as friends, all the effort you put into making sure nothing would ruin your relationship with Minho down the drain in a millisecond.
You find yourself in a secluded corner of the courtyard near your dorm building, eyes swollen and red as you cry and cry until you feel like you canât anymore. Thereâs no one around, only the soft whistling of the wind as it whips past your face. You wish you hadnât left, wish that you were back in Minhoâs arms so you could parse through every feeling clawing at your brain.
Youâre not sure how long you stay out there, but by the time youâre dragging your feet into the dorm lobby the student worker at the front desk is half asleep. The elevator ride up is miserable, your red-rimmed eyes staring back at you in the reflection of the ceiling. Your head hurts, your heart hurts, everything hurts.
Youâre about to turn the corner when you hear Minho's voice, frantic and pleading.
âY/n, just, letâs talk okay? I know youâre in there, please open the door.â
Heâs standing with his forehead pressed to the wood, hand above his head as he knocks weakly. All it takes is one hesitant step forward for him to catch sight of you in his periphery.
âMinho?â You strain, the lump in your throat growing again. âWhat are you doing here?â
His eyes go wide when he turns to face you, his cheeks flushed and chest rising and falling as if he just finished running a marathon. âI didnâtâI thought that youââ He glances back and forth between you and the door.
You let your eyes travel down his body, stopping when you notice his feet clad in nothing but his house slippers. Heâs not even wearing a jacket, his t-shirt uneven at the neck, hair wild from the wind.
âI ran here.â He says once he notices your stare. âI shouldnât have let you leave like that. I was stupid.â
You force yourself to look up after the last word leaves his mouth, your eyes searching his. âMinââ
âAre you okay?â He cuts you off, rushing forward. He wraps one hand around your wrist, lifting your arm to inspect for damages. When he doesnât find any, he brings his hands up to cup your cheeks, brows furrowing when he notices how puffy your eyes are.
âYouâve been crying.â
âI havenât, itâs just windy out there.â
âStop lying.â He mumbles. âYou canât lie to me.â
âItâs fine.â You try to say, stepping back. His hands fall back down to his sides. âItâs nothing. I just need to sleep.â
You shoulder past him, keeping your head down so he doesnât see the tears that are already starting to form. Youâd rather not look more pathetic than you already do. Thereâs nothing he can say to fix this, this is your problem. Something that youâll have to live with and move past even if it hurts.
âI love you too.â
The world around you stops moving. Thereâs a ringing in your ears, static spreading throughout your entire body. If it wasnât for your death grip on the door handle, you probably wouldâve fallen to the floor.
You turn, painfully slow, and come face to face with Minhoâs similarly fearful eyes.
âIf you meant it the way I think you did, I love you too.â
âYouâre just saying that,â you whisper, âIâm not trying to pressure you or anything, okay? It was a mistake. I shouldnât have said it. I got too caught up in my own head and I accidentallyââ
âDonât.â Minho croaks, eyes glossy. âDonât tell me it was a mistake. Donât bullshit me.â
âWhat are youââ
âActually, no, fuck it.â He sighs, closing the distance by a few steps. âYou got your turn, now itâs mine. I meant what I said even if you didnât. I love you. Iâm in love with you. Iâm sorry I let you leave without saying it back. I froze up because I never thought that I would hear you say it first.â
Itâs your turn to open and close your mouth, words lost. Minho is looking at you like you might disappear if he even so much as blinks. His voice is thick, like thereâs a layer of fear coating his throat as he forces the words out one by one.
âI thought I could live with it, I thought that I could stand never being able to tell you. But then I got a taste of how it felt to have you so close to me and, God, I havenât been able to stop thinking about it since. Every night after you leave feels like an eternity until you come back the next day.â He runs a hand through his hair. âWhy do you think I havenât just given you my console? Why do you think I force myself to focus on youtube videos whenever youâre over? I needed a reason to keep asking you to come back. I needed something to distract myself from wanting to hold you close and tell you how badly I want you to stay.â
He lets out a shaky breath, his chest heaving up and down like heâs just finished running a marathon.
âI donât know if Iâm reading this wrong. Maybe you didnât mean it like that, maybe you just want to be friends. But these past few weeks of having you with me every night, of being able to hold you and pretend for just a moment that youâre mine, have made me so unbelievably happy. You have no idea. So, please, if this isnât what you want, tell me. But I need you to know that I love you, too. And Iâm sorry that I didnât say it back when I had the chance.â
Minho looks at you like youâre holding his heart in your hands, broken and bleeding. He doesnât know that heâs owned yours since the moment you met, since he flashed you that lopsided grin and you knew that you were always going to be his.
âI meant it.â You say slowly, watching as he swallows hard. âI meant it the same way you did. I loveâmmmnfgh!â
Minhoâs kissing you before you even get the chance to properly say it back. He brings his hand up to rest on the back of your head, holding you in place while he slots his lips together with yours. Itâs soft, gentle, almost as if heâs scared he might break you. If he really wanted to, youâd let him.
When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours and drops his hands to your waist.
âWhat does this mean?â You whisper into the space between your lips.
Minho sighs. âIt means that I love you, and you love me. We can figure out the rest later. Together.â
Thatâs all the permission you need to pull him back into you by the collar of his shirt, smashing your lips together in a kiss much more urgent than the last. You let him push you backwards into your dorm, kicking the door closed with his foot as soon as youâre inside. Minho walks the two of you in the direction of your bed against the far wall, and you silently pat yourself on the back for saving up to afford the single room this year.
You let out a noise when the backs of your knees hit the bed and you go tumbling backwards, Minho landing on top of you with a grunt. Your lips are still attached, almost like youâre glued together, and Minho grins.
âStop smiling,â you mumble, âI canât kiss you when youâre smiling.â
He pulls away, trailing kisses up the side of your cheek, over your nose, down the other cheek, laughing. âWe canât have that can we?â
The third time Minho kisses you is different. His movements are slower, more sensual, and you gasp when his tongue swipes over your bottom lip. You let him in, a strangled moan escaping when he slots his leg in between yours, applying pressure.
âMinââ
âFuck. Sorry.â He says quickly. âWe donât have toâI shouldâveââ
âNo,â you say, sitting up. He blinks at you a few times, watches as you place your hands on his chest, run them down the length of his torso until they reach the hem of his shirt. âI want this. I want you.â
Minhoâs eyes darken as he brings a hand up to your face, hooking his thumb and forefinger just below your ear as he cups your jaw. âYou,â he breathes out, touching his nose to yours, âYou drive me crazy.â
âGood âcrazyâ or bad âcrazyâ?â You ask, letting him guide you back down until youâre flat against the bed. He plants his knees on either side of you, drops his body until youâre chest to chest, and starts placing open mouth kisses along your neck. You squirm beneath him, squeezing your thighs together as the desire in your stomach builds.
âGood.â He mumbles against your skin, sucking at the spot just above your collarbone. âSo fucking good.â
Minho lets you pull his shirt over his head, the dip between his shoulder blades visible when he drops back down to remove your sweater, mouthing between the peaks of your breasts as soon as itâs off. You arch your back into him, groaning when he reaches around to unclasp your bra.
âThis okay?â he asks, throwing it to the floor.
âMore than okay,â you whisper, âFeels good.â
Minho wastes no time in taking one of your nipples into his mouth, rolling the other one between his fingers as you writhe beneath him, your lower half looking for some sort of friction. He brings his knee back in between your legs, presses his thigh against your core and clenches the muscle.
âUse it,â he mumbles, teeth biting at the flesh of your chest, âLet me feel you.â
A broken whine escapes your lips when you grind down onto his thigh, the pressure making your eyes roll to the back of your head. Youâre so wet already, clenching around nothing as Minho continues to lick and suck at your breasts.
âMin.â You moan, tangling your fingers in his hair. âNot enough. Need you. Please.â
âFuck.â Minho growls, propping himself up on his elbows. He stares into your eyes, lips swollen and pink. âYou have no idea what you do to me.â
âTell me.â You plead, your vision going blurry when one of his hands behind stroking the side of your stomach. Minhoâs fingers are slender, soft to the touch, and you think you could get the shape of them tattooed as a reminder that the two of you existed in this moment in time together.
âIâve been thinking about you forever. More in the past few weeks, but, youâve always been there. Always in the back of my mind. Youâre so pretty. The prettiest thing Iâve ever seen. Iââ he laughs, ducks his head for a moment before looking back up, âI never thought Iâd be able to have you like this.â
His hand slips beneath the waistband of your pants, and you bite your lip to stop the moan from leaving your lips when the pads of his fingers dip into your folds.
âLike I said, you drive me crazy. Iâve never wanted someone, anything, the way I want you. Iâfuck, y/n.â
âIâm here now. I want you. Need you. Have me, Minho.â You moan, clenching when he pushes a finger in.
Minho swears under his breath, kisses you through the process of removing both of your pants, the loss of his fingers leaving you empty as you throb with want, with need.
âDo you haveââ
âTop drawer.â You cut him off, jerking your head in the direction of your night stand. Minho smirks before reaching over and pulling out a condom. He takes a second to roll it on, your mouth pooling with spit at the sight of him.
Heâs big. Unbelievably big. You swallow when he lines himself up at your entrance, lowering himself as he cages your head in between his elbows. âIâll go slow,â he whispers, placing a chaste kiss on your lips, âWant to take my time, remember this forever.â
âSap.â You giggle, gripping his shoulders.
He kisses you again, smiling into it. âOnly for you. Anything for you, remember?â
âI remember.â You grin. He kisses you, messy and wet until youâre melting into the mattress, and then Minho pushes the head of his cock inside.
âOh God,â you whine, burying your face into his neck. Minho brings a hand down to sooth you by rubbing circles into your hip with his thumb as you mumble into his neck, broken noises escaping your throat as he pushes himself in further.
âThatâs it, baby, just like that. You feel so good, let me hear you.â He grunts, picking up a steady pace.
Itâs so much all at once. The feeling of Minhoâs cock filling you to completion, the warmth of his firm chest against yours, the iron grip he has on your hip, probably bruising. You hope it bruises. Hope that itâll stay, a permanent mark just like the one he has on your heart.
Minho is so beautiful like this, hanging over you with his hair dangling in his face as he gives you his allâgives you the world. Youâre dizzy with want. With love.
Minho thrusts into you like youâre his, taking you apart from the inside out. He touches you with fire in his fingertips and leaves a trail of ice in their wake. His moans are broken, strained, falling from his lips like a mantra as he says your name over and over again with every snap of his hips.
âYouâre incredible.â He says against your lips, your teeth clacking together. âItâs you. Itâs always been you. Will always be you.â
You let him wrap his arms behind your back completely, gasping when he pulls you upright, your body pressed against his chest as he sets you both in a sitting position. He leans his head back, moans when you angle down into the kiss, bouncing slightly to meet him halfway as he continues thrusting upwards into you.
Itâs so muchâeverything youâve ever wanted and more. The feeling of Minho beneath your fingertips, your hands exploring every inch of him, from his chest to his back, stopping at the base of his neck as you moan into his mouth. Youâre not sure if youâll ever recover, not when you've gotten a taste of what heaven feels like.
Minho falls back against the pillows, letting his hands find purchase on your waist as he helps lift you up, his hips smacking into yours at a pace that has your head spinning.
âMinâah. Iâm so close.â You cry out, digging your nails into his shoulders.
âFuck, me too. Youâre so beautiful. So, so, beautiful. The most beautiful person in the world. Let go for me. Be mine.â
Abdomen clenching, completely filled, you cum with a sob of Minhoâs name, him following right behind as he spurts into the condom. Minho whispers reassurances into your ear the entire time, rubs soothing hands up and down your back as you both ride it out until you collapse against his chest.
âBaby,â Minho croaks, sliding his fingers into your hair. âJesus, y/nââ
âWas that okay?â You ask. âAre you regretting it?â
âWhat? No.â Minho soothes, pressing a kiss to your forehead. âOf course not. I would never regret that, would never regret you.â Thereâs an air of finality to his voice. Heâs sure.
You stay pressed together for a long while after that. Eventually, Minho moves to clean up, and you allow yourself to be wiped down and dressed in the same t-shirt he came in. When heâs done, Minho pulls you into his bare chest, fits your head under his chin so that he can nuzzle his face into your hair.
âHi.â He whispers, taking a deep breath.
âHi.â You say back, closing your eyes.
âThis is kind of a mess, isnât it?â You ask when he starts drawing circles into your hip bone.
âWhat makes you say that?â
âI donât know.â You sigh. âIt doesnât feel real. Iâm scared Iâm gonna wake up and youâll be gone.â
Minho tightens his arms around you, drops a firm kiss on your forehead. âI would never. And as far as it being a mess goes, I donât care. Iâm happy as long as youâre happy. This is whatever we want it to be. At the end of the day, itâs you and me. Mess and all.â
You smile into his neck, brushing your lips against his skin. âPromise?â
Minho nods, lets his chin knock against the top of your head. âPromise.â
âI love you, Min.â You say with certainty this time, wanting him to know that you mean it. You vow to yourself that youâll never let him go without knowing again.
âI love you, too.â
âMin! Look!â
Minhoâs entire body jolts awake, phone flying out of his hand and tumbling off the bed. Youâre too ecstatic to care that youâve just woken him up, not when youâve finally gotten that stupid purple suit.
âThe last sound sample! I did it!â You exclaim as you throw yourself at him. He laughs lightly, kisses your cheek as you giggle over the sounds of Milesâ uncle finally gracing him with the Purple Reign suit.
âOnly took you, like, a month.â
âShut up.â You groan, swatting at his chest. âIâve been busy.â
âDoing what?â Minho asks, his brows disappearing into his hairline. You stretch yourself in between his legs, your chin coming to rest on his stomach as you look up at him with a pout.
âItâs hard to find time to play when my boyfriend is so needy.â
âOh Iâm needy?â Minho laughs, pinching your cheeks on either side.
You retaliate by biting his thigh, not expecting the groan that he immediately lets out. You raise an eyebrow at him, smirking when you notice the slight bulge in his pants. âSee what I mean?â You ask, squealing when he reaches down to pull you up towards him, flipping you over so he can press you into the mattress with a kiss.
Seen, loved, warm. Minho makes you feel like youâre the luckiest person in the world. He holds you like heâs scared to let go and loves you harder than youâve ever been loved before.
Soulmates. Attached at the hip. Two imperfect halves of the same perfect whole. Itâs always been Minho. Youâve known since the start, ever since you first laid eyes on him.
Game over.
eight days of christmas carols - day 8
jeongin - a nonsense christmas
a/n: im a little christmas morning drunk so i didn't proof read this!! but happy holidays to everyone :)))
christmas was over - you had opened your gifts, sang carols with family, cooked and ate more than your bodies fill of delicious snacks and meals that you only got once a year. you had wrapped and unwrapped gifts, exchanged pleasantries with folks that you only saw once a year. it was as wonderful as it was exhausting.Â
now it was time to go back to the comfort of your shared home with jeongin, sitting pretty in his passenger seat as he drives with one hand on the wheel.Â
âoh, i love this song,â you perk up in your seat and turn up the volume, expertly dodging his hand when he tries to flick you away from the console. he hated when people messed with his settings, even just a little bit.Â
âitâs not even christmas anymore,â he complains, but pushes the volume up by two more clicks for you.Â
âitâs still the 25th!â you argue back, letting the christmas bells in the background fill your heart with that familiar ebbing feeling of the holidays.Â
âyouâre ridiculous,â he rolls his eyes fondly, nothing but soft affection and tenderness exuding from his gaze.Â
âtake me for a ride, iâll be your vixen,â you ignore him to sing along to the song filtering through jeonginâs old car speakers. your intertwine your hand in his free one as he drives down the streets littered with barren trees, continuing to croon at him along with the radio. the sparse streetlights make his curls glow golden and his eyes seem almost supernatural as they pass by.Â
he cuts the gas once you reach your apartment complex, flecks of snow just starting to make themselves known as they fall onto his windshield. the lack of heat from the vents makes you shiver, and you tighten your hand in his.Â
âlet me come warm you up,â he tugs you to him, helping you across the middle console until you were settled into his lap. you lean into him, wrapping your arms around his middle as you press your lips to his, cherry scented lip balm hitting your tongue.Â
âlooking at you got me thinking christmas,â you mutter against his lips.Â
âyouâre my wishlist,â he goes along, mouthing the words of the song as he slides his hands under your jacket to rest on your hips.Â
â
carols masterlist
eight days of christmas carols - day 2
minho - baby itâs cold outside
a/n: i took out all the creepy from the original song and made it cute bc we like respectful men in this house (gn!reader)
âi really canât stay,â you whine, attempting to disentangle yourself from minhoâs octopus limbs that had wrapped around you hours ago.Â
âare you sure?â he looks up at you with wide eyes, blinking slowly. like he was trying to hypnotize you with just his stare.Â
âyes, you little gremlin,â you finally get free of his grasp and you sit a safe distance away from him on the couch, massaging the blood back into your hands. âiâll see you tomorrow, you wonât be away from me for too long.â
âbut,â he starts, biting his lip. âbaby, itâs cold outside. what if you get sick?â
âitâs just a ten minute walk,â you smile, fondness threatening to burst out of you when you take in his genuine worry. âiâll be okay.â
âjust donât complain to me when youâre sniffling tomorrow,â he says, pouting like a petulant child. it was as if you were taking his favorite toy away from him. he reaches over and takes your hands in his, playing with your fingers between his own. âwill you let me walk you home? iâll hold your hands, theyâre just like ice.â
âwhat, so i can listen to you complain about the cold the entire way?â you giggle, raising your linked hands to your mouth to press a series of kisses to each of his knuckles. âiâll be okay, baby.â
he relents, standing up and dragging you with him to where you had discarded your coat. he helps you into it, buttoning it up all the way to your neck and patting it down so he could make sure every inch of you was covered. you reach in to give him a goodbye hug, but he interrupts you with a -
âwait!â he straightens up, dashing out of the room and leaving you standing with your hands outstretched. you blink once before dropping your hands, rolling your eyes - he would do anything to keep you to stay, right?
he comes back with a bundle of crocheted items, a smile on his face and pink dusting his ears.Â
âhave my hat and my gloves and my scarf,â he tucks the hat and scarf under his arms so he could pull the gloves onto your hands, carefully tucking your fingers into each section. âtheyâll protect you.â
he wraps the scarf around your neck, tying it around and using it to pull your towards him once he was done. you stumble into him, glaring at the little giggle he lets out. he puts the final touches on you, securing the hat on your head, making sure your ears were properly covered.Â
âgosh, your lips look delicious,â he says, eyes transfixed on you. âcan i have one more kiss for the road?â
âpushy,â you tease, leaning in to press one, two, three kisses to his lips. it sends warmth tingling up and down your spine, more so when he presses his palm to the small of your back to keep you against him.Â
âbaby, itâs cold outside,â he murmurs against your lips before pulling back. âtext me when you get home, please?â
â
carols masterlist
found cupids christmas on ao3 god is good
ballelino deactivated it's over for me how am I meant to live
TOOTH AND CLAW, lee minho
CHAPTER ELEVEN âŻâŻ fallacy
âŻâŻ pairs âŁâŁâŁ gang leader!lee minho x fem!witch!reader âŻâŻ rating âŁâŁâŁ 18+ âŻâŻ genre âŁâŁâŁ smut ⣠historical!au ⣠fantasy!au âŁangst ⣠crime drama ⣠strangers to frenemies to lovers ⣠soulmates(?) ⣠hurt ⣠dark fic ⣠slow burn ⣠mythical!au ⣠historical!au ⣠fantasy!au ⣠magic!au ⣠mafia!au ⣠detective!au ⣠peaky blinders!au ⣠switch!minho x switch!reader âŻâŻÂ warnings âŁâŁâŁÂ inappropriate language ⣠gore ⣠death ⣠attempted murder ⣠murder ⣠mythical creatures ⣠corpses ⣠magic ⣠witches ⣠werewolves ⣠vampires ⣠seers ⣠curses ⣠monsters ⣠inaccurate historical references ⣠references to peaky blinders ⣠cigarette smoking ⣠alcohol consumption ⣠vampire feasting (blood, humans) ⣠smut ⣠dry humping ⣠mental health struggles ⣠weapons ⣠blood ⣠creepy men being creepy ⣠scars ⣠robbery references ⣠horny thoughts ⣠visions ⣠sudden naming of characters otherwise unnamed đ ⣠asshole parents ⣠handicapped characters ⣠trauma ⣠flashbacks ⣠mythological references ⣠acceptance and reluctance to change ⣠let me know if I missed any âŻâŻ word count âŁâŁâŁ 16.1k words âŻâŻ notes âŁâŁâŁ happy birthday to me đ lets celebrate turning 19 with another chapter of our favourite supernatural couple hehe <3
remember to reblog and comment!
In war, time would pass by faster than a person could blink. There was no spare second to think, to breathe, to ask for silence â everything was fast moving. It never stopped. Every second was used for acting. Act. Never stop. No time to stop in war. Always act.Â
If anyone stopped moving and acting for even a second, then the entire system would collapse. People would die. More people than who already had. Death. Everywhere was death. It was always loud at war, every moment filled with screams and blood. There was no silence. There was no time.Â
You stood under the head of the shower, cold water sprayed unceremoniously from it and washed down your face. The sun was barely rising outside. Your radio played no noise from the bathroom counter.Â
Silence.Â
It had been years - but you still hadnât gotten used to the silence. You covered your face in your hands, pushing your fingers into your hair, and the water ran down your skin. All the time in the world rested in your palms. You could breathe.Â
And yet, you still felt cornered in the medical tent. Bodies around you, blood thick over your legs and screams for help. Time moved too fast, no moment of tranquillity was available at war.Â
You closed your eyes and ran your hands through your hair, knots caught on the pads. The water was cold, you needed warmth, but it wouldnât wake you up. Had you slept that night? You were sure a few moments occurred, but you always woke fast.Â
Those dreams didnât stop. You didnât know which ones you hated more. The memories of war or the weird stasis you would awake in, your mind in another body filled only with rage. They would leave your heart pounding either way.Â
It was too cold. You turned the hot water on a bit more, though the faucet already was at its limit. So cold â you were always cold. Minho helped that. He was hot. A burning fire. You were never cold around him. Minho and his scorching fire always made your skin tingle in warmth.Â
Minho.Â
A week.Â
Time moved far too slowly outside of war. Outside of him. You hadnât gone a week without him before. In fact, you hadnât even gone a day since you first met. Steam bellowed around you in the shower. The water was like ice on your skin.Â
Still, no noise came from your radio. Not even a crackle of static. You combed your fingers through your hair and rinsed the soap from it. The water continued to run over your body, the bubbles of soap mixed with it on the journey down.Â
You slowly moved your fingers to your neck, tingles burst through you. Still, you could feel Minhoâs lips, even after seven days, and the teeth that grazed along your skin. He had left a mark there. It faded since then â you wanted it back.Â
You wanted Minho back. And you hadnât even had him to begin with.Â
It was why you knew better than to give in. He brought out things you couldnât control within yourself. That dangerous edge, it affected you. It allured you.Â
Why did you have to give in? Even for a single moment? You couldnât focus on anything else because you were too focused on him. Dangerous. Addicting. You wanted him.Â
You turned the water off, but steam still surrounded you. Under the cold air, you shivered. The sun was still rising, it shone on the mirror through the small window. You wrapped a towel around your body, looking over the radio.Â
It wasnât even on. You were still in silence. A few hours until the car would arrive to take you to the races. Already you knew it would be a long day. The feeling stirred in your stomach.Â
The house was quiet, you couldnât hear any snoring from your sisterâs room like usual. You walked past slowly, holding the towel tight to your chest to stop it from uncurling around you. Still silent. All you could hear was water dripping from your hair to the wooden flooring.
âShit!â You leaned back in surprise at the shouted word. It came from your sisterâs bedroom, but it wasnât her voice. You opened her door slowly, looking in as quietly as you could.Â
It wasnât her. It was Eui. She stood over the vanity, a container of blush dropped in front of her. There were other makeup cases along the wooden vanity, as well as tools for hair care. âWhat are you doing?â
She turned with a surprised expression, her eyes wide before they settled along with a grin. Her smile seemed to shine under the candles lit around your sisterâs bedroom. âSetting up!â
You walked inside and looked around. It was empty beside you both. âWhere is Nari?â Your sister should be there. She should be fast asleep and snoring so loud that it kept you awake. But the bed was empty and freshly made.
âShe decided to stay at Soobinâs.â
âIn the middle of the night?â
Eui nodded with a hum, fixing the dropped container of blush with a wipe of her hand. âYeah, she left soon after you went to bed.â
You took a step closer and tightened your hand on the towel. In the corner sat Nariâs favourite chair, your mother had moved it into her bedroom at Nariâs request almost immediately. Hung over it was your dress for the day, the dress Minho had bought for you and had Jisung deliver.Â
It had upset you when it was Jisung instead of Minho you found with the dress, but you hadnât let it show. Instead, you took it with a stiff smile and watched Jisung leave.Â
âAnd Jin-Ae⊠well, youâd assume she would be good at secrets considering how private her life is,â Eui giggled to herself as she pulled back the chair of the vanity. She stood behind it, smiling at you and gesturing to the chair for you to sit, âbut she is quite obviously with Changbin tonight.â
You hesitantly walked forward and sat down in the chair. It made Eui smile even wider as she pushed the chair into the vanity, having you face the vanity. You watched her reflection through the mirror, her happiness sparkled in her eyes. âThen why are you here?â
Eui grabbed a hairbrush and ran it through your hair, it caught on more knots despite the wet state of it. âI want to be here.â
âYou could be with Hyunjin.â
âI know,â she ran the brush through it again, âbut I know you donât like it when youâre alone. Or when itâs quiet. Plus I want to be here with you and help you get ready for today.â
You bit your inner cheek and stared stoically at her. She was humming to herself and still brushing out the remaining knots â as if she hadnât spoken such words. You did like being on your own, you really did, but it was silence that got you. She was right about that.Â
Were you obvious about that? Was it easy for everyone to see how easily unnerved you could get or was Eui simply different? You wanted the latter, it would be humiliating for anyone else to know that about you.Â
You didnât say anything about it, though. Eui was doing a kindness by helping you get ready for the day of the races, she didnât know the fear her words struck in you. âThank you.â
âOh my, thereâs no need to thank me. We are friends after all!âÂ
Friends.Â
The last person you admitted was a friend was Hyunjin. Back when you were teenagers. There was no time for friends anymore. You had to focus on work, the monster, your family and the business you were attempting to maintain in the privacy of the dark.Â
Was Eui your friend? She was certainly a business associate. You had given her a home as well as a job and she gave you information from that job â then there was how youâd introduced her to Hyunjin. Was that what friends did?Â
No. Friends did that for unselfish reasons. You didnât deserve friendship, you were already too busy with everything else in your life. You were too selfish to worry about friendship.Â
You looked down at the vanity. Next to the eyeshadow was the diary you were reading. The one you found in the forest. Eui mustâve noticed your attention to it and brought it in while you showered. She was a good person. You were not.Â
âOh! Nari wanted you to wear these shoes with the dress! She said they didnât fit her anymore,â Eui gestured to the dark red pump heels on the floor. They would match your dress, that was certain. You would have to thank her when she returned home. Your heart clenched as you recalled that she left without a goodbye. It was unlike her. âI thought she got them only last week but Iâm probably wrong.â
You ran your fingers over the old diary, they itched to open and read it. Every spare moment you found was dedicated to reading it only. It was full of lovesick notes about your ancestorâs fiancĂ©. How she couldnât wait to share her home with him.Â
It intrigued you. If it was only those types of words, then there would have been no need to hide it. Yet your grandmother buried it behind magic in the forest. Something was inside of it â you were desperate to find it.Â
âThey will match the dress well.â
Eui hummed and put the brush down, picking up the hairdryer in its place. âMinho has very good taste, the dress will look beautiful on you.â She turned on the dryer, it was loud in your ears and cold on your skin. You welcomed the noise, it silenced your thoughts. âItâll match your makeup as well.â
âI was only going to wear lipstick,â your usual red stain. The same colour as the dress and shoes, without the black lace bodice overlaying it. You had already tried on the dress when it first came, it made you feel beautiful. You hoped it would fit the suit Minho would wear.Â
You pushed your fingers into your palm hard enough to make you grimace. You needed to stop that thought there. Get control. âI heard you talking to yourself about it last night, I know you want to look nice.â
How embarrassing. You had been going through the makeup you owned to find any that would make you look nice. A moment of weakness. It was absurd that you chose to focus on your appearance when you were going to the races for business only.Â
Yes. Business.Â
You ignored the fleeting vision of Minhoâs tattoo. You hadnât seen it in reality, you had no certainty that it was even real. But, you still wanted to trace it with your finger and make him groan.Â
âItâs okay to want to feel pretty,â she squeezed your shoulder and smiled at you through the mirror. You clenched your jaw and lifted your head to watch her back. Of course, it was okay, you knew that, but you had to focus on more. You were taught to prioritise family and business. Not romance and appearance.Â
She continued to dry your hair, you kept your head still for her. Your fingers still itched for the diary, you thumbed at the corner of it. âWould you mind if I read this, Eui?â
A smile. She always smiled. Did she ever frown? âGo ahead. Iâve got a vision for your look today so let me work my magic.â
Her over-dramatic wink made you chuckle. Eui had that aura about her. She could make many people happy even if she wasnât. It was a good quality. You enjoyed that within her.Â
While she continued to do your hair, you opened the diary to where you last read. The cursive lettering seemed ingrained in your mind. The dramatic curve in each âsâ and the long hanging curl in every âgâ was what you saw whenever your eyes closed.Â
The current passage continued to speak of her fiancĂ©. About his upcoming boat trip with his best friend and crew. He was a pirate, it was told in explicit detail many pages earlier. Your ancestor wrote about her excitement because she and his best friendâs partner would be joining them.Â
The passage ended with her usual sign-off. Love, Mi-Sook. You could faintly recall your grandmotherâs lesson about Mi-Sook, but the lesson was short, she only told you that Mi-Sook was talented with her magic. Powerful.Â
You turned the old, withering pages for the next diary entry. But it was gone. Pages were ripped out. Ten pages total. You were sure the confusion was evident on your face as you ran your finger down the ripped edges that remained on the book's spine.Â
Everything around you melted away into darkness. You werenât sitting. Not anymore. You were standing. The diary still in your hand, quill in your fingers â writing.Â
Was it you? You couldnât control your body, but your mind was fast in its thoughts. Faintly in your ears, you could hear the loud hair dryer, but you couldnât speak. Couldnât scream.Â
It was another dream. But, you were wide awake.Â
There was a burning glow in front of you. Your body looked up, and a hateful grin formed on your lips. You didnât want to â you wanted to scream and run. It was a large fire, burning smoke into the dark night sky.Â
Come to me, child.Â
It was so big. You felt like your skin was melting from the proximity you had to it. It couldnât have been too far before you, just a few steps from the burning ship. A ship? You didnât know how you knew what it was.Â
Smoke invaded you. You wanted to cough and choke on it but instead, you stood stoic and watched the ship burn on the ocean dock. The sail caught alight and made the fire roar in the wind.Â
Your hand moved. Inside of it, clenched tightly, was a flint and steel. It left your palm dirty but you didnât care. Did you care? All you felt was fury, a desire for vengeance.Â
Make the deal.Â
You threw the flint and steel onto the boat. Smoke billowed from the fire. It coated you and left dark sludge on your dress. So smokey. You couldnât breathe. You were drowning in it.Â
Thoughts plagued you. Thoughts not of your own. Was it the bodyâs? No. The thoughts had a voice. Dark, dirty, cold. It shook you to your core.Â
Come.Â
Your body turned to where the voice came from. Nothing was there â just darkness. Your instincts told you to run, only danger lurked in the dark, but your body walked toward it.Â
I can help you.Â
A hand touched your shoulder and you turned with a deep breath. It was Eui, her smile was gone and her eyes were downcast with worry. You looked around, you were back in the room. Your sisterâs bedroom â Nariâs bedroom.Â
âAre you okay?â Her voice was quiet and hesitant. She removed her hand slowly as you shook yourself to reality. The diary was still in your hands, your fingers held tight on it, almost clawing the paper out. âYou froze.â
âI⊠I donât know.â The honest words fell from your mouth before you could control them. You werenât sure what was happening to you, no amount of research youâd done explained it. âI think Iâll be fine.â
Eui cupped your cheek and pouted at you. âOkay.â
You could still hear that dark voice calling in your mind, willing you into the shadows. Those words it said played in your mind.
She turned you back to the vanity mirror, and a slow smile grew on her lips. Always a smile. She never frowned. Even with all the adversity she faced. There was always a fucking smile on her face.Â
Eui held a pin in her hand, she pulled parts back from your face and pinned it. You had expected her to tie your hair up, perhaps add a few red feathers to go along with the colour scheme. But she only pinned the sides from your face.Â
She curled some hair around her finger and let it fall over your shoulder. You were still in the towel â you would need to change. Through the drawn curtains, you saw the sun. It shone brighter. You were sure it would be fully risen now. Which meant the car Mr and Mrs Yang sent would arrive soon.Â
A swipe of eyeshadow went across your eyelids. Her finger blurred it and lessened the pigment. âHow are you happy?â The question fell from your lips before you could even think about it. You opened a single eye and saw her smile, brighter than the sun outside the curtains.Â
Though the smile faltered slightly under the harsh question. âPardon?â
âYou always smile. Even when youâre sad, you smile.â Jealous. Thatâs what you were. She always had a beautiful smile on her face. Even when she was on the streets, Eui smiled at you whenever you passed. âHow?â
Emotional stability, you assumed. âIâm not sure,â Eui giggled to herself and added eyeshadow to your other eye, âI just⊠I always know better things will come. I mean, before I had nothing and no one. Now I have a place to live, a job and people I care about. And those people care about me.â
You would have looked down glumly if your eyes were open. She was unlucky, thatâs what people knew her for, yet she found happiness everywhere she looked. There was something admirable about that, but your stomach churned in jealousy again.Â
Happiness. Sadness. Anything, you couldnât allow yourself to feel it. You werenât taught that way. You thought it was a good thing when you were younger, you thought it allowed for a good businesswoman. A warrior.Â
All it did was hinder you, you knew that now.Â
Eui drew on your favourite lipstick, that blood red stained your lips as you always loved it too. âThatâs admirable,â you finally whispered, looking away from her and to your dress. People would like how you looked in it, you were sure of that, but you only cared for one opinion, âdonât lose that.â
âIâll try my best,â she winked and wiped her nail under your lip to clean it up. You looked in the mirror, and your mouth fell slightly agape.Â
You did look beautiful. Red lipstick, dark shadow and the faintest of blushes along your cheeks. Your hair looked better than you had ever done it, mostly because Eui took proper care of it for you instead of your usual âbrush and doneâ method.Â
The dress was easily put on. Three buttons in the back that Eui helped you connect, and it slid on. Black lace overlayed the red material of the bodice beneath it. The sleeves, very short ones that just managed to cover your shoulders, were only lace. The skirt of the dress was only red, slightly billowed from your waist.Â
Eui had offered to cover the scars on your back, the lace did not hide them completely, but you denied her. No one would care, and your hair would hide the rest. She helped you put on the shoes, your sisterâs pair fit perfectly. The heel wasnât too tall either. You preferred it that way.Â
Nerves wrapped around your throat by the time you finished getting ready. It astounded you how anxious you were, it was a day filled with rich people, yes, but it wasnât for fun. You were there for business. Only business.Â
âGood luck today,â Eui went to hug you, but stopped halfway, her arms partially open. You knew she was someone who enjoyed physical contact, and she knew you werenât. But, she helped you. You wanted to try.Â
You pushed toward her and gave her an awkward hug, your arms were stiff and she was frozen in surprise. âThank you,â you quickly pulled away and coughed to yourself. When was the last time you had initiated a hug? You were ten, if you remembered correctly, âfor helping me today.â
She smiled, so wide. âYouâre welcome.â
Not just business, you realised. You had to properly discuss things with Minho. Even if you knew that the way you worked within yourself wasnât correct, you couldnât jeopardise your mission. Not yet. When the beast was killed â then you would be with him. But for now, you needed to discuss the past week of avoiding each other.Â
[â]
âYouâve aged.â
âMortals tend to do that.â
âOh hush the pair of you,â Mrs Yang, Areum as she had insisted both when you were a child and now, waved her hand in the air. Her nails were long and painted black, though her dress was a pale blue colour. It matched her husbandâs tie, âyou are absolutely stunning, dear child. Please spin.â
You followed her orders, spinning slowly in place for her.Â
She may have looked younger than you, her mortal age was, in fact, a year younger than your own, but she was not. Areum had lived centuries, she had witnessed cities burn alongside Jeongin, but she still had the human spark inside her eyes.Â
Not many humans who were turned into creatures could completely lose that curiosity. They certainly couldn't lose the idiocy as well.Â
Areum clapped softly with a bright grin on her stained lips, her sharp teeth glinted under the sun. Jeongin stood behind her, his hand around her waist and his face stoic despite the dimple in his cheek. He looked more serious than you could remember, the vampire was notorious for being mischievous.Â
It was why your family had a lasting deal with him. Vampires weren't meant to aid other creatures, especially witches, but that was exactly why Jeongin did so centuries back. Not that you would complain, the annual vial of vampire blood he would send was incredibly helpful for your business.Â
âI must say that the driver took his time delivering you here! Jeongin and I have been waiting far too long!â Areum walked toward you and linked her arm to yours. She was taller than you, most likely in heels much higher than yours, and her head stood up high â it left her long pale hair falling back gracefully. She looked whimsical, almost ghostly. âI know business shall be discussed later but I would love to learn about why you're helping a man.â
Her tone was teasing, cheeky, it matched her husbandâs usual attitude. There was no secret that witches and men were bad luck, it was incredibly rare for one to have a successful relationship with any man. Your mother was adamant about that rule more than anyone else, though you were sure that came from her heartbreak.Â
Being left by the same man twice will do that, you assumed. Especially when he would leave you pregnant and practically alone. Your grandmother had taken care of him the second time, and your mother said that if you ever dared to meet him, simply visit the wishing well deep in the woods of your old home.Â
You never dared.Â
âWe found that it would be mutually beneficial for us to exchange in business. I would help Mr Lee with medicine and deals while he would ensure my sisterâs protection and aid in hunting.â Jeongin led you both into the building holding the races. Though, unlike the rushing crowd in homemade dresses and mismatched accessories, he guided you to the right â to the exclusive area.Â
Already you could see some members of the Peaky Blinders scattered about. Felix had tipped his hat to you with a smile as he sipped on beer, but it seemed the others were maintaining a cover. They acted like shadows to the guests, who all drank and cheered for the horses without care.Â
Minho, however, was hidden. You couldnât see him despite how your eyes searched for him.Â
Your stomach dropped as Jeongin opened the large mahogany doors for both you and his wife. There was no chance of Minho missing the event, it was too important that he make a deal with Jeongin, and his men were all there for the secondary mission. He wouldnât sacrifice that simply to avoid you.Â
Ice wrapped around your heart and left its cold burn in your throat. Fear. You hated feeling scared, especially over something so petulant. He wouldn't miss it. You knew that. But that dark feeling of âwhat ifâ had your breathing increase in speed.Â
Areum unhooked her arm from yours and lovingly took the hand that Jeongin offered her, which he kissed with a loving gaze in his eyes. They had been married for decades, and yet they still acted dumb in love with one another. You doubted they went anywhere without the other.Â
You hated how that left you yearning for it yourself. To have someone who is hopelessly in love with you⊠though you would prefer for it to be expressed more in private. Public affection was fine, but you found it far too dramatic.Â
Minho would share the sentiment, you were sure. He always carried himself with calm stoicism in public, yet when it was just the two of you he got far more intimate. You could imagine that he would prefer to simply keep a hand on his partnerâs waist in public and then leave the rest for private.Â
âLetâs go, Red, you have far too much to do today.â Jeonginâs eyes flashed a dark red, similar to that of blood, and his cheshire grin returned. He suited the chaotic smile far more than the cold demeanour Minho held. With his spare hand, Jeongin offered you his aid in walking down the long staircase to the centre of the room.Â
You took it, adjusting your sunglasses as you did. Vampires couldnât be wholly trusted to not look into the mind of their prey â even Jeongin. He already had just to see your nickname, you couldn't risk him seeing the rest of your thoughts. The scattered mess that involved Lee Minho.Â
It wasn't that he would use it against you. It was more that Jeongin would tease you far worse than his wife ever could. You werenât sure which situation you preferred.Â
With both of you in his arms, Jeongin walked down the stairs with his fox-like smile glimmering under the chandelier. Loud music played from the band on stage, the singer harmonised into the microphone, and the rich people throughout the room all danced and shouted over one another.Â
A drunken mess of people, all perfect to be stolen from. You could recognise some from the city, the two women at the bar with their hands around a martini and the man with his chest hovering over his wife. The women had sent many glares of disgust toward you and your store, the elder one had even attempted to destroy it shortly after the war. The man had once attempted to seduce you at the bar, and when you denied him he attempted to pursue you regardless.Â
The scar along his cheek, deep and long, would remind him not to do that again.Â
None of them looked toward you, not that you minded. They were insignificant to you, just familiar faces in a crowd of strangers â none that mattered. Only three people inside the building mattered, and you stood with two of them.Â
âIâve always wanted to properly attend the races, my dear child,â Areum lit a cigarette between her lips and gingerly inhaled from it. Her voice was quiet under the noise of music, dancing and talking, you were surprised you could hear it so clearly. âJeongin had always promised to take me but the timing was always awfully.â
Jeongin rolled his eyes playfully and turned toward a short, empty, table by the side of the room. âIt is not my fault that our mating schedule overlapped with the race you always wanted to attend.â
âOh, I am not complaining, my love,â she wistfully ran her finger down the arm she held, cigarette puckered in the corner of her lips. âWe cannot control the moon, after all.â
You looked across the room for the familiar fire you missed, the conversation between the couple silent in your ears. They discussed much more graphic things when you were just a child, you would not react because of a simple mating cycle. He wasn't there, you couldn't see his head in the crowd and you couldnât feel those warm eyes staring you down.Â
Perhaps, he hadnât shown up. And left you to look like a fool. Made you waste the time of two powerful vampires simply because of⊠what? You still didn't know why he avoided you all week, it was so unlike him.Â
The man with the scar you had generously given him years earlier moved through the crowd, allowing you to see the people lined up by the side of the racetrack. A special box for those rich enough to afford it. One that held neverending champagne and special tips from those who ran the event.Â
You were expecting to see Kang Taehyun there. He owned this whole operation after all. But it wasnât him who stood there in the middle. You could feel that fire lick at the skin of your cleavage. He wasnât even facing you, he was far too focused on the whisky in his glass and the race about to begin.Â
Lee Minho.Â
âI shall go get Mr Lee so that you all can discuss your business.â The excuse tasted foul on your tongue, and the look from Mrs Yang even showed it had failed to convince her. Jeongin was far more focused on admiring her to focus on you, not that you minded. You preferred he ignore any other horrid excuse that falls from your lips.Â
You left the table and walked toward where Minho stood, an unlit cigarette between your lips waiting for the match to strike it. The added weight was not its usual feather-like feeling. It felt like the anchor to a pirate ship had attached to your bottom lip, dragging you down into the depths of the ocean.Â
You found that the same feeling stirred in your stomach. That heavy weight⊠suspense. You were nervous. The closer you got to Minhoâs stoic frame, the further that weight grew on you. When you closed your eyes for a brief moment, you were certain you could hear your rapid heartbeat between your ears.Â
But then, he turned around. Those fiery eyes found you through the crowd. And it all melted away.Â
It was as though the crowd around you slowed while you walked as calmly as you could to the balcony where he waited. He didnât move, just stood still and drank you in with slow, lingering eyes. The fire licked at the exposed skin of your body.Â
Minho lifted his short glass of whiskey to his lips and you followed it with a long gaze. The colour of his tie matched your dress. He must have planned that, he did choose your dress after all, but it made your heart thump. A simple show, one that was smart to avoid unnecessary questions, but it seemed your heart had fallen for the trick.Â
You clenched your right fist, nails right into your palm, and bit down on your inner cheek. You were still learning to be better â but that could wait for less public situations. Only, you doubted that you would be able to wait. Minho made you far more impatient than anyone else.Â
He was barely a few steps away. You could smell his cologne. While it was mixed with the other sickly kinds from men around you, his cut through them with ease. Clear and warm, your senses had wholly adapted to just him you were sure. It was such an alluring smell, your head felt soft under it.Â
Minhoâs nostrils flared and his eyes stayed on you. The fire had moved back up to your face, his brown eyes meeting yours in a tense lock. One week. It had felt like an eternity without seeing him. You were sure that it would have been the same even if youâd parted on better terms. Though, you were unsure why.Â
There was a girl in the past. One who you had admired from the shadows. She was so kind, despite the serious demeanour that she held. Every day she would stop by the apothecary and give you a flower when your mother wasnât looking.Â
You only spent one real night together, after a year of pining for one another. The next day she was gone, and you hadnât seen her since. Even then, you hadnât felt such a longing for someone. Such pull for a person over a short period of time.Â
âYou look beautiful,â he took your hand and helped you up the singular step to the balcony. The heat from his palms burnt through your skin and left your hand tingling for more. Your brain was not in a much better state, it felt as though your thoughts were all in a rushing state refusing to stop.Â
He thought you looked beautiful. Lee Minho thought you were beautiful.Â
The railing of the balcony was short, it met your waist with a rough, flat ledge for glasses and cigarette trays. Minhoâs hand went to your lower back, softly settling on the fabric above your ass, and he placed his drink down. You looked forward to preparing horses for their run, you couldnât trust yourself to do much more in that moment.Â
A fire, a literal fire, strikes beside you. Minho brought the match to your unlit cigarette, catching the tip in its flame. âThank you,â your voice was small and quiet, it was all you could muster that didnât include stutters and mismatched words. The first puff of smoke calmed your nerves, and that loud heartbeat in your head grew silent.Â
One look. You could handle one look.Â
You turned to Minho, finding those eyes already on you. Watching you. Scrutinising you. Detailing you. The match was discarded in the closest cigarette tray and his drink had returned to his hand.Â
Three ice cubes. You hadnât seen him drink with any less or any more. They clunked together in the glass as he sipped the alcohol, eyes open and staring into you.Â
You turned back to the horses, his gaze was still right on your cheek, burning hot. It left you tingling. âWould you like to share just which horse I should bet on? Or is the Scarlet Number in a later race?â Yongbok had told you of the newest horse purchased by Minho, well, by the Peaky Blinders. Already trained, mostly, but rumoured to have been jinxed with powder by Mrs Jung. âI know we have business to conduct today but a winning bet would be rather nice.â
âSince when did you believe in small talk?â Minho leaned down onto the ledge, his elbows pressed into the stone and his hands still around the drink. His hair glimmered under the wind and sun, his eyes shone like liquid gold. âWhy not just ask about the weather instead?â
You turned back to him â never had you noticed the faint scar along his neck. Short and thick, like a knife had stabbed through it. Your finger twitched along the cigarette on your lips, the contrast of the rough scar on his soft skin would feel nice. There had to have been many others he held hidden under his clothing.Â
Each with their own story you were desperate to appreciate.Â
âWould you rather I question why you have avoided me this past week?â You blew the cigarette smoke from the corner of your lips, watching him with a sharp gaze. He slowly turned to you from his hunched position, parts of his hair had fallen against his forehead from the brief blows of wind. âOr should we go back to the horses?â
Slowly, he stood from the position and tapped the pad of his ringed finger against the glass. âWe can discuss anything you like, Red,â Minho leaned in and took the cigarette from your fingers, smoking it himself. His eyes fluttered shut for a mere moment as he inhaled. He looked at peace just for that slight second â you wanted that to always remain, âJust say the word.â
âThen, answer my question, Minho,â despite the hesitation in your mind, you took the short glass of whiskey from his hand, sipping from it. He stepped even closer, there wasnât much room between you both, but you revelled inside of it. The heat that he emitted, the hungry look in his eyes and those soft lips that you could still feel biting on your neck⊠you tapped your finger along his hips. âWhy did you avoid me?â
Minho placed a hand on your cheek, gently running his thumb along your skin. Despite the people all around you, drinking and betting like the rich always do, you couldnât find enough care within yourself to stop it.Â
It had been a long week without talking to Lee Minho. Not even your rules, the ones you had always followed and were taught for generations in your family, were enough of a reason. You simply wanted to melt under Minhoâs flame for this one moment. You wanted to allow yourself just one more mistake with him.Â
âFor reasons I am still learning,â you slightly leaned your head into his hand, but you were sure Minho noticed it. A light shone in his eyes once you did it, and you felt his hand freeze for a single moment. âThings that I have always known are being questioned because of you, dollâŠâ
You slowly nodded and thumbed at the vest of his suit, mimicking the movements his thumb made on your cheek. âThere is no need for you to tell me those reasons now,â the confusion, the slight pain that creased along his brow, it was enough of an answer. Knowing that he didnât detest you for any reason was enough reassurance to your heart. âAll I ask is that you share some with me when youâre ready.â
âI promise. The moment I am certain of everything, you will be the first that I tell.â The look in his warm eyes, it felt familiar in your body. Like a faded photograph of someone lost. Your heart thumped in your chest, you were sure Minho could feel it, all you could hope was that he too was going through the same cycle.Â
Minho inhaled from the cigarette again before turning it and gently putting it back against your lips. His movements were slower than they typically were, almost hesitant, but the slowest was the removal of his hand from your cheek.Â
He mustnât have wanted to part just as much as you.Â
You placed the alcohol along the ledge and ran a finger along the rim of the glass. âIâve already seen a few men of yours around, they do know who to pick from, yes?â
âTheyâve been told to go for the rich, only. Surely you arenât doubting my morals, Red,â his tone was light, you enjoyed it. He was a serious man, just as you were a serious woman, it was why you both worked well together â but seeing this light side of him was new and completely welcomed.Â
So long as he would remember time and place. But, you doubted that Minho would let anyone outside of you both (and perhaps his family) see him in such a way. Many people considered it a weakness, and you knew that Minho wouldnât let anyone think of him as such unless it was merely a strategic movement. âThey have been taught how to identify the rich people here, correct?â
âThe only people here who arenât, are those who are working.â
You pursed your lips and finished your cigarette, pushing the end into the tray on the stone ledge. âI wouldâve thought you read about it in the papers this week, Minho. A large collection of people here were given tickets for free,â you pushed the glass of whiskey back over to Minho, âapparently Mr Kang lost a bet.â
Minho slightly paled along his face. He didnât know. He was caught unprepared. You had unfortunately been in that situation more than once throughout your life, and you knew how he must have been focusing on the questions in his head. It was easy to fall through those holes and remained trained on only those questions instead of the things around you.Â
You pointed across the ledge, where the general audience all stood. There were still rich people there, but many of them were not the target of the plan. âYou can tell by what they wear. Someone who was gifted a ticket today will surely have a more homemade attire. Or one that is older and more worn than another.â Minho followed your finger to an older woman. Her hair was done as well as her makeup, but her dress had missing stitches and aged material. Anyone rich enough to go here would buy new. âThen, of course, jewellery is another easy tell. The more jewellery someone wears, they are far more likely to have wealth.â
You moved your finger to a couple, husband and wife you assumed, that stood to the sides with a sneer. Not rich enough to make it into the elite clubhouse you currently stood in, but too rich (in their own opinion) to be mingling with those around them. The woman was adorned in pearls and wore the most recently released gloves from your favourite fashion line. The man continued to look down at his watch, almost drawing attention to it so the people they spoke with would see.Â
âThough, if you want to avoid risk altogether, just send them to this room. Only the richest of people are allowed in here,â you leaned in close to his face. The colour had returned to his face and his jaw had relaxed from shock and stress. âYou and I are simply outliers.â
He turned away from the area you had been gesturing toward and looked at you. âWe should thank Yang Jeongin then.â
You smiled slightly, âIâm sure we can do far more than that. Jeongin is always wanting some chaos.â The old vampire knew of the Peaky Blinders' secret attendance at the dayâs races, and you were sure he wanted to watch it unfold himself. You could still recall how he and Areum discussed how exhilarating they found it when you were a child. âAs long as your men donât steal from him, Iâm sure he will eagerly help.â
A moment of silence nestled between you both. Filled with you both watching one another while the betters shouted over the band that the next race would begin soon. It all sounded muted in your ears, muffled and quiet. His eyes were quite beautiful. They could kill like volcanic lava but carried such a careful sensitivity. A love for things hidden behind that persona he was infamously known for.Â
âIf I am completely honest,â Minho walked away from the edge of the viewing balcony, allowing two drunken men to jeer for the horses lining up on the track, âI was more anxious to see you than any of the business I had to conduct today.â
You felt like melting at his words, but you held your head up. He offered his hand to help you down the slight step off the balcony, you took it without hesitation and followed him down from the viewpoint. âWhile I will remind you that you should not feel that way around meâŠâ his grip was tight on your hand, fingers laced together. You could feel the cold of his rings â you tightened your grip on his hand. âI do understand it. I, unfortunately, felt that same fear this morning.â
âDid you?â Minho stopped and turned back to look at you. Even with your sunglasses on, it felt as though he was staring right through them and into your body. Into your soul. The grip on your hand was tighter than before, you enjoyed it tremendously, and the people around you simply ignored you both. âYou should never feel that around me.â
âI could say the same.â He squeezed your hand, the cold rings pressed into your skin and the pads of his fingers followed. You gently rubbed your thumb against his hand. It was a small gesture, one no one around you would notice, but it was enough for you both.Â
Minho was good that way. In public, he adored the small invisible acts as much as he loved the large ones in private. Just like you. Your heart thumped at the brief idea of getting to continue the patterns with him, being allowed the chance to see his romantic side â being the only one to see it.Â
âWe must go,â you looked over to where Jeongin and Areum still sat. His head was snug on the neck of his wife, you could not tell whether he was kissing her or talking â but you assumed it to be the former. Serum, despite the hand she had knotted in her husbandâs hair, was staring down the room and right at you. She had on a smile, and even from far away, you could see the shine in her eyes. âThey are a very physical couple, I suggest you dismiss their behaviour. It is far easier that way.â
You lead Minho to where the couple sat together, attempting to untangle your hands in the process. However, Minhoâs grip was far stronger and his fingers remained laced with your own. He stood behind you, back almost flush against his chest, and he stayed there the entire walk. It left your heart rapid in your chest, racing in excitement over anything that included him.Â
Once stood at their table, you had stepped to the side and allowed them, though it was mostly Areum who was focused, to see him properly. Only then did he let go of your hand, and you hid it behind your back to ignore just how cold you were without his heat. Even when he was standing right beside you, the best heat came from when you were properly touching.Â
Skin on skin.Â
You could feel those fingers against you again. That day in the field. How his hands wandered your body, leaving goosebumps in his wake. The ice of the rings when they were against you, inside you. The memory of it afterwards was like a ghost, torturing you with every moment.Â
âMr and Mrs Yang,â he offered a hand to the couple. Areum smiled widely up at him and pushed her hair back over her shoulder, the pale waves all fell against her dress. Jeongin stood up to take his hand, staring at him with dagger eyes you could never recall seeing him with. It was far too serious to suit the man you knew him as, âThank you for accepting to meet with me.â
They shook hands and stood still for a moment. Simply staring at one another. Only when you had taken a seat beside Areum did they both join you, their faces equal in stoicism. Minhoâs jaw was clenched tight, it caused his eyes to close just the slightest bit.Â
Without thinking, you placed your hand gently on his thigh beneath the table. He did not react, and you did not even process the action, but his shoulders dropped from their raised stance. âI've always been intrigued about the Peaky Blinders,â Jeongin sipped from the glass of whiskey, surely his brand of it, âyou should be lucky that my dear wife enjoys gossiping about my interests.â
âYou would have attended the meetings either way, Jeongin,â Areum crossed her legs and messed with the skirt of her dress. Her eyes rolled at his behaviour and she cupped your cheek in her hand, a warm motherly smile on her lips. You saw them only once in person, as a child, but you had to ensure frequent communication for business. Their blood was a necessity for many potions and palms. âThe chance to spread mischief and earn money is far too hard for you to resist.â
Even then, in each letter shared and every telephone call, both Jeongin and Areum treated you as a child. Not as a means of insulting you, but in a caring manner. It had annoyed you greatly at first â when your grandmother first died and you had to start doing her work as well â but over time you grew to ignore it.Â
They meant well. And they were far older than you even if you appeared the same age. âYou two can discuss business now,â Areum stood up with her beautiful smile, looking down at Jeongin who took her hand to kiss her knuckle. There was a golden fire in his eyes, burning with passion and love. That was what you were used to with him. The glint of gold that always appeared whenever he saw his wife, âWe have matters to discuss.â
She took your arm and pulled you from the table, her martini clasped gracefully in her other hand. Minho looked over to you with furrowed eyebrows, and you were sure he caught your surprise at Areumâs behaviour.Â
You fixed your expression hastily, linking your elbow with her and walking with your back tall. People around the room watched you both, you were sure they stared at the jewellery around her neck. A long, large necklace of pure gold â surely, a token from one of their adventures around the world. It caught the light from the chandelier and made her pale skin glisten.Â
It was hard not to be caught by Areumâs appearance. She was beautiful, and she always had been, even without the enhanced allure that vampires all possessed. One developed centuries before either Jeongin or Areumâs birth, all to make their targets stuck in the web of desire.Â
Almost like sirens, though sirens were merely a source of fantasy. None had been discovered in the world, even with all the history that had been documented on their species. You doubted they had ever existed, to begin with.Â
âI was once a bartender,â Areum daintily sat on the bar stool right in the centre of the bar, her hand raised to order a second martini despite her drink being half-full. You took a seat on the stool beside her, your ankles crossed while you watched her from the side of your eyes, âthough that was not the name for it then. It was even before I met Jeongin.â
She ran her finger along the wide rim of the glass, her eyes half-closed as she thought of the time. âIs that so?â
Areum nodded. âI can't completely remember it, though I am sure you already knew that.â You did. It was a curse that came with the vampireâs bite. Memory loss. A human brain in an immortal body â it was near impossible to remember both your life before the bite and your life after. Even after the bite, information not important enough simply gets forgotten with time. âI just remember certain things about it.â
The second martini arrived and was placed in front of her, she pushed it toward you without hesitation. You delicately took the drink by the glass stem, letting the rim sit along your bottom lip and grow stained by the colour. âAre you hoping for help?â
âNo, I've simply been thinking about it recently,â she sipped from her drink with a stern gaze, a focused one. A century old, you were sure Areum had forgotten more than she could even remember, but you applauded her attempts to thwart it. You were sure you would be equally stubborn if faced with memory loss. âI can recall these young girls. I'm sure they are important to me⊠I just don't know how,â she paused again, putting down her drink, âI think I took care of them.â
The silence that formed between you both was deafening. It was as though the loud band and singer had gone silent under Areumâs confession. You felt your ears pound as though drums were beside you, and your chest grew tight. Like you were wrapped in rope that disallowed air.Â
It made sense that she would take care of children. She always had a motherly warmth to her. You were sure that was even stronger when she was human. âAhh! I completely forgot why I started mentioning that,â she laughed as though nothing had happened, breaking the silence that surrounded you in its tight grip. âI did have a question to ask you. Is it at all possible that you could help me have a baby?â
âI'm afraid that I don't possess a penis to do so.â You drank a sip of your martini, holding your nose up as you pondered the task. Vampire babies were incredibly rare â how could two technically dead humans create a living one? You could recall one who had been born centuries back, only that was the only documented story of it.Â
Other than that, you doubted a vampire could be born.Â
âYou do have magic, though, my dear.â
âAreum, I cannot make an empty promise,â you looked over at her and saw her wide eyes. She looked ready to beg you, the pleading eyes she offered gave her away. Desperation. Sadness churned in your gut, you could recall her and Jeongin mentioning that they were going to try for a baby back when you first met them. Years ago. âYou know that vampires are not born, and a human cannot be born of either of you.â
She nodded again and sat up in her seat, adjusting her posture so it was straight. âI'm not asking you for certainty. I understand how hopeless our wishes are,â her eyes grew foggy and Areum lost herself in a memory again. Most likely of the children she cared for as a human. âBut I could recall Jeongin discussing with your mother about fertility aids.â
Your heart clenched for her. âThere are plenty of things I could make you, though I am not sure if any would work properly on you.â You could already think of four different drinks you could mix for Areum and seven different aids for Jeongin. They are certain for human fertility, but vampires were different. They're dead.Â
However, you could perhaps adjust some ingredients⊠you would need to make an idea list when you were at the Yang manor. Access to their library would be useful, Jeongin often bragged about owning more books on witchcraft than your mother could ever dream of.Â
Areumâs eyes were wide and her lips downturned in a frown. You weren't surprised she had lost hope. After years of unsuccessful attempts for a child, you were sure that it would break you more than you dare admit. âLook, I cannot promise success but I can try different aids for both of you that may work.â
Her lips lifted for a moment, a short broken smile. âThat is more than enough.â Golden flecks grew within her eyes, mixing with the hues of brown and green. Her hand went to rest on her stomach, in hope, and you followed the movement with halted breath. âThank you.â
You owed them. They both swore to help you with the monster â the least you could do was help them get the baby they both dream of having. You needed to do it for them. And you knew that their child would be spoiled with everything they could ever want. Treated with complete adoration by both Areum and Jeongin, praised as though the child were a blessing to their world. Which you knew that the baby would be.
