Amethystwrytes - Tumblr Posts

This was so good!!! I love your writing! You made me giggle a few times, like „thanks that’s helpful“ in regards to Seungmin‘s Prof fear, y/n bringing the whole library with her or the poor waiter just trying to do his job xD

Also in my head y/n and Minho are together happily ever after so she can stay away from that awful family of hers 🥺

I loved the plots lot and hope it was cathartic for you too <3

Of Course, Professor

Pairing: Law Professor!Lee Know x Female Reader

Genre: Smut. Romantic-ish. Basically just porn with a hint of plot tossed in so I don’t just keyboard smash sex stuff on the page and feel bad about myself. 18+.

Summary: The law professor everyone is scared of generously offers to help you with your school work.

Warnings: There is explicit language. There is explicit sex (oral, penetration, teasing, edging, cumshot). There is a Professor/Student relationship, and IRL I do think that’s super inappropriate BUT this isn’t real life and I promise everything is very consensual, there’s no like “give me sex and you’ll get an A” kinda stuff, so, it’s all very much in my own personal scope of comfort. I wouldn’t write anything I felt was yucky. If any of that rubs you the wrong way though, that’s totally fine, and this one isn’t for you which is completely okay.

A/N: So, once upon a time in my undergrad years I was determined to be a lawyer. For a solid academic year I changed my major to Paralegal Studies because I figured that would be a perfect foundation for law school (smart, right?). Except like, three months in I was miserable and hated everything about it and realized that it absolutely couldn’t be me. I ended up having a similar discussion with my academic advisor/professor - except I didn’t end up fucking them - not that professor anyway (kidding). I always wanted to write a story about that awful year, and now I have - kinda…sort of. With a twist of delicious Lee Know and forbidden love. Yum. 

“Can you stop please?” 

You look at the girl sitting next to you in class. Her name completely escapes you but her eyes are burning lasers at the pen you’ve been clicking nervously in your hands. 

“...Sorry…” 

You apologize and gently set the pen down on your desk. Professor Lee is taking his sweet time passing back the most recent term papers and you dig your nails into your palm in anticipation of your grade. 

To say you’re struggling in his Civil Procedures course is an understatement. In fact, you don’t seem to be doing well in any of the classes you’re taking this semester. The voices of your parents condescendingly telling you “Law School isn’t for everyone and that’s okay,” sound like they’re playing on repeat in an echo chamber. 

If you bomb this paper you’re out. You stayed up almost all night last night going over the pros and cons of dropping out. You went back and forth so long fighting with yourself that you fell asleep thinking about it, and when you woke up the only thing you could think of was letting the universe give you a sign. 

You had worked on your term paper for weeks, carefully piecing it together, you spent so much time in the library that you now know the TA who works at the help desk on a first name basis. So if you flunk it, there’s your magical sign.

“Ms. ___,” Professor Lee sets your paper face down on the desk - bad sign. He leans down just a tad, “Why don’t we meet in my office after class?” - even worse. 

“Yes, Professor,” you nod. You think about not even flipping the stapled monstrosity over, but curiosity gets the better of you. 

There it is, a painful 55% staring back at you in thick, blood-red marker. You spare yourself the trouble of pouring over the thinner red notes made in the margins of every page. You can’t help the tears of frustration that pool in your eyes. 

“Everyone enjoy your break and the time spent with your families, when we return we’ll begin our discussions on Summary Judgement, so please make sure you complete the reading outlined in the syllabus before we see each other again. Dismissed,” Mr. Lee nods and the ruckus of chairs against linoleum and exasperation fill the room. 

Mr. Lee’s office is four floors above the classroom, so you have a few minutes to spare - which you spend in the restroom crying, drying your eyes, then crying again. 

You’re dropping out of Law School. All that work, all that trying, all those late nights - and don’t even start on the amount of money spent on coffee and tuition and fucking textbooks and…you start sobbing again. 

“How did you do?” Seungmin asks when you emerge from the ladies room, his face immediately contorts into a painful frown at your red, puffy face, “That bad huh?” 

“I can’t really talk Seungmin,” you take a deep breath, “I’ve got to go meet Lee in his office before his next class begins.” 

“Fuck,” Seungmin frowns even more, “That man scares the shit out of me.” 

“Thanks,” you say, “That’s helpful.” 

“Sorry. We’re all heading to the Coffee House before everyone starts driving home for the break, do you want to come? After your meeting of course,” he asks. 

“Not today,” you shake your head, “but thank you for asking.” 