âIs there anything you would not be comfortable with doing?â There was no surprise that your craft often involved more unsavoury things â things that even a creature who lived off anotherâs blood would find disgusting. You knew that Areum was not innocent of that fact of your life and that requesting your aid would involve such things. Even the ones for human fertility required countless grotesque things.
Areum shook her head and finished her drink, crossing her legs and looking away from your face. âWe will do anything, you already know that.â
In the corner of your eye, you saw a man shadowed by the tilted hat he wore, balancing on a long cane to aid his limp. A golden lion clenched in his fist. You sneered as he walked toward the table Jeongin and Minho sat at, each thump of his cane played in your ears despite the distance. How silly were you for believing that the Inspector would ignore such an event, âIâm sure we will find a way to test that in due time.â
He sat at the table. You could feel the annoyance from Minho even with his back to your seat. It was like a vibrant glow from his body, weaving in pure red through the world. Quickly, you finished your martini and stood from the bar stool, Areum followed your movement without question. Her senses were far stronger than your own, especially if it came to Jeongin. A perk of being mates, she could feel the emotions he did.
You werenât sure how you would have coped with such a fate. The idea was pleasant in your mind, someone who was handcrafted by the moon goddess just for you, but you doubted the reality would match. The rigidity, the jealousy, the uncontrollable urges every moon cycle â you doubted that anyone could be so perfect for you to survive it. That must have been a perk of being a witch then, you did not have a match waiting for you somewhere in the world.
Minhoâs back was tense, and you were sure he had his jaw clenched. His posture was stiff and tall, and he stared toward the Inspector, who had taken your original spot. You could see his burning fire in the glimpse of his face, frustration and rage evidence in the clench of his teeth. Each step you and Areum took toward him made the anger more evident to your eyes.
Until you finally got to the table. Without a word from you, Minho turned around and looked up at you from his seat. His jaw relaxed and he curled a finger around one of yours. You couldnât look away from his eyes, the warmth that was directed only at you. Even with that painful stare pointed at you both from the Inspector, you ignored it entirely.Â
âAhh, I have been wondering just where you were today,â you looked away from Minho to finally acknowledge the Inspector, though your finger remained locked with his beside the table. His greying moustache nestled over the lip of his wine glass, tips staining purple from the liquid as he sipped. Areum walked around him, her nose scrunched around him until she found her spot beside Jeongin. âShould I bother to ask who escorted you today?â
You sneered down at him, his eyes ran along your skin and stopped at your partially displayed cleavage. Disgusting. âMr and Mrs Yang gave me the pleasure of a ticket to todayâs races. Should I ask how you got into this room, Inspector?â You pushed your hair back over your shoulder, covering your back scar despite how it left your breasts more exposed to the wandering eyes of the man before you. If you could even call him as such, he was far closer to an ant than a true man.
That being said, at that moment you were sure the Inspector was closer to a sheep wandering into a wolfâs den. He was, after all, the only human at the table of creatures, two of whom would devour him together without a care if you asked.Â
âMy name carries much weight,â the drawl in his accent had the words rolling from his tongue. You could not hide your disgust from the table, your nose scrunched in distaste at him. He was a coward. The Inspector had not been able to serve during the war because of his own fear and yet he still held himself like a king, âall I needed to do was say my name to those at the door.â
Minhoâs finger, still curled around your own, tightened and his stare was pointed at the Inspector. âI never took you as a betting man.â
âNot at all,â he looked away from you (and, more directly, your cleavage) and stared back down at Minho. The hand he still had clenched on the Golden head of his cane grew tight, the pads of his fingers pushed and indented the wood, âbut when I hear of a plan for the Peaky Blinders to ruin a lovely day of racing⊠my opinion changes.â
You stepped closer to Minho, his back partially hid your torso from those around the table, and he pulled your joined hands over his shoulder, still keeping them locked together by the fingers. It brought the Inspectorâs attention to how your fingers joined around one another. You could feel his stare, ice cold, along your hand. âI have no idea what you're speaking of. I'm simply here to negotiate with Mr Yang.â
âA meeting that you rather rudely interrupted.â Jeongin stared at the Inspector, his wedding ring shone from the chandelier. You could see Areum place her hand on his thigh, though, her eyes mimicked the direct gaze at the officer. Both their noses were scrunched in disgust. âDo you make it a habit to insert yourself where you aren't wanted? Or do you just enjoy doing so when it involves my friends here?â
The wine in the Inspectorâs glass ran empty, and he placed it back on the table. The resounding thud of glass on wood played between the five of you, echoing amongst the silence only you all were surrounded in. The rest of the room remained loud and elated, but those noises grew mute under the situation before you.Â
He turned to look at the Yangs, nose turned up and his eyes squinted. âMy investigation is more important than your empire, Mr Yang,â his gaze focused on Jeongin over Areum, but you could see how she tensed when he moved to watch her. Areum looked up at you briefly, her eyes were laced with ice through the gold. âThis place needs to be cleaned of people like all of you.â
âYou won't survive long around here if that is how you speak,â the Inspector turned back to face you. You stared down at him, and though your sunglasses sat on the bridge of your nose, you felt cold under his stare. A shudder went down your spine at the look in his eyes, the wicked look that left your stomach churning. âNot many people appreciate being discussed like that.â
He stood up from the table, fingers adjusting the brim of his hat. The Inspector took a step toward you, and though Minho was right beside you, a sense of danger warped over you. You tensed the finger Minho held but pushed his shoulder down so he stayed seated. If the Inspector wanted to intimidate you, you wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing it worked.Â
âNot many people pay off the police to stay out of prison.â
His horrid breath wafted around your face and his sneer was an inch before you. The bang of his cane on the floor beside you thumped in your head. âI'm afraid you're talking out of your rear, Inspector,â you smiled calmly despite the way you felt small under his icy stare. The warmth from Minho beside you seemed to glow despite it, âwhy would any of us deal with the police when we have done nothing wrong? You should learn to stop mixing your personal feelings with your work.â
A step back from the man allowed you a chance to breathe. Your body screamed around him in danger, and you had known for an incredibly long time to never ignore that intuition. âWe will talk later,â the Inspector whispered the words just for you, and your nose scrunched at it. Nothing in you wanted to see him again, especially when you were in a beautiful but more revealing dress. âEnjoy the rest of your meeting, gentlemen.â
He left. You let your shoulders drop and closed your eyes for a moment to breathe. Minho was tense, you could feel it in how he squeezed your finger to the extent it turned pale. âI see why you dislike him,â Jeongin had his nose scrunched, and he sipped from his drink, âhe is a nuisance.â
âUnfortunately being a nuisance is his career,â you say down in the chair the Inspector left, your rightful one that he had stolen in the first place. A bodyguard, standing three feet behind the Yangs, placed a new drink in front of you. White wine. The newest venture that Jeongin had delved into with his business, âand he carries the pompous arrogance that I find in many human men.â
Areum tilted her head and snapped her fingers gently under the table, another guard brought over a fresh bottle of wine and a glass. They had been there since the night beforehand, she told you earlier, to ensure the fastest exit for the four of you. You hadn't realised they would also be used for bartenders. âAre you entirely sure that the man is human?â
Minho leaned in, his hand now free of yours pressed onto the table, fingers tapping. âYou don't believe he is?â The veins in his hands flexed under the slight movements, rings glimmering. More strands of hair fell forward, complementing the detailing of his face, specifically the curve of his nose.Â
You turned away from his profile to give attention to Areum once more â you had already admired him enough in the mere hour it had been, you could not continue when the Inspector was watching. âHe smells human, though something else is there.â
Her hand was lifted by Jeongin, and he kissed her knuckles with those large love-filled eyes he only showed her. You were sure that if you managed to provide them with a child the baby would be shown the same special gaze. âHer scenting is more exemplary than my own,â Areum smiled at him with a blush along her cheeks, she must have feasted within the week. âMy nose is nowhere near as strong as yours, my love.â
âYour eyes are completely superior to mine though, darling,â her other hand cradled Jeonginâs cheek and she gently teased her fingers within his hair. âI'm practically blind compared to you.â
You crossed your ankles and sipped from the wine before you. It tasted better than any other you'd tasted. That was their talent. âWhat did he smell like, Areum?â
The couple came back to reality, though their hands remained firmly locked together in unity. It was rather sweet. Your mother had always insisted that the two vampires would soon crumble with their business because of their love. Yet, she was entirely wrong. They may get intense, often, but their tedious attitudes to business and life took them both far â only amplified by each other.Â
âI am not quite sure,â she swirled the wine in her glass and handed it to Jeongin to taste. She had told you as a child that, to vampires, humans smelt of cinnamon. An appetising delight, in her exact words. It has made you nervous to bake with your grandmother often, even though she and your mother chided you incredulously for such an attitude.Â
Only humans will be eaten. Only werewolves will be hunted. You are neither. Don't be so weak.Â
You dug your nails into your thigh as the words played through your brain. âThere was that cinnamon scent but there was a tinge of something more. I couldn't describe it, I don't recall smelling something like it.âÂ
Minho leaned back into his chair, one cheek sucked into his mouth. As though he were upset with Areumâs answer â but you were sure he would eagerly take the chance of getting to attack the man under the guise of protecting the city. You would do the same.Â
âEither of you willing to spill your blood?â You pushed your hair behind you and pursed your lips. Below the table, your leg bounced in anticipation and nerves. It was an odd request, but you knew that they both understood what vampiric blood could obtain. âI need only a drop.â
Areum nodded with her face gone of the love she held earlier. It was a talent of them both how they could go from focusing on only one another to acting much like yourself. âThat is the easy part. How will you manage to get him back to taste?â
âI'll offer him a drink,â you looked down at the table and bit into your cheek. There would be no other way for him to ingest the blood without knowing. Your stomach churned, and though you were sure it would be rather easy to entice him you couldn't stand the idea of doing so, âthough I cannot just outright ask him now. It is not subtle.â
âEntice him then,â Minho watched you, and you turned to stare into the molten fire of his eyes. His face was stoic, smile gone and his jaw clenched with his teeth. The fire was burning. Scalding. You doubted he enjoyed the idea any more than you did, yet it needed to be done. Before you could ask Minho for more, he stood up and offered you his hand, the rings caught the light in front of you, âCome dance with me.â
It was humiliating how fast your heart screamed to agree. âThat will attract the Inspector?â
You knew it would. As did he. The Inspector had no sense of subtlety when it came to how his eyes wandered. Seeing you dance with the villain in his own story would only bring him to talk with you. âI'm sure seeing a beautiful woman dance with someone like me will annoy him immensely.â
Even if it doesn't work, you could still get a dance with Lee Minho. âI never took you for a dancer,â you took his hand and his grip tightened gently. You could see Areum talking with Jeongin in the corner of your eye and the Flint of Jeonginâs knife hidden poorly in his coat. They weren't watching either you or Minho thankfully, but you did not entirely care if they did.â
He began to lead you away from the table, parting through the crowd of drunken rich people toward the area before the band. Many people around you were dancing to the music with their partners, you could see them all smile and sigh in bliss. It didn't concern you though, your heart thumped in your chest eagerly because you were the one with Lee Minho.Â
âMy mother taught me and Felix to dance as children, she thought it would be important for our future,â he let go of your hand and stopped to face you. His eyes, warm and enticing, looking over you once again, before he placed his hands on your hips carefully. You, in turn, placed yours on his shoulders, locking your fingers behind his neck. âI never considered that she would be right about it.â
You began to sway together to the music, and your eyes never left his. It was as though if you looked away, if you blinked, it would all disappear around you. âThis is important?â
âI would believe so,â his fingers hesitantly pressed into your dress, a gentle pressure that you revelled under, âI am dancing with you, Red. I doubt many could say that.â
One of his hands left your hips, and you moved a hand from around his neck, locking them together with intertwined fingers. It felt right, even though you both had not done so often. âYou would be right about that, Minho. I was barely even taught to dance.â
âSo I should be lucky that you haven't stood on my foot?â
He twirled you gently, it felt as though you were within the air. Each move he had was smooth and delicate with you, expertly done. âExactly,â when you faced him again, you let him see the small genuine smile on your face. Minhoâs hand tensed in yours, but he did not miss the next best of the dance, and continued to move with you, âYou should thank my sister for teaching me after the war.â
âYour mother didn't teach you?â The world around you had gone, you could only see him. That was all you wanted to see, regardless. The warmth in his eyes had you falling, your face leaned in slightly closer to his own. âI will have to do so, then.â
His grin was cat-like, it made your own raise higher. âDonât sound so excited, Minho,â you teased, despite the smile on your face caused by only him. How had you even managed to go a week without seeing him? Your heart was erratic in your chest, only moving faster when Minho leaned in slightly. âIt is simply dancing.â
He turned you both in a small circle, but neither of you could look away from each otherâs eyes. He was too enticing, you were being drawn further and further in. âIâd get to hold you without people giving a second look. I'm sure you can excuse me for looking forward to that.â
Your cheeks grew hot, but you did not look away from him. âAre you saying you want to hold me?â
âI've been saying that for a long time now, Red,â he leaned in closer. Your faces were close â so incredibly close. Just one push from either of you and your lips would touch. Your toes itched to do so. âAre you only now just hearing?â
Neither of you moved beyond following the dance. You swayed together but your faces remained an inch away from each other. The hand you had behind his neck moved upward slightly, playing with the hair with your fingers. âMore I am only listening now.â
âHow intently?â
âMore than one should vocalise,âÂ
âSay the word then.â
You paused, your heartbeat was high in your ears. The band fell silent to each thump of the heart in your chest. âKis-â
âMight I interrupt?â You hadn't needed to turn to know that it was the Inspector beside you both. His accent was as strong as the smoking pipe tucked between his lips. Unfortunately, the plan had worked, just at the time you least wanted it to do so.Â
Minho looked over at him first, his face was disciplined and stoic, gone of the mischief he showed you. Part of you was flattered knowing that only you got to see that side of him. âOf course, Inspector,â his hands let go of you and he took a step back, leaving you cold.
Before either could make another move, you stepped toward Minho and delicately kissed his cheek. It left a faint mark of lipstick, and you wished to smile at the sight. âThank you for the dance, Minho.â
He walked away then, and the Inspector hastily placed a hand on your waist and one on your own. He smiled, though it resembled more of an uncomfortable sneer. You felt frozen, nipped at by frostbite during a snowstorm. The only aid you felt was the heat from Minhoâs eyes, burning into the back of your body as he went to the table.Â
âWe need to talk, Miss.â
You kept your face emotionless despite the bile that threatened to churn in your stomach. âAnd a dance floor is the best place to do so?â
âNo one expects business to be discussed on a dance floor.â The Inspectorâs eyes trailed down to your chest once again. You held your head up and ignored it despite the urge you felt to leave him bloody. âI know you know where the guns are.â
You shrugged, âThat's correct.â
âTell me where.â
âNice try.â
The Inspector looked back up to your face and his sneer turned to a frown, though the frustration was easy to see beyond it. âLee Minho will only get you and your loved ones into trouble. You'll be lucky to survive such a deal.â
He spun you, far less gracefully than Minho had. You noticed Areum as she walked back to the table, her right hand wrapped in a loose bandage. The blood was ready. âI'm sure you're correct about that,â a weird truth you realised. Business with Minho was more often dangerous than anything else. Though you didn't care. Your sister was safe. She had Soobin, and she had the two bodyguards that ate your entire kitchen supply with ease.Â
âThen why continue?â
You looked into the Inspectorâs eyes and smiled falsely. It felt hollow within, but you doubted the Inspector had noticed. âWould you like to discuss that over a drink? Yang Jeongin has gifted me a bottle of his newest wine, and Iâve been told you're a connoisseur.â
[â]
Humanity.Â
As a child, you were always curious about how the humans around you could display the same behaviours so drastically different. The arrogance many held was astonishing, yet never earned, and their hypocrisy was just as delusional. Only humans managed to hold such beliefs despite the lack of knowledge they had about the world.Â
That being said, you were unsure why it had surprised and upset you that the Inspector was in fact, human. He followed the same attitude of many human men you had encountered in the past, presumptuous and idiotic, and yet when his eyes had failed to glow, your heart had sunk.Â
Perhaps you were letting your prejudice guide you. It would be much easier if he were the beast, then you could simply kill him and eliminate two issues you were faced with.Â
Still, what a complete waste of vampire blood. None of your questions were paired with the answers you desired. You were at least thankful that Yongbok had robbed the man blind in his mask, as well as ripping the golden head of his cane off. That was a nice sight before the four of you left the races.Â
The Yang holiday manor was as extravagant as every other building they owned. The main foyer was decorated with gold and the floor was polished and pristine â you nearly hesitated to step onto it. Workers (some bodyguards, some maids, and some you were sure just to keep the couple entertained during sex) stood around the room waiting for their orders.Â
Minho seemed just as uncomfortable as you were to walk through the foyer. You both stood alone at the archway entry, detailed in gold of course, while Jeongin and Areum went to the long couch in the centre of the room. Areum gestured to the three armchairs, matching the couch, opposite her. âCome on in, you two.â
âActually,â you took a step toward them and looked around the foyer. Many paintings were hung along the walls, you could recognise them as Hyunjinâs. Your heart warmed seeing his talent appreciated by more people, âI was hoping I could use your library.â
Jeongin smiled and his dimples came to display. âOf course! Akira will take you.â
A person to your left walked toward you, their head held up with a slight grin. Their hair, just below their ears and curled to their jaw, was a dyed blue. You hadn't seen many people use hair dye, only Yongbok, especially in such extravagant colours. However, it suited their dark skin tone and made their eyes brighter.Â
Snake-like eyes, you realised. The black slits between the colours intrigued you â no humans had such a thing and it was rare a species of creature would have one. You could only think of the sirens, though your grandmother always said there was no real evidence they existed. Mrs Jung disagreed though, you could recall times as a child when she would tell you of her years as a siren on a hidden Island.Â
âLovely to meet you, Akira,â they wore a more fitted dress, black and long. Their lips lifted to a smile, their teeth were slightly sharper than any humans. They stood in front of you, still silent, and you noticed the long scar along their nose.Â
Very intriguing.Â
âCome with me, Miss.âÂ
Akira led you from the foyer, and a quick glance behind you showed that Minho was fine. He went toward the couch and you were sure that the couple was questioning him or arranging more with their united businesses. When Akira turned down the first hallway to your right, you had to look away from the foyer, and instead, you focused on them.Â
First, their outward appearance was not entirely human. But you knew that the Yangs only hired humans, or humans turned into something. It was more for if they were sick and needed human blood, and that if they decided to turn anyone, it was far safer than if they were human, to begin with, not anything else. But, Akira held attributes of different creatures.Â
Second, they had a limp. It was subtle but you could see the slight hobble and each heavy step they had. Most likely missing a leg, you had seen many soldiers who had to get a wooden prosthetic have the very same walk as Akira.Â
âHow long have you worked for the Yangs?â
They looked over their shoulder and smiled brightly at you, it made their eyes shine. âSince I was seventeen. Areum found me on the streets and insisted I go with herâŠâ They paused for a moment, walking coming to a stop as you caught up to them, âI didn't go at first but eventually I got too hungry to refuse.â
You stood side by side with Akira. Their eyes were Misty in the memories, you didn't find it within yourself to interrupt. You couldn't be surprised that was the story of how they arrived there, Areum tended to care for everyone she saw. Like a mother.Â
You hoped you could find a way to give her the baby she deserves.Â
âThat was years ago, but Areum wanted me to be her personal worker.â You both walked down another hallway and down it there was only one door, at the very end. Large and with fine gold etchings along the arch. Candles stood in large caged candelabras along the walls with more portraits hanging. In one, you were sure the child looked like yourself, though the child was slightly older than you had been when you last saw the couple. âI owe them everything if Iâm honest.â
Akira hobbled toward the door and opened it for you. Though the doors creaked, it opened to a beautiful library. Walls and walls of books, a large ladder on wheels to reach them all, and a table in the centre with chairs for research. There was a fireplace to the left of the room, already lit and ready for you, with two armchairs opposite it. âAre they the ones who gave you your leg?â
It was a complete estimate, but you held off the sigh of relief you wanted to make when Akira nodded at your question. âI was born without it, and I didn't have anyone to help â until the Yangs.â They lifted their leg into one of the seats at the table and pushed back their dress. It was standard wood, though some golden lines personalised it, and it reached halfway to their thigh where the harness sat. âIt was the first thing Jeongin gave me when I first went with them.â
âI can make it more comfortable if you like,â you walked toward one of the shelves and ran your finger down the spines, collecting faint dust on the pad. It would take you some time to find the book you were searching for. âI can enchant it for you.â
âWhat would that allow me?â
âYou could control it like a standard leg, and still remove it when you want,â you looked back to Akira. They were already facing you with intrigue, their face leaned toward you slightly and faint eyebrows lifted. âIt is a simple spell but it would grant you more freedom.â
Akira remained silent for a moment, lips pursed and their eyes wandered around the room. âIt wouldn't be a proper leg, but it would act like one?â You nodded and turned back to the books, reading the titles. Alphabetical order. You celebrated that, it would make finding the book far easier. âHow long would it take you?â
âNot long at all. I have everything to do so at my home, all you need to do is arrive.â You were currently looking at the âKâ section of books, you lifted your head to look at the higher shelves. That is where âHâ was likely to be. âCome by tomorrow if you like.â
âThank you,â Akira quickly left after that, to await their next orders, you were sure.Â
That was fine. You could work with only the sound of the crackling fire. It meant you could devote your entire mind to the purpose.Â
And even after an hour, your research came up nearly empty. You had found the book you needed, and read through the majority of it, and yet none of the detailed creatures inside of it resembled the monster you were hunting.Â
Jeongin had warned you that it was out of date, it was centuries older than even him, which meant it was both missing creatures and some of the attributes of the listed ones were just wrong. The âfactâ that faeries could only be found within the forest was disproven decades before you were born. Not to mention the completely idiotic knowledge of witchesâŠ
⊠but it did annoy you that the book dared to suggest that witches followed the dark god. As well as how apparently everyone who practised witchcraft were, in fact, witches. Complete fallacies.Â
You'd gotten onto the pages about trolls when the library doors creaked open. No words needed to be said â you knew that it was Minho. The heat from his eyes, the smell of his addictive cologne, maybe just hoping that it was him all told you of that fact.Â
His silhouette approached you at the table, one hand landed to your left on the wood while the other gently played with your hair as it ran down your back. âDid you discover anything?â
You let your shoulders roll back along with your head as you looked up at Minho. His suit vest and jacket were both missing, leaving him in only his white shirt and the matching red tie. The tie itself was undone and still hung around his neck, under the collar, and his shirt was pulled to bunch at his elbows. His face was almost expressionless, but the slight lift in the corner of his lips let you know of good news.Â
âNot at all,â you could have moaned just seeing how the veins in his arms flexed without him intending to. The hand that played with your hair moved to your cheek, thumbing at your skin as always, âI'm assuming you settled negotiations with Jeongin.â
Minho nodded and his warm eyes seemed to shine under the low-lit candles. âFree alcohol for all our bars including access to the newest branches, and all my men and I must do in return is run the errands he cannot care to do.â Both of you knew what that meant. Jeongin was a man who enjoyed chaos. It was why when he ate humans he would play with them like a game, even if he did grow out of that behaviour as he got older. Tasks Jeongin wouldn't do were unsavoury ones, or ones he simply couldn't risk being caught attempting. âThen the Yangs would only require a ten per cent wage of the alcohol poured.â
Kidnapping, perhaps some assassinations. You would sleep well at night knowing Jeongin only tends to go the extreme route on bad people. Areum had told you as a child of how when she first met Jeongin he had saved the town she stayed in from creatures.Â
âAnd I have you to thank for that far too generous deal.â he smiled slightly down at you and you looked back up at him with a plain expression, your chest poking out slightly. âShould I ask why?â
You leaned into the hand on your cheek and kept staring up at him. âHe and my family have had a long-running deal. As well as my doing more extreme tasks for them both.â Without looking down at it, you closed the book and pushed it to the other side of the large table. You could read it more in-depth when home with your family journal of beasts. âIt was most likely a thank you.â
âYet Iâm the one he is thanking?â
âWe are in business together,â you stood from the chair and moved it to the empty space beside you, turning to face him chest-to-chest. You had hoped Minho would get a good deal with Jeongin, but you hadn't expected him to completely say part of it was your doing.Â
Areum. She would have noticed how you and Minho stood. How you both talked and watched one another. She always was a hopeless romantic.Â
Part of you was mortified at the idea that it was emotions that created a benefit for Minho. You were never someone who could outwardly show emotions, especially in a public setting, your sister Nari always chided you for such an attitude. Though you had made numerous gestures with Minho, small ones that not many would notice, you should have known Areum would.Â
âThey may have simply believed that it would help strengthen our own deal.âÂ
âReally?â he stepped toward you and you took a step back, your legs hitting the table almost immediately. You ended up sitting on the table itself and Minho continued to walk closer to you. He settled between your legs, where your chests almost touched. Your breathing grew fast and shallow as he looked over you with the fire you ravished under. âI would say it helped our deal heavily.â
You could still faintly see the lipstick stains on his cheek and your body screamed to leave more. Down his cheek, to his neck, under his shirt along his chest. âHow so?â You did not care to chide your voice under how shaky it was. There was no point in it, you knew Minho would catch onto any little thing concerning you.Â
âBecause I relearned something today,â your heart was stuck within your throat. His eyes were alluringly dark, a bright dagger of danger still managed to entice you. Both of his hands went to your face, gently holding your cheeks and ensuring you wouldn't look away. âI still really want to kiss you.â
Still. Relearned. Meaning he had wanted to beforehand. Before the week apart.Â
âKiss me then.â Your family rules. They were always meant to be broken. Everyone in your bloodline had at some point, it was time you allowed yourself the chance to do it.Â
You weren't sure what it was you expected. A soft and sweet kiss, a rough and fast passionate one â though what you received was neither, yet both. One of his hands went to the back of your head and he delicately pressed his lips to yours.
Your eyes fluttered shut and you put your hands on his shirt, bunching it in a fist to bring him closer. Something in your gut exploded with glee and your heart continued to beat within your throat, you were sure Minho could feel it.Â
It was slow at first, but desire was locked within it. His lips were incredibly soft against yours and the way he kissed was like how he danced. Fluid like he was within water. Graceful. Passionate. Everything in your body cheered. Your mind had resigned and joined in the gleeful celebrations. It felt right. Nothing had resembled that feeling within you.Â
Two puzzle pieces finally connected together.Â
He made a soft noise into the kiss, a blissful one that left your head spinning, and you placed a thigh around his hips to bring him closer. Minhoâs chest, his crotch, all of him, was flush against you. Your body shuddered feeling the erection within his pants.Â
His hands moved from your head to your thighs, pushing up the material of your dress so that it bunched at your hips. A faint cool rush of air hit your panties and the wet spot that had formed along them. You pulled him closer, the feeling of his erection was even more tantalising.Â
The lips you had fantasised about continued to kiss your mind into delirium. You pulled at his shirt, hastily unbuttoning each one and revealing more of his chest. He pulled away from the kiss for a moment, letting his lips trail down your jaw and neck, teeth grazing your skin. You used the moment to ogle his chest as the shirt fell separate on his torso.Â
You ran your fingers down his skin, tracing the tattoo above his heart while you pushed your hips forward. âI didn't knowâŠâ you trailed off as Minho bit down on your skin. You moaned and dug your fingers into his skin, you could feel his smile against your neck, â⊠you have a tattoo.â
âGot it after my service,â he muttered the words against your neck, his hands hastily working at the buttons of your dress. The top grew looser until eventually, your breasts fell free of the material. His lips kissed down your skin until he reached your tits, one hand fondling the other and pinching gently at your nipple, âwith Felix.â
Your breathing grew faster and your head fell back slightly. âI like it,â you felt his cock twitching in his pants against you, and you whimpered at the feeling, âlooks good.â
His lips continued to torture you with every movement. You moved your hands to unzip his pants, palming at his erection through his boxers. He groaned against you, hips bucking to your touch.Â
Minho pushed himself further against you, and you leaned slightly back toward the table, your back arched to keep your chest in his face. His finger hooked in your panties and pulled them down to your thighs, nearly ripping them in half during the process. In turn, you pushed his pants down along with his underwear.Â
Which was when you pulled him close, his erection right against your wet cunt. You moaned at the feeling of him, your hands moved to his hair and pulled at the strands. âPlease, Minho,â you whimpered.Â
His hands trailed your back, pushing through your hair to trail your skin. You push your hips against him and tighten your legs around his body. âWhatâs this?â
Minho pulled back and his eyebrows furrowed. You were confused at first, but slowly nodded in realisation. âJust some scars I got as a kid.â You didn't see the big deal, they were old, and unfortunately long.Â
You tried to pull him closer by your legs but he remained steadfast in his stance. Both his arms pressed against the table and held his body upward, while his shirt acted like a jacket, keeping you hidden from the world. âThey're big.â
âThey're from a werewolf so of course they're big.â Red eyes. They flashed within his usual brown ones as he pulled away.Â
You felt frozen under it, the colour burning in your mind as Minho continued to step back and away from you. âIâŠâ his bottom lip wobbled. You hadn't felt so exposed the entirety of your time with Minho, even when he had fingered you in the middle of the forest, â⊠Iâm so sorry.â
Not only had you been in a deal with the city enemy, Lee Minho. But you had been intimate with your species' first enemy. A witch, from one of the reigning bloodlines, and a werewolf.Â
Minho ran away. You were left alone in the library, half nude and parts of your clothes ripped. You moved from the table and sat on the floor, bringing your knees to your chest to try and hide your body from the shadows.Â
It was so silent, that not even the crackle of the fire could be heard in your ears, and you felt frozen to the touch. Cold. Alone. And in complete and utter quiet.
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day 31 · ăa normal amountă · tape i
âđđđ đđđâđ đđđđ đđđđ đąđđâđđ đđđđ đđđđ.â
â„ God!Minho x Mortal!Reader (f) â 5.4k
â„ The author chooses not to tag every single act to preserve some element of surprise where applicable. By continuing, you accept to read at your own risk. Read full disclaimer here.
đ Halloween Special: Tape I of II · â â Obsession, disturbed and delusional thoughts, allusions to religion, stalker behavior, crass language.
â„ A banished god is searching for a devotee to end his exile and earn his godhood back.
You mortals think gods have it all. We donât. You gotta stop spreading false information.
When you say god, you think about the big boss, which means there is a plethora of myths out there now. Iâll take the liberty of doing the literal godâs work and debunk some of the bullshit so that we can set the record straight.
Factâwe are not ubiquitous. Yes, it takes a blink of a humanâs eye for us to travel wherever at will, but we canât be at all places at once. Only the big boss gets to do that.Â
Factâwe are not almighty. Again, youâre thinking of the big boss. We do possess certain abilities you donât, but gods are much more flawed than you think. You know how you say âIâm only humanâ? That kinda goes for us as well.
FactâI have no idea who the fuck came up with this one, but we canât read minds. Yes, our intuitions are superior to humansâ, but it doesnât necessarily mean I can know everything that goes through your mind all the time. Do you even know how fast thought travels? Faster than the speed of light. Thatâs how Levv ended up with all his screws loose. God of thoughts, my ass.Â
Talk about picking the wrong major.
Hereâs how it actually works.
There is no such thing as a born god. No pre-loaded innate abilities and what have you just because weâre higher beings. This is a career, for the lack of a better term, and everything needs to be earned. First, a standard set of powers is bestowed upon a select few for their exceptional servitude by the big boss under strict probation. You need to culminate a track record demonstrating flawless command over your abilities and non-illicit use since prospective gods are entrusted with autonomy. If you can prove your commitment to the Ether League, only then do you earn the right to declare the godhood you wish to claim. The only downside of that is no two gods can rule over the same thing since no one is looking forward to another Titanomachy showdown, so you need to work with whatever is available. You are to serve your subjects, living, dead, or inanimate, as much as they serve you, but you are allowed to punish them as you see fit in the case of disorderly conduct.
Iâll give you an example. Venenum oversees the nature underworld. She is the one responsible for creating new life above the earth out of all the death in the soil to preserve balance and honor the sacrifices and prayers she receives, but sheâs not known to be one of the more merciful gods when it comes to disrespect. If you blaspheme against her in any way, she will take your literal breath away. Her heathens are known to depart the mortal realm as a result of strangling at best, throwing up thorny poison ivy leaves at worst, a disease commonly known as poison breath among humans.
Gnarly, right?
A god has all the power it needs to rule over their claimed domain, but if youâre tempted to go astray at any point, good luck with your eternal torment, which is not burning in fires like another myth humans love perpetuating. Itâs literally one hell of an experience that makes your insanity go insane, intricately designed by the big boss, so no one even dares after what happened to Vitria.Â
Now we get to the crĂšme de la crĂšme a.k.a yours truly.Â
Letâs establish something once and for all first. Iâm the shit. Iâm the best at what I do.
I have a tendency to get bored easily, but Iâve developed a particular fascination with your kind as a result of my intimate experiences. Itâs what truly makes me feel like a god.
When it was time for me to declare my godhood, I knew I wanted to do something related to the mortal realm, but my nature is not exactly fit to do wholesome shit. While I can call myself passionate, I curse a lot, Iâm jealous, I hold grudges, and I donât take rejection well at all, so it left me with only a handful of choices. It didnât take me too long to realize that humans are total infatuation junkies, so I called dibs on it despite the incessant protests from certain somebodies. I was fully aware sex and lust were taken, but itâs not my fault that there is a loophole in the claim process now, is it?
My absolute favorite thing to practice is sensation manipulation aimed at pleasure. I can touch you and make you hear colors if I want to. It was an unfortunate accident when I tried that on a human for the first time without using proper protection. I know what youâre gonna say, but it was an honest mistake due to inexperience. I didnât comprehend the magnitude of what I possessed, so I couldnât really calculate they would go insane like that.
WhoopsâŠ
I know Iâm the shit, but we have a little bit of a recognition problem here. I will never admit this to his face, but Iâm mad jealous of Eros, Iâm not even gonna lie. The fucker has a whole ass day he claims is dedicated after him, and it enrages me to no end.
What about me?!
Make this make sense to meâeverybody gets infatuated while only a small number of people fall in love, you ever thought about that? Even if you have zero feelings for someone, you have to feel attracted to them first to be aroused.
You think sheâs incredibly beautiful? Thatâs me.Â
You really want to fuck him? Thatâs me.
You think itâs love at first sight? Itâs meant to be?
There is no such thing you blithering idiot, all of that is ME!
Yet all the credit still goes to Aphrodite and her bastard son because of a technicality. They get to make a name for themselves. They get all the prayers freeloading my hard work.
News flash: they are true love purists that talk a lot of shit behind your back and shame you. Maybe think about that the next time you make a sacrifice to bind someoneâs soul to yours. You mortals will even go to some whatsername witch for your sick love matters rather than coming to me.Â
You donât even know I exist, do you?Â
Iâm being framed here, hello?
Well, I told you I hold grudges. Iâm petty as fuck. You should have known better than seeking help from the mother-son duo that has the most fucked up Oedipal relationship Iâve ever seen.
Have you ever thought about why you get the urge to cheat? Yup, thatâs also me. Itâs a very natural concomitant to infatuation. Hope you have the best time writhing in agony when your one and only dumps your ass because of a moment of weakness. You bet your ass Iâm throwing all the weaknesses your way for the rest of your life, and youâre gonna crack every⊠single⊠time.
My personal beef aside, I canât escape being the laughing stock of the god club. No such club exists, by the way, Iâm just trying to make a point. Apparently, if I like humans so much, I should just stay as one because, and I quote, âHow dare I call myself a god when not a single soul worships me?â. Now I canât sit with them.
And this is where my story begins.
The big boss got wind of my subject situation and was not happy at all. My immediate exile was ordered, and I was tasked with finding one human to devote to me if I wanted my full godhood back. The catch is Iâm not allowed to directly manipulate them into worshipping me, so I need to be subtle about it.Â
Trapping me in a human body and sending me to exile is not actually the kinda punishment they think theyâre giving me. I love being in human form. Itâs so easy to fascinate you. You have a sense of wonder the peeps downstairs donât really have. Maybe thatâs why youâre into magic tricks so much. The mysticism of it all. The unknown. The other dimension.
Youâre asking to experience things that youâre not really ready for, though, so itâs so much fun to watch you freak the fuck out.Â
I think you know how I am with loopholes by now. I wasnât given a specific deadline to carry out this mission, so yes, I abused the shit out of it and took my sweet time. Apparently, that was one of the agenda items in the latest Ether League council meeting. Why do I still walk around with my abilities, among humans for that matter, if Iâm currently on probation et cetera, et cetera.Â
If I corner that Eros motherfucker, itâs on sight, I swear to fucking big boss.
I made my case arguing that if Iâd be able to get a worshipper without my powers, then all human race needed to be promoted to higher being status, and thankfully I won. However, things arenât looking very peachy for me.
Iâve made several attempts so far but successfully failed all of them. I told you I donât take rejection well. Disappointment after disappointment would frustrate anybody, and I get mad when Iâm disappointed.
You have something called mulled wine. It works with blood, too, if you were ever curious.
I have been given until the end of the month. If I fail, my banishment will be permanent and Iâll be demoted to a human.
Here I am now, in a city Iâve never been to before, about to take my new body out for a spin. I gotta break it in. The façade Iâve crafted looks great in the mirror. Even I would want to fuck myself if I was human. One last night of palate-cleansing fun, then Iâll get down to business.
I fucking love hunting for sport.
The smell of napalm in the morning. The smell of a faded club at night. They are the same for me. The first stop in my new place of residence is a Halloween party. No, I did not plan for it; the days just happened to coincide.
This is where I do my most magnificent work.Â
Look at this. Everyone is fucking gone. Who the fuck knows what they ingested, but the conditions are optimal to make some mistakes.
I scan the area without a drink in my hand for a hot minute, trying to dodge some futile advances in the meantime, and at long last, I notice a condensing energy exuding from the bar area. Target acquired.
Hey, you.
Youâre the only one without a costume and youâre alone. Youâve sipped on two glasses already but youâre rejecting everyone that approaches you. Are you waiting for a date, or are you just enjoying turning people down?Â
Or are they simply not intriguing enough for you?
I think we can have some fun together. Sorry for what Iâm gonna do to you later tonight in advance, but look on the bright side. At least youâll die feeling extremely good.
Turn around. Turn around and look at me. Perceive me. I guarantee you youâve never seen something like this in your life.
Youâre pulling me to yourself like a magnet. My feet are moving on their own. I canât flat out pay attention to you. Thatâs just going to blow up in my face. My pride canât have that. I gesture to the bartender and place my order instead.
âWhatever sheâs having.â
You turn to my direction. When I sense your movement in my peripheral vision, I finally lay my eyes on you, and the moment I do, a buzz of electricity jumps from your gaze to mine.
Oh, wow, okay. Youâre⊠Youâre pretty. Fuck pretty, youâre beautiful. Are you in exile, too, by any chance? You look like the Aphrodite whoreâs distant cousin or something.
You feel it too, donât you? Something is happening between us right now.
There is something in your eyes. Youâre looking at me differently. You like what you see, right? Well, I canât reciprocate the sentiment because that would be a huge fucking insult to your beauty. If you were a god, that would be a punishable offense. You would be entitled to kill me if you wished. And I think Iâd like that.
I wanna throw up. I wanna punch myself in the face. Iâm so overwhelmed, this is too much.
âHi.â
The club is loud, but I can hear you perfectly. Thank fuck itâs dark because I can feel all the blood rushing to my crotch. I have one question, though, what the hell is up with your voice? Do you practice illicit magick or something? Youâve barely said a word, it qualifies as more of a sound than a syllable, yet all of a sudden I feel consumed?
I need to calm the fuck down.
âHey.â
âI know why Iâm not wearing a costume,â you point at my clothes, âWhy arenât you in one?â
Would you look at that? We have so much in common already. I got my foot in the door, now I gotta make you open it wide and invite me in.
âDonât you think a shirt is much easier to take off of me?â
Youâre checking me out. Now that Iâve planted the seed in your brain, youâre actually picturing yourself undressing me. Youâre wondering what I look like naked.Â
I look fucking fantastic, by the way.
âAre you always this cocky?â
âOn occasion,â I respond, âItâs a reflex that comes out in the presence of someone I really want.â
âDoes that ever work for you?â
âI donât see you leaving.â
You donât want to enjoy this but you do. You roll your eyes, but a smile forces itself out no matter how much youâre trying to hide it.
Iâve almost had a fucking heart attack.Â
There is no way youâre an ordinary human. How do you smile like that? I felt that shit in my bones.
âWhatâs your name?â
âMinho.â
Iâve changed a lot of bodies over the course of time, but the name I chose for myself stays the same. Iâm attached to it for some reason. I find it fucking ironic that it means vast sky consideringâ
Wait, Iâll get to that later. This isnât about me.
If I can be brutally honest, I donât think whoever named you did you justice, though. They should have called you the singular object of everyoneâs desire or something. The lust wrangler. The unmaker.Â
Minhoâs gorgeous plaything would also work, but I digress.
âYou donât look like youâre from here,â you look me up and down while chewing on the straw in your drink, âWhere are you from?â
Youâre gonna think Iâm fucking with you if I tell you the truth, but my official registered address is pretty close to what you refer to as hell.Â
Get the irony about my name now?
âAround,â I give you a very unsatisfactory answer, but I can clearly see your interest is piqued.
âWhat do you do?â
âSorta in between jobs,â I spit out a bold-faced lie, âYou?â
âIâm a hitwoman,â you answer me.Â
Youâre being very nonchalant about it. I donât think youâre being truthful, but I get a kick out of the fact that I canât really be sure. I donât ask any follow-up questions. Your grin grows wider. So does mine.
I like you. I like you a lot.Â
Youâre fascinating. It seems like it would be an utter waste to spend you for nothing. Pretty, enthralling, devil-may not-care. There is a little sinister vibe coming from you, and I fucking love that.
I think a change of plans is on the horizon.Â
âWanna dance?â
Your response to me is getting off the stool and walking towards the dance floor. We disappear into the crowd of sweaty bodies. The key of the song is sultry. The rhythm is sensual. The kicks are hard, the drops are low, and the lyrics are obscene.Â
Iâm turning you on, I can feel it. Your eyes are all over my face. Youâre staring at my lips while licking yours. Youâre wondering what they taste like. Youâre wondering what it feels like to cum on them. Youâre wondering how I like my eggs in the morning.
Scrambled with cheese, by the way. Not that I wouldnât eat poison from your hands.
Your arms are around my neck. My hands are on your waist. They slide down your hips, and you let me. Iâve had my fair share of intimacy with humans, but youâre something else. I feel pathetically weak, getting this feral urge to fuck you right here right now.
And you know.
You turn around, lean into my chest, and wrap my arms around your waist again. I get much harder when you start grinding against me. You tilt your head to the side and expose your neck for me. Iâm looking at that pulsating artery like a vampire about to turn a human.
You want me.Â
You need me.
I have to get you addicted to me, and I know just the way to bend you till you break.
Wanna die with me?
I give you what you want, but I pump the breaks. Gotta ease you into it. I just peck your skin, but even this much is enough for you to throw your head back. If it wasnât this loud, I know Iâd be able to hear that moan you just let out.
You turn around again and grab me by the collar of my shirt. Your breath is warm in my ear, and you speak very clearly, not even slightly slurring for me to suspect any intoxication.
âTake me to the alley where the staff entrance is.â
Damn, you donât fuck around. I love a woman that knows what she wants.Â
And gets it.
Before I can do anything, your fingers are already intertwined with mine, and youâre dragging me to the exit with firm steps. Like you know what youâre doing. Like youâve done this before. As if we came here together in the first place and now weâre leaving together again.
The fog machines loudly hiss and emanate some aromatic smoke as we walk past them. The stuffy air that clings onto us disperses once we walk into the night. There are people outside, chatting, smoking, waiting to get in at this godforsaken hour in their costumes. We look like narcs next to them. You pull me into the alleyway. We barely take five steps into the narrow, dark path. You lean against the fire brick wall right next to the green iron door and hastily reach for my belt.
âNot so fast, pretty,â I immediately stop you.Â
âWhy the fuck not?!â
Your frustration is so cute. Iâm not rejecting you, gorgeous. Why would I follow you here if I had no intention of ruining everyone else for you? I just have too many tricks up my sleeve, and I donât want you to freak the fuck out right from the get-go.
You donât know the power I hold, and you best believe Iâma make it look so easy.
âFeisty,â I press my palms on the cold wall and trap your body against mine, âYou just donât take no for an answer, do you?â
The distance between us is closing. Youâre laser-focused on my face, trying to calculate the exact moment my mouth is going to be on yours. Your lips are wet, but your throat is dry. Youâre trying to brace yourself, but little do you know nothing can prepare you for whatâs about to happen.
Now watch this.
My hand slides down and pours all the chill from the wall into your body. You shiver. I slither further down and wrap my arm around your waist. My other hand is on your cheek, caressing your face with the back of my fingers. I know youâre getting impatient, but I promise itâs going to be worth it.
I take your lips in between mine. You contently hum. I kiss you like Iâm stripping you. I kiss you like weâre slow dancing in a burning room. You kiss me back. My fingers explore the outline of your body. You are holding onto my shoulders for dear life. Your breathing escalates. I kiss you deeper. You kiss me back. We exchange the bare minimum of bodily fluids as you moan in my mouth. Your fingertips dig deeper into my skin. You shudder. You pant.
You cum.Â
Youâre visibly confused whereas Iâm very amused. This is clearly a first for you, and youâre trying to discern between reality and a dream.
âJust with a kiss?â I canât help my chuckle.Â
The matter of the fact is I can do one-tenth of what a human does with ten times more impact.
But you donât need to know that.
Your cheeks are flushed. Your pupils are shrinking, but the fire inside your eyes is not completely out. Your reasoning finally kicks in, and you realize you want a little more than a quickie with me.
As you should.Â
âYouâre coming with me.âÂ
You donât ask me if I want to come home with you. Youâre telling me youâre taking me home, and thatâs it. Iâm getting a little weak in the knees. You grab my hand once again and drag me towards a cab this time. You give the address. I take a mental note. Your hand caresses my thighs the whole way back. I donât try to hide my erection at all.
I like what youâve done with the place, but I canât even say it out loud. Two seconds after we cross the threshold to your apartment, weâre all over each other. A part of me wants to fuck the shit out of you in this hallway against a wall. Another part of me wants to overstimulate you beyond the limits you can handle.Â
Then there is this secret third part of me that just wants to love you all night. Make you cum with kisses only. Your lips. Your neck. Your abdomen. By the time I get to your pussy, I want you to be embarrassed by how much you wet the bed, and maybe even let a 143 slip out.
Would you�
âShh, donât rush,â I barely manage to slow myself down, âWe got time.â
You take it down a notch, but you donât stop. You kiss me as you pull me to your bedroom. It smells so nice here. Exact same notes that come from your neck.
Not your perfume. It smells like you.
We strip each other. Not too hastily, but not unbearably slowly, either. You refuse to let go of my lips while inviting me to your bed. I get a strong urge to make you cum again, but I donât want to loop the same song all night. Nor do I want to show you everything at once tonight. I kiss your collarbones instead, and when you see me work my way down, your anticipation peaks. Youâre holding your breath waiting for my tongue to swipe against you.
Youâre soaked.
Your clit is swollen, and youâre clenching. I take one look at your face, and the sight chars itself behind my eyelids like an afterimage. Youâre sinking your teeth into the flesh of your lips, and your hands are in my hair.
Iâve been desired before, but what Iâm feeling right now isâŠ
I kiss your clit first and descend further down. When I finally get to your dripping entrance, I say fuck it to suspense and lick a very long drag all the way back to your clit again. A very sharp moan rips from your throat.Â
Fuck, your tasteâŠ
âYou like that?â
âPlease, donât stop!â
Please. Did you just⊠beg? I heard that correctly, right? You said please.
You set my entire body on fire.Â
I hug your legs and repeat the exact same motion on your cunt. One-way licks. Your hole. Your folds. Your clit. From the top. Your hole. Your folds. Your clit. Rinse and repeat. Rinse and repeat. The more you dissolve on my tongue, the harder you tug on my hair. I can tell how good it feels from the way youâre clenching your thighs around me. Your slick smears all over my chin. You feel overwhelmed.Â
Shit, I can cum just listening to you moan like that.
Two-way licks. Even slower drags without any punctuation marks. Five. Six. Seven Eight. I wrap my lips around your clit the way Iâm wrapped around your thighs, and two sucks later, you cum again.
It probably felt like a long time for you, but I was less than ten licks in.
Now for the grand finaleâŠ
I get on my knees and spread your limp legs apart just a little more. Youâre still trying to recover from the impact, but I have no intention of letting your feet touch the ground. Youâre so wet even just on my tip, I canât even imagine what itâs going to feel like when Iâ
Oh, FUCK ME!
This feeling⊠Itâs been a while.Â
My moans are melting into yours now. Iâm only halfway in, but I feel drunk. I almost share Levvâs fate when I completely sink into you. Itâs maddeningly satisfying. So warm and wet, wraps around me perfectly.
I canât believe I actually considered killing you earlier tonight. Who the fuck does that? Who the fuck willingly gives up the one thing that makes them feel complete like that?
Iâm sorry. Iâm so sorry. I swear Iâm going to make it up to you, just donât hate me.
As if youâve heard me, you put your hands on my waist. Your thumbs brush on my skin. Gently. Delicately. Whispering silent I forgive yous to me. Your eyes are smiling at me. They are saying something to me. Youâve touched me. Youâve loved me.Â
My heart skips a beat.
I canât control the magnitude this time, Iâm really really sorry. This oneâs going to be even faster. I start moving inside you, but all I can register is how wet you are. You clearly canât resist me. Every time I want to take something from you, you just hand it to me. So willingly.
âGive me one more,â I urge you to let loose, âNow.â
The amount of pleased I am is indescribable with words. Youâre floating in ecstasy because of me. I slow down and try to give you a breather. I know it all happened too fast, but you liked it, didnât you?Â
We can do this every day and night. I got nowhere else to be.
Once you open your eyes again, I pick up where I left off at a faster pace, but you suddenly grab my wrists.
âNo!â
There is urgency in your voice. It concerns me. Did you not forgive me? Did I do something to upset you? Are you not enjoying my company?
âEverything okay?â
Iâm trying to be as subtle as I can here, but it feels like you just said âWe need to talkâ to me. My chest is tightening. What is it? What is it?
âSwitch with me,â you demand.
âWhat do youâ?â
You kiss me. You kiss me hard. You inhale sharply like you want to breathe me in. Oh, I love this. I fucking love this.Â
âI want to make you cum.â
You give me a quick peck, and I suddenly find myself on my back, watching you descend between my legs.Â
Iâm used to people just lying there and letting me do all the work. Iâm not used to this. Nobody has ever wanted to please me in return. Not once.
Now youâre telling me youâre willing to exert effort to make me feel good. Me. Just me. Not as a byproduct of pleasuring yourself or anything. You kiss all over my crotch. It makes my cock twitch when you trace my veins with your tongue. Your darkened eyes pierce holes in me when you look at me.
Then you take me in your mouth, and a part of me experiences second-hand death.Â
A couple of us gatecrashed heaven once. There is this sensation that envelops you right upon entering.Â
My cock in your mouth feels exactly like that.
Not even a shred of shame exists within you. Everything about you is nothing less than pornographic. How your tongue moves. How your lips tighten around me. How you take me even deeper when I grow bigger inside your mouth. The lewd wet sounds you make. Iâm not touching you. Iâm not doing anything to you, but youâre still moaning while pleasuring me.
Have you ever wondered what a godâs cum tastes like?Â
Iâm not gonna give you a heads-up. If youâre a swallower, youâre in for a fucking treat. Thatâll be your reward.
I canât control how loud I moan anymore when you spit on my balls and start playing with them. Everything is wet. Your tongue, your lips⊠Youâre everything. Youâre fucking beautiful choking on me all disheveled. Your gaze shifts to me one last time, and thatâs when I erupt in your mouth. You donât let me go. You wait until I can catch my breath again.Â
And you swallow every single drop.
We lie side by side with dumb as fuck smiles on our faces for some time. When I come back to my senses, I realize how late it is. Youâre about to drift to sleep, but I canât ask to stay the night. This is only our first encounter. I slowly get up from the bed to not disturb you, but you open your eyes again when you feel the movement in your bed.
âDo you take some enhancements or something?â
âEnhancements?â I question with a smile, âWhy?â
âYour cum tastes like bitter chocolate.â
Told you you were in for a treat. Now I know the taste youâre most fond of, and Iâm totally using that when I make pancakes for you someday. In the morning. After fucking you for five hours straight.
âMaybe youâre imagining things,â I dodge the question, âCan I give you my number?â
You scour your purse to find your phone and hand it to me. I text myself, then put my clothes back on. Ever the graceful host, you put on a robe and you walk me out all the way to your front door.
âCall me whenever,â I urge you before I leave, âI could use a guide to show me around.â
âWhenever,â you echo with a knowing smile on your face, âDonât complain when I call you in the middle of the night then.â
Real talk, Iâll be offended if you donât.
When I walk out of your apartment building, I light a cigarette and take a long drag. The avenue you live on is busyâitâs lively even at this hour. There is traffic, lights, and radiation everywhere. The building right across yours catches my attention.Â
You live on the thirteenth floor. The lights on the thirteenth floor are on in the building across, as well. Iâve noticed you have no curtains on your windows. The thirteenth floor doesnât have it either. I can clearly see whatâs happening inside. A guy. His desk is right in front of the window, so when he looks up, the first thing in his vision is your apartment.Â
I think someone needs to fucking move out.
I shove my left hand in my pocket, and a couple of the hair strands that I stole from the brush on your nightstand cling to my fingertips. Iâm sure youâll understand. I need intel. This is how Iâm going to listen to you later on. Yes, just with hair strands. Itâs so endearing the way they are stuck to my fingers. This is not static electricity, your atoms are fucking longing for me.Â
I break into a smile remembering the absolute bombastic night weâve just had. My acute onset violent thoughts fade away. Iâll take care of the moving-in situation later. I blow out the latest puff of smoke filling my mouth, crush the cigarette butt under my combat boots, and leave. I think about you the entire way back. This is your destiny.
Slowly but surely.Â
Youâre gonna be mine.
ăTo Be Continued in Tape IIă
ă© 2023, exxxtraoddinary · No translations rewrites, or reposts permittedă
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day 25 · ăfurther than foreveră
âđżđđđđđ đđđâđ đđ đđđđ.â
â„ Tailor!Minho x Aristocrat!Reader (f) â 6.7k
â„ The author chooses not to tag every single act to preserve some element of surprise where applicable. By continuing, you accept to read at your own risk. Read full disclaimer here.
â â Period drama (fictional era), forbidden loveâclass differences, affair within an engagement.
â„ The more your wedding day approaches, the closer your tailor gets to risking it all.
*Lee Know Birthday Special
Whatâs in a name?
Vast amount of textile knowledge. Impeccably dexterous hands that transformed rolls of fabric into pure elegance with unmatched finesse. A fine art passed from father to son like the reigning throne, yet nowhere near as graceful with all that callus adorning the skin due to the immense dedication to their craft. Generations of tailors, the family tree of which even included overseers of the royal wardrobe at one point.
That was what it meant to be a Lee.Â
The name might have carried a reputation, but at the end of the day, it was the reputation of a mere merchant. The Lees didnât come from old money. Even though their financial well-being granted them a social standing of slightly above common folk, they were by no means a member of the higher class, which meant no fancy schooling, no manners training, no socialite gatherings, none of that. They knew their placeâif they dared get carried away, they would immediately be reminded of it anyway. Â
âŠwhich was why the only son of the Lees had a problem with these brandy-drinking, business-debating, rent-collecting spoiled brats in the first place. He despised aristocrats with his whole entire soul.
They might have inherited all that land or those factories from their great-grandfathers who actually knew the value of manual labor, but it was the working class they looked down upon that kept them wealthy. Put these snobs in the middle of a field, and they wouldnât know jack shit about harvesting the produce they were famous for. Their wives? No perceptible skills other than being china dolls and ordering the estate staff around, playing palace in their manors just to get a little taste of queendom.
Then again, these people were the ovens of bread and the barrels of butter to his family, soâŠ
âKeep your mouth shut, Minho!â
If he could maybe give a pass to one family, that would be Lord Bang and her ladyship. They were the exception to the rule who treated the rest of the mortals like actual human beings, and they brought huge business to their atelier with the seasonal banquets they threw every three months.Â
Damn, were those a big deal. It could quite literally make or break you.
Solely receiving an invitation was considered a huge honor by the socialite, let alone attending. These extravagant evenings were the place to be to retain status as well as for the freshly-turned-eighteen debutantes to be introduced to the public for marriage prospects, or to âflaunt themselves to procreate blue-blood inbredsâ as Minho would call it. While most estates would have their in-house dressmakers, throwing large sums of cash for a bespoke gown sewn by the renowned seamster of the town was a sign ofâŠ
They called it prestige, but Minho knew they meant something else.
It was that time of the year again. The atelier was buzzing like a beehive with all the gowns needed to be made for the upcoming Spring Banquet. Even though catering to a bunch of demanding ladies and their overindulged daughters was not his favorite thing in the world, Minho still clenched his teeth and worked his magic out of the endless respect he had for his father. Once the Spring Banquet was over, he could at least work with more decent people who were truly appreciative of his craft since summer was usually the wedding season. Six more weeks of this hell, then he could take genuine pleasure in his work again.
Nevertheless, life always had a way of derailing plans for better or worse.
âMother, stop it!â
âThis is the first time we have received an invitation, and we are going!â the woman dragged her daughter into the shop while turning several heads in her direction and flashed a forced but syrupy smile at Minho, âGood afternoon. We would like to have a gown made for this pretty young lady here and immediately, please. Money is not an issue.â
Immediately. Sure. As was common knowledge, money had the magical power to make one work faster and much more efficiently.
âI understand, my lady, but Iâm afraid the earliest immediately I can offer you is four weeks,â Minho calmly responded.
âI donât think you understand, young man,â the woman clenched her teeth through her smile and widened her eyes psychotically, âThis is for Lord Bangâs banquet.â
âMother!â
âSo is everything else we have underway,â Minho pointed at the large leather-bound notebook on the counter filled with names of customers and the specifications of their orders.
âNow you listen to me,â the woman took two slow steps towards him and spoke menacingly, âThis is going to be my daughterâs debut in the high society, and if she makes a poor impression because of your incompetency, I will burn this place down with you in it.â
Sure. As was common knowledge, money was the number one instrument of arson.
Minhoâs blank eyes watched you leave the shop and wait outside as soon as this pretty on the outside rotten on the inside ladyâs sentence was punctuated. Not only were you clearly dying of embarrassment, but also you couldnât have been more reluctant for this unlike literally everybody else who came in for a banquet gown. He took a deep breath to muster a little more patience and explained.
âThe banquet is in May. Simple math would dictate the gown shall be finished by the time of the event, but you have the liberty of seeking an allegedly faster seamster, my lady. You will end up here when youâre utterly unsatisfied with the results anyway, but by then it will be too late to have everything ready in due time,â he went behind the counter and grabbed a pen, âFour weeks. Would you like to put your name down?â
The woman muttered something under her breath and gave him the details he requested regarding fabric choices and style. Once Minho was done scribbling with his less than legible cursive, he glanced outside the shop window again and saw you petting a stray cat.Â
A cat. A furball that velvet-loving ladies wouldnât touch with a ten-foot pole, but it was rolling around in your lap as you were tickling it, not giving a damn how your skirt was getting ruined. He smiled to himself.
âPlease have the young lady come here tomorrow at noon for her measurements.â
âTomorrow?â the woman cocked a brow, âI thought you said four weeks.â
âThatâs when you will receive the end product, my lady.â
âOh,â she finally grasped what this subtly insolent tailor meant all along, âVery well then. I shall send her along.â
As she was leaving the shop, she let out a loud shriek seeing all the fur on her daughterâs dress, and scared the life out of the poor kitten. All Minho could do was snort, having no idea why he was this amused.
The next day you were a no-show at the agreed-upon time, and after waiting for maybe five minutes out of courtesy, Minho sent the staff away for lunch, refusing to have them bend to someoneâs whim just because they were a paying customer. When you finally showed up five more minutes later, rather than the delicate elegance of a maiden, you barged into the shop with the manners of a delinquent.
âPlease⊠excuse⊠my tardiness!â you managed to utter some muffled words while panting and took a minute to catch your breath.
Judging by the hair in slight disarray and the beads of sweat on your forehead, youâd obviously been running. Minho reached for the copper water jug on his desk and poured a glass for you.
âAre you always this punctual to all your appointments, my lady?â he attempted to pass his annoyance as humor while handing you the cold drink to rejuvenate yourself. You downed the entire thing in three large gulps.
âI had to make a little detour to buy some liver for the little guy outside,â you heaved a deep sigh and handed the glass back to him, âIâm actually in a hurry. Can we get this over with, please?â
So you technically missed your appointment that you almost didnât get in the first place⊠because of a cat?
Really?
âIâm afraid we donât have any of our female staff available right now,â he informed you, âIf you prefer, you could come in afterââ
âJust take the damn measurements so that my mother can shut up, will you?â
Huh?
Minho didnât know what to be befuddled over firstâyour complete disregard to proper language or your nonchalance over the prospect of a man semi-intimately touching you. He would have to help undress you so that he could take precise measurements over the corset, and just thinking about it wasâŠ
âI canât possibly do tââ
âYes, you can,â you interrupted him and looked at him with pleading eyes, âListen, I have somewhere I really need to be, and I have to make it look like I was here the entire time. Iâm certainly not after damaging your reputation, so I beg you to help me with this.â
âWhat can possibly be more important for a young lady than the Spring Banquet?â Minho creased his brows in confusion.
âMadame Laurent.â
âWho?â
âMadame Laurent!â your eyes gleamed with childlike wonder, âSheâs coming all the way from France to give a lecture about feline health at the university hall, and I really donât want to miss it. Please.â
Well, that connected a lot of dots for Minho, and a part of him was utterly endeared. He was used to the high class acting like they owned the goddamn place wherever they went and making life decisions based on what was going to happen to their last names. Then there was you, sneaking around to go to some cat class. He bit inside his cheeks to stop himself from laughing.
âFine. Follow me, please,â he led the way towards the back.
The small room you entered looked like it functioned as half a storage unit and half a changing room with rolls of fabric stacked on top of each other, various instruments laid on a large wooden desk, and a tall Cheval mirror in one corner. There was also a neatly made mattress on the floor in stark contrast with the overall untidiness of the place. Minho placed his notebook on the table, picked up a measuring tape from a drawer, and proceeded to undo the ribbons on your back, hesitant as to how not to make this awkward.
âCare to divulge your name?â you attempted small talk to diffuse the condensing tension in the room.
âItâs Minho, my lady.â
âMinho,â you echoed his name, âDo you live here?âÂ
âFor the time being,â he responded, âThere is so much work to do for the next couple of weeks, so I donât want to waste time commuting.â
You could tell he was trying to be mindful to the best of his ability, standing as away from you as he could, not even directly touching your skin but over the measuring tape. An utter professional. You caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror as he was doing his job. Very stern expression like he was angry and his lips slightly pouted due to how focused he was, yet still extremely good-looking. You forgot why you were there and what you were doing for a second, and just admired his sharp features with the tiniest of butterflies flapping its wings in your stomach.
Meanwhile for Minho, this was hell on earth with how hard he was repressing every unholy thought riddling his brain to prevent having an erection right behind you.
âAll done,â he tied the last ribbon on your back, âYou can come back in a week for your first fitting.â
âI wonât forget this,â you impulsively kissed him on the cheek and dashed towards the front door, âThank you!â
Minho felt a hard kick inside his ribcage, and the small piece of skin you pressed your lips on burned for days.
Your encounters outside the atelier, however, were limited to mere coincidences.Â
The first time, Minho ran into you in the town market where he had no business being other than overhearing your mother telling you to buy spices during your fitting one day. The second time, you spent an unnecessarily long time at a haberdashery because the owner said something about Mr. Leeâs son dropping by sometime in the afternoon to pick up a package.
Then Minho started regularly visiting the university hall to check if they were holding any lectures about anything remotely related to animals because you seemed to be attending every single one of those. He would wait for you outside just so he could see you from afar as the circle of ladies surrounding you kept knowingly giggling while nudging you.
Then you started passing by the tavern garden every Friday evening just because Minhoâs friends loudly asked if he was coming to their usual Friday gatherings one time. You couldnât do much besides making prolonged eye contact, but the gentlemen at the table were having the time of their lives smacking Minhoâs back with rowdy teasing laughter.
The one time you unknowingly crossed paths was at the park on a warm June evening. Minho wanted to unload his mind watching the swans after a long day at work whereas you were on your way home walking through it. Having complete tunnel vision on you, floating much more gracefully than all the swans in the pond, he blurted out without thinking.
âMy lady!â
Your heart skipped a beat hearing his voice. There was no one around, and even though you were in public, it felt more secluded than the dressing room at the atelier. After exchanging pleasantries, it was so obvious you were both trying to come up with a conversation topic so that nobody had to leave just yet.
âWe didnât have a chance to talk after the banquet,â Minho finally found one and held onto it for dear life, âI hope I was able to do a decent job dressing you.â
âPlease, decent would be an insult to your magnificent work, but Iâm not sure if I was able to carry it well enough during all that waltzing,â you spoke while internally reciting every prayer you knew that he wasnât able to hear how fast your heart was beating, âDo you know how to waltz, Minho?â
âNo.â
âWould you like me to teach you?â
âI donât dance.â
âYes, you do!â
You suddenly grabbed his hands and pulled him close, showing him the very basic steps as he clumsily followed along. You were laughing so much that his heart was about to give out.
He wanted to kiss you. He wanted to kiss you so bad.
ButâŠ
Even when your steps came to a halt, he couldnât stop staring at your face. At your eyes. At your lips. Curled into a bright smile that rendered him too stunned to talk.
âAre you waiting for me to ask?â you finally pierced the silence.
âAsk what?â
âTo kiss me.â
Donât say that. Donât say such things, or Iâll take it seriously.
âThat would be highly inappropriate,â he averted his eyes instead.
âIt would, wouldnât it, my good sir?â you faked a gasp and carried on with exaggerated manners, âYet youâre waltzing with a fair maiden where no one can see you. What ulterior motives must you harbor?â
His cheekbones raised ever so slightly, but he was visibly blushing even under that pastel dusk. Well, if he wasnât going to make a move for fear of being highly inappropriate, then you could be inappropriate enough for the both of you. You would gladly take the matter into your own hands. You would gladly take his beautiful face in between your hands.
And kiss him.
âMay you have a pleasant evening,â you casually spoke after that lightning-fast peck, âI certainly will have one.â
All he could do was touch his lips as he watched you walk away. What a woman, he thought to himself, Beautiful. Fearless. Nothing like the rest of her kind.
The last name Lee might have carried a reputation, but at the end of the day, it was the reputation of a mere merchant. Minho knew his place. A case in point, a lady and a seamster could never end up together. He was fully aware of that and had to act accordingly.
Yet nothing was able to stop him from falling hopelessly in love with you. More and more with each season. It was summer, fall, winter, then spring again.
You were due for a visit again.
Minho was at least guaranteed to intentionally meet you four times a year. You were the first to arrive at the atelier every couple of months for a new banquet gown, yet always late for your measurement appointments so that no one would be around.
And he was getting a little less professional with each encounter.Â
No more over-the-tape touching. It was only the silhouette of his fingertips, but it was still skin-to-skin, and you were shuddering when he touched you. You would steal glances from each other in the Cheval mirror, trying to see the otherâs reaction to the subtle baits you were throwing at one another. Sometimes you would tilt your head to the side, and he would inhale that flowery essence you loved wearing. God, you smelled so good.
He just knew you tasted good, too.
âTell me something. Youâve been going to these banquets for a year now,â Minho uttered while working on your waist behind you, âHow come no oneâs asked for your hand in marriage yet?â
âBecause I tell them Iâm not a virgin,â you leisurely shrugged.
âWHAT?â
You burst out laughing loudly at how scandalized he was, more or less the same reaction you would elicit from the young lords trying to approach you.
âCalm yourself, Iâm as untouched as a cactus,â you clarified while wiping the tears from your eyes, âbut nobody needs to know that.â
âWhy would you even do that? Your reputationââ
âIf your appendix burst, it wouldnât damage your reputation, would it? Why do I not get the same treatment, then?â you continued more seriously, âIf I get married, they will chain me to some manor, and Iâll be treated as a breeding factory. God forbid if a woman has aspirationsâŠâ
âDo you have aspirations?â
âYes,â you smiled at him in the mirror, âI would like to study veterinary medicine.â
Why was he even surprised? Of course, you did. You lost your entire mind whenever you saw a stray animal on the street. You were religiously following the university hall lectures while your peers were at a church listening to Sunday sermons. Minho felt his heart swell to the point of combustion.Â
But all of those wholesome feelings instantly disappeared when he kneeled before you.Â
His face was directly in front of your crotch, and he noticed a familiar scent emitting from you. Tangy. Not quite sweet, but carried those notes nevertheless. A bit intense. He instinctively looked up at you trying to read your face. You werenât showing any color, but your pupils were blown wide.
He swallowed.
His urges started running wild. Even you knew they did with how his breathing became slightly irregular. The thought of getting under your skirt and burying his face between your legs was rapidly consuming him.
Maybe it was for the best that the loud ringing of the phone echoed in the atelier to scare the life out of both of you, but it at least managed to clear the reddish-pink haze that was about to fill that tiny dressing room to the brim.
After he closed the shop that day, Minho sat on the pavement and let the kitty he now named Grape climb onto his lap, thinking to himself how he could let you know about his feelings for you while petting him. He had to do something since they were getting a bit more untameable with each passing day. Maybe you would go to the park again. Maybe he could take you to some lecture on human emotions or something. Maybe Grape could be his accomplice, but how was he supposed to go about this? Say he made his little confession, then what? Would you accept it? What would your family say? You were a little rebel, but did you have it in you to stand up to them if he promised to be by your side through everything?
Minho couldnât sleep that night even though he exhausted himself with a hundred different scenarios, but little did he know his world was about to shatter before he got to do any of that.
Merely several days after the Spring Banquet, a small crowd of people dropped by the atelier with you among them. Minho knew one of the women accompanying youâthat was Lady Seo without a doubt, but something wasnât right at all.
You werenât supposed to be here for another few weeks. Why were youâ?
Your eyes were puffy and the skin around them was raw red like you were harshly rubbing it, the perfect evidence of you crying over something. There was resentment written all over your face. Concern spread throughout his body, and Minho started burning with the early shades of rage.
âA little earlier than usual for the next banquet, I see,â he calmly greeted the circle of women, âTo what do I owe the pleasure, my lady?â
âOh, weâre here for a much joyous occasion this time,â Lady Seo chirped and lifted your hand for Minho to see better, âThe young lady is joining the Seo family, and we wouldnât have anything less than a wedding dress carrying the Lee signature.â
You were staring at the floor blankly like youâd given up all hope. The second Minho caught a glimpse of your ring-adorned finger, he felt his heart being ripped apart.
âA⊠a wedding dress.â
âYes! Mr. Lee couldnât speak highly enough about his sonâs niche, and we simply have to have the best for our future bride.â
Future bride. Minho was in complete disbelief that those words were referring to you. Deep inside he knew this day was going to come, but it still felt likeâŠ
It felt like this was his fault for being too late.
âCertainly,â he forced a smile to the best of his ability and turned his gaze on you, trying to stay still while he was stabbing himself in the chest with his own words, âDoes the young lady have anything in mind, or would she like to receive recommendations?â
You finally looked up at him, bloodshot eyes utterly grief-stricken like you had just come back from a funeral. It was a funeral if you thought about itâa forced visit to Dr. Yang to prove you were lying and your hymen was in fact very much intact. All your dreams, all your hopes, all your love for Minho were mercilessly slaughtered by a conversation that took place between two families, and you had absolutely no say in the matter.
âDo you make black wedding gowns by any chance, good sir?â you asked through the most broken of smiles lacing all your features.
âSheâs joking,â your mother let out a loud laughter while pinching your arm and loudly whispered, âThis is barely appropriate. Stop offending your mother-in-law.â
âIâm sure whatever you come up with will more than suffice,â your voice cracked as you slightly bowed your head at Minho, âIâll be in your care.â
Care? In his care? This was not how he wanted to take care of you. You were going to go to school. He was going to wait for you and take you to the park afterwards, then ask you to tell him all about it. He had the utmost faith in you that you would be giving lectures on feline health someday. He wanted to take you to Paris when he saved enough money so that you could meet Madame Laurent again, and maybe ask you to marry him while he was at it.
Yet the reality was colder than the harshest winter.
âThen I will work on some patterns today, and we can discuss them tomorrow with the young lady,â he scribbled your name in his notebook and uttered emphatically, âAt noon.â
Youâd done this many times before. You knew what it meant at this point.
Come five to ten minutes later when nobodyâs here.
The next day you arrived at the atelier to allegedly get your measurements taken when there was absolutely no need. Minho already knew everything by heart; he just wanted to touch you again.
Maybe for one last time.
You didnât even exchange pleasantries because there was nothing pleasant about any of this, and just proceeded to the dressing room in deafening silence. Minho wanted to ask you so many things, but all the words he couldnât utter formed a gigantic knot in his throat. If he so much as made a sound, he was afraid he was going to break down crying.
And he didnât cry that easily.
It was a simple and professionally required act, measuring. Measuring your chest. Measuring your waist. Measuring your inseams for whatever reason as though bridal gowns came with dress pants, but he was measuring anyway. That seemed to be the only way to carve the exact outline of your body into his mind forever. Get indecently close to you, memorize the notes of your scent, kneel in front of you with begging eyes as if he was about to hit you with another proposal, and importantlyâŠ
Most importantlyâŠ
Watch the way goosebumps broke on your supple skin every time he touched you.
Each time you were in this room, the distance Minho kept between you two was noticeably shrinking, and this time around there was nothing left to shrink anymore. You had never felt him this close to you, flush against your body as he was measuring your bust from behind you. You could feel his body temperature seeping through you. His scent. His cologne.Â
His entire existence.Â
You leaned back into his chest and touched his hand while holding his gaze in the mirror. The room was so quiet that you could hear the screaming heartbeats of each other perfectly clearly. You watched how his hand reached for your chin in the reflection to turn you around. It hurt so bad when you looked into his deep brown eyes. It hurt so good when he brushed his thumb on your cheek.
You were dying in agony when he pressed his lips on yours.Â
Much different than that one kiss you stole from him all those months ago. It felt like sinking in a bottomless ocean. Deep. Slow. Wet. Neither of you had the courage to open your eyes, and the darkness made it feel like you were kissing for hours. It was supposed to be an innocent show of affection maybe, but it was deteriorating way too rapidly. A little deeper, a little harder, a little quicker, and a little wetter. Minho was burning and so were you and you were letting him touch you and he was trying so hard to abstain, butâŠ
He was a man. He was a man in love.
He dropped the tape tangled around his fingers and harshly pulled you in, throwing gallons of gas on the fire that was barely containable as it was. You felt the coldness of the wall he pressed you against on your back, giving you instant shivers, but you didnât care. You had dreamed about this for so long. He had dreamed about this for so long. Touching you, kissing you, tasting every inch of your skin until he diminished you into panting moaning mess, desperate to feel him in the worst ways andâ
One touch between your legs, and reality hit Minho like a freight train about to be derailed.
âGod, Iâm sorry. Iâm so sorry. Please forgive me,â he jolted in his place and backed away, âIâ I couldnât help it.â
You didnât know what exactly it was you were feeling. Sadness? Anger? Disappointment? A nauseating concoction of them all?
âDo you⊠not want me?â
âNo, itâs not that! Itâs never that!âÂ
Minho was between a rock and a hard place. He knew what he wanted, but there was also the undeniable truth. What was he supposed to do? Disregard everything all at once, or be a decent human being andâŠ
Let you go?
âYouâre⊠engaged,â he managed to say with an almost inaudible voice.
All this time, you hoped. You hoped he would protest to making this godforsaken dress. You hoped he would ask you not to go through with this. You hoped he would tell you that he loved you. Maybe you even foolishly thought he would want to marry you instead.
But apparently, youâd hoped in vain.
âA fact you should have remembered before initiating, donât you think?â you scoffed with disdain.
âPleaseâŠâ
âIf youâre done with the measurements, Iâll take my leave,â you quickly put your linen dress back on and walked out without looking at him to hide your tears threatening to fall, âI wonât be back again until the day of my final fitting.â
When the front door closed, the four words Minho couldnât say out loud to save his life turned into a fist, and declared his throat as its residence for the foreseeable future.
Please donât leave me.
He was losing sleep, and you were haunting his every waking thought. Every piece of fabric he cut was another breath taken away from him. Every stitch he sewed was another wound inflicted on his skin. The day of delivery was fast approaching, but Minho felt like his life was ending.
On the day of your final fitting, he was expecting you to come around noon again, but you were nowhere to be found. You didnât show up in the afternoon. You didnât show up in the evening. He never thought he would feel this way about seeing you in a fucking wedding dress, but he was getting worried.
âI need to run. Take care of the place,â Minho entrusted the shop with one of his apprentices, âI donât know when Iâll be back. Lock the door and leave if Iâm late.â
He scoured all the places he could think of. The park. The market. The tavern area. Even the university hall to see whether there was one of those beloved animal lectures of yours. You werenât anywhere. His last resort was to pick up the dress and go to your estate to check on you with some excuse. He was going to make something up on the way.Â
But before it even came to that, seeing you by the closed shop door, Minho was so relieved that his knees almost gave way.Â
âThere was a lecture series today,â you looked at him with blank eyes, âAbout loss.â
He wanted to say something. He needed to say something, but Minho forgot all the words he knew. You werenât talking. You stood there in front of the atelier for god knows how long, and it seemed like it fell upon you to break the silence once again.
âI came for my fitting.â
Minhoâs gaze slowly turned from your face towards the floor, and his shoulders drooped in resignation. You proceeded in silence. He fished for the keys in his pocket and opened the door, locked it from inside after you walked in, then led the way to the dressing room. Your gown was neatly pressed and placed on a hanger. He gave you some privacy to change, and when you opened the door again to signal him to come in for the final adjustments, Minho felt like he was walking towards a gallows tree. There you were, in all your glory, shining like you never had in pristine whites. Minho took slow steps towards you and knelt before you to check the length of the hem of the skirt.
God, you were beautiful.
You were in a wedding dress. A wedding dress. If he didnât do something, you were going to slip away. Forever.
Heâd been such a coward ever since he lent his heart to you, never having the courage to do the things he was yearning to do, yet you were⊠you were nothing butâŠ
Minho had enough.
âPlease donât do this,â he whispered.
It was a whisper, but he may as well have screamed at you. His eyes were fixated firmly on the hem. You were stunned like a bolt of lightning just struck you, incredulous at what you just heard.Â
âDonât get married,â his voice quivered like he was on the brink of crying as he hugged your legs, âPlease.â
As if he was controlled by some unknown entity, his hands slid your skirt up. He finally looked up at you. You met his gaze, not knowing what to anticipate. You didnât want to hope; he could step back at any moment like he did the last time, but a part of you just couldnât help it.
âMinhoâŠâ
That was enough for him to risk it all.
He began to place little kisses up your thighs. Your skin was even more supple than he had always imagined. You heaved a very deep sigh and closed your eyes while leaning against the wall.
It didnât feel that cold this time around.Â
Minho was in a complete trance. Just kissing, kissing, and kissing everything his lips came across. Your legs, your thighs, the barely noticeable wet trace on your underwear. His fingers clutched the waistband of the thick fabric and slid it down, and down, and down, in disbelief that he was actually looking at the most intimate part of you fully exposed for him. Soft. Warm. Inviting.
There was no turning back from this anymore.
âI love you,â he whispered against you and closed his mouth on your cunt.
You felt those three words everywhere on your body.
Your fingers were tangled in between his silky locks, guiding his head instinctively. The amount of pleasure you were feeling was in lethal doses, much more intense than anything you were able to provide yourself. So wet and slippery, much warmer compared to your own fingers.
Minho, on the other hand, was dying.
He had an inkling about what you would taste like when your scent dissolved on his tongue, but he never thought it would be this savory. This condensed. This right. Unable to get enough, he was sinking deeper into your pussy, thinking he could maybe feel you like he was supposed to if he occupied the same space as you.
You clasped your hands on his shoulders and pulled him up, tasting yourself on his mouth as he swirled his tongue around yours, but it wasnât enough. You wanted to see what he looked like naked. You wanted to feel him inside you. You wanted to belong to him, and Minho wasnât stopping this time.
âCan weâŠ?â he took one look at his mattress on the floor then at you again.
âYes.âÂ
You placed your hands on his beautiful face and felt how much he was trembling under your touch. From anticipation. From excitement. From nerves.Â
âI love you, Minho,â you stressed the word while looking deep into his eyes.
That was the moment he said a mouthful of fuck you to everything.
You stripped each other as fast as you could, never leaving each otherâs lips alone. Sitting on the mattress, you ran your hands on Minhoâs bare torso and admired his naked figure for some time.
He was so beautiful it made you want to violently cry.Â
He laid you down on your back and quickly descended between your legs to pick up where he left off, locking his arms on your legs, too afraid to let you go. His tongue glided all over your folds first, making sure he replaced all your slick with his saliva before his lips trapped your clit. He was slurping on the engorged bundle of nerves with lazy swirls of his tongue, ears intently listening to how deep your moans were coming from. The harder he sucked, the more you were tugging at your own hair. The uneven ground your sounds of pleasure were stacked on eventually collapsed, and you found yourself arching into his mouth with cries ripping through your throat, wet mess staining all over his chin and glistening under the dim light of the room.
âTouch me,â Minho pleaded while hovering over your body, âPlease.â
Then and only then did you notice the abysmal condition he was in, and it tickled you inside that he wanted you this much. So concerningly hard you could trace the veins on his cock. Tip flushed dark pink and about to leak. Utterly mouthwatering. You held him in a firm but careful grip and listened to his quiet moans when he made you stroke his girth. If you kept it up, he was actually going to cum before⊠before he could evenâŠ
He guided his cock to your soaked entrance and pressed his tip against you, proceeding with very shallow thrusts to make sure you were comfortable with his pace. His thumb was gently caressing your clit to compensate for the mild discomfort as he paved his way into you. More. A little more. Halfway in. Just a bit more. Almost there.
Then a cul-de-sac.
You felt like a long-lost piece of you clicked into its place whereas Minho almost lost his mind when he disappeared into you completely. The sensation was too intense.Â
âNot enough,â he lowered his face down to kiss you and pressed his forehead against yours, âIâm finally inside you, but itâs just not enough.â
How could it ever be enough when you violently loved someone from afar for that long? How could it ever be enough when all the I love yous you were able to utter to their face were in your dreams? How was he ever going to be able to avenge all the lost time if not by desperately making love to the love of his life, sweaty, loud, drowning each other in kisses?
âBe my wife,â he spoke into your lips, âI swear on everything good and pure Iâll spend the rest of my life to make you happy.â
Too consumed with desire. Too overwhelmed with emotion. You were on the brink of happy tears, trying to produce a single word, but your mind wasnât cooperating.
âMarry me,â he beseeched while quickening his thrusts, and buried his face in the crook of your neck, âMarry me. God, I love you!â
You held him in your embrace as tightly as you could and let him run towards his high however fast he wanted. Minho barely managed to pull out at the last second, and finished on your chest, shooting milky white drops to trickle down your breasts. You were both so deliriously happy in each otherâs arms, not being able to get enough of one another at any cost.Â
Just kissing. Kissing. And kissing some more while waiting for your feet to touch the ground.
âI donât know what weâre going to do from this point on,â Minho intertwined his fingers with yours, âbut do you want to start by ripping your dress to shreds?â
You uttered the words youâd been practicing so hard to come across as convincing, but without having to pretend for once.
âI do.â
You kissed into each otherâs smiles again. You knew what kind of obstacles you needed to face before you could be at peace, but it wasnât scary. You had Minho, and he had you. What mattered at the end of the day was how much you loved each other.
Longer than tomorrow.
Further than forever.
ă© 2023, exxxtraoddinary · No translations, rewrites, or reposts permittedă
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this is so stunning I can't... the yearning... fjevahsvajq
kinktober - day thirteen
kink: camcorder with minho ft. chan
warnings: smut - MINORS DNI. threesome (kind of), chan is a perv, afab!reader, teensy bit of manipulation
chan didnât think this would happen when he asked minho to borrow his camcorder a couple days ago - all he wanted was to record some practice videos to upload to youtube. he didnât think before he took it, didnât think before he looked through minhoâs old footage of his dancing that he keeps for memories, didnât think before watching what he watched.Â
it was a video of you. and minho.Â
in his defense, the storage on the memory card was almost full and chan was just looking for something that could be deleted to free up space - and wouldnât minho check the storage to see if there was anything he didnât want chan seeing first? if anything, this is minhoâs fault.Â
sure, itâs minhoâs fault that chan is one second away from jerking off to the sight of you getting fucked into oblivion by his best friend, the grainy pixels leaving little to nothing to his imagination. your moans sound tinny from the low quality speakers, minhoâs grunts accenting the sounds coming from your mouth as he fucks you up against the studio mirrors. your breath is fogging up from where your face is pressed against the glass, sweaty handprints from the both of you staining the surface. minho better have cleaned those mirrors after that, chanâs delirious mind supplies as he continues watching the footage he should have turned off minutes ago.Â
the video is from the same angle as their dance practices, the same walls on display and oh fuck chan doesnât think heâs been this hard in his entire life. thatâs the room that he dances in, heâs leaned up against that exact mirror, panting and overexerted, heâs been yelled at by minho for messing up the choreography in that exact place.Â
he tries. he tries so hard to forget what he saw, to get the image of you shaking apart when you came out of his head. to stop thinking about the way your skin went white from where minho was gripping it. to restrain from gripping his cock in his hand under his blanket with his eyes screwed shut and the symphony of your combined noises playing in his head like a song he couldnât get off of repeat.Â
but how could he when he had to go back into that rehearsal room just a few days later to practice? what excuse could he possibly give his members about why he wanted to switch rooms from this one? the room thatâs full of their most precious memories, full of laughter and tears and piles of sweaty cuddles on the floor? no, he couldnât. what he could do was avoid that spot like it was poisonous, standing on the farthest edge of the room after practice was over, chugging water and thinking about how you both have probably fucked on the floor there, or those couches, or by the closet door.Â
he doesnât notice you at first, sliding into the room to hand minho a cold water bottle and press a kiss to his cheek. the other members were slowly trickling out, passing tired greetings to you as they shuffled past, eager to go home and shower. when only minho and him were left, you went to approach him only to find his eyes already on you, glazed over at you but not really seeing.Â
he looks at you and all he can see is the way you were pressed up against the glass, your tits squished but somehow still bouncing, the screwed up features of your face when you were overwhelmed in pleasure. all he can hear are those metallic sounding moans, all he can feel is the urge to fall at your feet-
âbang chan,â minho snaps, jerking chan out of his fantasy. âwhere is my camera? youâve had it for a while, i wanted to record the new choreography.â
âoh!â chan is starting to panic, he didnât think that minho would ask after the camcorder so soon. he didnât have time to prepare, didnât have the energy to create an excuse. âthere was too much storage on it, so i didnât get to record what i wanted and i forgot to ask you about it.â
heâs biting his tongue now, cursing himself for saying too much. couldnât he just have said he would give it back tomorrow?
âi didnât think about the storage,â minho starts, not sounding like he had anything to hide. did he truly not know about what he had left on that camera for chan to find? âdid you see anything interesting?â
he knows. he knows. chan is beginning to sweat, he can feel it in his hair and under his arms and he wants to bury a hole by his feet so he can jump into it and never climb out.Â
âhaha, no,â he says, packing up the rest of his bag so that he didnât have to look at minho. or you, whoâs been silent since you walked in, watching him carefully. for all he wasnât scared of minho and his adorably empty threats, he was terrified of you. âi didnât even look. just saw that the storage was full, you know?â
he sounds awkward. he is awkward, right now.Â
âchan,â you trail a finger down his arm, speaking for the first time since you arrived and heâs gone, your touch leaving raised hairs in your wake. you should be angry, you should be livid, why are you touching him like that- âcome over tonight to mine would you? we wanted to have you over for a while, minho wanted to cook for you. and you can give him the camera back then.â
âoh,â chan is sure that his face is flushed completely red by now, but he nods anyways. âsure! iâm free tonight. iâll be there at seven? or whenever is good for you, iâm free. wait, i said that already-â
âperfect,â minho purrs, taking one of your hands in his and laying the other on chanâs shoulder. âseven is perfect. see you then, chan.â
--
he gets to your place early and sits in his car for 30 minutes, chewing at his fingernails and tapping his leg at an alarming pace. the more he thinks about it the more he overthinks - did they just want to yell at you in private instead of at the company building? did they really not know? what if he confessed and they didnât know? what if they never speak to you again?
he has to take several deep breaths before leaving his car, and again before he knocks on your door. heâs ushered in by you, bright smiles on yours and minhoâs faces as you take the camera out of his hands, and by the time he has a glass of wine in his hand and heâs sitting on the couch while minho puts the finishing touches on dinner heâs almost fully relaxed. heâs been here so many times, your apartment being a refuge to all the boys when they wanted to get away from the dorms for a bit. this is normal.Â
âlet me put something on for us to watch,â you say at the same time minho asks chan if he wanted more wine, and you sneak the camcorder towards the tv while chan was distracted, sniping at minho that no he doesnât want a second glass heâs not even halfway through the first one. you plug it in, smiling when it connected to the right input immediately. you scroll through the files, fingers calm on the remote even though you were shaking in anticipation inside. when you get to the right file you click on it, turning up the volume.Â
the image of you and minho takes over the tv, sounds coming out of the tv in a much better quality than what chan had been used to. his head whips towards the tv, wine forgotten and eyes wide as he takes in the video that you put on.
âwhat?â he asks, almost in a gasp as his eyes flicker back and forth between the tv, you, and minho, who had finally exited the kitchen and joined you in the living room.
âwe thought since you loved it so much, we would watch it together,â minho explains, much more casually than one should be when playing a video of them fucking their girlfriend in front of their best friend. âwhy, is something wrong?âÂ
âi-â, chan cuts himself off, panic choking his voice. âiâm so sorry-â
âhey,â you move towards him, sitting against his side and taking one of his hands in both of yours. âthat isnât what this is about. we donât mind, okay?âÂ
âwe couldnât let him sputter on for a bit more?â minho pouts, crossing his arms at you. âit was funny.â
âmin, be nice,â you scold, smiling at chan.Â
âchannie, i would have beat you up when i found out if i wanted to,â minho relents, siting on chanâs other side, sandwiching him between you both. âshe likes that you watched it. i like it. okay? just relax and be good for us.â
minhoâs words wash over chan, leaving him in a sort of daze. be good for us, minho had said. he could do that, chan was so good at being good. he melts against the couch, the heat from both of your bodies enveloping him as he takes in the video heâs seen over and over already.Â
âyou planned this?â he asks, breathless and mesmerized.Â
âof course i did,â minho scoffs, squeezing one of chanâs thighs in his warm hand. âyou think i would just let you watch that without planning it? iâm not that stupid.â
youâre not, but maybe i am, chan thinks, and he only realizes that he said it out loud when you start giggling and lean your head into his shoulder to hide your laughter.Â
he wants to retort, to somehow defend himself, but then video-minho changes his angle and starts fucking video-you even harder than before and whatever words were in his throat stayed behind the lump there.
âdo you want to do that to her?â minho asks, hand trailing up chanâs thigh, leaving behind phantom pinpricks of sensation. he lets his blunt nails rake over chanâs leg, the delicate material of his workout pants providing no protection.Â
âcan i?â chan breathes out, looking at you like heâs never seen anything more beautiful.Â
âplease,â you wiggle your legs open a bit, a clear invitation. his hand comes to rest on your thigh and itâs so big, so much bigger than minhoâs. he slides it up, to the hem of your oversized shorts, dipping his fingers closer to your panties and -
he stops.Â
âbut, i also wantâŠâ he ducks his head down, trying to hide his flush before glancing at minho through his lashes. minhoâs brow furrows, confusion clear on his face before he puts it together.Â
âoh, my channie,â he coos, running a hand through chanâs hair. âwe can do that too, i promise. but my girl has been waiting so long for you, you donât want to make her wait even longer, do you?â
chan shakes his head, entire body swaying with the force of it, reenergized by minhoâs promise of more. he turns towards you and you feel your breath leave your body as you turn weighless for a moment, landing back on earth to find yourself straddling chanâs lap.Â
âyouâre strong,â you praise, feeling up his biceps as you get comfy in his lap, ignoring minhoâs indignant yelp next to you. chan beams up at you, both of his hands cupping your ass and using it as leverage to pull you closer into him. his dick is hard in his pants, poking against your crotch, and you both let out lewd moans when you grind into him a bit. he glances at minho, a little insecure and still kind of uncomfortable, but minho just pulls him in and kisses him deeply. itâs a sight to see, like a movie playing out right in front of your eyes, the love of your life and his best friend making out right in front of you. chan tenses a bit but melts into the couch even faster, letting minho lead him into blissful submission as he cups his face and moves it right how he wants it.Â
when they part, chanâs lips are cherry red and so wet, glistening in the light from the lamps decorating the room. you canât help but kiss him too, licking minhoâs essence off of him and reveling in the way he bucks up into you like he canât help it.Â
chan slides his lips to the right, peppering kisses to the corner of your lips, across your jaw and down your neck. he sucks at the spot right under your ear that makes you see stars, heat bursting in your lower belly. he was utterly intoxicated by your scent, your clean, floral body wash taking over his senses until he was all but panting into your neck.Â
it almost hurts to pull back from him, itâs like a stab right to your heart when he makes a wounded noise at the loss of contact, but you need more from him. any thoughts that you might have had of seducing him, of wining and dining him and showing him how much you really wanted him, died out once you felt his hands on you. youâve been crushing on this man for almost as long as youâve been crushing on minho, and you werenât going to give this opportunity any time to ruin itself; you knew chan, knew how his self-consciousness and second-guessing worked, and if you wanted him you needed to take him now before he changed his mind.Â
you reach for the drawstring on his pants, pulling it open and sticking your hand in, rubbing him through his boxers. next time youâd have more decorum, youâd suck him off until he was right on the edge and make him sob when you refuse to let him come, youâd let him fuck you into the mattress and let him pin you down, but not right now.Â
âon the couch?â chan asks, eyes wide as they flicker back and forth between you and minho.Â
âyou know weâve done it in worse places,â minho says, humor lining his words as the lust takes over his eyes at the thought of what was about to happen. a burst of affection takes over you as you look at him, your perfect soulmate who understood you and your desires and shared them with you like you shared everything else.Â
ânever knew you were such an exhibitionist,â chan snipes back at him, gasping when you tug him out of his pants and boxers, the stretch of his waistband making it easy. you only have to stroke him a few times until heâs fully hard, his cock red and leaking where it curves into his lower belly.Â
âminho, help me,â you ask, blinking at minho through your eyelashes, and he knows what you want immediately; he hooks his fingers through your shorts and panties at once, pulling them down to your knees, just far down enough for you to be able to rub your bare pussy against chanâs cock.