He gives you a sympathetic look and your shoulder a tiny squeeze.

You stand outside Professor Lees office for a few moments, gathering yourself. Professor Lee makes everyone nervous. He’s a hard instructor, emotionless sometimes, so direct it’s painful, and it doesn’t help anyone that he’s also devastatingly attractive. He’s a giant walking slab of intimidation. 

You softly knock on the door and he looks up at you from over his glasses as he types something. 

“Ah, Ms. ___, there you are. Come, sit down,” he instructs and you slide through the doorframe and slouch in an old green armchair across from his desk. 

“Just give me one second,” he says slowly as he continues typing, “alright.” 

“I’m sorry sir, for the term paper, I should have done better,” you offer up, electing to go ahead and fall on your own sword.

“There’s no need for apologies Ms. ___, a waste of time in this kind of situation. I would like to speak to you about your grades this semester though. After I graded your term paper, I reached out to some of my colleagues - some of your other professors - and they all had similar reports to give me, can we talk about that?”

You sigh, fanning out your fingers over your thighs, “Please, Professor, you mentioned a moment ago about time wasters - and I don’t want to waste anymore of your time - I’ve decided to drop out of law school.” 

The defeat you feel just saying the words out loud to someone is enough to bring tears back, but you fight them off. You will not cry in Professor Lee Minhos office. Absolutely not. 

Professor Lee purses his lips and nods, “I think that’s probably for the best.” 

Your jaw drops, “Aren’t you supposed to encourage me to do the opposite? To try harder or something?” 

“Miss ___, I fear if you tried any harder your hair might burn out from the roots,” he smiles and if you weren’t so shocked, you’d laugh at the first joke you’ve ever heard him utter. 

Before you can think of something to say, he produces a file folder from his drawers and smacks it on the table making you jump. 

“These are all the papers you’ve written for my class so far this semester. Your papers intrigue me Miss ___.” 

Intrigue? That’s a funny word to use for ‘disgusted and disappointed beyond imagination.’ 

“But you-,” you begin to point out that the highest grade he’s ever given you on a paper was a 68%. Far from intriguing. 

“But…as legal writing? They’re all absolute trash,” he tells you. “What intrigues me about them is the way you write, it’s quite good, every time I read one I feel like I’m in the room with a friend who’s trying to sort of explain law to me, the problem is you just don’t think, rationalize, or talk like a lawyer. I noticed in your transcript that your undergraduate degree was in education, and you had a 4.0 GPA. I can’t help but wonder, Miss ___, what career are you looking for?” 

“A…a lawyer,” you say in a quiet voice, staring at a knick on his desk. 

He looks skeptical as he leans back in his chair, “Why?” 

“Because…” oh fuck it all, you may as well just say it, “because my father, my mother, and my older brother are all lawyers, who went here.” 

“I see, so one could deduce that you wanted to be a lawyer because they wanted you to be one, they expected it of you?” he concludes. 

You smile comically, the truth is much more pathetic. 

“No, actually, they all told me I couldn’t do it. They told me I wasn’t smart enough, sharp enough, bold enough. I wanted to teach art to school children, but when that’s exactly what I elected to study, their comments started. I was just a private joke between the three of them, and I hated it, so I wanted to show them that I could be a lawyer.” 

“You came here to study law out of stubborn spite?” he reiterates. 

“Yes sir, I did,” you look at your lap and play with a rogue string from your sweater cuff. 

“That’s quite impressive, Miss ___, to go through all that trouble, strife, and money to do something you have no interest in just to best your family.” 

“Well when you say it like that I sound like a psycho,” you laugh timidly, trying to keep the sludge of humiliation down. 

“I don’t think you’re a psycho, I think you’re a bright woman who wanted to show her family they were wrong, but just ended up making herself miserable,” his expression is soft, almost understanding. “However, as your professor, I don’t think I could recommend continuing with law school. This is your first year, with first year level studies, and you’re struggling this much all for something you don’t even want, it will only get more difficult from here.” 

You nod, “You’re probably right sir,” you stand, “I should get to the admin office before they close for the break, I’m sorry for wasting your time,” you give him a respectful smile and grab your bag.

“Miss ___,” he motions for you to sit back down, “First of all, you’ve not wasted a single second of my time. Second, I don’t recommend dropping out right now, I think you should finish this semester at least.” 

“You just said…”

“I said I don’t think you should continue with law school, and I don’t. However, we’re past the official mid-point of the semester, the cut off to withdraw for a full refund of tuition was last week, if you go now you’ll never get that money back.” 