âgod, youâre so wet,â he curses, throwing his head back and sighing in time with the movement of your hips.
âfor you, channie,â your voice cracks when his cock catches on your clit, and both of them are smart enough not to say anything about it. minho moves though, ever impatient, and lines chanâs cock up against your hole with practiced ease.Â
âthought about this a lot, did you?â you tease, knowing very well that both of you thought about this a little too much, sharing fantasies in hushes whispers when you were supposed to be asleep. .Â
minho clicks his tongue and presses himself up behind you, still fully clothed even though his dick was rock hard in his jeans. he places his hands on your hips and pushes you into chan, driving his cock deep into you. you collapse against chanâs chest, a surprised yelp leaving you at the unexpected fullness. chan echoes you, burying his face into your neck with a shudder.Â
âtease me again and see what iâll do,â he says darkly, hands still in a death grip on your waist. you take his threat for what it is, knowing that he would follow through with his words, and you start grinding into chan in slow circles. his hands circle your waist, fingers tangled with minho as they let you set the pace.Â
âplease,â chan whimpers, his breath tickling your neck. you want to tease him so badly, but how could you when he asked so politely? you shift your knees further onto the couch, gaining leverage so you could lift your hips higher up. you drop back down onto him and you both moan in unison.Â
you lift back up and drop down, again and again and again, finding a rhythm that fits both of you perfectly. itâs like a dance, moves that feel practiced and eased, spurred on by minhoâs soft whispered praises towards the both of you. the video playing on the tv had reached its end, and every sound coming from you was heightened.Â
âwhat a pretty show, all for me,â minho moves away and finally takes his cock out of his jeans, fisting it and immediately starting to stroke himself off at a fast pace. you canât see him, you miss the warmth of him against your back, but chan canât take his eyes off of him, transfixed by the sight of his best friend jerking himself off to him and you as youâre bouncing on top of him.Â
youâre shaking apart on top of chan before you realize it, orgasm taking over you as you continue to ride him. you clench around him hard, and heâs spilling into you a second later, jerky little thrusts shaking your body on top of his. minho curses as he comes a moment later, too keyed up to extend his pleasure for long. this wasnât about him anyways; at least, not this time.Â
you lift off of chan with a hiss, sending him a look of sympathy when he shivers in overstimulation. you donât make it far, pulling him down to lay against you, your back pressed up against his front. both of your pants are still halfway off, but you canât be bothered to care right now - youâre utterly exhausted, even from just one orgasm.Â
the both of you barely register minho draping a blanket over you before settling on the floor in front of you, leaning his head on the couch right by where chanâs hands were around your stomach. itâs so domestic, the three of you drifting towards one another so naturally that it just feels right. later, youâd get up and eat the now-cold dinner minho had painstakingly prepared, but for now you were content to lay in comfortable quiet.
âwait,â chan breaks the silence, and you have to resist the urge to groan at him. âhow did you know that i watched it? what if the storage really was just full?â
âplease, youâre too obvious,â minho teases, voice soft and drowsy, and you can hear the smile in it. âplus, you were watching it in the dorms, idiot. youâre lucky it wasnât jeongin that caught you.â
--
kinktober masterlist
When the Rain Stops
Read part 2 here.
Pairing: Lee Minho x fem reader
W/c: 9.8k
Warnings: mentions of drinking, mentions of smoking, mentions of cheating, brief comment about calories, use of pet names, sex in a public establishment (no one is around), oral sex (fem receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, squirting
Synopsis: A passing storm during a road trip forces you to seek shelter in a little dive bar on the outskirts of town, and you find yourself drawn to the bartender.
18+. Mdni!
âą
âShit,â you mutter under your breath, wringing out your stringy wet hair onto the black carpet below you. You know the weather forecast predicted rain- hell, your family even warned you about it when you left their place this morning. But true to your bad luck, you severely underestimated just how much of it. Now, youâre stuck in the middle of nowhere while you wait for the storm to pass.
Okay, maybe not technically the middle of nowhere. But a shitty dive bar surrounded by nothing for miles upon miles isnât really something to write home about. You know it could be worse- at least here you have access to unlimited alcohol and mozzarella sticks. But a quick look around tells you thatâs not enough to redeem it for you.
The place is undoubtedly small, pool tables and red leather booths housing most of the space. Where thereâs vacancy at the tables, the servers havenât bothered to clean up yet, passing by stacks of dirty plates and silverware to serve guests sitting at other tables. A group of men chatter amongst themselves at one of the pool tables, and a single man is sat at the open bar.
You settle on a spot at the open bar, sitting two barstools away from the man and drying your feet on the rug below you.
âWhat can I get you?â A voice overhead says dryly, and you respond without looking up.
âJust a Coke, maybe? Diet, please.â
You hear the man scoff a little as he retreats, and then you finally look up, slightly offended at his reaction.
Heâs walking away from the bar when you see him, only the back of his head visible from behind the counter where youâre sat.
As he disappears into the back to grab a coke, you pull your cell phone out of your bag. You wipe raindrops off the screen with the sleeve of your sweater, pushing the lock button to catch up on unread texts. There are only two, both from your parents, warning you about the rain and requesting you turn back for the night.
You shoot them back a text, assuring them youâve found someplace safe to stay, and that you wonât be driving in this rain until the storm blows over. But the truth is, youâre rather unsure of that yourself. Your phone currently reads at 26% battery, the storm is predicted to go on for several hours, and there are seemingly no hotels nearby to stay the night. Chances are, youâre going to be here for a good while.
A veiny hand places an iced glass of your Diet Coke in front of you as you finish sending the texts, and you look up to lock eyes with the bartender.
Heâs rather tall, with light brown hair that falls just above his soft round eyes, totally contradicting the sharpness in his jawline and nose bridge. The man is dressed formally in a white button-up shirt and a black tie, rolled up halfway at the sleeves, the top two buttons undone to reveal just a glimpse of his broadened chest.
âIs that it?â He asks. His stare is cold and serious, and you find yourself a little intimidated in this proximity to him.
âYes, thank you. Do you happen to have a phone charger?â
He scoffs again.
âThis isnât a convenience store.â
âIâm aware,â you reply with narrowed eyes. âI just need to make a few calls.â
âThereâs a pay phone in the back.â
Itâs your turn to scoff. Heâs calculated with his words, like heâs trying his best to get you to leave the bar. But youâre as stubborn as they come, and itâll take a lot more than rude customer service to make you leave in this storm.
âLook, Iâm not using a pay phone unless youâre supplying quarters. You donât have an iPhone charger?â
He rolls his eyes.
âNo, I donât have an iPhone charger. And Iâm not supplying you with anything- this isnât a convenience store. Unless you want a vodka sprite or some chicken wings, I think weâre all done here.â
Before you can reply, he turns on his heel, making his way back to the kitchen and disappearing behind the double doors once again.
The doors swing in and out a few times before coming to a halt, and you stare through the circular window as he resumes cooking something in the kitchen.
Unpleasant- the personalities of everyone in your parentsâ neighboring town, miles away from your apartment in the city. It reminds you precisely why you seldom visit these parts.
âDonât take it personal,â a voice from beside you says. He shifts to face you from his bar stool. âHeâs always like that.â
The stranger is well-dressed in a coat and slacks, his black hair styled neatly out of his face.
âSurprised he keeps any business at all with an attitude like that.â
âThe locals donât get the worst of it,â he continues. âMostly us city-dwellers he despises.â
A small smile forms on your face. âYouâre from the city too?â
âYeah!â he replies enthusiastically. âIâm just passing through for the weekend.â
âMe too! Though I got stuck on the way back home. Doesnât seem like weâll be able to leave for a few hours.â
âOh yeah,â the man says. âItâs really bad out there.â
You shift your attention to the large window at the back of the bar- the rain is still coming down in sheets over the glistening black pavement, nothing visible beyond the blurry traffic lights as the trees melt into an abyss of darkness. The roads appear empty and the parking lot seems fuller than usual for a bar like this.
âIâm Jisung, by the way,â he says finally.
You turn back to him and nod once. âY/n. Itâs great to meet you.â
*
As Jisung indulges you in conversation about city life, you learn heâs a businessman who visits the area on Saturdays when he gathers in the town with old friends. He also lives alone in a high-rise apartment, heâs single, and he comes to this particular dive bar for the chicken wings. Ones he insists you have to try, so you waive over the bartender to place another order.
âExcuse me, could we get an order of chicken wings?â
The bartender scribbles something and walks away quickly, hardly acknowledging you the way he did earlier.
âYou know,â Jisung says. âMaybe the rain isnât such a bad thing.â
âWhyâs that?â
âIâve been talking to the prettiest girl in this bar for the last 30 minutes. Beats being stuck in traffic any day.â
You feel your whole face turn a bright shade of crimson as he grins flirtatiously. Of course, the other way around stands true, too; his features resemble that of a modelâs, and you're pretty sure the other girls in the bar have been eyeing him since you walked in.
Before you can respond, the bartender returns, setting a plate down in front of you and some silverware.
âEnjoy,â he says plainly, and he blinks a few times before leaving again.
âJeez, itâs like he doesnât even want to work here,â you tell Jisung.
He says nothing in response- he simply slides the plate over to you, ushering for you to choose a piece.
And you do, carefully balancing the saucy cut between your forefinger and thumb as Jisung taps his against yours.
âCheers,â he says happily. âTo the rain.â
The chicken is the best youâve had in a while- in fact, you canât recall having better food at any bar before this.
âWow, you were right, Jisung. this is phenomenal!â
âItâs Minhoâs recipe,â he replies with a mouthful of food.
âWhoâs Minho?â
Jisung nods in the direction of the bar, where the bartender is cleaning off a glass with a white towel. He raises his eyebrows once at you, as if to confirm heâs indeed the topic of conversation, and you turn back to Jisung.
âItâs really good,â you say loudly, with the intention of Minho hearing your compliment.
But Minho doesnât respond, instead sauntering over and refilling your Diet Coke. His eyes visibly avoid yours, guarded, like you might instigate another quarreling match with him at any given second. But he also blinks rapidly as he pours your beverage, almost as if heâs trying not to say something himself. You analyze his mannerisms briefly, before brushing them off and enjoying your food again. Heâs probably just still peeved from earlier.
âDo you want to play a round of pool?â Jisung interrupts your thoughts. âNot to scare you, but Iâm kind of terrible at it.â
His eyes form little crescents as he laughs loudly, and the gloomy vibe in the bar seems to brighten from the sound alone.
âYeah, Iâd love that.â
Three rounds in, Jisung is practically sober again, reeling off the high from winning three times against you. He might be terrible, but youâre evidently far worse than he claims to be.
âIf I win this match, you let me take you out on a date. How does that sound?â Jisung says through laughter, though heâs entirely serious about the proposal.
Your cue stick prods at his ribs as you smile back in agreement. âAnd if you lose?â
âI wonât lose,â Jisung retorts. âMight as well pick a restaurant now.â
Itâs a failure already, Jisung having only two stripes left while youâre still stuck with all 8 solids. He takes his aim at the cue ball, halting his laughter briefly to position his cue stick, and then cheering loudly as the ball disappears into its nearest hole. You watch with bated breath as he repeats the process, only this time, he misses.
âHey,â you whine. âYou only brought up our proposal midway through this round. At least I deserve a chance card!â
He scoffs. âPick a chance then. I doubt itâll get you 7 balls closer to your competition.â
You scan the room in deep thought, one hand resting under your chin and atop the cue stick; and then, the idea hits you.
âHeâll play for me,â you announce, nodding toward the direction of where Minho is wiping down the counter with a rag. He looks up momentarily, furrowing his brows when he notices the shared looks of you and Jisung.
âGet over here!â Jisung shouts, and a few patrons of the tables nearby encourage the invitation, cheering and applauding.
âNo,â Minho says as he shakes his head shyly. âIâm busy.â
âThereâs literally no one around,â Jisung retorts. âCome on, I know you can try at least once.â
âHeâs scared heâll lose,â you chime in. âAnd then youâll have to take me out on a date.â
You swear you see Minhoâs eyes narrow, and then he dries his hands with the same rag before setting it down.
âOne round only. If I win, you tip double.â
âDeal,â says Jisung, and you watch Minho strut over to the table.
Heâs taller than you assumed, towering over you in a black pair of slacks that lengthen his muscular legs. In preparation, Minho cuffs up his sleeves a few more times, buttoning them at the forearm and loosening his collar. You try your hardest not to stare, but itâs a seemingly impossible task, you quickly realize, as he takes your cue stick and positions himself over the table. One loose strand of brown hair falls into his face, and you resist the urge to move it out of the way for him.
The tables nearby are quiet as Minho pulls back, and then aims, the first of your solids rolling into the hole with ease.
âOh fuck you,â Jisung groans, and Minho positions himself over the next target. Aim, roll back, perfect shot.
Tables around you begin to gather around yours, watching silently as Minho repeats his method. Aim, roll, shoot. The heavy sound of a solid rolling down the velvety surface, and the satisfying plink as it finds its home inside the hole.
Only two solids remain, and Jisung rests his head on his cue stick as Minho takes aim again. âI canât watch. Someone tell me if he gets it.â
Aim⊠roll⊠and double plink- both solids disappear into the hole beneath them, effectively ending the match between the two. The patrons clap and cheer loudly, and Jisung throws his hands in the air, groaning in annoyance. âFuck, man! You didnât say you knew how to play pool?â
Minho shrugs, not a hint of a smile on his face as he retrieves the balls and organizes them on the table again. Jisung slides him a twenty, and he shoots you a quick glance, nodding once as he leaves the table and disappears back into the kitchen. You wonder again what heâs thinking about, briefly worried youâve annoyed him by pulling him away from his work.
âHey,â Jisung says, snapping you out of your tranced state. âDid you want to⊠maybe⊠get out of here? I know a hotel just a few blocks from the bar. We can walk fast.â
You think it over momentarily, weighing your options. The rain has no intention of stopping anytime soon, and youâre dying for a shower at this point. Youâre also persuaded by the idea of a warm bed- not to mention, a warm body, for the night.
âSure! Iâm just going to run to the bathroom, Iâll meet you outside.â
*
The reflection in the mirror looks rough, staring back at you like this, desperately fixing the smudged makeup to the best of your ability and spritzing perfume. Itâs been a while since you hooked up with a random person- especially one from a dive bar like this, but somehow you trust him. Heâs funny, sweet, and heâs undoubtedly attractive. Plus, maybe a hookup will distract you from the current state of things.
When you exit, you make your way past the barstools, thanking Minho briefly. His lips curl up into a hint of a smile, and you canât help but feel bad for him- heâs stuck in this shitty bar regardless, dealing with obnoxious patrons seeking shelter from the storm and cleaning up after their drunken messes. He may be a little rude, but itâs deserved, you think, as he cleans off your dishes.
Finally exiting the bar, you look around for Jisung, shielding your eyes from sheets of rain and squinting against the dark sky. The only source of light is a hanging light beside the wooden bar sign, and it illuminates nothing past your immediate eyesight.
âJisung?â You call, being met only with the sounds of heavy rainfall and swaying leaves.
âJisung?â
The wind blows violently, and you wrap your arms around yourself, shivering against the brutal cold. A man enters the bar beside you, keeping the door open and ushering you inside. And you do enter again, marching straight to the bar to search for Jisung.
*
âExcuse me,â you say to Minho, who is busy preparing a beer on tap for another patron. âDid you see the man who was here earlier? Tall, black hair, suit?â
âYou mean Jisung?â He says without looking at you, and you perk up at his name.
âYes! Did you see where he went?â
âYeah,â Minho replies dryly. âI told him you changed your mind about him.â
âYou- what?â
Minho says nothing again, filling another mug of beer and sliding it across the counter to a patron.
âWhy the fuck would you do that?â
âHeâs bad news,â Minho shrugs.
The words circle in your head for a good minute while you make sense of them. Minho ruined your chances at going home with Jisung- because heâs âbad newsâ? What does he even know about him?
âWhy do you say that?â The question escapes your lips before you can ponder a more insightful one.
âI know him,â he replies casually. âLike I said- bad news.â
Frustration builds up steadily inside of you, turning your ears a bright shade of crimson and knitting your brows together in pure confusion.
âWho are you to determine that? Youâre just a bartender! Itâs none of your damn business who I leave with!â
He slaps a palm on the counter, not particularly hard, but enough to startle you a little.
âActually, it is. I have a legal obligation to ensure my patrons donât leave here inebriated behind a vehicle, or with strange men. And I saved you from the latter. You should be thanking me.â
âThanking you?â You scoff. âSince I walked in here youâve been nothing but a complete douche! Thereâs nothing to thank you for.â
âThen donât,â Minho says. âI did my part either way.â
You stutter momentarily, settling on silence as he exits back to the kitchen and leaves you standing at the counter. The current state of things feels much like they did when you first entered- drenched from the rain, frustrated, and annoyed with the bartender. Only now, you can add cockblocked to the list, all thanks to Minho.
*
Two hours past the incident, your phone is completely dead. Itâs just past 11 when the rain stills just for a little bit, and hoards of patrons file out of the bar to complete their short trips home. You remain stuck however, knowing the rain will pick up again if you attempt the six hour drive back right now. The bar is nearly empty at this hour, only two people sat at a far table, and the quiet swing of jazz music is now audible from your little booth. The peeling leather of the red seats below you is rather itchy, and the dim lantern hanging over you gives an orange-ish glow to the wooden table beneath you. You scribble mindless doodles on a stack of napkins in front of you, trying your best to pass the agonizing time spent here.
As you finalize the petals of a messy flower drawn on the napkin, a plate is set down in front of you, along with a glass of what you presume is Diet Coke. The smell instantly makes your mouth water- a cheesy omelet coupled with a side of french fries, steam still wafting off the plate and up into the glow of the boothâs lighting. You look up to see none other than Minho, and before you can protest, he slides into the booth across from you, setting a fork down on your napkin.
âYou should eat,â he says. âItâs been a while.â
âIâm not hungry.â
âItâs on me,â Minho emphasizes, and you finally look up from your drawing.
âLook,â he begins. âJisung has been coming here for years. Heâs a cool dude, I get it.â
âYeah, well, itâs not exactly like I have a chance with him anymore,â you turn back to your drawing.
âHeâs also married,â Minho finishes.
At that, your head snaps up at him, eyes widened in shock.
âWhat? But he said-â
âYeah, thatâs what he always says. Itâs kind of his thing- picking up girls from the bar and taking them to that one hotel. I told you, heâs bad news.â
Silence washes over the booth as you swallow nervously. He shrugs apologetically, fiddling with his fingers as you begin to speak.
âSorry. I didnât know.â
âI know you didnât. I just didnât want you to come back here crying tomorrow morning like the last girl did.â
It hits you like a ton of bricks- Minho really was looking after you. Youâd almost left this strange dive bar, in the middle of nowhere, to sleep with a married man in a sketchy hotel. In hindsight, it was stupid you ever agreed.
âAt least eat some fries,â he says, and you remember the plate in front of you. You comply with his request, taking a bite of the still-warm fries which almost melt on your tongue.
âThese are really good,â you tell him. âHe was right about the food, at least.â
âIâm kind of a big deal here,â Minho says as he leans back. He smirks- the first time youâve seen an expression on his face tonight.
âIâm sure. How did you get so good at pool, anyway?â
âI work at a dive bar,â Minho says. âGirls ask me to play with them all the time.â
âDo they now? Your reluctance earlier says otherwise.â
âOh they do,â Minho says. âWhen theyâre as shitty as you, Iâm the chance card.â
âHey!â You shout. Minho giggles, his head thrown back as his eyes form little crescents in amusement. His laugh makes you laugh, too, the musical sound of it making your heartbeat quicken a little. Itâs melodic and lighthearted, and you almost forget youâre stuck with him in this hell of a bar. Thereâs a glow to him at this time of night.
âRun it back,â you say as his laughter dies down. âAnd Iâll show you Iâm not entirely terrible.â
âBetter hope you donât lose,â he says. âYou wonât have a chance card this time.â
*
You still suck at pool. Minho clears the table in two quick rounds, and youâve barely had time to practice with your cue stick because itâs hardly ever your turn.
âAlright,â Minho says. âIâll let you have this turn. Itâs boring watching you stand there all night.â
You approach the table, positioning your cue stick and taking aim at your first solid of the match.
âUse your thumb on the front hand,â he chimes in.
âLike this?â
âNo, it should be between your thumb and pointer finger.â
âLike Iâm pinching it?â You ask confused, and Minho chuckles.
âHere.â
Before you can adjust your cue stick again, Minho is behind you, one hand finding yours at the front of the cue stick and positioning it between your thumb and pointer finger like he explained. His hands are cold to the touch, and youâre intimidated having him this close to you. The other hand gently grips your elbow, moving it back a little as he scans the current trajectory. His face is dangerously close to yours, hair falling beautifully into his eyes as he moves, lips parted in concentration and the gentle flutter of his eyelashes as he blinks.
âThere. Try now.â
You do as he instructs, rolling back and taking aim at your solid. Aim, shoot⊠and the familiar roll of your ball across the table. Only this time, itâs followed by the satisfying sound of falling into its respective hole.
âOh my gosh!â You exclaim. âThatâs only the third one Iâve gotten tonight!â
Minho chuckles, amused with your ardent reaction. âYour aim isnât bad at all. Itâs just your positioning.â
He turns to smile at you, momentarily unaware of how close he is to you. Heâs towering over you, lips pulled into a mischievous grin as your eyes glimmer, still reeling off the high of scoring. For a brief second, your eyes flicker down to his lips, maybe a little too obviously, and then back up at his eyes.
âI should probably get back to the kitchen,â Minho says nervously. âI think that table ordered drinks like one round ago.â
âYeah,â you reply, a little hurt that heâs leaving again. âIâm pretty tired, anyway.â
âYou want something else to eat?â
âIâm fine, thanks. Good luck with work, though!â You avert his gaze fully now, mentally tracing the pattern on the rug below you.
When Minho leaves, you canât help but mentally scold yourself. Heâs just a bartender- one whose job is to serve you drinks and keep you out of trouble here. Not some friend to stand around and play pool with, regardless of how good he is, or hypnotizing it feels when he touches you.
*
At 1am, the bar is officially empty. The last few patrons leave after a round of gin vodkas, somehow getting an Uber despite the storm and leaving home for the night. You debate getting a room at the nearby hotel, but thereâs no way youâll be able to reserve a room this late, and your phone is still dead. It would probably be smart to attempt some method of getting home, but a part of you strangely doesnât want to leave the bar anymore. It feels like a vessel into another universe, like time doesnât exist here, like the storm or the ride home arenât important as long as youâre sat in this little booth. Youâre well aware the bar closes in an hour, but youâd rather wait until the hour to decide what to do.
Of course, part of it could be the bartender. You donât want to like Minho, but you canât quite make sense of him, either. Heâs attractive, but reserved. Heâs outgoing, but he has his guard up. And his walls break down when heâs enjoying himself, but he builds them up quickly again, and you canât understand what triggers it. Heâs much like the bar is- safe and homely, yet mysterious and alluring.
As you take a sip of your Diet Coke, neck craned to watch the show playing on the tv above you, a familiar face scoots into the booth across from you.
âSubway,â he says.
âWhat?â
âJeopardy. Restaurants by slogan: Eat Fresh. Itâs Subway.â He's referring to the episode of Jeopardy youâve been watching for the past half hour.
âEveryone knows that,â you say with a smile.
You expect him to defend himself, but instead he laughs and shakes his head.
âEither our diet cokes are really good, or youâre not in any rush to get home.â
You sigh, swirling your straw around your third can of Coke and shrugging.
âI canât make it home in this rain. The roads are closed going my direction, anyway.â
âWhereâs home?â
âFar from here. In the city.â
Minho sits back comfortably now, arms crossed in front of him as he listens to you speak.
âCity girl. I guessed it.â
âWhat gave me away?â You ask with a smile.
âiPhone charger request. And you drink Diet Coke exclusively.â
âI donât like to waste my calories!â You argue.
âYouâre in a dive bar.â
The two of you share laughter at your admission, and you can feel your cheeks heat up again. He sure knows how to make you laugh.
âIâll probably get a motel room for tonight,â you say. âI think thereâs one walking distance from here.â
âThe nearest one is a shithole. Iâm pretty sure someone died there, like, a few months ago.â
You exhale deeply, poking around at your drink with your straw.
âI have work on Monday. I have to get some shut-eye or I wonât be able to get home even if it does stop raining.â
Minho glances around the bar, observing the vacant tables and empty parking lot.
âYah, Jeongin-ah!â He shouts suddenly, and a figure appears around the kitchen door, peering over at your table.
âYeah?â
âClock out,â Minho says. âWeâre closing an hour early.â
âAn hour? But what if-â
âNo one else is coming in this rain. Just grab your stuff And get home safely. Iâll handle the rest of the tables.â
Jeonginâs gaze darts over at you quickly, and then back to Minho, as he nods without saying another word. He disappears into the kitchen once again, presumably to gather his belongings.
âYou donât have to close on account of me,â you say finally, a little unsure of his motives. âI can walk to the motel from here.â
He scoffs, sliding out from the booth and gathering a stack of dirty dishes from the table beside you. âI told you, itâs not safe. You can chill here for the next hour while I do closing procedures, and if itâs still raining, I can at least give you a ride there.â
âWhy should I trust you?â You ask, hint of sarcasm present in your voice, but still cautious.
âTechnically you shouldnât,â he says with a smile. âBut youâre free to call the cops on me whenever you want.â
âNice try. My phone's dead.â You shoot him a smile, knowing heâs just messing with you, but wanting to entertain his little game nonetheless.
âBack room, third drawer in the file cabinet. There should be a phone charger there.â
You gasp and scoff. âI thought this wasnât a convenience store!â
âItâs not,â Minho says, flashing you a toothy smile as he makes his way to the kitchen and calls out over his shoulder. âItâs a dive bar. My dive bar.â
*
Minho scrubs grease off the plates while you dry mugs on the counter adjacent to him and arrange them neatly in a row.
âSo you havenât left this town in years?â You ask Minho, continuing the conversation youâve been having with him for the past 45 minutes.
âI drive to the city probably once a year,â he replies. âHate it.â
âWhy?â
âItâs too busy. I prefer simple. Simple people, simple places. A simple life.â
âHow can you say that when youâve never experienced it the other way around before?â
âHave you?â
âHave I what?â
âExperienced a simpler life. Outside of the city.â
âWell⊠kind of. I mean, I moved out the second I turned 18. Grew up in the suburbs, but I traveled to the city every chance I got. I always knew I wanted to be there.â
âSo youâve never lived without the notion of wanting to migrate as soon as possible?â
âI guess not.â
He wipes his forehead with the back of his arm.
âI grew up in the city.â
âYou did?â
âHated it,â Minho says.
âWhyâs that?â
âI was⊠easily distracted. Got involved with a lot of bad crowds. Never knew what I wanted. Worked as a private chef for a while, actually.â
You stop drying the mug youâre working on and look at him in utter shock.
âYou?â
âMe,â he affirms with a chuckle. âI quit one random day five years ago and moved out here with every penny I saved. Obtained ownership of this bar and havenât looked back since.â
You nod at his words, resuming your task as he shuts off the water.
âTakes some courage, Iâll give you that.â
Minho leans back against the counter and rests his hands on the table behind him. He smirks at you knowingly, and you can feel his eyes pierce through you out of your peripheral vision.
âWhat?â You say with a blushing grin.
âNothing,â he replies. âYou make a good employee here.â
âYeah, right,â you say sarcastically, lining up the last mug on the counter and turning around to face him.
âIâd probably start a fire with running water or something crazy.â
He laughs again, shaking his head as you cross your arms.
âI need to close up the registers,â Minho says. âYou want to hang out here until Iâm done?â
âSure,â you reply, and he bows slightly.
âIâll try to be fast.â
Minho leaves to the back office as you wipe your hands with a dish rag, smiling in a daze.
*
While Minho counts change in the office, you explore the place a bit, making your way around the pool tables to the back of the bar. Itâs then that you notice a tall staircase almost hidden away in a back corner. You slowly make your way up the stairs, tip-toeing so as not to startle Minho while heâs in the office closing up for the night. The creaky wooden stairs are muffled by the sound of the rain outside.
When you reach the top, you lean on the banister, looking down on the bar and taking in the view. It looks especially charming like this, illuminated only by the golden neon sign hung over the bar counter and reflecting off the big glass cabinets. Entrance through a small doorway leads to a single, dark room, and you turn on the dim light to explore the room.
There are only two things in the room- another pool table, visibly much older than the others downstairs, and an old arcade game. Upon closer inspection, you find that the game is a run-down version of Pac-Man, one of your favorite arcade games growing up. The giant yellow display is decorated with whimsical little drawings of Pac-Man and ghosts, and you canât help but crack a smile at the sight, remembering the days you used to play as a kid.
You try the on switch, being met with a buzzing noise and the glow of red marquee lights, but nothing appears on the screen. Bummer, you think to yourself.
âItâs never turned on,â a voice says behind you, and you let out a shout, startled at the sudden noise.
When you turn around, Minho is standing with his hands in his pockets, a black blazer thrown over his button up shirt and a bag slung over his shoulder.
âGot it as a donation a few months ago and itâs lived up here ever since. I think itâd be a hit, if it actually worked.â
You turn back to the machine, observing the gentle hum from the static on the monitor display.
âItâs probably something with the PCB,â you reply, and Minho turns to look at you.
âThe what?â
âThe printed circuit board,â You repeat, setting your purse down on the floor beside you. âYou have a screwdriver?â
Minhoâs brows furrow together in confusion, but he nods slowly. âYeah, sure.â
He leaves momentarily and returns with the requested tool, watching as you drop to your knees and unscrew the door to the cabinet.
âThe lights turn on, which is a good thing,â you explain to him. âMeans the monitor is still in good condition. So Itâs probably just slowed down with general wear.â
When the cabinet door is off, Minho leans back against the pool table and observes as you pull out little parts from the myriad of pieces along the circuit.
âI figured,â You say, sitting back with a tissue in hand. âThe EPROMs and ROMs are all warped.â
You pull a bobby pin out from your hair, gently wiggling the pins back in place before cleaning them off with a tissue.
Minho is lost as he watches you, mouth agape at the level of focus in your expression, tongue poking out between your lips as you move with purpose and determination. He realizes he may have undermined you this whole time, thinking secretly youâd crave a simpler life, when all along it was your intelligence and wit that drew you to the city. Youâre as complex as the city, he thinks. You canât be confined within the safety of these four walls like he can. And maybe heâs complex, too. But heâs not sure of himself the way you seem to be.
When youâre finished wiping down the acronyms of pieces, you fit them back in and screw back on the door. Minho watches curiously as you plug in the machine again, reaching around the frame for the switch and flipping it on.
The familiar hum of the screen starts up again, only this time it flashes a bright white color, and then displays PAC-MAN as soft music begins to play.
âHoly shit,â Minho says with a breathy chuckle. âThat would've been thousands to get repaired.â
âTake it as a thank you,â you say. âFor helping me out tonight.â
You hoist yourself up on the pool table and gesture to the display as he stares in awe. âTry it!â
Minho presses the red START button, chuckling when the familiar tune starts up and the game begins. He makes it through a few rows before getting eaten by a pixelated ghost, groaning when the game flashes GAME OVER and starts up another round.
But he doesnât resume playing, instead turning around to face you with an unmoving expression.
âItâs drizzling,â he says, looking past you out the little window.
âMhm,â you reply, though youâre not registering a word he's saying anymore. Heâs dangerously close to you again, eye-level with you while youâre sat atop the pool table and not taking your gaze off him.
He seems to be trembling with anticipation, his gaze flickering down to your lips and back up to your eyes, hoping youâll notice the motion and do something, anything with it.
âWe should probably get going,â You say in a whisper.
He swallows cautiously. âYeah.â
âRight now that the rain is a little lighter.â
âYeah,â he says again, though neither of you make any move to leave.
âThanks for tonight,â you reply, your eyes fully locked on his lips now.
Minho begins to say something, but his voice hitches in his throat, instead opting to swallow and and take a single step forward. And before you can say another word, his face tilts in front of you, gently pressing his lips to yours.
He kisses you gently, but he doesnât waste any time, hands caressing your waist in his embrace and pressing up against you. He tastes like mint, his tongue mixing the flavor with the taste of Diet Coke still in your mouth. When he pulls away, he says nothing, searching your expression for a sign of how youâre feeling. You say nothing, too, eyes flickering over his serious gaze and waiting for him to break the silence.
When he still doesnât talk, you reach out to grab his collar, pulling him toward you again. You kiss him first this time, slipping your tongue inside his parted lips to taste him fully, gripping his collar like you might lose him if you let go.
âFuck,â Minho says, pulling away and breathing heavily. He squeezes his eyes shut, a nervous expression tugging at his lips.
âWhatâs wrong?â
âI donât do this,â Minho replies. âWith patrons. I just⊠I donât know what got into meâŠâ
His words trail off as you work little kisses down his jawline and neck, nibbling over his clavicle and humming greedily against him.
âWhat if I wanted you to?â
Minho stares at the ceiling as you work him, breath hitching in his throat as you trail even lower.
You pull away from him, tilting his gaze down to meet yours with a hand on his cheek.
âSay you donât want to kiss me again,â you clarify. âSay it, and Iâll stop.â
His eyes narrow, piercing through yours as his hands rest gently on your upper thighs.
âI donât want to kiss you,â Minho says seriously.
Your heart drops instantly, the anticipation that had built up pending his answer quickly fizzling as his words pierce through you. Your throat is dry, dozens of questions circling your mind, but nothing that comes to fruition amidst your disappointment. Guess it wasnât the way youâd read into it all night.
âOkay.â Your voice is shaky, doing nothing to mask your disappointment.
âI donât want to kiss you,â Minho says again quickly, his thumbs tracing circle patterns on your thighs. He leans in again, lips just barely grazing over yours as he speaks in a whisper. âI want you right here, on this table, right now. I want to do a lot more than just kiss you.â
Your heartbeat resumes, pulsing wildly as he scans your face for a reaction. You donât grant him one through your facial expressions- rather, you pull him in by his collar once again, closing the gap between you and kissing him even harder this time. You can feel Minho smirking into the kiss, amused with how desperate you are at the simple admission.
His hands snake up your sweater, grabbing desperately at your lower back and pressing into you with his hips. Instinctively, your legs wrap around his waist, neck craned to the side for easy access while he begins to work kisses down your neck now.
âYou really suck at pool,â Minho says as he smiles against your skin. His lips find yours again, giving you repeated chaste kisses as you tangle your hands in his hair. His lips feel familiar on yours- almost like youâve done this a hundred times before. You canât imagine a version of him you werenât kissing like this.
âYouâre calculated,â you say, smiling as you loosen the black tie around his neck.
âHow so?â
âNo phone charger, you only agree to play pool when a date with Jisung is on the line, and youâve gotten me to stick around this long? Youâre not as slick as you think you are.â
Minho throws his head back a little, his eyebrows arching as he laughs loudly.
âYou might be a genius at fixing arcade games, but you donât have everything figured out the way you think you do.â
âOh yeah? And whyâs that?â
He pulls away again, completing your task of loosening his tie, and then discarding it completely on the table beside you.
âIt stopped raining 15 minutes ago,â he says slyly. âAnd suddenly youâre in no rush to go home anymore.â
His eyebrows are raised as his hands caress your thighs, moving higher until heâs grazing your hip bones with his fingertips. You donât reply, suddenly hot at his words, and knowing heâs in fact entirely correct about it. Itâs the opportunity youâve been waiting around for all night- a break in the rainfall to get back to your car and make it to a hotel for the night. But paired against the other opportunity right in front of you- the one wearing nothing but a loosened white shirt and a devilish smirk on his face, you canât do much but resort to the latter.
âYou gonna spread for me?â Minho asks in a gentle teasing tone, his voice much quieter than before as your breath hitches in your throat. You nod, disregarding his first statement and doing as youâre told, slipping off your jeans and opening your legs just enough so that he can move his fingertips to graze your inner thighs. It feels dirty like this, so sinful for your skin to make contact with the velvety table below you. But youâre too dazed with lust, completely encapsulated by his movements to do anything except obey him.
âGood girl,â Minho replies, and your heartbeat quickens at the praise.
His hands dance in gentle back and forth motions along your thighs, gradually getting closer to your core, until his middle finger rests gently atop your clothed clit.
Your eyes dart down to his hand briefly, waiting desperately for him to touch you, to kiss you, anything.
âLook at me,â Minho says.
And you do, making eye contact again with his cold stare, piercing salaciously through your doe eyes.
Another smirk grows on his face as he crouches lower, and lower, dropping to his knees until heâs eye level with your aching pussy.
âPleaseâŠâ you say, resting your weight back on your palms and spreading your legs further for him. Your breaths are labored, eyebrows arched up at just the thought of his tongue on you.
âPlease what?â
âPlease, would you⊠eat me out?â You request quietly, somehow internally panicked that heâll decline.
But he doesnât- instead he loops a finger through your underwear, pulling down in a sudden motion, eyes widened at the sight of you like this. Youâre swollen with arousal, clit visibly quivering at the proximity of his breath against your folds. Your pussy is deliciously sopping for him, glazed juices painting your cunt all for him.
âGod,â he breaks the silence. âYouâre soaking. I could probably put it in now and youâd take it, wouldnât you?â
You donât answer him, tucking strands of hair behind your ears and looking down on him with anticipation.
âOkay,â Minho says with a slight chuckle. âJust relax for me.â
And without wasting another minute, his hands find purchase on your knees, scooting you closer to the edge of the table before finally burying his face in you. His tongue licks a long stripe along your pussy, smiling at the taste, before his lips latch themselves around your clit and suck harshly.
Your eyes roll back almost instantly, completely lost in the sensation of his tongue gliding back and forth over your folds like a starved animal. His plump lips remain latched to your clit, suckling with lewd wet noises and basking in the flavor of your arousal for him. As your legs tremble with pleasure, your hands quickly find themselves tangled in his hair, grinding him up against you and using his face to satisfy the delicious ache between your legs. Minho is well aware of your desperation, pulling away mere centimeters to grin at your reaction.
âDonât stop,â you say, massaging his tresses in encouragement to keep going. Minho chuckles, this time latching on to your bundle of nerves with a gentle graze of his bunny teeth. He nibbles tenderly, eyes rolling up to watch your reaction as you sense the shift in his actions.
âOh my god,â you breathe out frantically. âThat feels so fucking good."
Minho smiles into your pussy, giving one small lick with his tongue before utilizing his velvety lips on your clit once again.
âMmhâŠâ he hums into your pussy, sending divine vibrations that tickle your arousal and instinctively make you moan for him.
âYou taste so good,â Minho says between suckling. âI wanna make you cum for me.â
You nod down at him, rubbing little circles on his scalp and throwing your head back when he dips his tongue into your entrance.
âOh god!â
At first he takes little kitten licks at your entrance, coming back up to kiss your clit repeatedly while you wait in anticipation. And then he brings a hand up to your entrance, sliding one finger in and working it around your pussy as he continues the unwavering attention on your bundle of nerves.
âYeah, just like that,â you encourage him.
âYou like it when I do both at once?â Minho inquires with a knowing smile.
âYes, fuckâ you can hardly answer him between the high-pitched moans that fill the dark room.
âLike when I fill you up?â A kiss on your clit. âLike when I taste you?â He laps at your folds. âLike when I fuck you like this?â Two fingers pump in and out of you now, smearing your arousal back on your clit which he wastes no time lapping up on his tongue.
âYes, fuck Minho! Please, Iâm gonna cum-â
âCum, then. Want you to make a mess on my face.â
His fingers pump at an even faster pace while he sucks your clit between his teeth and emits a deep moan against your wetness. The vibration of his voice gives attention to the rest of your aching pussy, which finally contracts desperately around his fingers as you leak cum on his tongue. Minho licks you clean, chuckling against you when he takes your clit between his teeth again and hears you gasp in overstimulation.
Both of you say nothing as he stands back up, eye-level to you once again, his chin glazed in your juices. He rests his hands on your thighs as he did before, leaning in to press a sweet kiss on your lips and smile against you. Your hands toy with his belt buckle, tracing the pattern in your fingertips before slowly undoing the buckle and snaking the belt out from the loops on his trousers.
âLet me return the favor?â You ask against his lips, and he takes a sharp breath when you unzip his pants.
âCan I be honest?â Minho replies, and you pull away to look him in the eyes. His round eyes are dark, hooded with lust and curiously peering back at you.
He grins sheepishly, massaging your thighs with the palms of his hands as he speaks. âI think Iâve been hard for you the second you walked in here.â
The words make your heart flutter, suddenly much more aware of his contact against your skin, an insatiable desire to satisfy him and let him do whatever he may please.
Maybe you were the one mistaken all night- maybe Minhoâs curt attitude and cold demeanor wasnât in fact discourteousness at all. Perhaps he was just as drawn to you as you were to him. And now here you are, each drawn to the other like moths to a burning flame, eager to explore and make the fleeting moment last in any way you could.
You laugh at his admission, moving strands of hair out from his face and tucking your face in the crook of his neck, where he presses a chaste kiss to your temple through nervous laughter of his own.
âYeah?â You say finally. âWhat are you going to do about it?â
Minho narrows his eyes with a challenging expression, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you off the table, where he now towers over you and intertwines his fingers with yours.
âTurn around,â he orders candidly. Your heart flutters again at the implication- him ordering you around like this when heâs already satisfied you once. But the tone he maintains is both sweet and inviting, and you know his intentions are the same as yours.
You follow his command, facing the pool table as he presses you against the edge, arms wrapping around your waist and peppering your shoulders in little kisses.
His hands snake up your sweater, where he now cups your breasts in his large palms and unclasps your bra. Once youâre bare, you hear him pull down his trousers, the muffled sound sending chills down your spine. If you werenât dripping with anticipation before, you certainly are now. Minho latches his lips onto your throat, suckling just enough to mark purple bruises along your neck and collarbones. Part of you wants to deny him the little pleasure, reminding him that you have work on Monday and you canât show up looking like you spent the weekend at a frat party. But the way his skewed front teeth nibble at your flesh stings delightfully, and you canât bring yourself to protest it.
Itâs then that you feel him behind you- his erection pressing into your upper thigh. He pushes into you with force, grinding softly on your skin and moaning against your neck when he feels you lean back into him.
One of your hands reaches out to palm him over the fabric of his boxers, and he lets out a soft whimper at the contact.
âJesus,â he says âI canât wait anymore. Prop your leg up for me, baby. On the- yeah, just like that.â
He guides you with one hand, moving your thigh up so that he has better access to your cunt as he palms himself more with his other hand.
âIs this okay?â Minho asks, now freeing his cock from his boxers and tapping gently at your entrance. The sensation of his bare flesh against yours has you in a daze, desperate to be filled up by him.
âMhm,â you say, drunk off the feeling of him behind you like this.
âGonna put it in now, okay?â
âYeah,â you say, breathing heavily as he jerks himself a few times. And without another minute to spare, heâs sliding himself inside of you, bottoming out almost instantaneously as your pussy takes him with ease.
âOh my god,â you breathe out. âYouâre so big.â
Minho smiles against your neck, pressing one chaste kiss and gathering your hair out from in front of your face.
He starts with gentle thrusts, panting in your ear and letting his hands wander all over your body as he moves. Your eyebrows arch up in pleasure, mouth agape as he picks up the pace, the wet sounds of his thrusting teeming all around you.
âGod, you take me so well,â Minho breathes. âYouâre so wet for me still.â
You can barely respond to him, one hand reaching up to tilt his jaw toward you so you can kiss him on the mouth again, your lips drooling with saliva and fucked-out with pleasure.
âIâm close,â Minho says into your mouth, pausing his thrusts momentarily to then pick up the pace again, much faster and with even more force.
âAh- me too.â
As he moves in and out of your sopping cunt, one of his hands sprawls out across your tummy, pushing down with gentle pressure as he thrusts. You feel your insides contract at the sensation, now much closer to your release.
âFuck, M-Min Iâm gonna,â
He smiles against your neck again, amused with your reaction to the little move.
âLet go,â he says breathlessly into your ear. âI know you can give me a second one.â
His hand pushes down a little more, now tickling your insides with the constrained sensation against your abdomen.
And between his thrusts, you feel yourself let go around him, letting out a series of breathy moans as you cum on his still-moving cock. Only this time, you let go of everything, trickling fluids over him and the edge of the table, soaking the floor with remnants of you.
Minhoâs orgasm follows just seconds after, breathing out melodic whimpers and moans as he feels you squirt, shooting ropes of his cum inside of you and fondling your breasts through his orgasm. He thrusts every last drop back into you, pulling out when he feels you shudder from overstimulation once again.
âSo beautiful,â he murmurs between kisses as he pulls out. âYou made a mess for me, baby.â
When youâre both finished, youâre quick to dress yourself, pulling your sweater back over your head and buttoning your jeans once again. Minho turns around while you get dressed, well aware that he was inside of you just minutes ago, but wanting to respect your boundaries now that youâre no longer being intimate. He gets dressed too, observing through the little window how the rain hasnât started again in the entirety youâve been up here. When youâre done, he turns back around, shooting you a little smile as you fix your hair.
âWhat?â You inquire, mirroring his expression as he stares back at you.
âWhere have you been?â Minho asks simply.
âHm?â
âWhere have you been all my life?â
You cock your head a little, not missing the way he blinks nervously a few times after asking the question.
âNot the suburbs,â you reply with a smile. âThatâs for sure.â
*
The gentle lull of jazz music rings through Minhoâs ears as he wakes, glancing around to take in his surroundings. Heâs sprawled out on the dingy red couch in the back room, still wearing last nightâs clothes, hair glued to his forehead under a sheen layer of sweat. The clamoring of dishes startles him, and he furrows his brows together in annoyance as he wipes his forehead with the back of his hand.
âMinho?â A voice says, and he shuts his eyes preemptively at the inquiry. âDid youâŠsleep here?â
When his eyelids flutter open again, heâs met with Jeongin, whoâs already showered and dressed for his noon opening shift, clutching the till in both hands as he observes Minhoâs disheveled state.
Beside him, the little folding table is in disarray, empty bottles of coke and peanut shells scattered everywhere. His mind goes back to last night- the arcade game, kissing you in the spare room upstairs. Fucking you over the pool table at ungodly hours of the night.
After youâd both finished, you agreed to stay in the back room downstairs until daylight when it was a bit safer to be on the road again. You and Minho chatted over diet cokes and a game of cards, between makeout sessions and desperate groping at each other in the dim light of the room. He wanted so badly to make love to you all over again, resisting the urge only because he didnât want you to think all of this was just for sex. And maybe it started that way, when he fled back to the kitchen after helping you adjust your cue stick during a round of pool in an attempt to hide his raging hard-on. But somewhere along the way, he was also encapsulated by you- by your endearing obsession with Diet Coke, your ability to carry a conversation with a total stranger in these circumstances, and undoubtedly, your unique talent at fixing things.
It was just past 5 when you left, doing a double-take at Minhoâs snoring figure to ensure he was actually asleep. You wanted to thank him- in fact, you stood over him for several minutes, playing the conversation in your head of how this would go.
âIâm leaving now- thanks for the life-changing sex and the free sodas. Call me if youâre ever in the city you despise.â
There was no good way to go about it- any which way, you knew that the two of you were destined for very different things, to live completely separate lives.
âYouâve never lived without the notion of wanting to migrate as soon as possible,â Minho had said to you earlier, and you knew he was right, even still longing to one day get out of this province, and maybe even this country. A simpler life scared you- exactly what Minho chased after. And perhaps by extension, chasing after Minho scared you, too.
The dive bar suddenly feels suffocating to Minho, still looming with the rotten scent of cigarettes and beers. For the first time ever, he feels boxed in, much too confined by the four walls and the foggy window at the back.
âIâm leaving,â Minho says, quickly gathering his bag and his blazer from off the floor.
âWhere are you going?â Jeongin asks, still holding the till and scanning Minho with a worried expression on his face.
Minho isnât sure where- in fact, heâs not quite sure about anything right now. All he knows is that youâve sparked something in him, something he hasnât felt in a long, long time. The days of working as a private chef paint vivid memories in his mind, days which he still had passion within him, trying new recipes late through the night and never ceasing to better his methods. A time that now feels one lifetime ago, much more complex in juxtaposition with this new life. Except maybe simple wasnât the solution all along- for once, heâs determined to bask in all your complexities, even if it means sacrificing everything he left the city to pursue.
âIâm going to the city,â Minho says, combing through his hair with his fingers.
âThe city? I thought you hated it there?â
Minho says nothing, sauntering to the door and fishing his car keys out of the drawer by the register.
âOh, and Jeongin-ah?â
âYes?â
âCall someone to move that arcade game downstairs.â
âThe Pac-Man one? It doesnât work-â
âIt does now,â Minho replies. âJust promise me itâll be down here when I get back.â
âSure thing. But- howâd you get it to work?â
And without looking back, Minho approaches the double doors, keys in hand, no particular destination in mind. The gray clouds have nearly cleared up by now, fresh hues of blue painting the vast sky that overlooks the day ahead. The city calls out to him from afar, bustling traffic and busy roads clouded in pollution. But this time, he answers, in hopes youâll be there, too.
*Part 2 out now, available here.
VIEWFINDER.
PART I
Seungmin x reader x Lee Know. (s,a)
Synopsis: An accidental reunion sets the sparks fly between you and Seungmin, but the relationship takes a turn at the end of the summer and you seek help from your frenemy, Minho. (13,7k words)
Author's note: I didn't mean to make it long but then I saw the word count and decided to put it into two parts. For the birthday boy, Seungmin x
đŒ Viewfinder playlist.
Summer is here.
The sun is shining so brightly on the clear blue sky and the air carries the smell of flowers along with its pollen, good thing that you're not allergic.
Another good thing is tomorrow is the beginning of summer break and you can put a hold on the stress of being a university student.
The bad thing is you don't have any plans on how you're going to spend it.
However, for tonight, you have a plan and you have to go home so you can get ready for it.
Your apartment is only a few blocks away from the university complex, you always ride your bicycle to and fro. You put your bag and books on the basket of your bicycle before unlocking the chain lock.
"Congratulations on getting the highest score on the quiz!" Someone says.
Even from how dark the shadow is and the insinuating tone in his voice, you can tell who it is.
You put both the lock and the chain inside the basket before turning around to see him, "Minho, should I be relieved or scared that I can't hear the slightest bit of sarcasm in the way you congratulate me?"
Minho is an enemy because the two of you are competing to be at the top of the class and everyone knows that. His smirk implies that it's the latter.
"I'm trying to be nice and you should too. Buy me drinks tonight?"
You also consider Minho as a friend since he's the only one who knows the pressure of being a devoted student and a great drinking partner.
"I can't. I have to meet Rina's new boyfriend," you tell him.
Minho knows you well enough that he understands right away. Another common thing you have with him is he also rides his bike to campus.
"Who is she dating this time?" He asks while backing the bike out of the rack.
You do the same and walk the bike out of the station, it's not safe to start riding it with people walking around.
"An artist and that's why she wants me to meet them at an art exhibition," you reply.
It's so nice riding through the warm, pleasant breeze and knowing that you don't have to study for weeks. You're paddling your bike slowly and savoring every second passed in freedom with Minho riding his bike next to you.
"Do you have any plans for the summer?" He suddenly asks.
You keep your head looking straight ahead, "Nope but I know I'll be seeing you in the library."
You glance at him and laugh, "It's the only way you can keep up with me," you add with a shrug.
Minho scoffs and slows down as both of you reach the intersection, "Be careful. Next thing you know I'll be steps ahead of you," he coyly taunts you.
You can't tell if he holds his handlebars so hard or if the veins on his arms are always evident like that when your eyes unknowingly land there.
You sneer and say, "That doesn't sound like a threat at all."
The lights turn green and this is when you go separate ways with him. He's turning right while you're going straight.
Before he makes a turn, he turns at you and says, "Just remember. You still owe me drinks!"
As much as you want to beat each other academically and have the same level of competitiveness, you both keep it fair and clean.
And that's why you consider Minho as the frenemy.
-
The outfit you're wearing is appropriate and appropriate is enough.
There are no limitations in art so seeing the other people dressed for the art exhibition doesn't surprise you at all. What surprises you is how old Rina's new boyfriend looks but you guess it's because of all the facial hair he has.
"I'm Joe," he introduces himself.
"Nice to meet you, Joe," you say with a nice smile.
"Have you looked around?"
"Not yet. I think Rina can show me around," You reply while sending signals at her with your eyes.
"Ah, sure, show her around, babe," he says to Rina, letting her go from his side.
Once you both out of his earshot, you grab Rina's elbow and ask, "How old is he?"
"Oh my God, I'm old enough to date whoever I want," she answers while grabbing two glasses of champagne from a tray.
"No, but seriously, how old is he?"
She hands you a glass and sips her drink, "He's only 31. Relax!"
You have mixed feelings about her dating a guy 10 years older than her but she's right, she's old enough to make a decision on her own.
After one sip of wine, you trick your brain that it's going to help you relax and it works like usual.
"This is his artwork," Rina says with a proud smile.
It's a puddle of mud on a canvas. You're raking your brain for a good minute and still have zero ideas of what it is about.
His boyfriend calls for her from across the room and Rina answers like the good girlfriend she is, "Wait, I have toâ"
"It's okay, you can go," you tell her and you are more than relieved to be left alone.
You look at it again and try to make the meaning of this messy piece of artwork when someone takes a stand next to you.
"Do you like it?" The stranger asks.
"Not... really," you doubtfully answer.
Maybe it's because you're a left-brained person, you're more adaptable to logical and orderly things that you can't see what it's all about.
"I understand paintings," you share, quietly tapping the floor as you speak, "but artworks like this..."
You dryly laugh at your incompetence and you know for sure Minho will have a good laugh at it if he knows but not this man, he's only staring back at you, waiting for you to finish talking.
"For example, I understand Dali's Persistence of Memory but The Lobster Phone? That, I'll never get it," you share another embarrassing thing about yourself, unprovoked.
It's better to stop talking and further embarrassing yourself. You look back at Joe's artwork and stare at it hoping to find nothing but to pass the time.
When you thought he would turn away and leave this awkward moment, he asks, "How about photographs?"
"Photographs?"
He nods, "I can show you some."
There's no harm in seeing some photographs, you may not get it but it's better than seeing a puddle of mud. Plus, this stranger seems nice and not judgemental.
"I'd love to see some photographs," you say.
He leads you to the other part of the gallery, walking through two big black curtains to enter a whole different exhibition.
The room is dark. The only source of light is coming from the lamps casting lights on each framed black and white photograph hung on the black-painted wall.
It's somehow atmospheric and intimate, it's quiet except for the low chatter of people discussing these photographs.
You saunter to the first photograph you see while he's there walking next to you, watching you taking a look at it with awe in your eyes.
It's just so pleasant to look at and maybe that's just what art is, it doesn't have to be boxed into one thing. You just meant to feel it, profoundly.
"It's amazing," you say with a dreamy sigh.
He senses that you're being earnest about what you said and smiles. He lets you take a look at it long enough that you start to immerse yourself in it.
"Perhaps, do you know what happened to Sisyphus?"
That gets you completely puzzled because why would he ask about a figure in Greek mythology out of the blue?
"Well, it's safe to say he's still rolling the boulder up the hill," You answer with a soft laugh.
He stays quiet for a while and sweetly smiles at you, a smile that makes him somewhat familiar like you've seen it before.
"I'll leave you to figure it out," he says, walking backward until his figure is engulfed by the darkness of the room.
You start to spiral, going over everything you said to him and trying to guess what triggers him to suddenly lose interest, you come down that it has anything to do with the answer you gave him.
You're greatly familiar with Greek mythology to know that he's condemned to infinitely roll a boulder up the hill for cheating the death twice. Must admit that Sisyphus is a slick guy but what has it got to do with all this? Is this his way of flirting? Is he even flirting at all? Who is this stranger?
To keep your mind distracted, you continue your tour around the exhibition and admire each photograph for capturing not only moments but so many emotions.
When you turn to the last wall, you only realize now that you don't know the name of the artist. You bend down to read the card under the photograph.
Kim Seungmin, it says on it and you swear you heard this name before.
You successfully recollect some of your earliest memories from when you were a kindergartner. You had a classmate named Kim Seungmin, he wears glasses and fluffy hair.
You laugh at it because it couldn't be that Kim Seungmin, right?
There's only one way to find out. You talk to someone who might have known him since she's deep in conversation with someone about the photographs.
"Excuse me, but is Kim Seungmin, the artist, perhaps here? Attending the exhibition?" You politely ask.
She seems to be displeased that you interrupt, she looks at you with eyes widening and says, "I'm pretty sure I saw you walked in with him earlier."
"Oh, you mean the guyâ" You stop talking altogether as it hits you.
Sisyphus! The Sisyphus he meant is the name of the rabbit you pet together in kindergarten. This only verified that he is the Kim Seungmin you know.
You look around the room for him but can't find him, you exit the exhibition to bump into Rina.
"I've been looking for you!" She says.
"Have you seen a guy with fluffy hair and he's wearing a leather jacket, cute but also cool at the same time?" You ask while craning your neck to spot him in the crowded room.
"That sounds like my boyfriend but he's not wearing a leather jacket so..." Rina answers.
You hold yourself back from groaning. It's typical Rina in love, so smitten, so all over him, and next thing she knows, she finds solace in a bucket of Ben and Jerry's cookie dough ice cream.
"Let's grab some more wine and have anotherâ"
Rina's voice becomes faint as you keep walking around the room hoping to see him again so you can tell him about Sisyphus the rabbit, that he died one year after Seungmin moved away. Unfortunately, there's still no sign of him.
"Rina,"
"Yes?"
"Is it okay if I leave early?" You ask, "You know how I feel about being in an event like this."
She knows that she's the extrovert and you're the introvert, your friendship is based on opposite attraction. She nods in understanding and says, "Be careful on your way home!"
You give her a hug and mutter, "Thank you!"
You make your way out of the gallery after saying goodbye to Rina's new boyfriend and see a group of people smoking outside and none of them is Seungmin.
The sound of someone revving the engine of a motorcycle startles you as you put on your cardigan. Your head snaps to the source of the sound and see that it's Seungmin.
You walk to the side of the road and open your mouth to call him, immediately refrain as he hands a helmet to a girl and most likely to get a ride from him.
So much for a sweet reunion! You can only watch as he drives away on his motorcycle.
The night takes a turn and you don't want to go home wallowing in this unexplainable feeling alone in your room. You pull out your phone to call someone.
The dialing tone is ringing as you walk to the side of the road and hailing a cab for you.
"I haven't slept yet but my worst nightmare is already calling," Minho says.
You can't see him but you bet he's smirking as he speaks, "I know it's past your bedtime but remember the drinks I owe?"
He catches up on your intention right away and with an exaggerated heavy sigh, he says, "Well, if you insist."
A taxi stops right in front of you and you open the door to the backseat, laughing as you say, "See you there!"
-
This is how your summer break starts: with a hangover.
The moment you open your eyes, you realize that that is not the only worst thing you do. You wake up and recognize that you're not sleeping on your bed.
A nerd recognized another nerd's bedroom from a shelf of books and another stack of them is on the bedside table.
"Ugh," you groan while rubbing your temple.
You can see the owner of the bed you're in standing, leaning against his desk sipping his coffee.
"What did you do to me?" You ask as you sit up on the bed.
He takes a small sip of his coffee and delightfully gasps, "Nothing but taking care of a drunk fellow."
You scoff and brush your hair to the back, can't think of what happened last night, "I mean, how did you get me drunk?"
He crosses his arms together in front of him and calmly responds, "You were the one who wanted to get drunk last night, not me."
The more you try to remember it, the more your head spins and turns your stomach queasy, "Can I have anything you're having right now?"
"We use the magic words here," he says with a sneering smile.
You sigh and put on a forced smile, "Please?"
Minho smiles in satisfaction and heads to the kitchen. You've been here before so you can navigate your way from bed to the bathroom to wash up. One of his cats aggressively meows when you accidentally cover her with the duvet.
"Sorry, cat!" You mutter, not quite remember their names since there are three of them.
Another cat walks past you as you open the bathroom door and you wash your face, not realizing there's a writing on your forehead until you see the reflection in the mirror.
Minho must had some fun writing "loser" on your forehead with a black marker, you rub it over with soap and water to clean it.
"You don't want to know what I would do to you if it was a permanent marker," you scold as you walk to the kitchen.
Minho is chuckling as he turns and places a plate of breakfast on the small dining table, "I may be mischievous but I'm not diabolical," he says.
It surprises you that he also cooked you scrambled eggs with toast when you only asked for a cup of coffee he was having, "This is not what I expected," you innocently comment as you pull a chair and sit on it.
"You asked whatever it is I'm having, right?" He refills his cup with more coffee.
You start with a sip of coffee and you can feel that the caffeine slowly works its magic, "I thought your usual breakfast would be Russian literature and the economic section of today's newspaper because you know...you're boring," you say with a scornful gaze.
Minho approaches you and puts one hand against the table, displaying his veined arms at you again.
"I'm offended that you said Russian literature is boring," he says, taking your eyes back to his face again.
You forget about what he said once you have a spoonful of the breakfast he made you, it's just egg but it's so good.
Another one of his cats jumps onto the table and nuzzles its head at Minho, asking to be petted and purring when he finally gives what it wants. He checks the time on his watch and says, "I'm afraid you have to finish your breakfast quickly!"
You bite your toast and glance at the clock on the wall, "It's summer. The library won't be open until 10."
He picks up his jacket from the coat hanger, "It's the first day of my summer internship and I can't be late."
Your mouth is full of food to properly speak but you don't want to skip the chance to tease him, "What? You have a Zumba class?"
He dryly laughs and puts his coffee cup into the sink, "I'll be working as Kim Edison for the summer."
"It can't be Kim Edison the columnist who recently won the journalism prize, right?" You ask with an uneasy smile.
Minho doesn't answer but gives you a suck-it smile that is a combination of smirk and evil smug and you hate it so much.
"I give you five minutes!" He shorty says.
With the little time he gives you, you shove as much food as you can and take a long gulp of steaming hot coffee, almost getting your tongue burnt in the process.
You regret having breakfast as Minho rides his bicycle fast as you sit on the back. You get queasy again from the bumpy ride as your hands hold onto the cardigan that you're using to cover your head.
Most of the students are away for the summer break but you don't want to risk being seen riding a bike with him while wearing last night's clothes.
"Stop fidgeting!" He scolds in front of you.
"I almost fell off to the back!" You scold back.
He makes a harsh turn and sends you tilting to the side, you reflexively holding on to his waist from letting that happen.
"You look faint," he cheekily says as he stops the bike right in front of your apartment building.
You can't feel your legs once you get off the bike, "ugh... thank you," you mutter, too nauseated to respond to his teasing.
He checks his watch again and grips the handlebars, "I have to go. Bye!"
Minho doesn't wait for your reply but paddles his bicycle as fast as he can. Guess, he's serious about the internship thing, and that makes you one step behind him.
New plan for the day besides curing your hangover: Find a summer internship.
"It's too late to find one," Rina says, breaking your spirit as you ask her if she knows anyone who needs an intern or something. She's very well connected in the social scene well, that's what an extrovert does best.
"Why are you still dressed in last nightâ oh, are you...?" She squints her eyes at you.
You would love to deny it but then you would have to tell her where you slept last night, keeping quiet is the best option.
"Why are you packing?" You shift the topic, seeing her packing her clothes into a suitcase.
"I'm going on a trip with Joe," she says with that stupid grin people in love have.
"You've been dating him for only a week, Rina!" You try to put some sense into her.
"So what? Things are going great and it's not like we have a plan for the summer anyway," she says.
"Then what about our movie marathon, having ice cream by the pier, and feeding ducks at the pond?" You list the things you like to do together besides hanging out in your shared apartment for the summer.
"Feeding the ducks is your thing," she says while rolling a folded towel.
She's right and when you think about it again, you can do those things not only in the summer. You should get on your laptop and find a summer internship because who knows?
"At least, tell me where you're going?" You ask as a good friend.
"We're going on a road trip and you know how it is with an artist, we're going to figure stuff out as we go," she gives you a concerning answer.
You bite your tongue to hold yourself back from saying harsh things with good intentions and choose to step back, "Well..." You think of something cheerful to say instead, "Take a lot of pictures and have fun!"
Rina smiles at you as she shoves her makeup into a pouch, "Thank you, babe!"
You're about to leave her bedroom when she remembers something, "I think I know a friend who needs a cat sitter," she says.
Your spirit descends again and before you can make it to your bedroom, the doorbell rings. You drag yourself to open it and are still surprised by his bushy facial hair.
"Oh, hi Joe!" You put on a smile.
"I came to pick up Rina," he says with a fatherly smile or maybe it's because you can't shake the thought that he's ten years older than both you and Rina.
"She's still packing in her bedroom," you open the door wider to let him in, "Come in, please!"
He steps inside and looks around the room, probably scanning for any artsy pieces in an apartment occupied by two college students.
"Coffee? Water?" You offer.
"I'd like a cup of coffee before hitting the road," Joe replies.
There's coffee left in the pot and you pour a cup for him, bringing it for him as he sits on the dining table. Something pops in your head as you hand him the coffee.
"Thank you," he says.
"Hey, Joe..." your palms are already sweaty even though you haven't asked anything.
He looks up after sipping his coffee, "Yes?"
"Do you perhaps know any of your artists' friends who needs... uhm, like an assistant or an intern for the summer?" You sound so awkward but he already gave you a weird look once he saw you're still wearing the dress from last night.
"Oh, I'm not sure but," he pauses to look at the contacts on his phone and scrolls down fast, "I'll ask around."
You hold your hands up at him, "Oh, no, no, no, it's okay if you don't know any I'm just..." you catch someone's name flashes on his contact list.
"You have Seungmin's phone number," you naively blurt out.
"The photographer? Yes, of course, we held the exhibition together," he says.
You hesitate to ask for his numbers and awkwardly smile at him.
"Do you know him?" He asks.
"He was a friend of mine. We went to the same kindergarten but he moved away, well, he and his family moved out of town, and last night, we met again after years andâ" You stop yourself from rambling on and on.
"That's so sweet. Here, let me give you his numbers so you can reconnect," he says, giving you his phone so you can send it to your phone.
"Thank you," you mutter while handing him his phone back.
After almost an hour and an impromptu make-out session by the doorway of her bedroom, Rina and his boyfriend finally leave the apartment.
She's dragging her big suitcase with her downstairs and you watch from upstairs as she waves at you before getting into the car.
"I'm leaving. Don't miss me. Don't forget to get out of the house," Rina knows how to embarrass you and make you feel sentimental all at once.
"Okay, Mom," you playfully respond and return her hand kisses.
-
The cold shower helps with the hangover but it doesn't help with the internship search.
Is everyone going out of town in the summer and leaving their pets because there are a lot of people looking for someone to take care of their pets?
For this once, you have to admit that Minho is one step ahead of you. He's deep in your head and you blame it for getting drunk last night.
You know what? You'll do what Rina told you to do and get out of the house to feed the ducks. You get up but sit back down on the chair as you glance at your phone.
You've been contemplating whether to call Seungmin or not. If you call, what are you going to say to him? Tell him that you asked for his numbers without his consent.
There you go again, overthinking things when you can tell him what happened to Sisyphus. You hit the call button right away, not leaving a second for your anxiety to slip in again.
Your heart is pounding while you're listening to the dialing tone... then it clicks and you hear the rustle of someone picking up the call.
"Seungmin?" You call his name right away just to confirm it's him and not the man with the same name as him.
"Sorry, who is this?" It's a voice that you don't expect to hear: of a girl.
"Oh, I must've called the wrongâ"
"No, you're right. It's Seungmin's phone but he's currently busy," she explains.
You should be happy that you are calling the right number but your spirit deflates instead, "Oh, that's okay, I'll justâ have a great day!"
You abruptly end the call and decide to settle on texting him about Sisyphus, he can use that information as he pleases. Well, you'd be disappointed if he didn't call you back but you try not to put too much hope on it.
Maybe you should have chosen to get out of the house and feed the ducks.
-
Something is weighing your chest as you get awakened by the sound of your phone ringing. You stare down and see a book resting on your chest, you must've fallen asleep while reading.
The room is dark, you're too lazy to turn on the lights so you grope around your bedside table for your phone to pick it up.
"Yes, hello?" You croak.
"It's me," Seungmin says.
Your eyes instantly snap open and you lift yourself to sit up on the bed, your fingers brushing your hair as if Seungmin were there and could see you.
"You called me earlier," he says.
"I hope you're not mad that I got your numbers from Joe, he's a boyfriend of my friend, heâ" You shut your eyes to keep your mind on track.
"I'm sorry I called you," you apologize even though you're not sure why.
"No, I'm glad you called and I'm glad you asked for my numbers," his voice sounds light and airy through the phone, pleasant to the ear.
You think of something to say without getting awkward, "You were busy when I called so... not sure if you're happy with that."
"Yeah, I was in the middle of doing a photo shoot," he explains with a low sigh.
"I'm sorry," you sincerely say. You were too focused on the girl who answered the call than the real reason why Seungmin couldn't pick up the phone himself.
"Stop apologizing," he says with a low laugh.
"Okay," you say with a smile.
"Can I pick you up for dinner?"
The offer comes so suddenly that you don't know how to respond to it. Frankly, you would say yes right away but you don't want to sound eager.
"I'd love that," you say.
"Send me your address and I'll pick you up."
Unlike you, Seungmin is not afraid to show how eager he is. "Now? Like right now?" You ask for confirmation.
"Yeah. Why?"
You check the time and it's 20 past midnight, you break into laughter because it means one of you is disoriented, "Seungmin, it's late."
There's a pause and then he lowly gasps, "Ah... I've been working all day and didn't notice the time."
"I mean I would love but you've had a tiring day already so..." you hate to reject him but you only need to be the one with initiative.
"How about tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow sounds great," he shortly replies.
"Do you still want me to send you my address?"
"Yes, that would be helpful."
He sounds sweet that your head is already filled with daydreams, "I'll see you tomorrow then?"
"See you tomorrow," he repeated.
"Okay."
"Okay."
A part of you don't want this to end but you have to leave room for him to fill himself.
"Goodnight, Seungmin."
"Goodnight."
Technically, the day has turned into tomorrow and you can't go back to sleep knowing that in mere hours, you'll meet him again on a summer day.
-
It's dinner so you have planned out what time you should shower, and do your make-up and hair, you already picked a dress to wear so that's one less thing to worry about.
Except that Seungmin came earlier than you thought and you were in the middle of doing your hair when he called, telling you that he's outside your apartment building. You dash to the window and look for him.
There he is, standing and holding his helmet in one with the afternoon sun shining down on him, making him look like a dream.
You awkwardly wave at him from the window and Seungmin smiles as he looks up at you.
"Come upstairs!" You tell him on the phone.
"Okay."
Did he grow a few inches since you met or... he just that tall and you only realize it now as you find him standing there behind the door.
"You're ready to go?" He brushes his hair that's already messy yet somehow it's only making him more attractive.
You snap yourself out of it and look away, "I just need to change."
"Okay," he says, sounding calm as usual.
You let him wait inside as you excuse yourself to change in your bedroom. You're already in the dress you planned on wearing but it's most likely that he's taking you on his motorcycle, you change into jeans and a peasant blouse for the sake of comfort.
"Okay, I'm ready now," you announce with a smile.
It will be the first you're riding a motorcycle, it doesn't have that much difference with riding a bicycle, right? Except that the other is with engine and not eco-friendly.
Seungmin hands you a helmet, the same one he lent to the girl that night at the exhibition but you are a grown-up and not going to act petty by refusing to use it.
"Let me help you," Seungmin helps you clip the straps together under your chin.
He fixes the hair covering your face and tucks it inside the helmet, "Safety is sexy!" He says with a flirty smile that flashes at you.
Seungmin gets on the motorcycle and turns on the engine, sending it roaring alive. He offers his hand as support as you climb on the motorcycle behind him.
It's like riding a bicycle, you remind yourself but all that is running through your head is of Minho giving you a ride home that morning.
You almost fall off to the back as Seungmin launches the motorcycle forward, only slowing down when there's an intersection ahead.
"You might want to hold on to me," his voice is muffled by the helmet he's wearing.
"Yeah," You can't hear what he says with the helmet wrapped around your head so tight and the sounds of traffic.
Seungmin takes your hand and puts it around his waist, "Hold on to me," he says louder.
"Okay," you nod to let him know that you can hear him this time.
With how fast he rides and your hand is fisting the front of his leather jacket, the gap between your bodies is close to nonexistent. Sitting behind him, letting you adore his square shoulders and you wish you could just rest your head on his back.
Instead of that, your helmet hits his as he brakes hard at the traffic lights, sending your body crashing into his back. You hurriedly scoot farther to the back.
Seungmin holds your hand before you can let go of your hold on his leather jacket, he holds on to it as he waits for the light to turn green.
He slows down as he rides through the suburban area, taking you somewhere you've never been even though you have lived in the city for years.
It feels nice to ride on a summer afternoon with the air softly caressing your cheeks and the sun feeling warm on your skin.
"I am gutted to know that Sisyphus died," Seungmin says in between bites of dinner.
"The homeroom teacher brought a rabbit that looked like him but I knew that it wasn't Sisyphus," you share and shove a spoonful of mashed potato into your mouth.
"Because he had that black dot on his nose, right?"
You cover your mouth to not let him see you talking while eating, "oh, my God! You remember!"
"Of course," he coyly says, "He was our child. How could I forget our child?"
Our child? Seungmin remembers that too. You and he used to play parents for Sisyphus. But you're going to blame the summer heat for making your cheeks heat.
"So uhm... how did you become a successful photographer?" You shift the topic or else your cheeks are going to explode.
"I sort of... going into it by accident. I was studying abroad for law then I joined the photography club and everything happened," he concisely explains with the always calm yet cool facial expression.
"Everything happened," you repeated with a low laugh.
He takes a sip of water and reclines on his chair, "Just like we happened to meet again."
There is the smile again. It's sly yet nice, flirty yet sweet. He makes you all kinds of things with just one smile.
"I'd love to take your pictures," he says out of the blue.
You shake your head and shyly laugh, "I don't think that's a good idea."
"I think it's the best idea," he makes it sound like it's not a request but an order.
The early dinner you had allowed you two to spend the rest of the night walking in the park, enjoying the sunset from the top of the hill and catching up on each other's life.
Seungmin didn't finish his law school, he went on trips around the world to take pictures and do exhibitions. It's compelling listening to him talking about photography, well, he is at his most attractive talking about the thing he's passionate about.
When it comes to your turn to talk about your life, you realize you have your nose tucked in books instead of exploring the world like him.
"Compares to your my life sounds so boring," you say with a sneer.
"You can't compare your life to mine," he says.
He stops on his track and leans against the railing on the edge of a parking building, looking at you, "You get to finish your school and that's a win for you."
"I'm not there yet," you say, standing next to him and looking at the sun sinking lower on the horizon, leaving the day in a beautiful burst of golden rays.
The sunset passed in a comfortable silence, it's like watching the sun slowly tucked in for the night. You turn to the side and see Seungmin basking in the warm glow of the last slivers of sun.
"Ready to go home?" He asks.
Honestly, you don't want to go home yet but what can you say? Seungmin is working during the summer unlike you. The night air is cool and it's helping you relax on the bike ride home. You're holding on to the side of the jacket instead of his waist to stay appropriate.
Seungmin realizes it as he stops the bike at a traffic light, he pulls your hand and puts it inside the pocket of his leather jacket. You can feel his gloved hand but he looks over his shoulder, "Don't let go!"
You nod instead of verbally answering him against the noisy city sounds. Not sure if you're slowly forgetting your way around the city but Seungmin is heading nowhere near your apartment building.
It's when he takes his bike into a different apartment building that he's certainly not taking you home. After taking off his helmet he helps you take off yours in the dimly lit room of an empty parking basement.
"I thought we were going home," you fix your hair quickly with your fingers.
He puts the helmet on the handle of his bike, "But I didn't say which home," he says.
It's only right for you to get nervous, not only that you in Seungmin's studio slash apartment but he wants to take pictures of you too.
"This is a bad idea. IâI'm awkward," you stammer, clasping your hands together in front of you.
He takes your hand and leads you to the sofa, telling you to sit while he walks to a big collection of cameras from analog to digital and dozens of lenses in various sizes.
"Just relax," he says as he finally settles on his choice of camera.
"Act normal, you know, get comfortable," he picks a lens and carefully attaches it to the camera.
That's the problem. You're not normal in the first place and you're not confident unless someone is talking about your favorite books but weirding him out with your book talk is not the way to charm him.
He takes a practice shot and you suddenly shrivel up, turning rigid on the sofa.
"Relax those shoulders," he says while taking steps closer to you and keeping his finger busy clicking the camera.
You're trying to relax but knowing that the camera is taking pictures of you at every angle. It's so obvious that Seungmin puts down his camera and walks up to you.
"Shoulders down," he says with his hand on your shoulder and gently massages it.
"Sit as you like, make yourself comfortable."
You look up at him and nod as he speaks, helping you to loosen up by rubbing down your eyes. But it's the way he looks at you that convinces you that he means no harm.
"You can put your legs up if you want," he encourages.
You shake your head and shyly laugh, "I can't do that but can I borrow one of your magazines?" You point at the stacks of magazines and newspapers on top of the cabinet.
Seungmin must have taken a hundred of pictures already but that won't stop him. He puts his camera so close instead of using his expensive lens to work, making you giggle at how he leans so close.
His hand reaches your face to tuck a hair behind your ear and calmly, he says, "You have beautiful eyes."
"Oh, no, it's getting ridiculous now," you bashfully say as he goes to the back of the sofa to take a picture.
You're following him, tilting your head to the back while covering half of your face with the magazine you're hardly reading.
Seungmin puts away his camera and then leans down as he pushes the magazine away from your face. Then the next you know is his hand caressing your face and slowly he leans in.
It's as simple as putting his lips on your lips but inexplicably it feels like something you've done a million times already. It's easy, pure but the urge in the way he brushes his lips over and over again also makes it feel like such a long time coming.
You close your eyes as his hand slides down from your jaw to your exposed neck and it stays there until he slowly pulls away from the kiss.
Seungmin smiles as you foolishly stay there and stare at him with your mouth parted open, still reeling from the kiss. He continues taking pictures as if nothing happened.
You compose yourself as fast as you can and look down at your lap once Seungmin is done taking pictures, carefully putting his camera back in its place.
The city view at night reminds you that it's getting late and you might have overstayed, "I'd betterâ"
Again, Seungmin is ready with his hand outstretched at you to help you get up from the sofa. Once you're on your feet, he puts his arm around you and pulls you close so that you can feel his warm breath fanning your cheek.
"You'd better what?" His eyes are piercing right into yours.
He makes you nervous but in a good way, "I'd betterâ"
Seungmin kisses you again and he doesn't hold back this time. His tongue skillfully pries your mouth open and slithers in the second you let him in, invading your mouth to taste more of you.
The kiss is fiery and sets your body ablaze, explosive.
Even though your lungs burning for oxygen, you let out a whimper when he breaks the kiss. You didn't think that he would hear it.
He puts his other arm around you and asks again, "Is there anything you'd better do than this?"
It's amusing to him asking you a question that he damn knows the answer to.
With your lack of knowledge and the sex expertise on a road trip with her older boyfriend, you're left with no choice but to figure things out as you go.
You do the same every time Seungmin takes off a piece of his clothing until they're all littering his bedroom floor. The only thing that's left on you is the white underwear you're wearing, it's not a flattering one but for an unplanned sexy time, you hope it will do.
You hugging yourself while Seungmin keeps kissing you with his hands roaming your body, guess he's trying to make you calm but you're just so aware of yourself and your appearance.
Seungmin sees that so he holds your face in his hands and presses a soft peck on your lips, "Don't hide from me."
He glides his hands down to your shoulders and his eyes are following them as they take your hands away from covering your bare chest.
His one hand is straying from the course and goes down your chest, splaying his hand on your sternum then softly sighs.
"Your heart is beating so fast," he speaks so low yet it's echoing in the dark of his room.
"Are you scared or excited?" He asks as he shifts his eyes back at you.
You swallow air and answer, "Both."
Seungmin smiles in response. Keeping the hand on your beating heart, he presses another kiss on your lips, long and lingering.
He then continues the kisses down your neck, collarbone, chest, and the valley of your breasts and keeps going until he kneels on the floor.
Seungmin looks up as he places a kiss on your abdomen, his lips take a right turn, and kisses your waist and down to your hips. His other hand is hooked on the elastic band of your underwear and he's pulling it down as he places kisses down your inner thighs.
"You're so beautiful," he says while still kneeling on the floor, looking at you with wonder in his eyes like he's seeing of divine.
That inexplicably makes you feel like a goddess and he's on his knees worshipping you. Your hesitant hand makes it to his cheek and he keeps it there, pressing on it then kisses your wrist.
You offer your hand for him this time and help him get up from the floor after getting a boost of confidence from the way he's looking at you.
Taking a step closer, you embrace yourself and this moment, letting him in and take you places.
The kisses he planted all over your body are searing and you feel hot all over especially when he kisses you close to where you wanted him to be.
Both of you wanted it so much and your bodies can't hide it anymore. Without looking, you know you're drenched and his erection is hard to miss.
He pulls a condom out of his bedside drawer and you take it from him, wanting to do him this favor just so you can say it back to him once you roll the rubber down his length.
"And that's why safety is sexy," you say with a sly smile.
Even with your lack of experience in the sexual field, you can tell that it's not always about the performance. Not that Seungmin has problems with that, he's doing it very well, he's fucking you so hard that your body shakes with every thrust but it's the way he softly gazes into your eyes.
You don't even try to make your brain work, you just gaze back into his eyes and all of a sudden, he hastily kisses your open mouth.
"What are you thinking?" He asks with a tender caress on your cheek.
"Nothing," You shake your head and then blatantly say, "It just feels so good."
You don't even try to impress him, your brain is shutting down so everything you say is unfiltered, and that only amuses him more.
Seungmin takes both of your hands and interlaced them together, pinning them on each side of your pillow. With or without him picking up the pace, you're already on the brink of your climax.
"I think I'mâ" You barely finish your sentence when you get hit by waves of pleasure.
You're whining against his lips as he keeps holding your hands tightly in his and puts them around his neck so you can hold him as you relish your orgasm.
A few kisses later, you have Seungmin spooning you from behind and his hand is freely exploring your body while he keeps your mouth busy with more kisses.
"Can I have you again?" He softly asks and you nod without thinking.
The sight of his member makes you feel intimidated at first but you surprised yourself at how well you took him earlier. The intimidating feeling is now being replaced by the craving to have him inside you again.
Seungmin holds your thigh still as he pushes his cock from behind and you whine as you feel him entering you little by little.
"Oh, you're so hard," you mindlessly blurt out again.
Seungmin tolerates you so much but instead of getting offended, he brings his mouth close to your ear.
"That's how much I want you," he shamelessly admits at the same time he launches his cock deep inside you.
"Oh!" You moan and muffle yourself with the back of your hand.
He takes your hand away from your mouth, "Keep making those noises for me, baby."
-
It's like a dream or maybe it is and the worst part of dreaming is that it stops the moment you wake up.
If it wasn't for the morning sun that forces you to wake up, you'd still be living in your dream. Alas, you prepare yourself to be disappointed but when you open your eyes, you realize that it's not a dream.
You're naked under the cover and you're sleeping on his bed,
It happened so that means Seungmin is... you roll to the other side to find the space next to you is empty except for the crumpled sheet.
"I'm here," Seungmin must have seen you looking so disoriented on the bed.
You smile out of embarrassment and lift yourself while clutching the duvet close to your chest. You watch as he makes his way to the bed carrying two mugs of what you assume is coffee from the heavenly smile of it.
He sits on the edge of the bed and sweetly greets, "Morning!"
You're about to say it back to him when he presses a quick peck on your lips. It takes you a while to reel yourself back from the kiss and finally reply, "Morning!"
He finally hands you one of the coffee mugs and you take it with both hands, inhaling the heavenly smell of it before taking a small, careful sip.
Seungmin brushes your hair away and puts it behind your ear, placing a kiss on your bare shoulder before taking a sip of his coffee.
"What do you usually do in the morning?" He asks.
"Not much. Just breakfast, coffee, check emails, reading the news," you regret telling him your boring mundane things and stop yourself from embarrassing you more.
"How about you?"
"I wake up, toast and coffee. I go back to sleep when I don't have work to do," he calmly answers with his hair looking fluffy and inviting you to touch.
"Are you working on something?" You curiously ask since he seems so laid back or maybe it's just you who likes to keep yourself busy at all times.
"Not really but I'll be working on a few things this summer," he replies and puts away his coffee mug, "It's summer break, isn't it?"
"Yes," you shortly reply.
Seungmin places his hand on your back shoulder and draws lazy circles on the skin with his finger, "Do you have any plans for summer break?"
You stall by taking another sip of your coffee before embarrassing yourself again, "No."
His fingers trail down your spine as he softly sighs, "Then you're going to spend the summer with me."
You are usually opposed to a spontaneous idea like this. You need plans, you need orders yet you turn your head to the side to look at him, then say, "Okay."
"Okay," he repeats and leans in to kiss you.
And just like that, a plan is made.
-
Time is relative.
When you spend the day on your own, it feels like forever but when you spend the summer with Seungmin, a month passes by so quickly.
In conclusion, Albert Einstein was always right.
With Seungmin, you're living the dream life. You're wearing his clothes, living in his place, sleeping on his bed, riding on his bike to explore new places together, you're spending your time with him in your wake and you still miss him in your sleep. Gosh! You're getting loopy in the head.
Seungmin has work to do today, he offered to take you with him but you have to check your place, you're responsible for taking care of it while the other occupant is away on a road trip.
He drops you off outside your apartment building, taking off his helmet just so he can properly kiss you before letting you go.
"I'll pick you up later," he says.
"Okay. Be careful!" you place a long kiss on his lips for the last time, watching him ride further away from you.
The good news is the place is still intact and tidy just like the last time you see it. You clean up the place knowing that it's collecting dust, packing some clean underwear and clothes for you to take to Seungmin's place.
Not sure what time Seungmin will be done with work but seeing a stack of books abandoned for weeks, you decide to return them to the library before getting fined for it.
It feels strange not coming to the library for weeks and the smell of books hits you with a wave of nostalgia. You take your books out of your bag to the librarian lady who's just as surprised to see you when she usually gets sick of seeing you.
"Haven't seen you in a long time," she says while fixing her glasses.
You politely laugh and keep it low remembering that it's a library, "I suddenly have a different plan for the summer."
You're waiting by the desk as she thoroughly checks if there's any damage to the books when someone injects himself into the conversation.
"And the so-called plan is slacking off the whole summer?" Minho says, carrying a stack of books in one hand that makes the veins on his arms pop on his skin.
You turn around and sneer at him, "I'm trying this new thing called 'Get-A-Life' and I think you should try it too."
Minho puts the books down on top of the desk with a low thud, "I'm actually on this thing called 'Get-A-Summer-Job' and I think it works wonders on me."
You look away from him and secretly make a mocking face. The librarian lady pushes a form for you to sign and your phone beeps with a new message.
She glares at you for forgetting to put your phone in silent mode, "I'm sorry."
You hurriedly open to check a new message from Seungmin that he'll be done in two hours and you write a quick reply telling him you'll be waiting for him.
"You know I started to get concerned that you may have decided to give up," Minho says as he keeps the door open for both of you.
The stinging rays of the sun greet you as you step outside, reminding you to stay indoors or look for a shade to shelter in.
"I may be slacking off but once the summer ended, you know that I have never left my place," you tell him with eyes squinted from the bright sun.
Minho slings his backpack on one shoulder, "and that is behind me."
You sigh and shield your eyes with your hand, "It's summer break and you meant to be slacking off on summer break."
And you have two hours to spend on your own before Seungmin can pick you up, unless...
"You're supposed to have fun, you know and I can show you how," You suggest an idea with a grin.
He unlocks his bicycle from the rack and backs it out, he's probably analyzing your intention with his piercing stare, "What do you have in mind?"
You blank out for a moment from being under the sun for too long, "You and me, cold beers?"
"You mean, 'you and I'," he fixes your grammar.
You hold yourself from snapping at him and exhale air, "You know what, I'll justâ"
"Okay. But you're paying," he immediately changes his mind.
There's a dive bar nearby where students usually go whenever they need to hit the snooze button on stressful university life and it's way cheaper than the other bars in the area.
You're having a sandwich aside from the cold beers while Minho settles on a tray of chips for the snacks.
"You can just tell me you need someone to accompany you having lunch," he says.
As expected, he's too smart to miss a thing. Not that you're afraid to have lunch by yourself, he happened to be there so why not?
"You can have a sandwich for lunch too," you tell him.
He shakes his head and pulls out a book from his backpack, "I had lunch."
You shrug and take another bite, "Then order as many cold beers as you want."
Minho starts reading his book, sticking his sharp nose in between pages and taking a sip of his beer once in a while.
"Where have you been though?"
You look up from your meal and wipe your mouth with a napkin, "Pardon?"
"I thought I'd be seeing your missing poster on the morning news," he says as he flips a page.
You know he's joking but his calm expression tells you otherwise, "Oh, my God! You're officially diabolical," you shriek.
He puts his book down and looks at you, "Have you ever thought I'd be most likely the one being asked about your whereabouts?"
"I've been going around the city with someone and I know that you don't care but he's an old friend of mine," You recline on your seat and cross your arms together in front of you.
"You can stop worrying about what you're going to tell the police if I went missing," you tell him with a smirk.
Minho takes the information for a moment as if it were a piece of information that needs to be thoroughly processed before going back to his default setting of being a nonchalant being.
He rests his back on his seat and picks up his book to continue reading.
After receiving a text that Seungmin is on the way to pick you up, you paid for the food and beers. The day is warm with the sun almost disappears for the day.
"Do you need to 'Get-A-Ride' too?" He pokes fun at you as he walks his bicycle.
"You must have waited hours to say that back to me," you say with a sigh.
"I can give you a ride home. Just like that morning," he smirks as he gets on his bicycle.
"No, thanks, Minho. I'm getting myself a ride home," you tell him.
He stays on his bicycle with his hands on the handlebars and looks at you, "Do you want me to wait with you?"
Minho actually knows how to be a gentleman, he just chooses to act snobby and cold around you.
"No, it's okay. He'll be here in a minute," you assure him.
He contemplates for a while before putting his foot on the paddle, "Okay, then. Thank you for the beers!"
You smile and wave your hand at him as he rides his bike in the direction of his apartment building.
A few minutes after Minho leaves, Seungmin appears with the sound of the roaring engine of his motorcycle. You're smiling as you're seeing him getting closer and closer.
He takes his helmet off and stays on his bike, watching you walk up to him.
"Hey," you say with a smile.
"I'm sorry, I have a girlfriend," he jokingly says.
You stop on your track, but seeing the sly smile on his face, you know he's playing with you, "Well then, can I get a ride?"
He gestures for you to come closer so he can whisper into your ear, "Oh, you'll get a ride for sure."
As the bike stop at a traffic light, Seungmin would either hold your hand or bring it close to his mouth to kiss it. Tonight, he chooses to rest his hand on your thigh with his gloved finger rubbing the skin.
When the lights about to turn green, he puts both of your hands around his waist. You hold him tight with your head resting on his back as he speeds up, sending the bike gliding through the city streets.
The ride gives you a new kind of high.
Seungmin knows how to get the engine hot and ready, using his hands or his mouth to get you even wetter than you already are. His touch is searing and firm, calculated to make you roar in pleasure. His mouth is hotter than the sun on a summer day, setting you ablaze every time his lips touch your skin.
He knows when to slow down and to speed up, he knows how to brake before sending you to your high early. When he knows that you're close though, he accelerates, he's going all in and freely riding on your body.
Faster and faster, knowing no limits, not stopping until both of you crash and break into smithereens, floating in immense pleasure.
The rush, the adrenaline, the ragged breath of life and death. There's nothing like it.
The ride is worth the high.
-
When Seungmin isn't working you spend the days exploring new places together.
He's been lending you one of his cameras so you can take your own pictures on the trips you take together on his bike. He taught you how to develop films in his little red room, he's patient enough to teach you every step of the process and not let you touch dangerous chemicals without him watching.
Seungmin also takes your pictures at every chance he gets, doesn't matter if you've just woken up or in the shower, sleeping, or eating a toast on the bed. Pretty sure he's running out of films just taking that kind of picture of you.
It's only fair that you take pictures of him too.
The first thing Seungmin does in the morning is make coffee and he takes his coffee seriously. He grinds the coffee beans himself, he boils the water until it hits the perfect temperature of 205 Fahrenheit before pouring it and he lets the coffee drips into a glass pot.
For you, Seungmin looks the sexiest when he's putting on a serious face. His jaws tensed, making his facial bones more defined and his mouth is slightly pouting without him realizing it. You have taken, at least, a dozen pictures of him looking like that in your camera.
As he waits for the coffee to be ready, he will come to the bed for some cuddles with you or discuss which part of the city you're going to explore today.
Today his routine slightly changes after handing you your coffee, "I'll be away the whole day for work."
"Another photo shoot?" You wildly guess.
He blows over his coffee before taking a sip, "Got invited to a photography club," he vaguely says.
Seungmin invited you when he wanted you to come with him but he didn't today so you guess he wanted to go by himself. It's time for you to get some clean underwear anyway.
"Okay," you answer with a smile.
"How are you going to spend the day?" He asks with a soft caress on your cheek.
"Well, there's not much to do without you," you say with a pout, "I think I'll just go home and get a few things."
Seungmin smiles and presses a kiss on your lips, "Don't bother packing any underwear. You're hardly wearing one around me."
You break into laughter, "Well, thanks to you."
"Are you going to wait for me?" He softly asks, twirling a strand of your hair around his slender finger.
"Always," you answer without a beat.
"I'll pick you up later?"
"Yes, please."
The photography club is doing an outdoor session and it's in the neighboring city, Seungmin leaves after taking a shower and kisses you while you're still snuggling in bed.
You leave Seungmin's apartment in the afternoon, waiting until the day is a little cooler before getting out. You take a taxi to avoid the heat and come home to find that someone is in the apartment.
Taking a cautious step, you peer inside Rina's bedroom which you always left the door closed at all times is wide open. You spot the bathroom door is open as well and decide to check it by tiptoeing until you're right next to the doorway.
Slowly, you peer inside and find Rina in the tub. You barge your way inside and shout, "Rina!"
She's just as surprised as you that she's sloshing water out of the tub, "Fuck! You scared me!"
You hurriedly put a towel for the puddles of water on the bathroom floor, "why are you here?"
"I live here," she innocently replies.
"Yeah, I know but there's still a week left on the summer break," your eyes shift to the box of macaroons on the side of the tub and you can tell right away that the answer is not going to be good.
"Joe and I broke up," she says and shoves a whole macaroon into her mouth.
You kind of saw it coming but you don't want to be in her face saying I-told-you-so. You choose to be a good friend and sit on the closed toilet, "Oh, no, what happened?"
She shakes her head and stuffs her mouth with more macaroon, "That jerk dropped me off in the middle of nowhere!"
"Oh, my God! He's the worst!" You say while disgustingly looking at the crumbs of the macaroon floating on the surface of the water.
Rina has always been the brightest and the most confident out of you two. It's saddening how miserable she looks right now when she can get any man who's twice better than Joe.
"Why don't we get drinks tonight?"
Rina gives you a puzzled look, "You once said it's a bad idea to turn to alcohol in times like this."
You meekly nod because you did say that to her but that was coming from the you who hasn't met Seungmin, "It's true but... why not, you know? As long as I'm there watching over your alcohol intake, I think we'll be okay."
Rina can't get out of the tub faster than this, she doesn't even bother putting on a towel and walking to her bedroom naked.
"What happened to you?" She asks after taking three shots of JĂ€gerbomb as a starter.
"Nothing happened. Just met a guy, not much," you nonchalantly answer and take just a tiny sip of your first shot.
"Met a guy? That means a lot coming from you," she says, chasing after her tequila shots with a glass of coke and rum.
You would be offended if she wasn't a friend but she's always been an outspoken person, "I'll introduce you to him someday."
That reminds you to send a text to Seungmin telling him you'll be sleeping in the house tonight and most likely take care of Rina's hangover the next morning.
"For your information, this guy drives a motorcycle," Minho appears out of nowhere carrying his drink in his hand, and plops down next to you.
"Oh, Minho! I miss seeing your pretty face," Rina half-heartedly says.
"And I miss seeing you drunk," he says back.
You elbow his side and stop him from spoiling more about Seungmin, not the right time to tell Rina about him when she's heartbroken and halfway drunk.
"What's going on, Rina?" Minho coyly asks, ignoring your warning glare.
She lets out a heavy sigh and stacks her hands on the table before resting his chin on it, "Never fucking date artists," she gives him an irrelevant answer.
"They're cocky, they think they're mighty and right and know the world better," she rambles on and on.
Rina gulps her drink and not even wince at the bitter aftertaste, "Fuck them and their free-spirited shit."
Minho holds his drink with one hand even with the drops of the condensation rolling down his hand, "Once the free spirit has taken hold of a man, there's no way of getting it out of him."
Rina looks at him with unfocused eyes then raises her glass at him, "Damn right!"
It doesn't mean that all artists in general. Even though Seungmin is an artist, it doesn't mean that he'll act the same as Joe. He's kind and caring, he's intuitive. He may be spontaneous to the point of almost impulsive, but he's great. You don't know why you should feel called out with what Rina has said.
Minho kindly offers his help to walk Rina up the stairs until you get her to her bed. You take off her shoes and cover her with the duvet.
"Want a glass of water?" It's the least you can do for him after helping you carry drunk Rina.
"Yeah, please," he still catches his breath when he answers to you.
"How do you know the guy I'm seeing drives a motorcycle?" The question just sort of pops into your head.
Minho drains the glass of water before answering, "I saw you and him at the intersection the other day."
Seungmin has been giving you rides to and fro, it'll be impossible if Minho hasn't seen you on the street once. You walk him to the threshold and watch as he walks out the door.
"Thank you for the help," you mutter.
"No problem," he coyly says.
A moment passes just you and him looking at each other as he stands there with a line drawn in between.
"Goodnight, Minho," you say for the last time.
"Goodnight," he says back with his voice low.
-
Rina's words are lingering in your head after not getting a reply from Seungmin the whole night.
Maybe he forgot or his phone died. There are so many possibilities but he is your Seungmin, you knew him from kindergarten, he may have gotten rid of the glasses and the braces, but it's Seungmin.
One thing for certain is to avoid talking about Seungmin, especially his profession when Rina is still in this state, a mix of hangover and still completely heartbroken.
"I bought you soup," you murmur as you brush her hair while she's still sleeping on her bed.
Rina is slightly stirring in her sleep and snuggling to her pillow.
"Heat it before you eat it okay? It'll help with the hangover," you tell her again.
She hums in reply and clutches at her duvet even though the day is warm since it's almost noon. You quietly leave the apartment to go to Seungmin's place.
You smile the second you see him standing next to his camera collection while cleaning one of them with a small cloth.
"I miss you," you murmur as you hug him from the back.
Seungmin carefully puts down the camera, then pulls your hand, turning around on his feet to see you. He looks at you up and down, then flicks his eyes back at you.
Oh, you forgot how meticulous he can be. He probably notices that it's the same dress you were about to wear on the first date.
He cups your jaw in his hand and compliments, "You're beautiful!"
Oh, that's not what you expected him to say but it's good. Maybe it's because you've been wearing jeans a lot with him that he finds you looking different in a dress.
"Now, give me a twirl!" He orders as he takes one of the cameras.
"You want me toâ" you ask for confirmation before you're embarrassing yourself as usual.
"Yes. Spin for me!" He has his camera ready and aimed at you.
You take a step backward and spin on your feet for him, sending the hem of your dress floating around you. You keep spinning as he endlessly takes pictures without stopping.
"I'm getting dizzy," you tell him while half laughing.
Seungmin is also laughing and he finally stops taking pictures, he walks up to you to wrap his arms around you. He stares into your eyes for a moment, then softly kisses you on the lips.
"I miss you too," he says against your lips.
You don't want to sound demanding but seeing Rina going through her heartbreak reminds you to be cautious about who you're giving your heart to.
"You didn't reply to my text," you tell him with your hands on his chest.
"I'm sorry," he simply apologizes.
That should be enough. He knows he's at fault and he apologizes for it, that should be enough to put your mind at ease. Or so you thought.
"I have something for you," he takes you to the bedroom and sits you down at the end of the bed.
Seungmin is rummaging inside his backpack to pull out something, it's something familiar, a pack of jelly candies. You can confirm as he opens it right in front of you and he takes one of the ring-shaped jelly.
"Do you remember this?"
You stare at it and remember this is how you and him became parents to Sisyphus, you got married at the playground with him putting on the same jelly ring on your thumb because your fingers were too small for it back then.
You nod as the memory is playing in the back of your head, "Of course."
Seungmin smiles and puts the jelly ring on your ring finger, kisses it after. You and him look at each other and somehow it feels like you're getting transported back in time to when you were both still five years old.
"I'm happy that we meet again," he intertwines his hand with yours on your lap.
"Me too," you say with a gentle squeeze on his hand.
Meeting him again feels like fate and for once, you're not going to search for any logical reasons behind it. You want to let go, you want to set yourself free.
You close your eyes and lean in until your lips meet the softness of his lips, melting them together into a kiss that breaks your heart open.
Seungmin lays you down on the bed and then he lays down next to you, his hand trailing the side of your body while his lips endlessly brushing over yours.
"It's crazy how I can't stop kissing you," he mutters with his lips glistening wet and red.
Hearing that only makes you want to kiss him more. You overlap half of his body with yours, your leg is hooked around his leg as his hand now resting on the arch of your back.
He draws his hand back to the nape of your neck to find the zipper of your dress, then he pulls it down slowly. The zipping sound echoes in the room that is now flooded with the afternoon sun.
After parting it open, he wastes no time to slip his hand and touches your skin. He reluctantly lets go of the kiss and props his elbow against the mattress as you stay lying on your stomach next to him.
With only his fingertips, he lightly touches your skin before replacing them with his lips, making a trail of kisses down your spine.
You lowly moan for every wet kiss he plants on your skin and moan as he crashes his lips on you again, kisses you so hungrily. When you think his hand will stop where the zipper ends, it keeps going until it stops on the back of your thigh, right where the hem of your dress is.
"Gosh! You're so soft..." he speaks so low it's almost like a whisper.
Seungmin puts his hand under and gently squeezes on the flesh on the back of your thigh, his finger is teasing the lacey fabric of your underwear.
Your hand makes its way to the collar of his shirt, popping the buttons open by yanking at it while trying to keep up with his kisses.
He's palming your ass cheek in his hands long enough until he can't help himself, he parts your legs open to make a space so he can touch you there.
You're moaning into his mouth as he slides his finger inside you, he pulls it out only to add another finger into you. You feel full with two digits inside you but that's because he knows what to do with them.
"Oh, Seungmin..." you sigh with your eyes fluttering shut.
You have to actively tell your brain to drag your hand down his bare chest and touch him there, doing the same favor for him.
His semi-hard cock sprung out of its confine the second you pull his underwear down, wrapping your hand around it and slowly stroking it, up and down as slow as the way he kisses you right now.
With the bright daylight, you can see that his cock is red and veiny, pulsing with so much desire in your hand. Using your thumb, you rub the tip in slow, circular motions.
"I can feel you clenching around my fingers," his lips brush yours as he speaks.
You giggle in response and that only exhilarates him more that he tugs at your lower lip and gently bites at it, "I'm so impatient to be inside you."
You hastily kiss him with tongue and all, "Want you inside me too," you whine.
Sex used to be something that makes you anxious and falls apart from the inside. However, with Seungmin, it's so easy and natural, that you're not afraid to ask for what you want, where you want to be touched, and how you want to be touched.
Most times you believe it's not the sex itself that makes the whole experience good but it's the way he treats you during and even after the sex.
Seungmin turns to your neck, littering the sensitive skin with hot and wet kisses. Each kiss is longer than the previous until he pulls away with a low gasp.
"I have to tell you that we run out of sexy," he suddenly shares.
You look at him in confusion, "Huh?"
He softly kisses your jaw and then your lips, "We're running out of condoms."
With how often you have sex, it's no surprise that the two of you blow a big budget on condoms. But you're always taking your birth control even when you're not that sexually active and you trust Seungmin to do it without the second layer of protection.
"We can do it without," you tell him.
Seungmin looks like he has just received a piece of news that's hard for him to comprehend. He only looks at you with eyes wide and filled with unexplainable glints.
"Are you on birth control?" He asks for confirmation.
"Yes."
"Is it okay with you?"
"I trust you," you earnestly tell him.
Seungmin softly smiles hearing your words before leaning in, kissing you ever so softly like he's kissing the wind.
Taking his position by hovering above you and you're still lying on your stomach under him, he lifts the hem of your dress, then pulls your underwear down.
He throws away his shirt and takes his time to tease your entrance with his cock, either he does it to prepare you or himself.
You look over his shoulder to see that Seungmin is putting on a serious face, "We can take it slow."
He leans down to capture your lips in a kiss, "I like slow."
The speed is not the issue here, a raw groan rips out of him as he pushes his hard cock inside you. Without the layer of protection, his cock becomes sensitive and he can fully feel you, how your walls wrapped so tightly around him.
He curves his hands under yours and buries his head in your neck, taking a moment to adjust himself inside you. You guide his hand to fondle your clothed breasts together with him.
"You feel good inside me," you mewl as he plants his mouth on your shoulder.
His cock feels incredibly good and hard, you can feel it throbbing as you said those words to him. It's like having sex for the first time again.
"Oh, you have no idea," he sighs with a haste kiss on your lips.
Seungmin is thrusting into you just as he promised, slow and steady. You crumple the sheet under you as you're cumming already around him, not sure if he knows as he keeps the motion of his hips going.
He pauses to change positions, turning you over to lay on your back this time, and this way, you can see how magnificent he looks under the sun.
The broad shoulders, the tousled hair, the clenched jaws, and the muscles on his body, oh, Seungmin is just perfect.
"You're perfect..." you say with a dreamy sigh.
He can see the admiration in your eyes as you stare at him with your hands turned up on the bed, he softly smiles and leans in to kiss you.
"No, you're perfect," he says back with his face only inches away from yours.
Seungmin knows how to take control as he adds speed to his thrusting, sending you close to your second orgasm. He loses control a little after you cum, holding your hands by the wrists and pinning them on each side of your head.
"Mmh, yes, yes..." you moan, getting closer and closer to your climax.
From the way he's throbbing inside you, you reckon he's close to his high as well. He's not stopping even after you're cumming for the second time, he keeps chasing and chasing...
"Oh, fucâ" his curse falls short as he collapses on top of you.
"You're cumming inside me, mmh?" Your hand is tangled deep in his soft locks.
That reminds him of what he should have done, pulling out of you as he planned but you stop him, holding him close as he's coming down from his high.
"Stay inside me," you say as you hold the side of his face and let him crumble into your arms.
The two of you spending the rest of the afternoon nestling on the bed, cuddling and talking, passing time like this with him feels even more intimate than sex.
Seungmin takes your hand and makes a trail of kisses down your inner arm, stopping when his lips meet your knuckles. He takes your finger adorned with the jelly ring and puts it into his mouth, taking the jelly ring with him and chewing on it.
"You eat our wedding ring!" You blurt out.
He pecks your lips, "I'm hungry. Let's order something!"
There's only one week left to summer break and you want to enjoy every second you get to spend with Seungmin, even though you have to lie to Rina about the guy you're staying in with, you're not going to let anything get in the way of your happiness.
After dinner, you both take a shower together. Seungmin offers to wash your hair for you, his fingers applying gentle pressure on your scalp and meticulously washing the suds off your hair before moving on to wash your body for you.
He stands behind you, one hand holding one side of your waist while the other is slowly lathering your skin with a bar of soap.
Even though you're taking a cold shower, it doesn't stop the temperature from rising inside the shower. His lips taste cold and warm when he kisses you, his hands are slippery yet firm, and the heat his body is emitting seeps into you as he holds you close against him.
The second both of your naked bodies hit the bed, it's instant coziness. You feel snug and content lying so close to him under the cover.
"I don't want summer to end," you sadly tell him.
"Me too," he seconds your remark.
Keeping your head still with his hand holding your chin, he slowly kisses you with his eyes closed, "Goodnight," he softly murmurs.
You give him a long peck on the lips in return and say it back to him, "Goodnight."
-
It's almost 1 a.m. The summer night is peeking through the windows with the stars winking at you and the warm breeze slipping through the cracks of the windows caresses your cheeks. You can't sleep. You are happy.
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the pepper thing | l.m.h
pairing... bf!minho x gn!reader tags... domestic fluff, established relationship, minho loves kisses so so so much
it's a routine, it's a tradition, it's a lifestyle. it's the pepper thing.
wc... 1.4k words a/n... this is inspired by a little something that @astraystayyh and i rambled about đ« i hope you enjoy it because i have not stopped thinking about this since it came into my mind!!! also thank you so much for 400 followers! almost halfway to 1k i'm mindblown tbh!
âïœĄïŸâïžïœĄâïœĄ ïŸâŸ ïŸïœĄâ
Lee Minho is a morning person. He loves waking up early, making breakfast, playing with his sleepy cats, and watching movies. But most importantly, he loves kissing you awake.
Whenever the sunlight makes its way through the curtains and pries his eyelids open, Minho is more than happy to be greeted by your sleeping figure. It's the greatest way to start his day. He still remembers the first time you woke up next to each otherâthe day your little tradition began.
It was the morning after Minho had finally moved into your apartment. You had fallen asleep in your now shared bed, his arms embracing your body and pulling you to his chest. When he woke up, you had moved further away from him, not so much that you were no longer cuddling, but just enough so that he could see your face. The side of your face was buried into the pillow, squishing your lips into a slight pucker. Your hair was sticking out in multiple directions and your shirt was twisted. He thought it was the cutest sight in the world. Lord, he's whipped.
He watched your sleeping figure with so much love in his gaze, mapping out your entire face to store in his memory forever. As his eyes trailed over your every feature, they halted at your lips, taking extra time to admire the curve of your cupid's bow.
Slowly, Minho found himself leaning in, pressing a kiss as light as air onto your soft lips. 'More,' he thought, 'I need more.' He moved his lips to the corner of your mouth, then to your cheek, then to your jaw, smothering your entire face in featherlight kisses.
"Baby, what are you doing?" you asked in a soft, sleepy voice. Minho had been pressing kisses to your collarbones at that point, but upon hearing your voice, he stopped and buried his face in your neck. Embarrassed, he mumbled, "Nothing..."
You giggled as he hid away and you teased him more. "Oh, you're sooo in love with me aren't you?" Minho groaned. "You just have to kiss me 24/7, huh? You love me so much you can't keep your lips off me."
"Shut up, shut uppp," he whined into your neck, making you laugh even more.
"How about you make me?" You pulled him away from your neck, staring into his eyes as if challenging him to do something. He took you up on that challenge, crashing his lips into yours, shutting you up like you asked.
Ever since then, Minho has woken you up by peppering kisses all over you every morning with no fail. Sometimes, when you call him out on it, he'll just ignore you and continue kissing your body, too busy to do anything else.
It was a gloomy morning. In contrast to the bright, shining light that usually woke Minho up, the light pitter-patter of the raindrops on the window forced him out of his slumber. He opened his eyes to your back facing him. Your oversized shirt, which was originally his, was hanging off your shoulder, presenting him with a new opportunity. He pressed his lips to your bare shoulder, slowly trailing up to the back of your neck.
"Mmm, that tickles, baby," you whispered as he kissed the sensitive spot on your nape, but he wasn't paying attention to you, too preoccupied to process the words coming out of your mouth. Only after he was done pressing kisses to your backside did he greet you a good morning, but could you blame him? He just loves giving you kisses!
Every single day, Minho wakes up before you and peppers your face with several kisses like his life depends on it. At this point, it's become a necessity in your daily routine.
One morning, you miraculously woke up before your boyfriend. His hair was disheveled and his lips were parted ever so slightly. As he lay on his side, facing towards you, you couldn't help but notice his eyes. His long, pretty eyelashes were so perfectly scattered among his closed eyelids. You leaned in, your warm breath gently blowing against his lashes. You softly kissed his under his eye, your lips tenderly brushing his face. Slowly, you peppered more kisses around his face, starting around his eyelids, then moving to his nose, then to the corner of his mouth. As you were about to connect your lips with his own, Minho opened his eyes, making contact with yours.
"Honey?" Your lips were mere centimeters apart. "This is usually my job." You closed the gap and kissed him. Minho sighed sleepily into your mouth, and you could feel a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
Pulling away, you returned his smile. "I thought I'd mix things up," you kissed him again. "Why, do you not like it?"
Minho laughed a bit as you continued kissing around his face. "No, I don't like it," he said as he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him. "I love it, and I love you."
This became your little tradition. Every morning, whoever woke up first would pepper kisses all over the other, starting the day with giddy smiles fixed on your faces. Even if you had fought the night before, it was all forgotten the moment you felt Minho's lips on your forehead, or the moment he felt your lips on his cheek.
Today, however, Minho woke up to your side of the bed empty. He furrowed his brows, disappointed at the unusual absence of your lips all over his face. He dragged himself out of your shared bedroom, plodded around the apartment to look for you, and let himself fall back on the couch when he couldn't find you.
After about a half-hour, the front door opened and you entered your home, holding grocery bags in both hands. You set them down on the kitchen counter, peeking into the living room to see Minho watching something on the TV.
"Hi baby, did you sleep well?" You shouted from the kitchen, putting away the groceries. No response.
"Babe? Are you okay?" Nothing.
You walked over to where your boyfriend was sitting. His eyes were glued to the TV, not even sparing you a glance.
"Lee Minho," you said in a half-joking, half-serious voice, "did I do something wrong?"
Finally, he looked at you, lips contracting to a pout. He mumbled something so softly, you couldn't understand what he said. You sat next to him, taking one of his hands in your own. "Could you repeat that, baby? I can't hear you."
Pouting even harder, he repeated louder for you. "You didn't do the pepper thing."
You shot him a confused look, making him roll his eyes playfully. "The pepper my face with kisses thing! I woke up and you were gone, and you didn't give me any kisses at all."
You laughed incredulously. "Seriously, that's all you're sulking about?"
Unimpressed, Minho pulled his hand away from yours, crossing his arms. "It's a very serious matter, actually. You broke our morning tradition! You betrayed me!"
"I'm sorry, for leaving without honoring our tradition," you smiled as he continued to pout at you, "but I went out to buy you some ingredients so I could make breakfast for you. And, I even bought more of the new pudding you really like."
Though his eyes lit up at the mention of his favorite snack, a pout was still plastered on his face. "Okay, then. But you still have to make it up to me."
"Yeah? And how do you propose I do that?"
Minho looked you dead in the eye. "Do the pepper thing."
Still giggling, you placed your hands on either side of Minho's face, squeezing his cheeks and forcing his lips from a pout to a pucker. You kissed his forehead, then under each of his eyelids, then on the tip of his nose. "Feel better now?"
Shaking his head, Minho replied, "Not quite yet." He leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours. He pulled you by your waist, bringing you to his lap. You combed your fingers through his hair, tugging it slightly to tilt his head and deepen the kiss. Pulling away to breathe, Minho had a lovesick expression written all over his face. "Now I feel better."
âïœĄïŸâïžïœĄâïœĄ ïŸâŸ ïŸïœĄâ
comments, reblogs, and feedback are appreciated! © like-a-diamondinthesky 2023
Invisible Thread- two.
This is the second and final part of Invisible Thread. Here is the link to part one.
pairing: minho x reader. pre-established relationship. reader has she/her pronouns.
genre: fluff and domesticity. angst. healing. characters trying to become better. humans being humans.
cw: parent death. grief. talk about death. allusion to sex but no smut. suggestive at one tiny part but it's for the plot.
summary: In which Minho rewrites your entire relationship with love.
word count: 17k
a.n: this is, i hope, a gentle reminder to always be kind to yourself, and to the people surrounding you. this one is pretty personal because i see myself a lot in yn, but it was also challenging since i wrote about things i have never experienced either. so i hope you'll enjoy reading, and that the second part will live up to your expectations. it took me a long time to write this but it's okay!! English isn't my first language and this was also a reminder to be patient with myself. thank you. i love you all. truly. feedback is highly appreciated, as always <3
(here is a Spotify playlist i made for this second part, you can listen to it while reading if you'd like :))
Love. How lucky yet cursed we are to ever experience it.
The fear attached to this singular emotion seems ridiculous. Because we aren't afraid of experiencing anger, sadness, or nervousness. They might overwhelm us, but we accept them, we recognize them as they are and then we cope with them. Whichever way we know best.
But when love comes knocking on our door, we stray away from it, we try to shape it into something else- much gentler on the soul, less devastating if it were ever not reciprocated.
So, we name it a crush, attachment, infatuation; anything but the cursed four-lettered word- anything but love. As though merely acknowledging it would morph it into a sharp-edged sword, eternally wedged within us, making our blood dribble away slowly and with it, our souls awash.
You are no exception. Love has terrified you for the better part of your life. There was a time when the word did slip easily from your mouth, back when you were a child and your view of the world was still naive, undisturbed by what you now know. You loved ice cream, you loved candy, you loved your teacher who braided your hair.
But then the once light word grew heavy on your tongue. Because love is what made you crave your mother's warmth, only to find coldness awaiting you. It is love that made you seek shelter elsewhere, in the fleeting opinions of the people surrounding you, hanging your entire worth on the words they uttered about you- ones they forgot within hours but you carried for years.
But this view of yours got dismantled, slowly, day by day. Youâve come to learn that it isn't love that had hurt you, it was rather the lack of it.
It cannot be love that wound when it is the emotion swimming in your eyes, whenever they rest on Minho. You didn't dare say it to him, to name the feeling out loud. You were petrified that if it was ever out in the open, then the love would materialize into something tangible, and the universe would snatch it away, as it has done before with everything you've ever wanted.
But although you didn't say it, you felt it, deep within each one of your atoms. It spilled from you like infinite ink, rewriting your entire relationship with love, dismissing every wrong notion you've once established about it.
Love cannot hurt because you love Minho, and you'd hurt yourself before ever hurting him.
But maybe none of you would have to hurt. Maybe for once, you'd both be okay. That's what you'd like to believe as Minho's shoulders brush against yours. You are sitting at your usual table at Limbo, a gray cat sprawled on top of your laps. Finals ended three weeks ago. Summer break is here, the one time you've been dreading since you came to college. Because everyone is going back to their homes, but you don't have one to head back to.
"What will you do this summer?" Minho suddenly asks, putting down his iced americano. You scratch the cat's ears beside you gently- Lilia you've decided to name her. "I don't really have plans."
"Would you like to go camping?"
"With you?"
"I mean, unless you have another secret boyfriend, then yes, with me."
"Shut up," you giggle, swatting his arm playfully. "I'd really like that," you smile softly at him, to which he nods. "Oh, and we still need to celebrate your win this term."
"Mm. Let's just call it a date this time," he grins, taking a spoonful of the salted caramel cheesecake and bringing it to your mouth. "I need to go visit my family for a few days, and then we can go," he adds.
Sudden guilt floods your being. He had a family he could go to. It was selfish for you to want him to stay, to strip him from this privilege you weren't granted with.
"I don't want you to cut your time short with them for me," you mumble, eyes fixated on Lilia soundly dozing off on his lap. It still astonished you how all animals seemed at ease in Minho's presence. As if they could sense his gentle soul, carefully hidden behind his sarcastic retorts, and cheeky smiles- one you were lucky enough to have been touched with.
"I'm not. I just really wanna go camping," he says nonchalantly, but his hand raises to squeeze your shoulder lightly.
"You should go with them."
"I have a two-person tent in mind, it won't fit the three of us. And I want to come back to you."
His words painted a sweet picture- of him returning home after a long journey, and you were that haven he sought to rest. The idea that he'd discover such solace in you when you struggled to find it within yourself, seemed unfathomable to you.
So, you bite your lower lip slightly, before squeezing his knee in gratitude. "Okay. I'll be waiting."
âčâčâč
Blue and orange flames surge higher under the wind. You watch, mesmerized as their light dances upon Minho's skin, painting him with glistening, golden hues. Every feature of his face is chiseled to perfection, as if a sculptor spent hours perfecting his face, down to the tiniest detail. He looked in his element here, setting up your tent and grilling the meat and now looking up at the sky, a chilled lemonade in his hand. You should go camping more often.
Minho places his empty can of cola on the ground, before tapping his lap. "Come here," he smiles and you oblige, rising from your chair and settling on his thighs. You tuck your knees to your chest, curling yourself entirely in his hold. His arms encircle your body, making sure you don't slip down. You close your eyes, as Minho gazes up at the night sky before you. You are comfortable and safe. It is that safety that you've craved for so long. To be held and not fear the threat of a knife behind your back.
It still surprised you, how you came to crave Minho's presence. But it went beyond just being near him; you felt as if you needed to touch him, as if verifying his existence, ensuring he wasn't an ephemeral specter slipping through your fingers like grains of sand in an hourglass. Yet, even more surprising was Minho's own yearning for you. His hands were always drawn to you, subtly grazing your face, resting on your palm, skimming your shoulders. Each tentative touch filled an echoing void within you, slowly diminishing it until all that remained were faint whispers of it.
Minho has cared for you, long before he understood you. He saw snippets and fragments of you, and he cared for the patched-up version he made up in his mind. And when you unlocked your heart for him, he only cherished it even more, silently molding his behavior so he wouldn't cross any of your boundaries.
He was hesitant at first, in holding your hands and kissing your lips. He still asks for permission, in that gentle voice of his, to touch you, in case youâre uncomfortable. Which you arenât, because his hands on you are infused with care, fingertips dripping with unguarded attention and softness, for you.
You sigh contently, nuzzling your face in the crook of his neck as his arms tighten around you. Comfortable and safe.
"What's your favorite word?" he suddenly inquires and you giggle slightly. He often asks you these random questions, as though he wished to understand you in the most ordinary of ways and to care for you in each.
"I think it's the word soft. Whoever thought of the word really nailed it. Nothing else could have depicted softness like this one."
"The word does sound really pillowy, and gentle."
"See, I really love gentle too! Why is the word gentle so gentle? Does that make sense?" Laughter tings your question as he grins, his nose brushing lightly against yours.
"It does. They both remind me of you, actually."
"Really?"
"Mm. You're still so soft and gentle, despite it all... If they ever tell me there is one kind person left on this earth, I'd come looking for you."
Sudden tears flood your eyes as a shaky exhale leaves your lips. It felt rewarding, in a sense, to have someone acknowledge the strength it takes to be kind, in a world that had dealt you nothing but harshness.
"Can I tell you something?"
"Anything."
"Sometimes..." you pause, racking your brain for the best way to word this. "Sometimes it scares me how much I've come to care for you. How you make opening up not sound as daunting as before."
You grab his hand into yours, fidgeting with his fingers. The familiarity of their touch helps you calm down. "I'm not saying you'll hurt me. I just... I can't help this tiny voice in the back of my mind telling me to be cautious. It's gotten quieter, but it's still there."
"That's just your past selves trying to protect you," he smiles softly at you, brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear. "When I told you I'll be here, for as long as you'll have me, I meant it. Doubts and all."
"But I don't want to be closed off anymore," you admit. "It's very lonely that way."
"I know it is, love. But it's what you knew best back then, hm? You shouldn't feel bad about it, you did what you had to do to protect yourself. I'm just here to protect you too now."
"You think I can no longer do it myself?" you tease, your hand threading through his silky hair.
"Of course, you still can. But two shields are better than one. Also, this is exactly why I work out."
"Will your muscles protect me from my mind?" you giggle and he nods proudly. "Have you seen these?" he flexes his arms, before snorting, a bit shyly, eyes squinting closed. He's saying nonsense to make you laugh, and it's warming your heart beyond belief.
"I think these should just stay wrapped around me," you grin, guiding his arms around your back once again.
"No complaints," he smiles, as you settle against his chest. He places a soft kiss on the top of your head and you close your eyes. Safe and comfortable- Minho.
âčâčâč
Summer has been kind to you. Or maybe it was you who has been kind to summer, your laughter filling its air until it could do nothing but mirror your happiness.
Summer tasted like love with Minho by your side. In clementines he peeled for you, feeding you each slice with a soft smile on his face. In spontaneous bike rides at six am, to chase sunrises you've never witnessed before him. In numerous books he bought so youâd read them to him, his head on your lap, a tranquil expression coloring his face. And although the months have all been sweet, there are two days that you remember particularly.
You don't mark up the time with dates, but rather with the new feelings Minho bestowed upon you- the first time you wanted someone to stay, and they did. Â
"Baby?" Minhoâs hand brushes against your shoulder and you startle, turning around to look at him. "Are you okay? You zoned out."
"Iâm fine," the rehearsed lie slips from your mouth, long before you could think about it. A ping of guilt swarms your heart, youâve promised yourself that youâd tell Minho about your true feelings, even if he couldnât help you with them.
"Are you sure? You havenât said a word since I came over..." He quickly glances at his watch, "Three hours ago."
"Iâm sorry," you mumble, your thoughts swarming your head once again. You felt horrible for wasting his time. He had better things to do than sit with you in silence.
"Iâm not asking you to apologize," he says cautiously as if heâs aware heâs threading along a dangerous line. You stay silent and he shuts his eyes closed, hand reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I just want you to be honest."
"I am."
"Are you, really?"
"What do you want from me?" you ask a bit breathlessly. You donât know what you are saying, but you can sense your walls building up, higher than you could ever reach them.
"Youâre clearly not fine and I-"
"I am trying, okay? Iâm trying, please." You plead; youâre unsure for what exactly. For him to stop prodding, because you donât have answers for him, not yet. Not when you havenât understood it yourself.
"I'm going for a walk," he says, abruptly standing. You stay frozen in your place, as he quickly slips his shoes on, before leaving your apartment. Youâre trying and it isnât enough for him.
You donât move from your place as time slowly trickles by. The seconds morph into minutes and suddenly itâs been an hour and a half since Minho left. There is a tantalizing fear making you stay put as if you ever dare to move a limb, then the stillness would be shattered and Minho wouldnât come back.
Itâs hard to reroute your brain entirely- old habits creep up on you swiftly, and suddenly youâre pulled back into the old you, woven into the web of horrible thoughts stitching all around you. Change feels sweet, with Minho, it feels like hope and the taste of a new beginning, but it is scary and different. And the familiarity of what you were before him calls your name from time to time. It was horrible and lonely, but there were no surprises in it. You knew what to expect at all times.
You couldâve told him that you werenât feeling good, that you didnât feel like talking and Minho wouldâve understood. Because this isnât the first time this happened, and it happens to him too sometimes. So, he understands, more than anyone you know. But instead, you lied and denied and Minho left. And you canât blame it on anyone but yourself.
You grab your phone, its sudden light burning your eyes. You blink repeatedly, as you dial Minhoâs number. It rings and it rings, then it goes to voicemail. You try again, through blurry vision. It doesnât even ring this time- straight to voicemail.
Minhoâs left. Heâs had enough. You canât blame him.
Three swift knocks resound loudly on your door. You donât remember reaching the doorknob, your bodyâs moving on autopilot, but you pull it open. Minho. Your hold on the handle tightens until your knuckles turn white. You canât look at him, you donât want to see his face as he leaves you.
"Why are you crying?" he whispers, dainty fingers gently wiping away your tears.
"Donât go. Not you too," you manage to utter, and you hear Minho suck in a deep breath, before pulling you tightly to his chest.
"What are you talking about?" he says, as he buries your head in the crook of his neck. The familiar scent of his cologne washes over you- youâve memorized its earthy notes by heart now, easily recognizable between a thousand smells.
"You've been away for two hours and I called and you- you didnât pick up. I thought you wouldnât come back."
"My phone died while I was outside and I lost track of time, and- please donât cry. Iâm sorry, Iâm so sorry." He leans away, cupping your cheek delicately. "Im here, you see? Letâs go on a walk, hm?"
"You were just out," you mumble and he smiles at you. "I wanna go with you."
Minho takes off his jacket, draping it over your shoulders. He leads you outside, still clad in the bunny slippers he randomly bought you a week ago. His hand is warm in yours. His hand wouldnât be warm if he was leaving you.
You walk in silence to the park near your home, and Minho sits you down on an empty bench. Your tears are dried up by now, cheeks cold from the night breeze; and his hand is still in yours.
"Chan didnât leave our dorm for three days." He starts, clearing his throat. "Heâs overworking himself, doesnât even eat the food I make him. And I tried to tell him to take a break today. But I couldnât⊠I couldnât convince him. Heâs probably still working on his music right now," he chuckles, but there is no trace of humor in the sound. "And then I come to you and youâre not okay. And I want to help but suddenly Iâm pressuring you. And youâre trying, so hard and youâre doing so well and Iâm pressuring you instead of helping. And I failed at being there for you both. What good I am if Iâm not there for the people I lo- care about?"
"Donât say that, please. You are good enough. More than enough," you cup his cheek, pressing his forehead on yours. "Youâre always here. Donât ever doubt that. Iâm sure Chan appreciates everything you do for him."
"And you?" he asks, tone coated in such raw vulnerability that it knocks the breath out of you. At that moment, Minho was a plain hill, devoid of hidden nooks and crannies- nowhere for him to guard his emotions from you.
"Do you remember that night, when I asked you how I can help you feel yellow?" you ask after a while, and he nods, repetitive blinks rythming his silence. "I used to think that happiness was yellow, that sudden joy that drowns out the world around you. And I wanted to always feel yellow, the highest of highs. But that could only lead to another low, another extreme. Iâve since learned that true happiness is feeling peace when you lay in bed at nightâŠÂ And for your heart to beat soundly from contentment."
"I remember feeling this way only once, a long time ago. I woke up to see the sunrise, but I was a bit late to it, so I missed the orange and the pink," you chuckle slightly, as the distant memory floods you. "But I saw the blue, this really soft blue, and as I looked at it a strange sense of serenity washed over me. As if, as long as I looked at that pastel blue, Iâd be alright. And nowâŠ" You smile softly, your thumb delicately grazing his cheek, Now, I can just look at you. You are my blue."
Minhoâs eyes glisten with unshed tears as he looks at you, mouth slightly hung agape. You giggle quietly, before patting his head gently. "Thank you for staying," you whisper, and a sudden smile breaks out on Minhoâs face. Itâs so radiant- as if every star in this galaxy was ground to fine dust and then sprinkled into it. You canât admire it for long since Minho crashes his mouth on top of yours, drawing you in for a kiss that leaves you breathless afterward.
"You know I had a really nice dream yesterday," he finally whispers against your lips, a newfound lightness in his voice. "I think this is the first time where my reality is much sweeter."
âčâčâč
The first time you felt loved, truly.
Itâs a couple of days into August when Chan tells you that he has signed up with a producing agency- itâs a huge step for him, one heâs been rambling about each time you met him for the past few months. So now youâre over at his and Minhoâs dorm, attempting to bake a congratulatory cake for Chan. It was Minhoâs idea, one he mumbled into your ear nonchalantly, as if he didnât wake up really early to scout all the ingredients you might need.
"Why is baking so much harder than cooking?" Minho whines, burying his head dramatically in the crook of your neck. You giggle, patting his back in faux sympathy.
"So, you're admitting you're not good at everything?" you tease and he straightens up instantly, brows furrowed as he looks at you.
"I didn't say I'm not good at it. I said it's harder than cooking," he drawls out and you hum in reply, a teasing "sure, sure" escaping your mouth.
"Do you know how to crack an egg with one hand? That's the cue that you're a great baker."
"Why would I when I have two hands?" you chuckle and he smiles cheekily, raising his eyebrows at you. "Well, I can do it."
"Fine," you huff, grabbing an egg onto your hand. "Teach me?" you smile sweetly and he grins satisfied, "Of course."
"Here, you just need to crack the egg gently into the side of the bowl. And then lodge your finger inside, slowly pulling the shell apart. Like this," he demonstrates and you nod in understanding.
"Your turn," he smiles and you follow his instructions, tongue poking against your cheek in utmost concentration. Â
"Min look! I did it" You grin widely, turning around to show him the egg now dropped into the bowl.
"You did! Iâm proud of you," he smiles, placing a tender kiss on your temple. You pause, the eggâs shell still tightly clutched in your hand. You didnât drop it into the bowl, and someoneâs proud of you for it.
 Itâs late into the night, and your stomach is aching from laughing for hours on end. Your plates of cake are on the ground, with only crumbs left on top of it. Minho invited two of Chanâs closest friends over- Felix and Han, so now youâre all playing rounds of Uno, and the poor freckled boy is losing each time.
"This isnât fair," Felix whines, before stealing a bite of the leftover cake on the table. "This is really good by the way," he compliments and you giggle, turning around to point at Minho, only to find him already looking at you, a soft smile on his face.
"Itâs all him," you say, and Chan gets his face impossibly close to your boyfriendâs, a teasing smile on his face. "You love me so much."
"I donât. Get back," Minho pushes his face away, but you can tell heâs lying, from the fond smile threatening to spill over his mouth.
"Sure," Chan sing-songs, before turning to look at you. You wink at him and he ruffles your hair affectionately, as he always does when he wants to tease you. "Thank you for the cake, yn."
"Youâre welcome," you grin as an unfamiliar warmth spread through your chest. Is this how it feels to have a family? People you care for and who care about you in return?
Minho notices the sudden bittersweet expression etched on your face, so he grabs your pinky in his hand, squeezing it slightly. You turn your palm around, before blindly intertwining your fingers with his- something youâve gotten much better at lately.
"Weâll get going," Han announces when itâs nearly midnight, as he and Felix both get up from the floor. "Sure you donât want to come to the party?" Chan asks, eyes trained on you and Minho.
"Yeah, weâll stay the night."
You stand up as well, following Chan to the door and stopping him before he leaves. "You donât mind me staying the night, right? Itâs your dorm too, so I should ask."
"Of course not. You can come over whenever, even if Minho isnât here. You donât ever have to ask me, okay?"
"Okay, thank you, Chan," you beam at him, relief coursing through you at his words.
Soon enough, the dorm is silent, and itâs only you and Minho once again. You go to clean up but Minho pulls you by your hand, ushering you toward his bedroom. "Let's leave it to tomorrow," he says, and his voice sounds like warm candle wax dripping down on you. You canât say no.
You find that heâs already prepared a pair of pajamas for you, spread out nicely on the bed- his grey shirt and a pair of shorts he has apparently overgrown.
"You'll find a box there, under the sink, itâs for you," he announces, as you walk into the bathroom to change. Itâs filled with anything you might ever need, tissues and makeup removal and pads and medicine, and your cherry shampoo.
"When did you prepare this?" you ask as you open the door wide for him. He peeks his head inside, eyes softening when they take a glimpse at your figure - wearing his shirt, in his bathroom.
"A month ago, or so. Just in case you ever needed to stay the night." He's so thoughtful, you're starting to believe that the word was molded after him. "Is it enough? do you need something else?" he asks tentatively and you shake your head, squeezing his hand lightly. "It's perfect. Thank you."
"Of course. let's brush our teeth?" he smiles and you nod, grabbing the blue toothbrush he bought for you. He squeezes some toothpaste into it, and your eyes meet in the mirror. You can feel a blush creep up your face, to match the tip of his ears turning pink. It felt innocent to blush at the mere act of brushing your teeth together- at the domesticity of it, and the future hopes that lay within it. Â
Minho washes his face with his cleanser and you do the same. He suddenly hoists you up the bathroom counter, before standing between your legs. his arms cage your body, as his doe brown eyes look up at you. "Do my skincare for me," he pouts and you giggle, diligently taking the moisturizer and applying it to his face.
You take your time, massaging it into his skin, rubbing soothing circles on his cheeks and the tender skin under his eye. His eyes close at your touch, body leaning forward and pressing onto your legs. You grab his lip balm, applying it evenly to his puckered lips, and then you kiss him. Softly, tenderly, hands going up and down his arms. His own find your waist, encircling it, thumbs skimming your sides.
You lean away, a giddy smile on your face. "Thank you for the lip balm," you say, before kissing the tip of his nose.
Minho's room smells like clean laundry and vanilla, courtesy of the candle he lit up. You've been here before, but this is your first time sleeping on his bed. He goes in first, before beckoning you in. You lay down on his silky pillow, your hair fanning all around you. Some strands of it go into your mouth, and you giggle faintly as you pull them away.
"Here," he says, leaning over your body and opening the drawer next to you. He takes out a hair tie, and a faint memory dances around in your mind- you tying up his hair at the convenience store near Limbo.
"You kept it?" you question incredulously, voice coming out in a faint whisper.
"I did," he says simply as if it's ridiculous for you to expect otherwise. "Can I tie it up for you?" he asks and you nod.
His fingers gather your hair, making sure no strands of it are escaping. They're magical, relieving every tension you have in your body. You feel him twisting the tie around, securing your hair in a low ponytail.
"All done." his voice is quiet, and so is the kiss he presses onto your shoulder.
You both lay down, facing each other. It's silent but it no longer scares you. Not when your fingers are grazing Minho's palm, tentatively, the way one dips their toes into the water to test its temperature. Your hands are dancing around one another, not yet holding each other, as if engaged in a dance only your body understands. His eyes are locked on yours- a brown shade so mesmerizing you wish you could paint the entire universe with it.
His gaze is always soft when it comes to you, pupils slightly dilated, eyelashes fluttering with each blink. They're so quick you almost can't catch them, as if he unconsciously wants the time in which he looks at you to last longer.
Minho's hand reaches behind you, before pulling the slipping comforter over your body. He tucks it in your sides, and warmth surrounds you everywhere; from him mainly. He's been so attentive to you tonight- a silent care you only truly appreciate when you've experienced a lack of it. It's as if he's pouring years' worth of missed love back into your life, and in return all the love you've held within, never bestowed upon anyone else, has found its sole destination in the man by your side.
Your hand circles his once again, and you watch intently the way your fingers graze one another, delicately, as if skimming on the edge of holding one another. You give in first, intertwining your fingers with Minhoâs and squeezing them gently. They fit his perfectly, this is where they're supposed to be.
"I don't know what youâre doing to me," he whispers, his eyes locking onto yours once more. There is a newfound emotion gleaming in his gaze- incredulity, at the depth of his feelings.
"What do you mean?" you question, nuzzling closer to him. Your head finds its rest on his arm and he responds instantly by patting your hair.
"I want to keep buying toothbrushes for you." His voice is hushed and yet it resounds loudly within your being, as if shouted from a sky-high rooftop.
You exhale softly, curling your hand around the back of his neck, and pulling him down gently to your face. You press your lips on top of his, and they move slowly, deliberately, like a painter's careful strokes. Each touch of his lips against yours is there to make you feel something- things that he can't bring himself to say, so he shows.
You finally break apart, dazed from the raw emotions barging into your heart. You then lift your head slightly, planting a tender kiss on his forehead. Minho closes his eyes, as your lips linger in there far longer than necessary. They remain closed even after you pull away, and it is the look on his face that pushes you over the edge. The serenity painted across his features, but particularly, the trust. As if you could mold him however you want and he'd be grateful you ever touched him to begin with.
"I love you," you confess so suddenly, and the words feel foreign yet familiar as they stumble out of your lips. You expect a shift in the universe, a disastrous change as you verbalize this sentiment that's long haunted you. And yet, all that happens is Minho's eyes shimmering as they look at you. And you realize that you arenât scared he'd twist the words and stab you with them. You know he'd cherish them, even if he didn't feel the same.
"I love you," he says back, a radiant smile lighting up his face, coloring each of his features in unadulterated happiness. Hearing those three words from him made your heart leap in your chest. There is so much more of what you feel that you wish to express. Youâve told him, but you want to show, to press your body to his so the feeling would emit from your heart to his own.
Your hand trails across his chest, and you feel his muscles constrict under your touch. "Can I?" you ask, gazes flickering between his eyes and the hem of his shirt. It's always about permission to you both- permission to touch, to feel, to kiss and the answer is always yes. Yes, yes, yes.
"Please," he whispers, and you tug his shirt quickly over his head. You are a goner after that when his hands caress your skin like you're delicate porcelain. Heâs hovering over you, the candle's shadow dancing across his body. Your fingers are tracing every inch of his skin graced by the flickering light, which meant your hands were everywhere, and every touch of yours was mirrored by him. Every kiss he returned ten times fold, every gasp he drank in hungrily, only eliciting a louder one in return.
"Tell me if youâd like to stop," he smiled tenderly down at you, his nose nuzzling against yours. You never felt the need to. And as the night marched forward, you gradually grasped what the poets meant by âmaking loveâ. You felt as if you were truly making love, as if your every move conjured love in its purest essence between the two of you. The ebb and flow of your bodies served as a spell, heightening your emotions into a raw fervor. It was love that orchestrated your moves, binding you both in a cacophony of sweet sounds, meant for you only to hear.
Minho's gaze remained fixed on yours, as he uncovered parts of you you've never dared to show anyone. It only cemented every feeling you harbored towards him. And the safety. The safety of being in his arms. To be as bare as one could possibly be, and yet to still feel blanketed by his soft eyes on you.Â
âčâčâč
Dainty snowflakes coat the outside world in a pristine white blanket. Itâs a mesmerizing view, one youâve grown to be grateful for these past few weeks since it signaled the return of winter, and with it, Minhoâs birthday.
It's hard to resent snow when it welcomes the existence of the person youâve fallen in love with.
The outside might be cold but you wouldn't know, not when you are nestled close to Minho, his legs thrown over your lap. You stare fondly at his figure, too engrossed in eating the birthday cake youâve prepared for him- a vibrant green frosting and a picture of his three cats printed on top, just like he requested some time ago. You lean in a bit, wiping away a trace of whipped cream from the corner of his mouth. He smiles at you tenderly, angling his head to press a soft kiss on your thumb pad.
There is a growing lump in Minho's throat, but it doesn't suffocate him, since it's formed by your love for him- you remembered what he said about the birthday cake. He was joking, obviously. But the fact that you brought his ridiculous wish to reality warmed him beyond belief.
You rummage a bit in your place, hands tucked under the pillows, and then you take out a purple envelope. "Open it," you say as you place it on top of his lap. Minho puts his plate down, straightening out in his place before looking at you, a curious smile on his face.
"More surprises?" he asks, referring to the gift youâve already given him- a pair of t-shirts, all with cats and silly scriptures imprinted on them.
"Mm," you hum, as Minho finally opens the envelope. He pauses, as his eyes rack furiously over the content of the letter. "What's this?" he asks dumbfounded, trying to fully grasp the meaning of what he's reading.
"Because of constellations, people often think that stars always live together in a cluster. But oftentimes, they are alone. Or... if they're lucky enough, they get to roam the universe with a partner. They call them a binary star. Like you and me." Emotion simmers beneath your words, and you continue, your voice a gentle undercurrent.
"It's comforting to know that other versions of us are going through this world side by side too. To know that long after we're gone, there would still be two stars discovering the universe together, orbiting around one another. A token of the love we lived." You lift your gaze to meet his, to find him staring in awe at you. You take a mental picture of this moment, adding it to the collection of the ones you already captured of him.
"Our love may not be revolutionary, we're only two humans out of billions that have adored before us. But our love is grand to me. I try..." you bite your lip, reaching out for his hand- it will guide you as you try to speak. "I always try to find the words to describe how much you mean to me, to tell you how much you do to me. I used to always hold my hand out, in the hopes that someone would grab it. But no one did, so I curled it into a tight fist. And I thought it'd stay this way, for the rest of my life. Until you came, and you unclenched my fingers gently, one at a time, and then you grabbed it into yours." Tears are trailing out of your eyes now, but you show no effort to wipe them. Happy tears shouldn't be swept away.
"Thank you for existing, my Minho," you smile softly at him, and he nods, tears brimming in his waterline, cheeks flushed pink at your words. "Thank you for kissing my finger pads and reminding me that there is still softness in this world, all embodied in you." You cradle his cheeks tenderly in your hands, trying your best to let your love seep through your fingertips into his soul.
"I think you've carved yourself into me, carved your name into my heart. Your roots intertwined with mine, and thanks to you, I managed to crack through the hard earth and bloom again. Thank you for making me feel the warm sun again. I was so so cold before you." You whisper the last part, like a sinner's confession, eager for it to be carried away, forgotten.
Minho brings your body to his, as he buries his face in your chest. You can feel slight tremors shaking his body, and you place soft kisses on his shoulder blade- soothing, calming. You are safe in my love for you, they spell out.
"I can't believe youâve named stars after us," he mumbles against you, and your fingers thread through his hair gently, flattening out stubborn strands of it. "It's nothing," you smile and he shakes his head vehemently. "It's not- it's not nothing to be loved by you. It's everything to me."
He leans away, bringing your head down to press his lips into yours. It tastes sweet from the cake and salty from his tears. It tastes like healing. You both kiss for mere seconds and yet it feels like an eternity to you. As if your mind stretches out time with Minho, knowing how valuable it becomes with him. He presses his lips onto yours one last time, before exhaling softly, melting completely in your hold.
"As long as you're with me, I don't ever need to look at the sky," he whispers. "There are enough stars in your eyes for me."
âčâčâč
Itâs late December and the fragrant aroma of hot chocolate fills your apartment. Youâre preparing two cups of the cozy drink in your kitchen, while Minho watches you fondly, leaning casually on the doorway.
"Are you just gonna stare at me?" you giggle, turning around to toss him a sly smile.
"Do you need my help making hot chocolate?" he raises an eyebrow, a mischievous smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"Yes, I wouldn't say no to a bit of emotional support."
"Ah, my bad," he playfully bows, walking over to you. Minho gently wraps his arms around your waist, leaning his chin on your shoulder. His bangs tickle the side of your face, akin to the brush of a butterflyâs wing, and a soothing sense of contentment washes over you as he holds you close.
Minho places a soft kiss on your shoulder blade, and the touch sends shivers along your spine. "This is for warming up the milk," he mumbles, adding another kiss to your neck, "and this for mixing in the hot chocolate powder," and a final one to your temple, "and this is for pouring it in cups."
"Why thank you," you giggle, turning around to hand him his cup. "Do you remember what episode we stopped at?"
"37," he replies instantly.
"I think you love this anime more than me," you pout jokingly. "I plead the fifth," he answers solemnly and you chuckle as you both make your way to the couch.
Merely one episode in and you can already tell that Minho is no longer focusing on the show. Heâs absently swirling the drink in his hand, his gaze lost within his cup.
"What did the poor hot chocolate do to you?" you smile, a beacon of curiosity piercing through his daze. His head snaps up at the sound of your voice, turning around to look at you sheepishly. "Just zoned out."
"I noticed. What's on your mind?" you ask, lowering the volume of the TV to fully focus on him.
"There is an upcoming dance competition. It's at a regional scale and I'm just... wondering if I should participate."
"You should!" you fervently reply, "You're such a talented dancer. You deserve recognition for your hard work."
"I'll become very busy, though. It's already hard enough to manage this degree," he speaks softly as if he's not fully convinced of this excuse himself.
"I've never seen you as happy as you are when you're dancing. You'll handle it, and I'll be there for you too."
"I should do it, right?" he asks, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"You really should," you echo, your hand rubbing reassuringly across his arm.
"Okay. I will," he nods, and you beam at him, before pulling him in for a comforting hug.
"On second thought... Everyone will now see how talented my boyfriend is and they will fall in love with you," you playfully muse as you hold him close.
"But everyone's already in love with me," he says in a matter-of-fact tone.
"Mm, the heartthrob of campus."
"People throw themselves right and left at me, it's exhausting," he sighs, the giddy smile easily heard in his voice.
"Okay, now you're overdoing it," you giggle and he further buries his head in your neck, inhaling the scent of your perfume. "Don't worry," he mumbles quietly, "I'm only ever yours."
As weeks meld into months, your days become a whirlwind of preparation for the dance competition; where each participant is required to create a choreography from scratch, for a song of their choosing. You witness firsthand the immense effort Minho pours into this, just as he does with everything he undertakes. He spent hours upon hours in the university's dance studio, and you were often there with him. While he practiced, you sat in a corner, working on your laptop. He only paused to kiss the top of your head before diving back into his practice.
He chose a song you've never heard before, called Taste. It was mesmerizing to witness him become a vessel for the melody, like an instrument attuned perfectly to the emotions the song tried to convey. His body moved sensually, flowing like fluid water, perfectly controlled by him. Every beat in Taste was matched with a move of his, powerful enough to capture you, gentle enough not to overwhelm you, like the ebb and flow of the waves brushing against the shore.
The first two months slipped through the hourglass of time in a breeze. And although Minho grew busier, you still both managed to carve out time for quick dates. Strolls by the ocean and spontaneous trips to the cinema- outings that helped you recharge fully once again. But the third month coincided with your midterm exams, casting a heavier cloud over both of your lives.
Minho became overwhelmed, quickly, bearing the weight of his two worlds. He was smart, immensely so, he could handle his classes with ease, retaining knowledge faster than anyone you knew. But the day only had twenty-four hours in it, and he couldn't possibly do it all- finding time to practice, study and take care of himself. So, you tried to handle the last part, as best as you could anyways. Exam seasons always took a heavy toll on you- both physically and emotionally. It also didn't help that you went down with a strong flu for two weeks, making your energy levels plummet to zero.
It was only three days before the start of your exams when a soft knock resounded on your door. You opened it to find an exhausted Minho. Heâs fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, beads of sweat glistening on his upper brow.
"I'm tired," he whispers, eyes looking absolutely devoid of emotion as they align with yours. You smile softly, grabbing his hand and pulling him inside, "I know."
You lead him to the bathroom and he follows silently. He's so compliant in your hands as if all the energy in his body was sucked out of him. "Bad day?" you ask, as you peel away his blue hoodie.
"Very." He says, voice barely above a whisper.
"It's okay. You're here now," you try to keep your voice just as quiet as you take off the rest of his clothes. You undress quickly as well, before pulling you both to the shower.
Minho rests his forehead on your back, as you check the water temperature. When it's warm enough to feel soothing on his skin, you pull him underneath the jet, and you both stand in there for a while. His head hung low, now buried in the crook of your neck; his breaths growing slower, more even.
"You did well, my Minho," you say, voice threatening to get lost in the sound of the water hitting the tiles, but Minho catches it. He tightens his hold on you in response.
Minho can feel you reaching over and grabbing something from the rack behind him. He recognizes the smell of your shampoo as you pour it in your hands, before lathering it gently on his hair. He almost starts crying right there and then, as your fingers skillfully massage his scalp. You are everywhere, pressed to his body and your hands in his hair, and your cherry scent thatâs washing all over him. And the outside world suddenly seems so far away.
You rinse off the shampoo, before grabbing your conditioner and threading it through his hair, making sure that every strand is evenly covered. He shuts his eyes closed, as your hands move to his neck and start massaging it. He's so sore from all the dancing, tired from the studying he has to catch up on. But youâre making him feel okay now, as you unravel his nerves without uttering a word. How do you do it? He wants to ask; how do you always paint his world blue?
Your hands are trailing over his body now, not sensually, just easing the knots in his muscles. You're spreading body wash all over him, and his eyes are still closed, as he feels you place tender kisses on his soapy skin. âI love you', your voice reaches him like a faraway lullaby, 'you've been working so hard', 'I'm proud of you'; and your comforting words morph into hot tears lodged into his waterline, begging for an escape.
You finally turn the water off, before pulling him outside and wrapping a towel around his waist. He sits idly on the edge of the bed, as you quickly put on your clothes, before walking over to him. You help him wear his pajamas, the ones he's left in your apartment since he often stays the night. He can't move a limb, but you're doing it in his place- as if the life in you was blown into him, and he's only breathing thanks to you.
Once youâre both fully clothed, you sit behind Minho on the bed, legs on either side of his body. You grab a towel you warmed in advance and begin to gently dry his hair with it, patting each strand with care. As soon as you're done, Minho turns around, nestling his head against your stomach. You let him, hands rubbing soothing circles on his back.
"I already told you, but I'm very proud of you," you say, head lowered so he'd be able to hear you. "I'm so amazed by your strength and hard work. You inspire me a lot, Min. Just keep on going, and if you need a break, you can rest by my side, okay?" You place a gentle kiss on the top of his head.
"I love you," you add softly, and Minho tightens his hold on you. And then he crumbles. Completely.
He falls apart in your arms, painful sobs racking through his body. You panic, as the unfamiliar sounds knock your breath away. You've seen Minho cry before, single tears that managed to escape from his eyes, trailing on his cheeks. But you've never seen him so shattered, so consumed by his pain that he could no longer contain it. Youâre caught in his storm, as uncharted waves of his hurt crash against your shores. Has he been hurting all along? Were you this oblivious to the pain brewing inside him?
Your bodyâs shaking as you press your chest to his back, your arms cocooning his curled-up figure. You try your best to shield him; you don't know from what exactly, but you know it has to go through you first to get to him again.
"I'm so- sorry you have to see me this way," he hiccups, his words digging their claws deeper into your chest.
"Don't say that, baby, please. It's okay, you can cry as much as you want. I'm here."
"I'm sorry," he repeats, voice quivering, and you can feel your heart slowly cracking, hurting in depths you haven't thought existed before.
"Minho, I don't- I don't only love you when you're happy. I love you when you're angry and frustrated and when you're sad. You deserve kindness and you deserve to be kind to yourself because you are still Minho. My Minho. No matter what emotion you're feeling."
"Please stay with me," he pleads softly, and you bite your lower lip, as traitorous tears escape your eyes and land on his shirt. "Where would I go, love? You're my home. I'm here."Â Â
âčâčâč
Selfish. Selfish. Selfish.Â
The thought that's been reverberating within your mind, echoing since the moment Minho crumbled in your embrace.
Selfish.Â
Of course you are, since you remained oblivious to his own struggles as he slowly chipped away, until he shattered unexpectedly. Akin to a seemingly sturdy building, struck by a minor vibration and suddenly reduced to ruins.
Selfish.Â
Each time you sought solace in him, you failed to realize that he was stripping away his layers to shelter you. You took and took from him, each time you called, each time he came over to brush away your tears. Your endless bad days didn't leave room for his struggles, unperceived amidst your turmoil.
Selfish and horrible. You weren't made to be loved.Â
Minho is sleeping right next to you. He looks peaceful, endearing bunny-like teeth peeking through slightly parted lips. He's undisturbed, like a placid river, until someone selfishly decides to skip some stones in it- you.Â
His chest rises and falls, erasing all remnants of his previous breakdown, like a scripture on sand washed away by the waves. You could almost forget it ever happened if it wasn't for the persistent echoes of his sobs. Raw pain had seeped through him, yet it could have been different. If you had asked more, he might have unraveled slowly. He would have talked and he would've never had to explode.Â
Selfish and guilty. There's a bitter taste in your mouth. It doesn't go away when you hastily gulp down water.
You'll keep your problems to yourself. There is enough for him to bear already. By sharing your load, you aren't diminishing it, only adding more to his.Â
You can't let your mother be right. Not about this. Not when it comes to Minho. You can't ruin his life too.Â
âčâčâč
You are being distant.Â
Minho notices it straight away when you stop coming over to his dorm. When you find excuses to not come to Limbo anymore, accounting it for the exams you're both taking. But he knows it's just excuses. You are straying away from him. Your light that shone on him every day suddenly turned into a distant lighthouse beam.Â
And it's his fault.Â
He's embarrassed by his outburst. How he broke down right in front of you. How he clung to your arms, counting on your words and touch to stitch him back together. How he wasn't enough for himself, but you were.Â
Guilt floods his being, making you sadder when you're already dealing with so much. He recounts your tears dripping into his hair, as you hugged him tightly to your body. He made you cry; he shouldn't have broken down. That's why you're staying away. He can't blame you.Â
He misses you. He saw you this morning and yet he misses you. Because you weren't there with him, you were somewhere else, in a faraway place in your mind. What if he can't reach you anymore? He wasn't sure what to do with himself without you.Â
It's 11 pm, and he's knocking softly on your door. You open it and he smiles tightly. You smile back.Â
He hovers around the entrance of your apartment, hands tightly clasped behind his back. You unclasp them, interlocking your fingers with his and leading him to your couch. You are warm, he missed you. You are here and he misses you.Â
You both sit down, and you're looking at him curiously. His eyes fall to your lips, pillowy and rosy and he can't help pressing his mouth onto yours. It'll give him the courage to speak.Â
"I'm sorry," he whispers against your lips and you lean away, confusion clearly written across your features.Â
"For crying the other day," he clarifies. "I've made you uncomfortable and you feel like you have to be cautious around me, and I'm sorry, I won't do it again."Â
"What are you saying? You didn't- you never..." you suck in a deep breath, inching closer to him. "Minho, don't ever apologize for that. please. You should never apologize for being human."
"But you are being distant," he says in a small voice, avoiding your eyes.Â
"Minho, I..." you bring your hand to his cheek, locking your gaze with his. "It's not what you think. I promise."
"Then what is it?"
You bite your lip, sighing loudly before speaking again. "You sobbed. And I had no idea you were hurting that much inside. I am so reclined on myself that I didn't notice. And I tried to distance myself so I'd sort my thoughts out. So, I could be there for you, fully. You're always here for me, and I feel... As if I failed you."Â
It's now his turn to cup your cheek, his thumbs gently brushing against your skin.Â
"I felt so loved by you that day. That's why I cried. because I've never felt that way before," he's quick to explain. "Yes, I was stressed and overwhelmed but it's not your fault. You were there for me when I needed you most. You didn't fail me; how could you think that?"Â
"Because it should've never gotten that bad. If I had noticed before, then I would've helped you and it wouldn't have gotten that bad for you. You don't deserve to feel sad, not when youâre... You. Someone like you shouldn't feel sad."Â
"Didn't you say we're humans? Isn't that what humans do? They fall down and they get up, I can't always be fine. It's not your fault."Â
"Minho you don't understand... How much more of yourself can you give to me, without hurting yourself in return?" You're so sure of these words you're uttering, as if you've drilled them into your mind by now. You couldn't be more wrong.Â
Minho blinks repeatedly, trying to gather the words in his mind properly. You weren't distancing yourself from him, because he had hurt you. But rather, so you wouldn't hurt him anymore. So, you'd be there for him more. A sudden relief floods his being. He isn't losing you.Â
Minho can't help the chuckle that escapes his mouth. He shakes his head slightly as he brings you to his chest. You're so warm as you wrap your arms around his waist. He still misses you but you're here, you aren't going anywhere.Â
"You memorized my coffee order. And my favorite pudding. You always bring me one when you come over. When you find a new flavor, I haven't tried, you always buy it for me. You look at me so excitedly when I try it. As if me finding a new favorite pudding brings your personal joy," he's talking softly, slowly, in the hopes that you'd understand what he means.Â
"You love spicy food, but you always cook without it when I'm with you. Because I can't handle it as well as you. You put snacks and water in my bag when I have dance practice, and then you come to check on me, even when you're busy too. You bought me an umbrella, and you placed it near the entrance of my dorm, so I wouldn't forget it. You give me the opened chopsticks package first, and you blow on my food so it wouldn't burn my tongue. And you let me pick the movie, every time. You let me pick it," he places a soft kiss on your shoulder, tightening his hold on you.Â
"You brush my hair away from my eyes when you think I'm asleep. And you make sure the blanket covers my body entirely, even if it means it doesn't cover you. I've never had that. Never had someone care for me this gently. Even when I'm not awake and I can't give them anything in return."Â
He leans back, smiling softly at you. There is a new palpable emotion in the air- love, in its most unconditional form. It smells fragrant and sweet- like you and him.Â
"I notice everything you do for me, every way in which you love me. You're here for me in more ways than you can ever imagine. And I love you. Please don't stray away from me. Promise me," he pouts slightly, nudging his pinky toward your face. You giggle in defeat, before wrapping your pinky with his.Â
"Didn't you think pinky promises were silly?"Â
"Nothing you like is silly."
"Not even that cheesy drama I watch?"Â
"Okay. Maybe that one is. But it makes you laugh," he trails off. "If it makes you laugh then I like it too."Â
"You'll talk to me more, right? About whatever's bothering you? When you're not feeling black yet?"Â
"I will, I promise. You too, right?"
"Mm. I will too."Â
"Good," he smiles, pecking your cheek softly. "I've missed you. And I don't mind feeling all the colors of the rainbow, as long as you're near me."
âčâčâč
The voices of your friends singing you happy birthday reaches you like the distant chirping of birds, fading away in the back of your mind with each passing second. You know that Mina is smiling at you, her head resting on Jeonginâs shoulders. And that Chan, Han and Felix are all clapping excitedly, their voices blending together in a somewhat harmonious melody. But you canât seem to focus on any of it. Your eyes are set on Minho, whoâs walking over to you, a vibrant pink cake in his hand. The surface of it is covered in candy- marshmallows and macaroons, and a dozen of lit candles. Their light flickers on Minhoâs face, casting an ethereal glow on him.
And as your widened eyes meet his, he knows that it all just clicked in place for you.
Four months ago.
"What did you like to do, when you were younger?"
You stay quiet for a few moments, mulling over Minhoâs question. The waves crash softly at your feet, the sound of them and Minhoâs arms around you serving as a perfect cover to thread through your childhood once again.
"I had a bunny plushie. My aunt gave it to me one day when her daughter didn't want it anymore. She was going to throw it out, but I took care of it. We took care of each other, in a way. I used to stay alone at home a lot, and Caramelo would keep me company."
"Caramelo?" he giggles and you pinch his arm playfully. "I was six when I named it, sue me."
"Mm, and where is Caramelo now?"
"I left it in the house. I packed in such a hurry and it didn't fit in my suitcase. But I really wanted to bring it," you smile sadly and Minho can sense a shift in your tone, so he trails his hands across your arms gently, pulling you even closer to his chest.
"What else did you like?" he asks, placing a kiss under the shell of your ear.
"Playing in the playground, there was one really near home. I'd sneak out and go play in the swing, but there was no one to push me higher there," you chuckle slightly, burying yourself further in Minho's embrace.Â
"Oh, but I met a girl there when I was eleven, Lydia, I think. She was our neighbor, and she invited me to my first ever birthday party. Her parents prepared this huge cake for her, it was all pink with so much candy on top. I kept dreaming about having a similar one for my birthday. We also painted each other's nails and put on facemasks, and then we watched a movie. It was really fun," you recall, a wave of nostalgia washing over you. You were really shy and didn't talk to the other girls present, staying away in a corner. But Lydia grabbed your hand and pulled you next to her. She didn't let go during the entire movie.
You hoped she was okay, wherever she might be now.
"And... my mom took me one day to a hill near our home. We sat on a bench there, overlooking the city's lights. We didn't talk but she braided my hair since it kept getting in my mouth. That's my favorite memory with her."
Your voice is carried away with the wind, drowned in the waves. You hoped that one day your childhood memories will come back to you, like the sea foam dissolving at your feet. Gentle, incapable of hurting you anymore.Â
"You know what I really want now? A big cake for my birthday too," Minho suddenly whines and you giggle, turning around to look at him.
"Want me to bake it for you?" you tease and he nods, cradling your face between his cold hands. They warm up once they rest on your cheeks.
"Yes. I want the catsâ pictures printed on it, and..." he trails off, looking up at the sky. "I want it to be green.â
"Green?" you chuckle. "Isn't that a bit weird for a cake?"
"Are you questioning my vision?" he wiggles his brows at you, his hands coming to your sides.
"I am," you laugh, as he starts to tickle you, unwaveringly. You fall to the sand, and he's on top of you, hands roaming your body as loud laughter erupts from you.
Minhoâs eyes soften as he gazes at your laughing figure, but he doesn't stop, not until you tap his arm multiple times, happy tears trailing from your eyes.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Green is perfect, you are a genius!"
"Why thank you," he smiles, before leaning down and kissing your tears away. You shiver slightly, from the cold and the feel of his soft lips on your skin. He notices.
"Come on," he outstretches his hand and you grab it, standing up and dusting your pants. Minho squats slightly in front of you, and you giggle before climbing on top of his back.
"Don't you ever wonder who was the person who invented tickling? They were just sitting down and then they touched someone and they started laughing,â he suddenly muses.
"Right! And then they decided this was something they should keep on doing, and it stuck around for centuries."
"I think it's really cute. It says I love the sound of your laugh so much that I will sit there and tickle you just to hear it."
"And you just tickled me," you trail out. "I know," he mumbles, the tips of his ears suddenly turning pink.
"I like your laugh too, Minho."
"Just like?" He teases, in a futile attempt to diffuse his shyness.Â
"I love it. I love it so much I could pay my entire life savings just to keep on hearing it again."
"Stop," he whines and you giggle, swinging your dangling feet in the air.
"Have you ever heard your laugh? No other melody can compare. At this point, musicians should just retire."
"You're insufferable," he finally laughs and you sigh, melting into his back.
"And you like me."
"And I love you."
Present time
The realization dawns on you like a floodgate- Minho is recreating your happiest childhood memories.
From the pink cake of your dreams. To the obnoxiously glittery nail polish he brought home three days ago, spontaneously, you foolishly assumed. He insisted on having a pampering night, where you both applied face masks to one another, bunny headbands tucking your hair out of your face. You giggled as he painted your nails with the utmost concentration, and then begged you to paint his in return. He didn't explain why he wanted pink nails suddenly, you should've known.Â
You should've known when he suddenly knocked on your door at midnight, taking your sleepy figure to the playground near your apartment. "Why are you here so late?" you questioned, rubbing your eyes tiredly.Â
"We are sneaking out," he whispered in your ear, and you didn't question his flawed logic- who were you sneaking out from exactly? But all was forgotten as he pushed you in the swing, fueled by your growing high-pitched giggles. "Higher?" he shouted and you laughed loudly, the sound of it echoing around the park. "Yes, higher!" Until you felt as if you were close enough to touching the stars.Â
You should've known.Â
Minho places the cake on the table, his warm hand finding your lower back. He rubs it soothingly, as you mouth a heartfelt "thank you" to him, hot tears prickling at the corner of your eyes. You couldn't speak, afraid of bursting into sobs in front of all your friends. He understands what you're referring to.
It's far later into the night when your friends finally leave Minho's dorm. You've all cleaned up the place, soft music emitting from the speakers. You didn't need songs to fill the silence, the conversations flowing easily between you all.
You gather all the gifts you've received and take them to Minho's room- a pair of shoes you've been raving about from Mina and Jeongin, and new headphones from Chan, Han, and Felix, since your old ones stopped working not too long ago.
"You're okay?" Minho asks, pressing a chaste kiss to the top of your head.
"Better than ever," you beam at him, cupping Minho's neck and meeting his lips in a tender kiss.Â
"I'm still not done," he smiles secretly, brushing his lips against yours once more, before pulling away. You watch, curious as he heads towards his closet and takes something out of it. Your eyes grow wide as they settle on the gift in his hands. You can feel your lip quivering as you walk hastily over to him.Â
"Is this...?" you ask incredulously and he nods, a happy smile on his face. "Your Caramelo."
"How... When?" you stammer, as happy tears blur your vision, "How did you do it?"
"I have my ways," he smiles assuredly at you. "Do you like it? I'm sorry if I overstepped by bringing it to you," he adds softly, a hint of vulnerability in his words.
"No, Minho, this is the sweetest, most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me. I can't believe it- I... I don't even know what to say."
"You don't have to say anything," he smiles, his hand rubbing your arm affectionately. "I figured this plushie should be in a loving home, with you. It helped you back then and now you're strong enough to help it in return."
There are overwhelming emotions that we can't quite express with words- like sorrow, sadness, or in your case, happiness. That's why touch was invented, you believe. As you pull Minho for a bone-crushing hug, Caramelo snug between your chests, you hope that he can feel everything you failed to express through words. That your soul will speak to him in a way your mouth couldnât.Â
"When you told me there is a friend of yours, who lived in my town. There was no friend, right?" you mumble into his neck.
"No, I just wanted to know your address," he whispers, arms tightening around your waist.
"Did you meet my mom?"
"Yes. She's the one who gave it to me."
"Did she tell you anything... about me?" you ask cautiously.
Minho remembers snippets of his conversation with your mother- the indifference she showed towards you, as if it wasn't her daughter, her flesh and blood that she discarded away so easily.Â
"Nothing of importance. I promise you."
"Thank you," you whisper, voice caught up in your throat, bound by the ropes of your overflowing emotions. "Thank you for healing me."
Sleep didnât come easily to you that night, and as Minho snored quietly next to you, you untangled your limbs from his, before heading to the kitchen to retrieve a glass of water.Â
You find that the lights are already on and that Chan is working on his laptop, eyebrows furrowed as he gazed at his screen.
"Hey," you greet softly, careful not to startle him.Â
"Our birthday girl," Chan grins and you chuckle quietly, before settling next to him on the couch.Â
"What are you working on?" you question, taking in the different settings displayed on his screen.
"Just a new song," he shrugs sheepishly, "I'm almost done with it."Â
"That's nice," you mumble, tucking your knees into your chest.Â
"I suppose Minho already gave you your gift," Chan speaks softly and you startle, turning around to look at him.Â
"He didn't tell me what it is, don't worry. But I assume he pretended as if it was no big deal, that he got it."Â
You nod silently, fearing that speaking would stop Chan from talking.Â
"I told him that he should just walk up to your house, present himself, and then ask your mom if he can take some of your stuff for you. But he said itâs too risky, and there is a chance she might say no. So, you know what he did?" Chan chuckles softly, and you feel the breath slowly escape your chest. "He spent weeks researching all the moving companies that work in your town. And then he bought us uniforms that looked like one of theirs. With the name tags and all. We rented a truck and we drove there, so weâd pretend as if we were moving the rest of your belongings. Your mom didn't question it thankfully, and I've never seen Minho as relieved as when he climbed back into the truck."
An overwhelming need to cry threatens to consume you, and you bite your lip harshly to stop it from taking over. Not in front of Chan.
"For him to go these lengths for you, means that he loves you a lot. But also, that he feels really loved by you. So, thank you, for loving Minho. I'm very happy you guys are together now." Chan smiles softly at you, before getting up and ruffling your hair slightly.Â
You quickly go back to Minho's room, before bringing his body tightly to yours. And as soon as you touch him, he mumbles your name in his sleep before throwing an arm over your waist.
"Thank you for loving me. I love you so much too," you whisper into his back, as your tears dampen his shirt. You wished that the words would reach him in his dreams, making them sweeter for him.
You didn't make a wish that day, as you blew the candles, foolishly believing that everything you've ever wanted was already around you. But you should've.
Maybe that would've stopped the anguish to come.
âčâčâč
There is a bad feeling nudged into the space between your ribs. You rub a soothing palm across your chest, in the hopes that it will calm your spiking anxiety. But you only feel your heart growing more erratic in your chest, and the sound of it only makes you panic ten times fold.
Youâve just woken up. You can hear the water running in the shower. Minho has stayed over since you both studied late into the night. You listen intently, a small breath of relief escaping your mouth when the water turns off. Heâs okay.
You drag a hand tiredly across your face, before shaking your head left and right. Youâll have a good day, youâll open the blinds and the golden sun will stream through your windows, and youâll feel okay.
You donât.
The dread lingers in your being throughout the day, making the simple act of walking weigh heavily on your bones. You try to distract yourself, by focusing on your classes and listening to Minaâs rants about her latest date with Jeongin. But to no prevail. So, you surrender to that feeling, todayâs a bad day, but tomorrow doesnât have to be. Youâll make sure of it.
Itâs five pm when you finally walk up the stairs of your apartment. Minho went to grab you both something to eat since youâll be studying again tonight. You wish heâd come home quickly, so you wouldnât attach your anxiety to him. As long as you see him, then heâs okay.
You open the door, pausing by the front entrance. Something in you tells you to flee, to turn back, and never set foot inside. You donât listen to it. If you paid attention to everything your mind tells you then youâd never truly live.
You quickly change out of your clothes, before turning on the TV. You mindlessly scroll through the show suggestions, and settle on one you havenât seen before. You turn up the volume, making sure that the voices of the characters would drown the ones in your mind.
But then, your phone rings. It vibrates from the coffee table, the name of your aunt illuminating your screen. She calls you from time to time, but why is she doing it today? You donât want to answer, not when there is a bulge in your throat suffocating you.
You watch numbly as the phone call seizes. You breathe out a shaky exhale. Youâll call her tomorrow.
The phone rings again.
You bite your lip harshly, hands shaking as you bring the device to your ear. Youâre overreacting, you tell yourself. Nothingâs wrong. Minho will be home soon.
"Whatâs going on?" you ask immediately, the question slipping out of your mouth before you even thought about it.
Your aunt sighs softly, and then her voice floods your being. It sounds hoarse like sheâs been crying. "Look, IâŠ" another sigh, and you imagine her fidgeting with the hem of her dress. She always wore dresses. All seasons mingled. With pretty flowers sewed into them and sometimes even-
"Your mother died in a car accident."
Silence. You can't hear anything after those words are uttered. You know that your TV is still playing in the background and that your aunt is still talking on the phone. But it's completely silent. For five seconds. Where the world stills, as if to allow you a brief moment to process what you just heard.
Your mom. Gone.
But then, sounds crash upon you like a relentless wave. The shatter of the characters in the background, the ticking of your clock, the dull buzz of the refrigerator. And your aunt, she's still talking, telling you about the funeral and when it will be held and you can't believe what you are hearing.
It's all too overwhelming, everything surrounding you is too much to bear so you simply hang up.
You put your phone down on the table. And then you turn it off. That's one sound dealt with.
You turn the TV off and dismantle the clock from your wall so it wouldn't tick anymore. You then unplug your refrigerator. Has its buzzing always been this loud? You wonder. But it doesnât matter anymore. Now itâs silent. It's what you crave.
Minho will come home soon. You should make him something to eat. You think to yourself. A fruit salad. It's warm outside and the fruits are refreshing.
So, you grab a knife from your drawer, and then you start peeling an orange. Then an apple. It's rugged, and half the fruit is wasted with the peel. You've never really known how to peel the skin properly. So, you put the knife down. The blade is slightly red, you notice. There is blood oozing from your finger. You cut yourself. But it doesn't hurt, so you leave it be.
Light floods your apartment, a stark contrast to the shadows within you. But you want it to be dark, and silent. You already took care of that last part. So, you pull down all the blinds and turn off the lights one by one. Now it's pitch black. Now it's quiet.
You sit on the floor, running your hand across the tiles. You count them, one, two, three. When is Minho coming home?
The floor is cold underneath you, the sensation heightened since your every other sense is muffled. You can't see, you can't hear, but you can still touch. You wished you couldn't anymore. The smallest sensation overstimulates you.
The front door unlocks, but you don't hear someone coming in. You imagine Minho standing by the door, looking around in the dark. It's okay, he'll find you. He always does.
"Honey?" he calls out and you reply from the living room, "Iâm here."
You don't have to yell, it's quiet enough for your voice to be carried around your home with ease.
Minho has his flashlight on, you notice. He's looking for you and he finally spots you on the ground. You move a strand of your hair behind your ear, and you feel something warm smear across your cheek. You forgot about your cut- a reminder of the pain lurking beneath the surface, waiting patiently to consume you.
"Baby?" His tone is soft and careful, and you can see the worry brewing in his brown eyes. Why was he worried? You're okay. Nothing happened.
"I made you a fruit salad. It's in the kitchen. Can you please turn off the light?"
"Okay." His voice is calm, and you don't mind him talking. You could bear it. He was different after all, to you.
Heâs pulled into the abyss with you, as he sits down next to your rigid figure. His hand rests on top of your pinkie, but you recoil from it. Not because you hate it, but his hand is warm and the floor beneath you is cold. That's a contrasting sensation. You don't want that. You just want a stillness, to feel like a straight line. Straight lines are always sure of themselves, of where they're going. You were tired of feeling like a bent one at the hands of the universe.
"What happened, baby?"
"Nothing."
"Okay. What did you do when I left, hm?"
"Nothing much. I was watching this new show, I think youâll like it. And then my aunt called. She told me my mom died in a car accident. And then I went to the kitchen and I cut up some fruits. But I didn't know how to peel them. Can you believe it?" you giggle, your voice suddenly high-pitched. "I mean who- who doesnât know how to peel the skin of an apple? Isn't that such a basic skill?" You're laughing now, you don't know what's funny, but you're laughing.
"And I cut my finger, but I didn't feel anything, Minho. I don't- I don't feel anything," you're still giggling, hot tears trailing down your cheeks rapidly. "My mother died and I don't feel anything. Why- why can't I feel anything? Minho, I can't- I can't-" You're hyperventilating, words straining to come out of your mouth. The breath is knocked out of you and white spots cloud your vision, like the stars that dance around Minhoâs eyes. They seem kind enough so you don't fight them. You want to welcome them in the hopes that they'd take this unbearable weight off of you.
"Yn, yn, breathe for me, baby. Listen to my voice," Minho calls out and it's as if you're pulled in two opposing directions. He sounds scared, so you try to do as he says. You donât want him to worry about you.
"You're doing so well, breathe with me, okay? Breathe in... Breathe out... Perfect, let's do it again," he instructs and you try your best to follow suit. You can feel yourself shaking, your hands moving as if they have a mind of their own. You are cold, too cold, and you can't help but wonder if it's how your mother is feeling right now too.
The thought seems to drive you over the edge and you let out a guttural sob. It racks from within you, reverberating from the depths of your splitting soul. It's a pain unlike any you've ever felt. You try to find something to compare it to, a sensation you imagine must hurt the same. But you can't find any. You can't find a metaphor to make the pain more bearable. Â
So instead, you let out a heart-wrenching scream, slicing through the silence you tried desperately to maintain. Your throat aches from the strain on your vocal cords but you pay it no mind, not when there is a pain bursting open every seam of yours, undoing every thread you so carefully stitched back into your soul.  Â
Amidst your pitch-black apartment, you see yourself quivering in the corner, head buried in your hands. And then itâs thirteen years old you sitting there, the one who wished for something so horrible to happen on the birthday she spent alone, yet again. Your wish came true, you want to tell her. You tried to take it back, but it came true.
Minho gathers you in his arms, and you clung to him. You know he's trying to wrap you up the best he can, his arms around your back and his legs pressed on you. He's trying his best to stop you from falling apart. From breaking beyond the point of no return. And you think to yourself that you've passed it. You've passed it and he's clinging helplessly into your remains now.
âčâčâč
The funeral went by in a blur, its details elusive in your memory. At times it felt like a fever dream, a mirage conjured by your mind. And sometimes you tried to believe it, to lull yourself into a comfortable thought. Where you don't talk with your mom and she doesn't know how you are doing, but she's still alive. On the other side of the country. She's still breathing.
But this fleeting comfort is quickly shattered. The thought barely lingers, like a whisper in the wind, never staying long enough for you to finally draw in a full breath. Because the grief clings onto your skin, and you carry it with you everywhere, like a stench that wonât quite leave you. You wonder if other people can smell it on you too.
Minho hasn't left your side, once. He's always next to you. His hands are resting on your back or brushing your cheek tenderly. They are always near. And you hold them tightly. You practically memorized the lines etched on his palm. It's all you stared at during the funeral.
It felt wrong and unjust to be somewhere where everybody knew your mother, except for you. You felt as if you were left out, robbed of happy memories to mourn as well. So, you remained silent, gaze fixed intently on Minho's palm. And he didn't mind; he never does when it comes to you.
He's gentle with you, he's always been, but he's particularly gentle with you these weeks. The countless times he's cared for you blur together- his soapy hands skimming your body, massaging the shampoo into your hair when your limbs felt too heavy to move; the meals he cooked for you, making sure that each bite was cool enough before feeding it to you. How he always told you he was proud of you, at random times throughout your days. âWhat for?â you wanted to scream, âI'm barely alive as it isâ. "For breathing," he'd add as if he heard the thoughts swirling in your mind. "For being here. For waking up today."Â
He did your laundry and he folded your clothes. Sometimes he even picked your outfits and dressed you in the morning. Leaving pecks all over your face after each worn clothing. You wanted to smile, to tell him how much you loved him. How his love felt like a sun ray peeking through the cell hole of a prisoner. But you couldn't speak. So, you hoped he knew.
He unburdened you of all these mundane tasks, so you'd focus on other ones. Like attending classes and taking notes and writing essays. Because as much as you wished for it, the world did not pause for your sorrow. In the grand tapestry of existence, where did you stand exactly? You were nothing but a mere speck of light. Your emotions, as profound as they were to you, did not hold the power to halt the world's march, to compel universal mourning.
But Minho made your world stop, just like he promised, almost a year and a half ago. When you finally found your voice, he'd listen to you talk, your head on his lap, his fingers weaving through your hair gently.
"I feel like Iâm mourning two people. The person I knew and the person she could have been," you told him one night and he hummed, listening intently to you.
"The what-ifs are killing me Minho. It feels like Iâm suffocating each time I think of what could have been. She left so suddenly. But she should've stayed. Maybe our relationship would've gotten better."
"Maybe⊠or maybe not, you can never truly know. And itâs not your job to find the answers to the questions she left behind. Maybe she didnât even have them herself."
You appreciated how his hand never left yours, as you journeyed through seas of uncharted emotions. The anger- that came with her leaving so abruptly, leaving you behind with a heavy baggage to dissect. The sadness- from losing the woman who will always be part of you. Because we don't kill our hopeful past selves, we simply bury them and they remain just under the surface of our souls, a testament to everything we've been through.
The nostalgia- that creeps in from time to time, conjuring rose-tinted memories in your head. Maybe her voice was softer here. She did ask about your day one time. Wasn't that her sitting on the benches in your musical play? But it wasn't, it was just your brain trying to soften the harshness of losing her.
It is how our minds cope with grief, your therapist says. Minho convinced you to go see one. Because love doesn't mend everything. And he needed you to be okay again, for yourself.
He's always waiting for you after your sessions end. With coffee and a fresh pastry. You didn't eat them at first, because they tasted bland and you'd rather not waste them. But one time you bit into the strawberry muffin and it tasted sweet and citrusy. And you smiled at Minho.
He stared at you in awe that day, and then he kissed you softly, pressing his pillowy lips against yours. His eyes mirrored galaxies, tears tracing constellations down his cheeks. "You look so pretty when you smile," he whispered tenderly and you felt emotion bubbling within you, stuck in your throat. But you didnât want to cry. So, you only smiled more brightly at his words, and you kept his compliment stored safely within you, right beside every sweet gesture of his since that day.
Minho didnât have the answers to all your questions. He didnât always know what to say to make it feel right. But he stayed there, he tried his best, to heal parts of you that you never knew could be bruised.
You tried one day, to go through the day normally. You woke up, opened the blinds, and then you made Minho breakfast. You ate lunch with Mina, making some jokes here and there. And when you saw Chan in the line of the coffee shop, you went up to him to talk.
And then you got home and showered, put on makeup, and waited for Minho to come to you. As soon as he opened the door, you were on him, hands busy unbuttoning his shirt, your lips pressed wildly on top of his. You missed him, missed the way he made you forget as he touched you, everywhere. As he showed you how much he loved you.
"I want you, please," you whispered, your lips grazing the shell of his ear, your hands roaming across his chest. Your tone was begging and Minho could feel the urgency in it, so he nodded, he could never say no to you. He watched as you guided him to the couch, as you straddled his lap. You kissed his neck and he tilted it back to give you more of an opening. His hands were on your thighs, cautious. Your lips on him felt heavenly but he couldnât allow himself to get lost in the pleasure, he had to keep an eye on you.
You were urgent, with the way you sucked the tender skin above his collarbones, how you grinded your hips into his. As if you were on borrowed time and you had to make him reach his high as fast as possible.
"Tell me youâre mine," you muttered, between the kisses you imprinted onto his chest. He could see the lipstick stains you left behind as if you needed to mark him up for everyone to see.
"I'm yours," he says, his hand smoothing the top of your hair. He could sense that something was wrong now, because your eyes were glazed over, and your kisses were getting sloppy, as if your mind was somewhere else. So, he grabs your hips to pause you. "I'm yours, angel. You hear me?"
"Tell me you wonât leave, tell me youâre staying," you take his hands away from your sides, clasping them in a tight hold. You capture his lips in a desperate kiss, and Minho can feel the tears streaming down your face. "Tell me youâll stay, please, I canât- canât lose you too."
"Hey, hey, love. Itâs okay, calm down," Minho easily frees his hand from your grasp, bringing you closer to his chest. Itâs all it takes for you to start sobbing. "Who said anything about losing me? Iâm still here, I wonât ever leave you," he shushes, his voice sounding like honey to your ears. It manages to muffle the sound of your erratic heartbeat.
"I'm so so tired Minho, so tired," you sob, burying your head in his chest. You felt as if there was pain igniting the end of each of your nerves. You couldn't run away from it because the pain became you. "I try to be strong, but I can't. It hurts to wake up and- and to try to go on as if nothing happened. The thoughts in my head don't ever stop and I can't- I can't do this anymore. Please make it stop. Make it stop hurting," you press your palm onto your chest, a useless attempt to soothe the burn within.
 Why did it feel as if in your attempts to put out the fire raging within you, you only ended up fueling it even more?
"I would- I would if I could but I can't do that, I wish I could-" his tone is desperate, raw pain dripping from it.
"What if I'm not strong enough to do it myself?" you cut him off, finally asking the question that's been haunting you. "What if I can't fill this hole within me and it keeps on growing until it swallows me whole?"
Minho tightens his hold on you, rocking you gently in place, trying to lull your heart to sleep, so it'd stop hurting, even for a moment, even for a second. You know it's selfish to expect him to have all the answers, but he's all you have. He's the only voice you can bear listening to.
"I can't promise you that you'll ever fill the void left by her absence. It will keep on bleeding and throbbing, begging for a temporary patch-up. But one day it'll stop, it can't bleed forever. And around that hole flowers will bloom, like a sanctuary, watered by your overflowing love. Because it is your love that's hurting you, not your anger. Do not kill your heart to stop feeling, please. It will do that on its own, it won't hurt more than it can bear."
"It will take time. And if you run out of your time, I'll give you mine too. You aren't alone in this, we are a binary star, right?" he smiles softly and you nod slightly against his chest. "I read that to the invisible eye, they look like a singular star. I hope that to the universe we'd look like one person too, so they'd pass some of your pain to me."
âčâčâč
Itâs been a few months since your mother died. You didnât like the term passing away, because it entails that it was gentle, in passing, as if you were expecting it. But her death was sudden and it made your entire world flip upside down.
"Would you like to talk to her?" Minho suggested one night, his knuckles brushing against your cheek softly.
"Will you come with me?" you ask quietly.
"Of course. If you want me to, that is."
"I can try."
Minho drove you to the graveyard the following weekend. It felt weird to see her name etched on the grave, a reminder that this was all real and not a figment of your imagination.Â
"I'm not a daughter anymore." You speak after a while, tone coated in sadness, and acceptance. "But I think Iâve never truly been one, since you were never a mother to me."
"Is it weird, that I miss you? I don't even know what I miss exactly since you were never there. But I miss you. I miss having a mother. And I'm sorry, that you were so angry at the world you couldn't find it in you to love me." You pause, blindly reaching out to hold Minho's hand. He grabs it instantly. "But I won't carry your anger anymore. I don't want to be mad at you, for leaving so suddenly. I want to be happy. I deserve to be happy. And I hope that you are too, wherever you are now."
You turn around, a small smile gracing your lips, and Minho wastes no time in wrapping you in his arms, your cheek resting against his shoulder. He's proud of you, the emotion shines clear as day in his eyes.Â
"I wanna take you somewhere," he tells you and you nod, wrapping your arm securely around his waist.
The drive is short and you recognize the place fairly easily. It's the hill you told him about a long time ago, the one that held your happiest memory with your mother.
You both sit on the bench, your head finding solace on his shoulder. The view unfolding in front of you is still as breathtaking, and with each passing moment, the tightness in your chest seems to ease. Memories of your mother and this serene spot intertwine like delicate vines, bringing you a bittersweet sense of comfort. Because mourning someone isn't straightforward, not when humans are this complex, never strictly good or bad.
"Cold?" Minho asks and you shake your head no. "You're a human heater."
"Only near you," he smirks and you giggle slightly.
"I remember your hands used to be so cold."
"So, I could find an excuse to hold yours."
"Are you flirting with me?" you chuckle and he nods, a proud smile on his face. "Is it working?"
"I haven't run away yet, so I suppose it is." There is a newfound lightness in your voice, one youâve been achingly missing for the past months.
"Come here," he taps his lap with his hands and you promptly lay your head on it.
"Look at the sky," he instructs and you do as he says, squinting your eyes. "What am I supposed to see?" you giggle, but then you feel it, the faintest snowflake falling on your nose tip.
"Go away, I don't want to watch the first snow with you," you tilt your head towards Minho, who's watching you, a soft smile on his face.
You giggle at the distant memory, when you both left Limbo, two years ago. The first time Minho rewrote your memories.
"As if I could ever love you, that'd just be signing a death warrant," you repeat your words from that night, a knowing smile on your face.
"How's that death warrant going?"
"Horrible, so so horrible," you say as you intertwine his hand with yours, squeezing it lightly.
"Mm. I suppose we can't be the exception to the superstition."
"How unfortunate," you smile as he leans down to press a kiss on your forehead, before looking back at the sky again.
He looks perfect from your view. You can clearly see the mole on his nose, the pucker of his rosy lips, and his long eyelashes framing his eyes. You are overcome by a feeling of love for the man beside you, and you stand up from your place to pull him in for a deep kiss.
"What was that for?" he smiles once you lean away, his fingers gently grazing your lips.
"Thank you, for today and for every day since I've met you."
"Of course, my love. You took a big step today, what color are you feeling right now?"
"Whatever color loving you is."
âčâčâč
Hills covered in verdant hues, rows of flowers bursting with vibrant colors, stretching before your eyes. The birds are chirping somewhere near, intermingling with the faint melody of the wind brushing against your skin.
"Here," Minho comes from behind, placing his knit jacket on top of your shoulders. Its warmth seeps through you, and you lean your back against his chest, melting into his embrace. His arms encircle your chest, resting comfortably on top of your heart as if guarding it from harm.
You feel your breathing slow down as you both look out the window. You are somewhere far from the city and its buzzing lights, a small white cottage surrounded by nature, where only you and Minho exist.
Minho nuzzles his chin on your shoulder, placing a chaste kiss under your ear. A light giggle escapes your mouth, as goosebumps rise upon your skin. Your body still reacts as sweetly to Minho, proofs of his love imprinted all over you. His touch is familiar to you but still as soothing, never losing its effect on you. You believe it never will, even when you're both withering down; his touch will still be the only thing making you bloom.
"This is nice," he whispers, sighing softly and you nod against him, raising your hand to settle on top of his. His fingers instinctively find your wedding ring, playing with it as they've done for the past two years.
"It's always nice with you," you say and he smiles softly, squeezing your hand lightly. You remember how it felt when he held it for the first time. How he hasn't let go since. It was only ever his to hold.
"We did well, don't you think? For our first time being alive."
His words make a gentle warmth stir within you. It is your first life, and you're lucky enough to spend it with him.
"We did," you turn around, to find him already looking down at your figure, a fond smile on his face. "To think we probably wouldn't be together if it wasn't for our law classes."
"No," he shakes his head, hands gently cupping your cheeks. "I would've found you. On a random evening when you'd stumble onto Limbo. In the supermarket where you'd buy your cherry shampoo. In the park you used to play in as a kid. I would've found you."
You've once read that when humans are about to pass away, a film of their happiest memories plays in front of their eyes. You know that many years down the road when you're on the brink of going away, you'll remember this moment clearly in your head. You'll remember the cicadas chirping far away, and the zesty smell of the lemon muffins you made earlier today. You'll remember the cold breeze ruffling your hair, and Minhoâs warm hands on you. And you'll sigh contently, from having lived a life filled with love.
"My soul is dipped in yours. It will always find you too."
summary: Minho thinks Y/N hates him because she doesn't treat him like the others. warnings: there's a blowjob lol, but it isn't too graphic and is between y/n and Felix, also honestly this is kind of a polyfic not officially tho
i.
Minho had a lot of conflicting emotions; they scrimmage in his head, combative and aggressive, like a cartoon cat chasing a particularly violent and intelligent mouse. Normally this was something he could easily ignore, or at least pretend like he was ignoring it, and the others would be none the wiser. He'd been blessed with the most phenomenal poker face, so nobody could tell how he was really feeling ever.
But jealousy was an ugly feeling, that clawed at his skull and weighed heavily on his mouth and brows, tugging them into a deep frown.
It was stupid really, his reasoning, but he just couldn't ignore it anymore. The weight of it he'd been shouldering for far too long, and now he was feeling distressed. Enough so that his poker face had cracked in front of the one person he really didn't want it to crack in front of.
It started like this: Y/N was Seungmin's friend first. Minho couldn't remember how the hell they met, he just knew that one day he had no clue who Y/N was, and the next day she was introducing herself with a smile on her face and muffins in a tin -- store bought muffins, but an offering nonetheless. Then it felt like he was seeing her all the time. Obviously, because he lives in the same place as Seungmin, and if she came over a lot then he'd at least bump into her sometimes, even if he rarely lingered out of his room.
But somehow he wasn't just seeing her in their dorm, but he was seeing her at the other dorm too. And he was seeing her in their practice rooms, flopped over the couch in Chan's studio, taking up a chair when they were out for dinner, on the outskirts of the cameras when they were filming vlogs. The crazy part is, it seems like Minho is the only one to notice -- she had seamlessly slid her way into their lives and nobody seemed all too concerned about it.
He didn't mind it -- didn't mind her. She was funny, and she was kind; if he hadn't been sold on her before, seeing how she'd comforted a distraught Felix (over a performance, or something, Minho couldn't remember now) had shown him what he needed to. How she'd listened to his worries, connected to him emotionally, been the support he needed in a group with seven other men who could be (not on purpose) slightly emotionally constipated. It was comforting, is how Felix had described it, sometimes an outside perspective was a benefit.
Then the others started going to her too, because she was always around, so she saw all of them -- their ups and their downs. When Chan forgets meals, when Jeongin is too strict with his diet, when Seungmin is feeling sad but unable to properly express it in a way that doesn't seem like he's being mean -- she was great. Minho had never gone to her for anything, because he didn't want to throw his problems onto her, but it wasn't like she'd not offered. . .sometimes she notices he's in a bad mood, even before the others.
And she's big on skinship, almost as much (if not more) than Felix. The first time he'd realized it was when he'd walked in to Jisung snug between her thighs, his back to her torso while she threaded delicate fingers through his hair. Minho had paused, brows raised, but nobody else in the room had seemed to question it. Jisung prattled on about whatever show he was watching, Y/N hummed while she scrolled through her phone, and they were cuddled close like nothing was out of the ordinary.
Maybe Jisung had been the one to pioneer it, because then he notices everyone is snuggling up with her. Chan snuggles up close to her during movies with his arm thrown over her shoulders, being annoying and clingy and shoving his cheeks against her cheeks until she's squealing. Changbin pouts and whines and shoves his head in her lap so she'll pet at him just how she had for Jisung that first time. Felix is all over her, overjoyed by the fact someone seems to love it as much as he does, so he's all snuggled close, koala'd to her in bed while they window-shop together.
Her cuddling with them makes sense, all of them are big fans of skinship, but even the ones who swear that they loathe it -- are joining in. Hyunjin is all long limbs tangled with hers on the floor while they order food, and Jeongin is lying his head on her shoulder after dinner when he's full, soft and sleepy. Even Seungmin curls his arms around her waist, pressed closed to her and seeming content and asleep.
She's cuddled with all of them. . .all of them except Minho.
At first, he figured it was because he'd never initiated it. He'd seen firsthand that all of the boys come to her to cuddle, she doesn't go to them. Maybe she just hadn't snuggled up with him. because Minho hadn't made the plunge first. . .
. . .or at least that's what he thought, until he saw her waddle on over to Chan, half awake, her arms outstretched and he received her on the sofa. She buried into his side and closed her eyes again, and Minho sat and watched and realized that it wasn't because he'd not initiated it. Y/N must just not want to.
Which is fair, he guesses. . .she doesn't have to want to cuddle with everyone. It's not like it hurts his feelings that she seemingly wants to cuddle up with everyone but him (it totally hurts his feelings) its just something he's noticed. And he's good at looking impassive and unaffected, so maybe she hasn't noticed that he's noticed it.
He can't dislike her for it, or even resent her. She's so sweet otherwise, it almost makes up for it.
Almost, until Minho has had a horrible day. His feet ache from practice, and his mind is reeling with lyrics that he's having trouble with, and he's hungry and hot and tired. Sleep felt heavy in his bones, like his body had never fully woken up with his mind, so it made learning the new choreography more difficult than it should have been. It was his fault for staying up so late, knowing that he had his own schedules to follow before practice, but he'd gotten really into a show and the time flew by before he'd realized.
So he was feeling grouchy and a little overstimulated, and he'd sat down on the couch in the practice room right beside Felix. Felix who is always up for a cuddle, and Minho just needed the contact, he thinks, and the comfort. It would be nice and maybe it would quiet his head a little. Maybe he'd even catch a little sleep while Chan, Changbin, and Jisung figured out whatever they were figuring out right then.
And he thinks he's probably going to get that cuddle, from the way Felix body automatically turns to him, like he's about to press up into his side. For just a second, he lets the tension melt away from his bones.
But when Y/N comes back into the practice room, with only 8 coffees, and Felix leaves his side to go retrieve his, and Minho is realizing that she didn't even bother to get him one. . .well, the tension returns. And also an evil pit in his stomach that thinks maybe Y/N just doesn't like him at all.
He hopes him storming out doesn't look as dramatic as it feels, and on a normal day he might just tease that she was going to have to share hers with him, but today wasn't a normal day. Today, Minho felt like he was the odd one out and he had never really cared about that before in his life up until now. He wasn't just the odd one out, he was being left out, and for some reason that was worse.
Minho finds a quiet, abandoned room, pressing the door open and sighing with relief when he sees there's a small couch there. At least he could lay back and close his eyes and pretend like he wasn't miserable.
The peace only lasts so long, however, because there's a perfunctory knock on the door before it's opening with a slow creak, "Minnie?" Y/N's voice rings through the quiet, and he finds himself frowning, "Are you okay?"
"What do you care?" He spits and Y/N's eyebrows raise slightly, before a sympathetic pout pulls at her mouth.
"You've just seemed off all day today," she noted, walking further into the room and Minho doesn't know if he wants her to stay or leave, and he doesn't know if the warm bubbling in his chest is because she seemed to notice. Then he sees the coffee in her hand and feels a lot less warm, and much more cold, "Then you ran out of the room. I just wanted to see if you were alright."
"It's not polite to follow people," he grumbled, pulling out his phone so he could pretend to ignore her, "Go enjoy your drink with the others, I just didn't feel like watching everyone drink one."
". . .but you forgot to take yours?"
Minho pauses. His eyes shift to her hand, where she shakes the unopened cup and blinks at him. "What?"
She took another step forward, "I said you forgot to take yours," she held it out to him, the ice is loud knocking against itself, "I was about to bring it over to you when you left."
"But there was only 8?" He said lamely, "You -- you got me one?"
Her eyebrows furrowed, "Of course I got you one? Why wouldn't I get you one?"
". . .oh."
He takes the cup from Y/N's hand, feeling silly, and dramatic, and so fucking dumb, "Y'know how Seungmin never finishes his?" she reminded him, "And I never finish mine, so we just share." And then, instead of leaving, she plops down beside him, turning her body to face him, "Why wouldn't I get you one, hm?"
"Well you hadn't -- you didn't ask me what I wanted." He shrunk into himself, feeling uncharacteristically sheepish, "I just figured --"
"You always get the same thing," she told him, "And I didn't ask anyone else either, they take too long just to choose from the same three drinks. So I just went and got some."
Honestly, it was probably the smartest route to take. And Minho is feeling extra stupid for not realizing that Y/N wouldn't do something so malicious as to not get him a drink.
"I know we might not be as close as the others, but I would never leave you out," she tells him, a reminder that it looks like she didn't know he would need, "And I'd like to get closer if you would."
"That's -- I thought you didn't like me." He blurts out, and Y/N's eyes go wide once again.
"What?"
Minho pauses, regretting letting the words slip from his mouth. Y/N's face warps into one of absolute confusion and horror, shaking her head, "What would make you ever, ever think that?"
"It's just --" he feels so stupid, "It's, you know. . .you don't treat me like the others. . .you don't cuddle up on me or. . .or any of that, like how you do with them. Maybe I don't mean you don't like me, but you definitely. . .you definitely don't like me in the same way."
Y/N blinks at him, and now that he's said it, he realizes how stupid it sounds. He's opening his mouth to take every single thing back and tell her to forget it -- his legs even twitch, eager to flee the scene, to leave Y/N confused and leave the boys in the practice room and just go home and hide in his bed.
But Y/N scoots closer to him -- closer than he thinks she's ever been to him, her body turned to face his, so her leg was pushed right up to his thigh, while the other dangled off the couch, "Minnie," she sounds like she's pouting but Minho is trying to look anywhere but her eyes, "I didn't think you wanted me to touch you."
"Why would you think that?" He knows it's a stupid question as soon as it leaves his mouth, because why wouldn't she think that? Minho and how he feels about touch is very unclear and confusing to even the guys who have been in his life for years now -- sometimes he's all over them, sometimes if they touch him he stiffens and shuffles away. It just depends on the day, how he's feeling, what mood he's in -- the only two who can get away with touching him no matter what would be Jisung and Felix, maybe Jeongin because he's not big on skinship either so Minho would be stunned and let him do whatever.
So how was Y/N, who was relatively new to their dynamic, supposed to figure that out?
Still, she humors him, shrugging, the look of distress on her face makes his chest squeeze, "I -- I don't know! Every time I got close to you at the start you just -- it seemed like you didn't want me around you physically, so I tried to respect your boundaries. And you never seemed like you wanted a hug or a cuddle or any of that."
"I'm practically staring daggers into you every time you're snuggled up with someone and you thought I didn't want it too?"
"I thought you really didn't like me!" She admitted, "I thought you just tolerated me because of the others. . ."
"Well that's stupid."
He knows he's being difficult, and Y/N knows it too, but she breathes out a heavy breath and then throws herself into him. "You're stupid," she sighs against him, and Minho is rearranging his crossed arms so that they slide around her body. She's warm, and her skin is soft where their bodies meet. For a moment, he gets self conscious about what he might smell like, or if he was still sweaty, but Y/N doesn't seem to mind. She only stays pressed close to him, so tightly like she might be trying to absorb him into her body.
And Minho just revels in it. He'd known he wanted it but he hadn't realized how badly he wanted it until he was finally getting it. Was this what the others had been getting the whole time? If he wasn't feeling so satiated and relieved then he would probably be getting upset again. This was good -- holding onto her was nice, and when she started to trace designs into his shoulder how she does for Felix. . .god, it was just unreasonable how great this felt.
Because he'd wanted this -- he wanted this so badly. Why had he wanted it so badly? He couldn't figure it out exactly, just knew that this was good. . .this was so, so, so good.
"Did you want other things too?" She inquired suddenly, and Minho hums in his throat, but makes no move to part from her.
"What do you mean?"
Y/N wiggled back, withdrawing from his throat, "Like kisses and all that?"
Minho blinks at her again.
"Kissing?" Had they all been kissing too? And he wasn't involved? It almost makes him upset all over again! He feels the frown pull at his mouth before he can stop it, "You've been kissing them all." He doesn't say it as a question, he says it as a statement, and Y/N shrugged her shoulders a bit.
"I. . .not everyone," she told him, "Just the ones who want it."
"Who wants it?"
Y/N holds up her hand, counting on her fingers, "Um, Jisungie likes them sometimes, Felix does, Changbin likes them, Chan gets shy about it but he likes them too."
"Seungmin?" Minho presses but Y/N scrunched her nose.
"Nooo, not yet," she tells him, "He's nervous about it or something, I dunno'. I told him if he ever wants to we will."
"And you just kissed them? Or did they kiss you?"
Y/N pushes her hair from her face, "They kissed me first," she explained, "I told them it was okay first though, so. . ."
And he doesn't know. . .he isn't sure if he's ready for that. Ready to feel her like that, in his lap, with her lips on his that might just be. . .he thinks that might be too much. Doesn't know if he could be normal about it, or if he would get stiff and awkward and unsure, because really he hasn't kissed that many people before.
"Maybe not. . .maybe not now? I don't know," but he feels jealousy coil deep in his belly; he hates feeling left out of something.
"Okay," she nods, her smile is gentle, "Whatever you want."
He isn't sure what this means for him, or for them as a group, or even for Y/N -- what does she get out of this? Maybe she was just as touch-starved and needy as he felt sometimes and this was a way to combat that. Or maybe she was like Chan, self-sacrificing in a way that leads her to situations where she's used for cuddles and kissing and all those warm fuzzy relationship things without actually having to be in a relationship.
But whatever it is, he doesn't want to dwell on it. This feels good, just how it feels good cuddling with the boys. It's just different though -- a different good; where they are sinewy and sturdy, she's soft, moldable. She moves how he wants her to easily, like Felix does, and she's not as fidgety as Jisung, and she smells as good as Hyunjin (honestly she smells like him, and Minho wonders if she'd just been snuggling with him earlier today) but she's a solid, reassuring weight like Chan and she nuzzles how Changbin does. Her fingers dance along the fabric of his shirt, plucking and pulling at it like she was trying to busy her hands and it reminds him of Seungmin. And she's just as ticklish as Jeongin is, when she curls toward his hand after he shifts it toward her waist, a giggle at her mouth.
So no kisses for now, but cuddles for sure. And when she said "kisses and all that", Minho wondered what all that was.
He guesses he'll find out sooner or later.
. . .
He found out sooner rather than later, and probably not in the way that he would have liked.
Minho is big on knocking on doors, that's how he's always been because he was raised to be polite and courteous above all. And he usually follows that in their dorm, and expects the others to do the same, unless they really needed something or he was asleep. It just helps, for privacy reasons, and he thinks it helps them avoid embarrassing situations.
But Felix had his door cracked, and if the door is cracked then it's fair game. So Minho didn't bother knocking, just pressed his palm to the door and let it swing open, his intent to ask Felix if he wanted to eat what Minho was cooking tonight. He expected Felix to be at his gaming set up, sure, so that wasn't a surprise. What he wasn't expecting was for Y/N to be nestled between his legs, her mouth full of him.
Neither even look concerned about him seeing it. Felix had his headphones on so he doesn't hear him but Y/N does, startles with a small jump before pulling away. When she looks to the door, a smile stretches over her mouth, "Hi Minnie," she said sweetly -- sweet enough that Minho would second guess anything had been going on before he walked in.
"Fuck, sorry," he darted his gaze elsewhere, but the image of her with her lips are swollen and red would haunt his (wet) dreams forever, "I was just -- I came to ask about dinner."
She turned to Felix, nudging his thigh to grab his attention and he looks down at her first, then cranes his neck when she points to the door, "Minnie-hyung," his smile matches hers, and really, nobody was embarrassed about being caught? "Sorry I didn't hear you come in, I'm like deep into this game," he pulls one headphone off his ear, "Is everything okay?"
"Um, yes," don't look at his lap, don't look at his lap, don't look at his lap, "Just came to see if you were -- if you were going to order or if you wanted the jajangmyeon I was cooking."
"Mm, I love your meals best, you know," normally this sentiment warms him, but he really can't focus at all, "Y/N and I were supposed to order, but is it okay if she eats your meal as well? Do you have enough?"
Minho glances at her again, she smiles when they make eye contact again, and Minho is nodding, his gaze darting away, "Yeah, yes, of course."
"Yayyy," she cheers, her voice is gruff and a little raspy, and Minho's mind spins, "I'm excited. I've never gotten to have your cooking before."
"Really?" Felix looks down toward her, removing one of his hands from the controller and petting over the top of her head, "It's so good, you'll love it."
Minho wonders if he's actually hallucinating the situation, and Y/N isn't actually on her knees in front of Felix. But when he nods, bids his farewell and lets the door click close behind him, he can hear the sharp inhale and breathy moan Felix lets out. She must have sunk right back onto him as soon as he'd left.
"Ah-ah that's it, you're so good with your mouth."
He feels dizzy -- he makes the rest of the food in a daze and tries desperately not to think about it but only is able to think about it. That night he falls asleep after he fixed his hand around his dick, twisting and squeezing until he cums pitifully over his hands, biting on a pillow to muffle his own noises.
Breathless and panting, he tries not to consider what she must be doing with everyone else. And he tries to ignore the jealousy that bubbles beneath his skin.
. . .
When Minho sees Seungmin pucker his lips and Y/N meet his mouth, he's just about had it. It's finally the straw that breaks the camels back, forcing him into action, or at least forces him to do something. . . to bring it up. He knows that Y/N will sometimes linger in the living room after everyone retires to their own room. Half the time it's where she falls asleep, if not with Seungmin or Felix (who always seem to have extra space in their twin size for her), so he waits a little while, until he knows everyone is shut in for the night.
And, low and behold, there she was laying on the couch like it was her dorm. The lamp is the only light on in the room, casting a familiar yellow glow over her. She's got a blanket pulled loosely up to her stomach, her head on what looks like one of Jeongin's pillows (he always has a spare to give out) with her hands above her head, looking at her phone. She's got an earbud in, and she's grinning at something, giggling a little through a puff of air from her nose -- she must be planning on spending the night here.
It only takes her a second to notice him hovering and staring, she startles and smiles a little, "Oh, hi Min," she murmured, always with a nickname, her voice low and quiet, "What's wrong? You can't sleep?"
Honestly, he thinks Y/N probably belongs on at the 3RACHA (+Hyunjin) dorm more often than she belonged here. She was a night owl through and through, so while all of them in this dorm were turning in around 9 to 10PM, she was still awake for a couple of hours. Which is why she would think he's trailed his way out to the living room at 10:06PM, because find sleep -- she probably imagined he was cutting through to get to the kitchen.
Instead, he's here because, "I saw you kiss Seungminnie," he walks closer to her, lingering still, "He finally wanted to?"
Y/N blinks at him, and Minho blinks back. They are both quiet for a little while, and Minho is regretting this -- thinking maybe he should go back to his room and smother himself with his pillow -- but she finally speaks, "So we aren't going to talk about it?"
His eyebrows furrow, "About what?"
"About the fact that you haven't been able to look me in the eyes since you walked into Felix's room the other day and the first time you've really spoken to me since is because I kissed Seungmin?"
He pauses. Y/N had never been shy about bringing things up but she wasn't necessarily confrontational either, so he wasn't expecting this. Honestly, he'd thought she might have forgotten that he walked in on her and Felix, because she really didn't change how she spoke to him at all, or how she acted around him. He was the one being weird, not her.
But she'd noticed -- so clearly had she noticed, and now his ears feel like they're burning and he wants to walk back into his room and pretend like he never came out here to begin with.
Y/N seems distressed though, at least the way her face pulls into a frown, lips pouted down and her brows pinched toward the center, "Listen, I know you must -- you think I'm a whore, right? That's why you're being so weird," she accused him, and Minho's eyes widen, mouth opening to deny her but she keeps going, "And I get that this is. . .it isn't conventional, but I - you guys are always so stressed out and I want to help in anyway I can so --"
"I don't think that!" He cuts her off, shaking his head, "I don't think that at all."
She doesn't seem satisfied, "You don't have to lie to me to make me feel better," her shoulders sink, "Why else would you be acting like this toward me?"
Minho hadn't realized he'd been that obvious about it. Maybe he was avoiding eye contact with her every time she tried to search for his gaze, but it was kind of normal for him to look away really quick when he locked eyes with anyone. And maybe he would make his presence light if Y/N was lingering and looming around the halls of their dorm like a friendly ghost, moving to where she's needed, but he's always kind of been distant. Maybe he hasn't cashed in that cuddle he'd whined about either, and maybe Y/N thought that was a little weird because he'd finally been getting a little more touchy with her before he walked in on her with Felix.
And maybe he gave Y/N every reason to believe that he would think something so ugly. Guilt gnaws at his throat, while he desperately tries to find the right thing to say.
"Will you -- can you come with me? Please -- I think this would be better to speak about in my room."
She doesn't hesitate when she follows him, which makes Minho feel a little better. He guides them to his room and shuts the door behind them, and Y/N lingers before he offers her to sit on his bed. She places herself gingerly, looking a little nervous, and Minho sits down beside her.
"I want those things with you," he finally speaks up, deciding it wouldn't be fair to keep wasting her time, or making her think that he had any vile thoughts toward her, "I really do, I just. . .am bad, at asking for them. And then when I don't ask, and I don't get them, then I get. . .jealous, when someone else does." He winces at himself, "I -- it's convoluted, and doesn't make sense but it's the truth. I'm just -- you know the others just eventually knew when I wanted to cuddle and when I didn't, or when I want attention and when I don't, but that was after years together. And even then, sometimes they aren't sure, so it wasn't fair of me to assume you'd know."
Y/N stares at him, she sighs, then she kicks off her slippers and crawls further into his bed. She sits up against the mountain of pillows, holds her arms out for him, and motions him over, "You don't make a lot of sense," she remarks, but it doesn't sound like she's chastising him, and Minho is called to the opening of her arms. He follows her, lets himself melt into her body, sighing when his cheek meets her stomach and he nuzzles himself close. Y/N's hands bury themselves in his hair (he finds himself hoping its soft) and she tangles her fingers up in it. Rubbing gently at his scalp, she hums a little sound, "You're gonna make me work my brain aren't you? I'll just have to get really good at reading you then, until you're comfortable coming to me yourself."
Minho nods, as he slips his arms around her body and holds her closely. Why does he deny himself of things that he likes so much? Y/N might be the easiest person to ask for things like this, yet her fumbles so bad. What was his deal? Why had he never cared so much that he was bad at asking for things like this before?
"Stop thinking, I can hear you," she pinched his shoulders and he hisses, but buries himself deeper against her, "You're so silly sometimes."
Yeah, he really is.
TOOTH AND CLAW, lee minho
CHAPTER NINE âŻâŻ guns
âŻâŻ pairs âŁâŁâŁ gang leader!lee minho x fem!witch!reader âŻâŻ rating âŁâŁâŁ 18+ âŻâŻ genre âŁâŁâŁ smut ⣠historical!au ⣠fantasy!au âŁangst ⣠crime drama ⣠strangers to frenemies to lovers ⣠soulmates(?) ⣠hurt ⣠dark fic ⣠slow burn ⣠mythical!au ⣠historical!au ⣠fantasy!au ⣠magic!au ⣠mafia!au ⣠detective!au ⣠peaky blinders!au ⣠switch!minho x switch!reader âŻâŻÂ warnings âŁâŁâŁÂ inappropriate language ⣠gore ⣠death ⣠attemoted murder ⣠murder ⣠mythical creatures ⣠corpses ⣠magic ⣠witches ⣠werewolves ⣠vampires ⣠seers ⣠curses ⣠monsters ⣠inaccurate historical references ⣠references to peaky blinders ⣠cigarette smoking ⣠nightmares ⣠self doubt ⣠self hate ⣠mental health struggles ⣠weapons ⣠violence ⣠horny thoughts ⣠jealousy ⣠PTSD ⣠scars ⣠sibling fights ⣠let me know if i missed any âŻâŻ word count âŁâŁâŁ 10k words âŻâŻ notes âŁâŁâŁ :) enjoy!!
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All night your sister had been vomiting. You could hear it all throughout the night hours, her groans of agony as her head held over the bowl. She had taken your care and your elixir to stop the nausea, including the soft hand you rubbed on her back. Even thanked you. But that was all.Â
She hadnât even said goodbye when you went into the car Minho picked you up in. All she did was see you out before returning inside with a stern look on her face.Â
The plan for the day was simple. You both would collect the guns from your old family home, and hide them. Minho insisted he would do it alone. You implied that if he tried, you would tell the Inspector - a lie. Thus, a simple solution.Â
The fewer people who knew the location of the guns, the better. You wouldnât risk the card of safety the weapons provided to you and your family. And Minho certainly wouldnât risk it when it is his men being targeted in the inspection. So, only the two of you would know.Â
The journey to your old home was long, but it felt fast with his company. Minho was a serious man, but he left the atmosphere light. You wondered if he knew something was wrong in your heart. He did tend to read you well.Â
At first, the conversation between you both was strictly regarding that of business. Discussions regarding where you would hide the guns and the best form of doing so. It remained like that for a while, the atmosphere between you both tense.Â
It made you feel odd. Yes, tense was a word you would associate with Minho, however, the tension between you both was never as such. It was always charged with fire, the one between you both in the car was different. You decided it came from the fact that he did know you were feeling wrong and that you were still embarrassed that Minho revealed he already knew about supernatural beings.Â
It made things both easier and harder. If he already knew of the monsters that roamed at night, hunting one would be much easier and you wouldnât need to explain nearly as much. However, it also meant that Minho couldnât be trusted. It was rare that humans just knew these things. Someone had to have taught him.Â
Or he was inherently born with the knowledge⊠though that idea left your stomach churning. Lee Minho was a high individual who controlled the city, no one got there through sheer coincidence. He was not a man of luck, he was one of strategy. Every encounter with him confirmed that in your mind. He shouldnât be trusted, and yet he had earned that favour.
Not overly so, but enough for you to overlook parts of him. Like a fool. You did not know much about Minho, and yet you had engaged with him more over a week than you had your own family and coven. Your mother would be ashamed. Though, you told yourself that there was no world where Yongbok would be related to someone bad. Someone you couldnât trust.
Yes. You would have to convince yourself of that. Though your stomach still churned at the what-ifs which refused to leave your mind.Â
Minhoâs hands clenched tight around the wheel of the car. Silver rings laid against his fingers. The veins below his skin protruded, knuckles dusted in faint purple. Bruises. A few small cuts along the skin. They were more prominent on his right hand, though the left still held many. âI never took you for someone that partook in physical violence.â It made more sense for Jisung to carry the wounds. He enjoyed fighting and you knew the stories of his strength. Yongbok had informed you of the trust they put in Jisung to torture people for information if so required.
Odd, in your opinion. If the gossip regarding Han Jisungâs life at war were true, the last thing you would want to surround yourself with was more torture. Though it would manage to take out any aggression he would feel.Â
âIâm not.â You would agree. It was far too animalistic for him. Minho carried pride and intelligence, neither came with physical violence. Fighting was for weaker men. Men with points to prove. Which Minho did not. He carried a gun, you knew he had killed both during and after the war, but that was different. It wasnât personal. It was swift.
Punching would slow the process of torture and death. It did not suit Minho. The slight glimpse of danger, the idea of scars, that did suit him, you enjoyed staring at it. âThen would you explain the bruises on your knuckles?â Experience as a nurse told you that the wounds were fresh from that morning or the previous night. The bruises werenât vibrant, the scratches looked only slightly scabbed over, but they already seemed to be healing.
Either he had simply not punched hard enough, or you would need to enter a new game with Lee Minho. You didnât entirely understand why you hoped it was the former. You decided it was because that would be less embarrassing for your ego.
Minho was quiet for a moment. His hands tensed more on the wheel, face unturning from the dirt road. There was no one around you, no buildings or parks. Just landscapes. It had been a long time since you travelled the stretch of road. âA wall,â he finally answered, âI punched a wall.â
You were unsure what to say. It was raw. Wild. Chaotic. It wasnât like him. The fire behind a punch, the passion, it was like what he elicited inside you. Emotions, wild and uncontrollable. A fire too bright to be extinguished. âDo you know why?â was what you settled on. You crossed your ankles in the car, feeling your overnight bag heavy on your heel.
The trip to your childhood home was long, and the physical labour would take a toll on you both. It was agreed youâd spend the night there. You had warned him that there was only a single bed in the house, but Minho assured you it would not matter. From what you felt simply within close proximity to him, you were unsure if it would be calm on your end. It was hard to control yourself around him, even with the distrust in your stomach. Even then, it only made him more appealing, which you hated to admit.Â
âThe cunt of an inspector arrested three of my men.â
âShouldnât you be helping them to get out of prison?â
âThey have a job first. Then, Felix can handle it.â
Yongbok had often complained to you about Minhoâs tight hand on the gang. He would moan about the lack of responsibility that Minho trusted him with. It played on your mind as you pondered Minhoâs words. He left a duty to his brother to handle. From what youâd heard, he had never done so before. Not with something as important as that.
You turned away from him, looking out the window to the roaming landscape scrawling past. It would not be much longer until you were in your old town, your old home. You could recognise one of the farms of cows and sheep, youâd sneak off there while your mother would rest for her pregnancy. From what youâd last heard (many years ago) the owner you could recall had passed away, and the town took part to look after the farm.Â
Your heart thumped as you thought of your old friend. It had been years since you last saw him, at his daughterâs birthday She would be six now, you realised. A young girl. You could recall her birth, Wooyoung and his late wife trusted you to handle the birth. Youâd missed much of her childhood, because of your own stubbornness.
The realisation upset you. Wooyoung, after all, had trusted you to raise Jongsook in his death, yet you hadnât visited in years.
âWhatâs wrong, Red?â you turned back to look at Minho. He wasnât watching the road, not entirely. His brown eyes were on you, watching as he drove. The car bounced slightly as the wheels met the rocky paths. You doubted that the emotion was cast on your face, and your behaviour was the same as it had been the entire car ride.Â
It unsettled you further. Did he just know you well or was there something more he hid? Neither option appealed to you. You took pride in understanding the intricacies behind Minhoâs mind, but you didnât want it to be mutual. Though you did already know that, it still off-put you greatly.Â
Either way, you couldnât bring it in yourself to lie. You did not enjoy lying, unless absolutely necessary He would not need to know of your fondness for Jongsook, nor of the man you once lived beside. Wooyoung was like Hyunjin, yet another friend you had hurt and betrayed. âI havenât been here for a long - turn left here,â you didnât finish your sentence, and instead watched with a racing heart as your old home came into view.
It was as burnt as you could remember. What was once a grand, three-story home your family had occupied for generations, resorted to a crumbled and ash-filled piece of architecture. Not much of the house was left standing since the night of the fire, the attack your motherâs voice chided, but one room had.Â
Your childhood nursery.
Your grandmother had converted it into a home, a bedroom with an outhouse for a bathroom. She hadnât wanted to leave the area, nor the burnt remains of the home. You could recall the arguments between your mother and grandmother. The only reason she gave in and agreed to move with you both to the city was because of your sister, still two months away from her birth. She would travel out to the old house often, employing Wooyoung to expand on the house using the burnt and frail structure there.
Now, the house was three rooms large. Your old bedroom (more your grandmotherâs) a bathroom and a living space. Weeds and vines grew up the walls and across the flat roof, the grass overgrown dramatically. The place looked abandoned. Forgotten to history.
It made sense, your sister was never taken to the old house, only taught the history of it, while you never bothered. You could barely remember days living in the place, you couldnât even remember the attack that caused its downfall. You never found a point. Even in the later years when you travelled to the town, you would stay with Wooyoung.
There was something about the area that made your skin crawl. Just as it did so now, overlooking the car as you sat inside it. It felt cursed. Haunted by your own familyâs history.Â
Minho sat beside you, also staring at the house. You were sure it was more him watching the burnt scaffolding around the makeshift home. Your grandmother never got rid of it, she said too many memories were in the wood.Â
âThis is it?â He questioned, hesitantly letting go of the car steering wheel. His doubt was evident in his voice, waiting for you to turn around and inform him it was a joke. âAre you sure?â
You leaned down and grabbed your overnight bag, âYes, Mr Lee, I am sure that this is my old home.âÂ
âWhat happened?â
You opened the car door, ignoring the sting along your back and shoulder blades. More memories that you refused to acknowledge, or even remember. Your mother would chide you for entertaining the idea of telling him what happened. Your grandmother would have warned you of better.Â
Yet, you still wanted to tell him. Though not the entire truth, you needed to sort out your mind more first. He wasnât entirely trustworthy, though your gut did not warn you otherwise.Â
When your feet hit the overgrown grass of what once was your front yard, an ice-cold feeling struck your spine. A cold burn that made your legs wobble and your fingers tense. âThere was a fight and the house was caught in the crossfire.âÂ
You ignored the feeling and instead walked closer to the home. The windows that remained were broken, some covered in wood and barred off from the world. The property was secluded from the town, a small wood of trees between the major town and your old home.Â
Looking through part of the broken window, you could see into your old nursery. It was fitted with a large bed, your grandmother was a particular woman after all, and a small sofa to read on. From what you could see, the wooden panels on the floor were askew, just as you told Nayeon they would be.Â
âCome,â you walked inside the front door (what was originally the door to your bedroom) and Minho followed. You found yourself admiring the details of the painted walls, drawings of animals and trees along the bottom of each wall. Faintly, you could recall doing them. But many were ruined with scorch marks.Â
Other than that, the room looked completely untouched by the fire.Â
The other rooms were all joined to this, with no walls between them. There was a small kitchen, another sofa and thankfully a room divider between the rest of the room and the bathing area. They were all much newer, the walls unpainted and untouched by fire. Still, each object was layered in dust, you doubted anyone had been there since your grandmother. Except for Nayeon, at your word.Â
âSo, your home burnt down yet all this looks fine.â He ran a finger along the sofa, a clear line of dust lifting from the piece. You grimaced, as did he. âNot fine, actually.â
You went toward the bed, where one of the wood panels that made the floor was crooked. It wasnât always that way, you were sure Nayeon just forgot to put it on properly. A beginner's mistake, but no one went to this house anymore, you would not blame her for it.Â
Using your foot, you lifted the wood with a whining creak. More panels, stuck together by your grandmother long ago, lifted with the first - revealing the large hole. More importantly, the guns that you instructed Nayeon to place there.Â
You grabbed the bag of weapons and dropped the wood back to his place. Your grandmother was a superstitious woman, she had hiding places all over your current and old home. Often, she would use them to hide treats from your sister and her girlhood diary from you. This one was odd, it was large enough for a person.Â
Not for a person to be comfortable, but you were sure that you would fit in there snugly if you had to.Â
âQuite a few secrets here, huh?â Minho walked over, hand ready to take the bag from you. You retracted your hand and the bag away from him, a smirk on your lips. Did he think you would trust him with the guns so easily? âI didnât realise this was a game, Red.â
âItâs not,â you smiled and walked away from him, keeping the guns by your side. The house returned to silence and Minho turned away from you to watch out one of the windows. A sudden movement, a peculiar one, but you didnât question his choice.Â
It made sense he was like that. You knew he had suffered in the war. Everyone came back different, and those more exposed were far worse. Minho was one of them. The accolades he earned did not come easy.Â
His senses most likely adjusted to the time in the trenches. You certainly had your days when youâd jump at every sudden movement. It was hard to grow out of that habit, not after so much time in the face of danger. You werenât envious of Minho.Â
He walked outside, leaving you alone in the house. The atmosphere was different without him there. More cryptic. Cold. You needed his fire, you realised, a chilling thought.Â
Was that fire you felt from Minho not to be trusted? Had he been providing you a comforting, warm, illusion this whole time?Â
The bed had a quilt laid atop it, the familiar stitching and style comforted your thumping heart. It was your grandmotherâs. She had taught your sister the same patterns, they both would stitch each piece so intricately. The quilt was large, it would work better as a tarp than a simple blanket, and overly colourful. Squares of colours lined together to create rainbows.Â
You thumbed at it, the worry left your mind. You could recall the times she attempted to teach you the same trade, only you could never grasp it as well as your sister. She told you it was okay, that your talent would be found eventually.Â
Sheâd been right. You found your talent eventually.Â
But, you doubt your grandmother had hoped your talent would fall with manipulation.Â
There was a scream outside the home, shrill and loud. Shouting accompanied the panicked cries, a single voice angry at something. Your stomach stirred, already sure that Minho somehow was involved.Â
He wouldnât be the one yelling or screaming, but he would certainly be there. That was his talent. You often overlooked that. His touch was too sweet.Â
You returned the guns to the original location under the floor, acting as silently as you could. If he was in trouble, Minho would acquire assistance, though you doubted he would admit to needing it. Though, that was if he was in trouble.Â
Lee Minho was trouble more often than not.Â
More screaming from the high-pitched voice. Desperate cries slurring any spoken word. You couldnât understand what it was saying, nor could you understand the words yelled from the raging voice. But, you could understand the click of a gun.Â
It made the screaming louder and the yelling more shocked. You decided it would be best to go outside and settle everything before Minho went drastic. He did think with his head, that was something you admired, but Yongbok told you how protective he was.Â
His business was in jeopardy with those guns, and witnesses would not suit his plans for the future. You were fortunate to hold dealing cards against Minho, but these two people did not. You were sure that Minho would protect his business to the end of the line.Â
The cold feeling on your spine remained as you walked outside, knife hidden in your palm on the chance of attack. It came with the grass, you rationalised, overgrown and thick with mystery - anything could be hidden beyond the dirt. Overgrown grass was never a sign of good, abandoned things such as the old home behind you showed that.Â
Though, the feeling tingling in your spine tightened its frozen hold on you when you realised what was happening. That shrill voice was no woman nor man. It was a young girl. A child.Â
It was Jongsook. With her father, your old friend, Wooyoung clutching her to his leg and shouting.Â
Minho has his gun raised and pointed at your friend. His face was stoic, a tense click in his jaw. The eyes you always found a fire in looked frozen as he stared them down, haunted and glazed over in darkness. His hat was turned down, a cigarette on his lips, grey smoke billowing into the air from it.Â
âI asked you a question.â
His voice was so dark. Youâd never heard it quite like that before. Had he even noticed you were behind him? Wooyoung had, his panicked eyes urged you to do something, but Minho seemed ignorant of your appearance.Â
He was often much more aware of you. Usually, his eyes always found you in the crowds and the dark. You revelled in that. But the darkness over him stopped it, it threw him through time.Â
Wooyoung wasnât a father in front of him. He was an enemy. Jongsook wasnât a little girl. She was an enemy.Â
Despite your greater knowledge of such, you placed your twitching hand onto Minhoâs shoulder. Your mind was furious with the act, preparing for your death, while your heart urged it was correct. It thumped in your chest as Minho turned to look at you.Â
The darkness in his eyes, the frost, melted. You saw the fire grow behind his brown eyes, reality joining and shaking the darkness away. The gun in his hand was still cocked, still pointed at Wooyoung, but his hand lowered slightly.Â
âThey are friends, Mr Lee,â you should have prepared him for a sudden appearance. You had organised for Wooyoung to appear that day, you simply thought it would occur that night. You were naive to think you had time. âPut the gun down.â
Though the fire was back, his face remained tense. Protectiveness. Self-preservation. You let him stew in the emotion, stepping away from him and going toward the two. You ignored the ice that went through your hand without the heat of his shoulder.Â
Odd.Â
Jongsook, cheeks stained with tears, smiled at you. She let go of Wooyoungâs leg, the wrinkles on his trousers still evident without her hold, and ran to you with a giggle. Two teeth were missing from her smile. âAuntie!â You took her in your arms and squeezed, a small smile of your own formed.Â
Youâd missed her quite a lot. She had grown far too much without you there to witness it. Your own fault, but you still wished to have seen it. âSweet girl, look at you! Iâve missed you so much!â You swing her in your arms, a tight squeeze around her body kept her safe.Â
Behind you, you could feel the heat of Minhoâs stare and the weight of a cocked gun still pointed forward. âThey are your friends, Red. I donât know them. I donât trust them.â He spoke as though his teeth were clenched.Â
You stopped and looked at him, Jongsook still warm in your arms. Her legs were around your torso and her little arms were around your neck. âIf I have been able to trust your men, surely you can trust some of mine.â
âI donât trust him.â Despite his words, Minho lowered the gun and lifted his nose. You had to remind yourself to not act with your heart â though that would raise the question of whether youâd slap him across the face or simply kiss him. He put the gun away in the holster around his back, covering it with his trenchcoat.Â
His eyes stayed on you and Jongsook the entire time. Wooyoung seemed to be ignored by his gaze. You had no idea if that was good or bad.Â
âHowâve you been, love?â Wooyoung put an arm around your back and pulled you to his chest, a hug with Jongsook in the middle. You stayed stiff in the hold, the fire staring into your body seemed to burn brighter. Like it had the previous night. âWeâve missed you.â
âMe more!â Jongsook giggled into your neck. Her fists had moved to the collar of your dress, tightly scrunching the material. âItâs been a long time, Auntie.â There was a lisp to her words, from the missing teeth.Â
You pulled her tighter and pushed some hair from her face. âIâve been very busy in the city, Iâm sure youâve heard about the happenings.â
Wooyoung nodded with a cold face, stoic despite the sad look in his eyes. âItâs been in the papers. I assumed you would be trying to help.â
âThere is only so much help I can offer when a beast breaks its tradition.â
Minho walked toward you three, his warm hand went to your lower back. His nose was still raised in the air and his eyes dark as he stared at Wooyoung, his cigarette was gone now. Jealousy. Youâd seen him plagued with it before. It made your heart thump and your legs slightly weak.Â
He had rather awful timing, but some part of you adored the attention. The mere idea that Lee Minho enjoyed your company enough to be jealous of others was riveting. The fact he wanted you enough to be jealous was even better.Â
Jongsook hid her face in your neck at his approach. âI have been aiding her,â the gruff voice from earlier was back. Though the dark cloud in his eyes had stayed away. It left the burning fire still bright, raging through his body. You could feel it in the small tapping of his fingers on your back.Â
Addicting heat.Â
You put the young girl back down and she ran to her father, clutching Wooyoungâs pants tight as she silently watched Minho beside you. The hand on your back slid to your waist, pulling you close. âIâve been told.â Wooyoung was blunt, a good approach for the fire beside you.Â
He knew you well, that was what came with being a childhood friend. Wooyoung looked between you and Minho, gaze still stoic. Youâd told him the previous night that you would be going to the house, that you required shovels.Â
Perhaps you also should have told him that the person you would bring had a short fuse. A second mistake on your behalf.Â
âDo you have the shovels, Wooyoung?â He nodded and threw a large bag onto the ground before you and Minho. It clanged as it dropped, metal on metal. You dropped down to unzip the bag, inspecting it. Inside were two shovels, a pickaxe and what looked to be a few hammers. âThank you.â
âItâs no problem,â his gaze moved past you and Minho to the house. He probably hadnât been there since your grandmother died, there was a wistfulness to his eyes.Â
Minho held a similar emotion in his eyes, one from the past, though there was nothing happy to be seen. He stared at the bag, nostrils flared and chest heaving at a slow, deep, pace. The hand on you clenched at your waist, grip tight.Â
You put your own hand atop the one on your waist, not sure of how else to wake him from the past. His rings were cold on your fingers, the position awkward for you to achieve, but your heart stuttered in glee at the feeling. You laced your fingers down and knotted them between his own.Â
âYou decided what to do with the place?â Wooyoungâs voice brought you to reality, and you looked over your shoulder to admire the house with him. If admire was the word you could use, at least, you felt that you were merely scrutinising it instead.Â
The dread struck your spine once more.Â
Minho squeezed your fingers closer.Â
It disappeared.Â
âDestroying it,â you finally answered, turning back to Wooyoung, âthereâs nothing for me or my sister here. Just bad memories.â
Your back and shoulder blades stung as though to remind you of such. It was a good thing your sister had never lived a day in the home, she was born months after it burned down. The legacy of bad luck behind the home did not need to continue with her.Â
You were just meant to suffer with differences to her. You accepted that. It was not fair, but nothing in the life of a witch was ever fair. She deserved better than that. She deserves a normal life.Â
A thickness in your throat built, like sap, that slowly slid. Youâd taken parts of her normal life. Giggling was not something you ever knew her to do, even when your mother doted on her every need. That idiotic sergeant made her giggle. You didnât allow that.Â
Selfishness and personal spite. That was what controlled your last night. That was what took over your mind. You didnât care that your sister was genuinely happy â you cared that she had a life while you were stuck without.Â
Minho squeezed your hand again, softly, you almost doubted it had happened. âI am happy to sell you the land if you would like, Grandmother always said it was fertile for vegetables and herbs.â She used to grow them, you could faintly remember running through the garden with Wooyoung, but your mother always chided you for doing such.Â
It will affect the ability. You hadnât a clue what she meant then, but you learned later that growing herbs were easily manipulated. Your running and laughing could overpower it, which would create disastrous effects. Though, at the time youâd only cared that she stopped your fun.Â
Bad memories. Thatâs all the house was.Â
âI may take you up on that,â Wooyoung picked up Jongsook, her wide eyes still focused on Minho. The man himself hadnât looked her way, you could feel him watching you. His eyes felt like a loving fire each place they followed, âbut, another time. Good luck with your work, love.â
He gave a final look to Minho, stern and thick. You would do the same if you were him, having a gun raised to your young child was horrific. But, you knew that Wooyoung was not as frustrated as he would have been years before, he had served in the war. You were sure he recognised the cloud that raged in Minhoâs mind.Â
They left and Jongsook shouted her goodbyes with a dramatic wave. You offered her a small one, a smile that matched the little action. She was sweet â you missed her. You missed them both. âYou didnât tell me youâd told someone to arrive.â
âI hadnât expected you to raise a gun to him and his daughter.â His head bowed and his hand tightened in your own, fingers squeezed together. There was such emotion on his face, your heart yearned to comfort him. There was guilt and regret in his eyes, a sternness tucking in his jaw⊠stubbornness. âIt will be fine. But, I suggest you keep your gun hidden from now on.â
âDo you not like guns, Red?â
You nodded. âI detest them. Theyâre far too impersonal. When I kill the beast, I intend on making it personal. Knives.â
You let go of him at that, your hand cold without his to hold. The thought left you flustered. He had power over you, just his touch had you ready for more. His actions told you to stay away, his status of infamy warned you further, he even spoke brutality and yet you yearned for him.Â
Iâm a beast.Â
He said it himself. Yet, you couldnât see him that way. Your gut trusted him, your heart was flustered by him and your mind was mixed. Many people would, and have, considered your kind a beast â that did not make you so. Surely it would be the same for him.Â
âGuns are far more practical, Red. Iâll teach you to shoot,â his voice was tight and he returned his hand to his pocket, eyes dark as he watched you. âEven if it is less personal, I will sleep better knowing you are better equipped.â
Though, that was if he was human. No humans thought of themselves as beasts even after the war. It left that lingering thought in your mind, the question you were scared to ask aloud and scared to learn the answer to.Â
âFine,â you eventually said, walking back to the house. âYou may teach me once we rid ourselves of this mess.â
What was Lee Minho?
Though, there was no proper time to ponder the question. There were things to do, the guns had to be hidden and apparently, you now had to learn to shoot a gun. A tedious task. You didnât see the appeal of guns, you never had.Â
The time at war only amplified such. Too many men had died to guns, fighting a worthless cause. And then, it was a plain death. If people had to die, there should be emotion in it. Not numbness.Â
You would kill the monster without a gun. You would make it feel the agony of all the women that had fallen. Guns couldnât offer that. Torture and magic did.Â
Throughout the entire time you and Minho hid the guns â a horrifically long two hours â neither of you spoke. Many things needed to be said, you could feel the words built in the air between you both, yet he stayed silent. You, certainly, wouldnât start the conversation, even when his stare burned into your head as you dug a grave.Â
Your own grave. You doubted that all of you would be the same once your business with Lee Minho was complete.Â
It was like he had spent the whole time waiting for you to crack, waiting for a stutter in your step. You didnât let him catch such. Though his stare made you freeze internally, the fire warmed your heart to a dramatic thump. The silence between you both was loud, your throat felt tight from it, but you did not break it.Â
Not even to ask him about his aversion to the pickaxes. The entire time he avoided the tool, he just dug the hole while you worked the stone. That was when he looked his most serious, lips in a tense line and that dark cloud returned to his eyes. You didnât like it â but you didnât question it.Â
Only when the weapons were completely buried did the silence break. His shoulder against your own, heat emitted from his skin and left your back shivering. There was a chill in the air, it grew under his words, but you basked in his heat. âNo one will know, correct?â His face was illuminated by the lantern you brought, the sky already dark around you both.Â
âThis place was only known to my family. The guns should never be found.â
âAnd if they are?â
You dropped the tip of the pickaxe to the dirt, resting your elbow on the upside-down handle. âThen, you do as you see fit.â It would never happen anyways, your sister didnât know of the house and anyone who knew your hiding place in the forest was dead. Not even Nayeon or Wooyoung knew of it. âBut, I will ensure that the Inspector finds it if you try something, Mr Lee.âÂ
His hand wrapped around the handle of your pickaxe, a slow motion that looked pained on his face. When his hand settled, Minho looked as though he sighed a deep breath. âThere is nothing to try â our business together is too beneficial to risk.â
Minho pulled the tool from your hold, but the action left your hand sliding. Until it landed atop his own. It was something that should have done nothing, youâd touched him skin-to-skin many times before.Â
But, it was not. Instead, a surge went through your body that left your skin tingling. The world around you disappeared in mere moments, replaced with dark, long tunnels. The only light from a candle too far away to properly illuminate the area.Â
It was such a small area, you felt trapped inside of it. You tried to move and pushed upward on the tunnel, but nothing happened. Your breathing picked up as you looked down each long cavern of the tunnel, a loud clang falling in an even rhythm from the right.Â
You followed it. The noise got louder and the light darker, you were sure the tunnels even grew tighter. There was someone ahead of you, covered in muck and lying on their stomach. A pickaxe in their hand, thumping the metal on the rocks ahead. The noise was so loud, you felt it burrow in your head.Â
The urge to cover your ears was large, but you couldnât move your arms â only crawl forward toward the man. But, a noise stopped you. A loud explosion, not too far behind you.Â
It sent you hurtling back to the present, your hand still on top of Minhoâs as his eyes looked at you with slight worry. Had any time passed? You doubted it, he was still pulling the pickaxe from your hold, but the look in his eyes unsettled you. Did he know? Did he sense it?
What was there even to sense? You bit on your cheek and looked away from Minho, wiping your sweaty palm on the skirt of your dress. It only made dirt coat your hand but you ignored it and continued wiping. Youâd never done that before, youâd never had anything similar happen before â especially without attempting.Â
Youâd never muttered a curse, never spoke a spell or created a potion. It just happened. Because you touched his hand⊠was that Minho? Was Minho the man you saw in the tunnels?
It made sense. You doubted that youâd be launched to a vision of a complete stranger when you touched Minhoâs hand. It had to be him. Your mouth tasted foul as you looked back to Minho, heâd thrown the pickaxe and shovel over his shoulders with ease.Â
He was a tunneler.Â
How had you not heard that before?
âYou good, Red?â you stopped wiping your hand and just watched him, other hand clenching the lantern handle. His eyebrows were laced in concern, the fire you adored in his eyes was dim. Had you done that? You hoped not. You attempted to pick up your nose, fix your face to the usual look you carried, but you couldnât properly do it.
The digging in your mind was too loud. You could still hear each hit of the pickaxe on stone, the explosion in the dirt⊠it didnât stop. You clenched your hand into a fist and took a deep breath, âFine, Mr Lee. I'm fine.â He didnât look convinced, you didnât even sound convinced, but Minho did not press the topic. You were thankful for it, the foul taste of your lie was too strong already. âAre you still going to teach me to shoot? Or will you trust me with my knives?â
The change of topic made part of the concern melt from his face, the fire was alight in his eyes once again. Minho dropped the tools to the forest floor slowly and stepped toward you. He was close, you much preferred the closeness he gave than the tightness of the tunnels.Â
âI trust you, Doll, with or without a gun.â Thick air. That was the best way to describe it. His gaze was as strong as always, you replicated it as your heart stammered. Your fingers felt tingly, itching to touch his hair under the hat. âBut, you would be safer with one.â
Iâm a beast.Â
Iâm a beast.Â
Iâm a beast.Â
âSafe from what, Mr Lee?â The monster was not human, a gun would do nothing to stop it even if you wished as such. Threats such as it could be managed if they came for you personally. A perk of magic.Â
His hands met your cheeks, warm against your cold skin. You stayed there with him in the present, you were glad even though the glimmer in his eyes was serious. âFrom everything.â
Beast.Â
Beast.Â
Beast!
âMen like me arenât to be trusted, Doll.âÂ
Your rationale shouted the fears youâd already had about him. The doubts you were too scared to acknowledge, too embarrassed to admit. But, your emotions had already buried that sense with the guns, you simply didnât want to listen to it.Â
The lantern in your hand burned hot, the candle inside growing brighter. It made his face glow under the warmth, a burning contrast to the dark trees and sky. The shine in his eyes looked sad, you wanted that emotion gone from him.Â
âWe,â he paused with a breath, eyes closing in time, âI am not a good man.â
Your heart thumped and the metal handle burned. You only held it tighter. âI am not a good woman.â
There was a click behind you, like a door slowly opening by the knob, but you didnât turn away. You couldnât. Not when his voice was so raw and his expression so pained. You wanted to make him feel better.Â
With your other hand, you cradled his cheek. The tops of your fingers knotted between the silk of his hair â incredibly soft, like you always thought â and you stroked your thumb on his cheekbone. Minho leaned into your palm, eyes still closed.Â
Iâm a beast.Â
You couldnât believe such a thing. Beasts did not allow such softness. âYou are perfect, Red,â his words made your heart clench and your eyes queen in surprise. He was exaggerating, you were far from perfect in any category, but the compliment left you flustered. His eyes were still closed, you continued to stroke his cheek, âFar too kind.â
âYou are the only person to believe that, Mr Lee,â you chuckled slightly, to ignore your own raging emotions. The lantern was almost too hot to hold but you refused to let it go, even as the candle's light burned brighter through the glass windows.Â
His eyes opened, but he continued to lean into your hold. You quite enjoyed that, providing him comfort, even slightly, was good. You hoped that it remained that way. âAllow me to be the only person then,â your heart thumped â the metal of your lantern burned your skin, âthey donât deserve you.â
âAnd you do?â A stutter nearly fell from your lips, you couldnât tell if you were glad about it or not. He was being so vulnerable, you wanted to show some in return. It was hard to force it. You didnât want to force it.Â
Minho shook his head and combed his fingers through your hair, pushing it from your face. Your sunglasses were still on, but you felt bare. It was nice. The rationale was screaming that he couldnât be trusted, and yet you wanted to take your protection off. Be as vulnerable as him.Â
As though he sensed it, with his thumb Minho pushed your glasses back up your nose to properly protect you. âIâll never deserve you, Red.â Your mouth felt dry, his stare was so intense. You adored it.Â
He leaned forward and your breath caught in your throat. Your noses touched, gently, and his lips were a mere movement away from yours. So close, had he been this close before? No. Youâd remember. You needed him closer.Â
Just a bit closer.Â
Though that closeness you desired didnât come. His lips moved back, and his forehead moved forward. He rested his head on yours, noses nudged together. Your bottom lip wobbled, heart in your throat, but your eyes were wide.Â
His, however, were closed. A peaceful expression along his face. You admired him, though the closeness made it hard, and the metal in your hand burned further. You were sure it was searing your skin.Â
The moment didnât last long enough. Once his adamâs apple bobbed, his eyes fluttered open and he pulled away. You felt so cold, even the lantern was freezing, but you kept your composure. âIâm sorry,â he cleared his throat, âI will meet you back at the house. We can do the training another day.â
You just nodded, any words you wanted to say dead on your tongue. He walked away, head down on the ground, the light of the lantern was practically gone â if not for the moon, youâd be in complete darkness.Â
You checked the lantern, opening the casing. The candle had completely melted, and scorch marks burned along the roof of it. There were faint marks along your palm from it.Â
Without caring much, you waved your hand across the candle and it relit. Though the wick was mostly burnt, you would not have much time. You werenât sure if that was good or bad.Â
Could you handle being around Minho? The thumping of your heart and the desire pooling in your gut urged you that no, you couldnât.Â
Under the light, free of Minhoâs shadow, you noticed an open hatch at the stump of a tree. It was subtle, moss and grass covered it enough for it to be overlooked. You would have seen it, both you and Minho would have seen it earlier. The clicking from earlier. It must have opened. You walked toward it, hesitantly pushing it open.Â
Inside, laid a book. Old and withering, but cared for. The leather casing was falling apart and the pages were yellowed beyond belief, dust coated the exterior. Inside the hatch, you could see a familiar emblem. The family emblem. Your mother had taught you tediously to remember it.Â
Another place your grandmother hid things, you assumed.Â
You wiped off some of the dust and read the name along the case. A diary. The diary of a long-dead ancestor. You remembered her name, you had to learn the family history, after all.Â
Though, you did not know what made her so special that your grandmother hid her diary from the world. Yet another thing to do, you had to understand why.Â
You closed the door to the hatch and walked from the woods back to the makeshift home. Being around Minho would be awkward, but you needed the light to read the first of the yellowed diary pages. You chose to ignore how your heart leapt at the realisation that youâd be sharing a bed with him.Â
It had been well known for you both. But, you couldnât help but feel it may be different, something had changed. Whether it was your resolve or his own â you knew it would be a hard night.Â
[â]
Rage. It was something you felt often, whether you allowed it or not. Festering, bubbling rage that toiled beneath your skin and waited to burst at the first victim. Rage was dangerous. It was why you kept it hidden.Â
But, never had you felt such rage before. Not until you were faced with two silhouettes kissing against a wall. Your hands â no, they werenât your hands, but they looked similar â clenched into fists and the eyes you watched through burned with tears.Â
Rage was uncontrollable. It could only grow and grow until everything went wrong. You felt it bubble in your gut, a burning red washed across the image in front of you. The person, the one whose mind you found yourself in, was angrier than youâd ever felt.Â
This person was seething. You could feel their want of revenge, their blood lust, but you could do nothing to control it. You couldnât stop it. Each movement wasnât your own, each emotion and tear wasnât one you shouldâve felt, but you were rocked with the power of it.Â
They werenât your own, but your heart felt the same fury as this person. You wanted revenge. You wanted these people to pay â but youâd never even met them.Â
You stormed to the kissing pair and pulled them apart, fingers clawing into them both. It felt like you were doing it. You were controlling it. But, each movement was preplanned. You had no choice. Did you want a choice?Â
The rage was burning inside you. You didnât know why, you couldnât understand why this person was so mad. Your fingers were so tightly forced into this personâs, a manâs, shoulder, it ripped the shirt.Â
His eyes looked into yours â into this personâs. Dark, haunting, broken, guilty.Â
So familiar.Â
You sat up with a start, hand on your chest to calm your heart. Your body, you were back in your body. It was a dream. That was it. Your chest was heaving up and down in tandem with your shallow breathing, your ancestorâs diary on your lap.Â
Right. You had been reading it. Only a page or two in. But, youâd gotten cold and went into the bed, bundling under your grandmotherâs quilt. Minho had been in the bath, meaning the bed was all yours.Â
The candle you lit was still burning, barely any of it had melted. You mustnât have slept for long. You stretched your arms and pushed your sunglasses back on, they had fallen crooked as you slept.Â
Still, your heart was racing. You could feel the rage still, that burning anger was attached to your throat â squeezing with an invisible hand. Tears pricked at your eyes, not your own tears, but the tears from the dream.Â
âAre you okay?â Minho approached you, you didnât realise he was there. His hair was wet, drops of water slid down the side of his face, just like his skin. Yet he wore a shirt, plain white and stuck to his chest from the water. It looked roughly pulled on, in haste. âYou were having a fit.â
You werenât sure what to say â youâd never had a dream much like that one before. All the things you dreamt of were haunting, often memories or fears you held, but never that. Never so real. Even the ones of the war you could rationalise away. âIâm fine.â
He sat down on the edge of the bed, close to where you sat up. Your heart still raced as the emotions poured through your mind. It was scary, youâd never felt so mad. âTell me the truth, Red.â
âI donât know what happened,â your voice was quiet, almost broken. You stared at your lap, the diary stared back, and you thumbed at the corner pages. When youâd fallen asleep, you were reading about your ancestorâs life in the house. The very house that burned down. She was talking about her excitement to move in with her lover, âThatâs the truth.â
Minho stayed silent. You were thankful, but it left the words thick in the air. You had admitted weakness to him, you admitted to your confusion, and yet you werenât as concerned as you wouldâve been. You blamed that on the man himself, that moment in the forestâŠ
âYou need to rest, Doll.â
Not the words you were wanting to hear. It made your heart sink, you were unsure of why. Yes, you found him attractive, you wanted to kiss him, but that didnât explain it. Not enough. âYou do, as well.â
He sighed, âI donât sleep.â
âTry.â
You offered him your hand and shuffled to the other side of the bed. It left plenty of room for him, room that he stared at with a concerned grin. You couldnât blame him, you also felt the nerves inside your heart, but you couldnât show that.Â
Did you want something to happen? Yes â but that didnât mean the time was right. There was no time for it, and even if it were, this was not it. If you and Lee Minho ever had sex, it would not be on a half-broken bed under your grandmotherâs quilt.Â
You avoided his gaze as you realised just how much you wanted to have sex with him. It was more than usual, something about his concern had swayed you, most likely.Â
He joined you in the bed, sliding under the bed covers awkwardly as he watched you. âI wonât sleep, DollâŠâ
âThen, we can talk until you do,â you couldnât completely fault him. You had sleeping problems of your own, it was a surprise youâd managed to fall asleep so suddenly before. Though, it did explain the nightmare.Â
You either never got sleep or you would sleep, only to have those dreams. You didnât know which you preferred.Â
Despite agreeing to talk, neither of you spoke at first. The silence was different to the one from the woods, it was comfortable. There was no competition of who would break first. Just silence.Â
It was nice.Â
âYouâre good with kids,â Minho said, his voice quiet. You were taken aback by the question, you hadnât expected it at all. Biting on your inner cheek, you adjusted your sunglasses and fiddled with the quilt. âI didnât expect it.â
âNot many do,â you could remember the surprise many people had when you would take care of children. Your sister too was shocked when you would look after babies, including when you told her that you would take care of Jongsook in case of disaster. âI assume people think Iâm too serious to do so.â
He nodded, âIt suits you, though,â Minho stopped talking for a moment, you could feel more words on his tongue that he refused to say. You turned to him because of it, staring as you waited for him to speak more. âYou will make a good mother.â That wasnât what he was going to say â it was obvious.Â
But, you said nothing about that. Just as you stayed silent about the doubt you had. You wouldnât make a good mother, and that was even if you survived until then. You doubted that the universe would be nice enough to allow you a long enough life to take care of a child.Â
Instead, you just said, âThank you,â though it was genuine. No one complimented things such as that, you were praised for responsibility and appearance, nothing else. It was as though Minho knew the importance you had for children, the secret you had for wanting your own.Â
Youâd taken care of your sister when the family failed her. You wanted to have your own child and ensure they were good. You wanted to ensure that they knew you loved them. Youâd give them everything you wanted as a child.Â
More silence took over you both, comfortable. Though, you found it was your turn to break it instead of Minho once again. You had your own comments and questions either way, it would have to happen eventually. âWhy did you avoid the pickaxes tonight, Mr Lee?â
He gulped, staring away from you with a dark gaze. His mind looked busy, occupied with thoughts far away from the current place he was. The past. His adamâs apple bobbed again, his fingers dug into his forearm. âI was a tunneler.â
You could hear those pickaxes again in your head. Ding. Ding. Ding. It wasnât common that you would have to treat any tunnelers during your days as a nurse, if they made a mistake there was no chance of survival. Tunnelers didnât get second chances like the other soldiers.Â
If they failed, they died.Â
It was one of the more dangerous jobs in the war, digging below the surface into the enemy lines. All to plant bombs. To destroy them before they could see anyone coming. The dynamite was always peeped and ready for each attack, but youâd heard many stories about the bombs going off before they were planted.Â
There were many widows you had to help contact after a certain incident. It had left thirty-two men dead in the dirt, all men from your own army. Multiple sticks of dynamite had gone off, and as a result, it left a large hole in the ground. It killed both tunnelers underground and the soldiers above, burying their bodies in a destroyed building
The accident was popular news, your sister had sent you a letter that week to ask if youâd been okay after it. You hadnât been given any victims from the accident, just others who were shot at by the enemy. Hannah had insisted that no one survived the accident.Â
You wondered if that was true. There were many coverups from incidents during the war.Â
âItâs no surprise you earned those medals then,â you werenât sure what to say. It was a wonder that Minho had even survived the war, especially as a tunneler. Youâd assumed nearly all of them died. âYouâre brave.â
He shook his head, âBravery has nothing to do with it. It was a job and I completed it.â
You disagreed. To go into those tunnels and come out alive showed strength and bravery. Even if he came out broken, and shattered, there was nothing wrong with it. There was nothing wrong with being broken.
Lee Minho was a good man. He was tortured and exposed to absolute horrors that you never wanted to see. But there he was beside you. Scarred but breathing. âIt may have been that way but not everyone could do that, Mr Lee.â
There were mental scars and physical scars, you could see them crawling up his arms. There was one in his right bicep that looked like a stab wound, others resembled slices. âRed -âÂ
âI am serious, Minho. You were able to do things that others couldnât. I know that it doesnât feel as such but what you did helped you survive,â your hand laid on top of his without you even meaning to. But, you didnât move it away, his heat was nice on your palm. âIt helped us all survive.â
You were serious about it. There was a night when the enemy tunnelers had attempted to explode your nurses' camp, but a group had saved your camp. They killed the enemy and saved the dynamite for retaliation.Â
It was one of the closer instances you had gotten to dying on the field. You didnât entirely enjoy thinking back on it, but you never got to thank those who saved you. If helping Minho realise his importance as a tunneler worked, then it would be enough.Â
More than enough, actually.Â
Iâm a beast.Â
Is that why he thought of himself as such? You couldnât picture Minho as a beast, or even a bad person. He did bad things, as everyone these past few years had, but that didnât mean he was bad. Youâd have to help him realise he wasnât a monster for doing so.Â
Well, that was if it was the reason he considered himself a beast. He did have experience with witches, but he appeared human. You were sure he was human â though that belief was getting less convincing with each day.Â
Iâm a beast.Â
He wasnât. He was not a beast. You fiddled with your glasses, your heart was thumping in your ears. He was no beast even if he thought himself such. âWhatâre you doing, Doll?â
You fiddled with the frames of the sunglasses, âDo you know why I wear these?â Minho shook his head and adjusted so that he was on his side, facing you properly. He flipped the hand below yours and laced the fingers, your breath caught in your throat because of it. âThere are certain creatures in the world that act as leeches.â
Yun-Jin flashed in your mind, her faded eye that was victim to those creatures. She was lucky to have survived â never had anyone else done so.Â
âThey stick to creatures that hide in the dark, typically Gerlats, and sneak into a witchâs eyes. That way, they take over the body and suck out the soul.â Youâd never encountered one properly, but the protection was always necessary. âSince I still donât know what the monster is, who it is, I canât risk it.â
Minho nodded slowly and squeezed your hand, you looked down at it. His hand looked good in yours, and you looked good in his. The rings on his hand were still cold, the veins prominent. Those bruises from that morning had faded even more. âDonât take them off, Red.â
You smiled slightly, âDid you come to that conclusion alone or was I simply easy to read?â
He leaned forward and pushed your sunglasses back, taking your hand in his. âYou canât trust me,â
âYouâve said that, Mr Lee.â
Minho closed his eyes and breathed through his tense lips. He squeezed both of your hands and looked away, eyes still tightly shut. âDonâtâŠâ he took a deep breath, âgo back to Minho. Please.â
He liked when you said his first name. âOkay,â you took one of your hands from his own and placed it on his bicep. You traced the scars with your finger, it made him shiver and look at you with those fiery eyes. âI trust you, Minho. Even if you donât trust yourself.â
It wasnât a lie, but you couldnât find it within yourself to not trust him. He was too similar to you, too vulnerable within these moments â your rationale really was buried along with those guns.Â
Iâm a beast.Â
No. You didnât know just what Minho was, but you knew that he was no beast.
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they need to get a move on they are literally in love