You plop back down in the chair, even more defeated, “I didn’t realize that,” you drag your hands down your face in frustration, “shit.”

Professor Lee chuckles, “I do have an alternative plan for you, if you’re willing to hear it and put in the work,” he offers. 

You sit up straight, “Yes, of course sir.” 

“I suggest you finish this semester, and I will help you - starting with rewriting your latest term paper. I’ll even try to assist you with some of your other courses, if you’d like. If we work diligently enough, you can finish this semester with an acceptable GPA, that keeps your academic record away from probation or academic expulsion,” he explains. 

“You would do that?” you ask in disbelief. 

“Well, of course, I am a professor after all. What sort would I be if I wasn’t willing to help my students?” 

“I don’t know what to say Professor,” you smile, “that’s too generous.” 

“It’s not a problem Miss ___. Now, let’s talk strategy, I assume you don’t plan on spending break with your family?” he guesses. 

“No sir, they’re too busy anyway, I plan on staying in my apartment off campus during the break,” you answer. 

“Splendid. This evening I have a night class to teach, but perhaps we could meet tomorrow? The library will be closed for break, but my students enjoy meeting up together at that coffee place downtown, uh, Coffee Shack or something,” he struggles. 

“The Coffee House?” you help him and try to hold back a grin.

“Yes, would you like to meet there, say, 1PM tomorrow afternoon? We can go over some of your papers together and I’ll help you with your legal writing technique,” he asks. 

“Yes, I’ll be there sir, I really can’t thank you enough, truly I appreciate this,” you tell him. 

“I look forward to it, Miss ___.” 

📖 ❤️

You adjust your backpack as you walk towards the Coffee House doors. You packed your laptop, all your text books, notes, and a few other things because you weren’t sure what Professor Lee would want to cover. The weight of it all is dragging you down and you have to hunch over a bit to balance it. 

“My goodness, here, let me get that for you Miss ___,” Professor Lee greets you at the door, he seems to have already picked a table near the front and grabs your bag with a grunt. “Did you pack your entire house?” he teases. 

“I didn’t know what you’d want me to bring, so I brought all my school things,” you laugh. 

“Well, I suppose it won’t matter that the library is closed since you brought it with you,” he chuckles and you take the seat beside him. 

“Should we start?” you open your laptop and power on. 

“I thought perhaps you’d like a beverage?”

“Oh,” you look behind you at the register, “Yes, I suppose we should caffeinate,” you smile. 

“What would you like?” He stands up and brings his wallet out. 

“Oh please sir, let me pay, it’s the least I could do for all of your help,” you beg. 

“Nonsense, as much as I love to argue Miss ___ I don’t see the point over a cup of coffee, what would you like? Are you hungry?” 

“No, I ate lunch before coming, just a latte for me, small,” you concede, “and thank you…again.” 

He smiles and departs from the table. You watch him in the line from where you sit. Seeing Professor Lee like this feels…different. In a less formal setting he’s almost approachable, and you’re starting to see things about him that you don’t in class. Like his generosity, and kindness, the man even has a sense of humor and you think of texting Seungmin about it but stop yourself. You want to keep this all a secret. You don’t want anyone knowing that you’re in such desperate need of assistance with your courses, but also you want to keep this side of Professor Lee to yourself. 

You could think of worse ways to spend your Saturday afternoon than with an attractive law professor who’s willing to help you pass your classes. You wonder if he’s aware that all his students find him so hot, or if it’s something that’s never occurred to him. He doesn’t wear a ring on any of his fingers, which tells you he isn’t married, but that doesn’t mean he’s single. You can’t imagine that he’s not seeing anyone. In class he’s usually got on some academia aesthetic looking suit on, lots of tweeds and browns - today he wears a fitted pair of jeans, and a navy sweater with a white collared button up fashioned underneath, the sleeves pushed up his forearms. His jet black hair isn’t styled like it usually is in class, and hangs long and loose around his face. He looks like such a boyfriend…

You blush and go back to focusing on your laptop. What the hell was that? He’s your professor. Which is actually kind of enticing…

You press your lips together and roll your eyes at yourself. Stop with the intrusive sexual thoughts about Professor Lee - the man is trying to save your ass, not spank it - having inappropriate daydreams, no matter how justified they may be, is unacceptable. 

“Here we go,” he comes back to the table and sets two mugs on the surface as he takes his seat again. 

“Thanks,” you smile politely, trying not to look at him. If you don’t look at him, maybe you won’t think about how cute he is and instead focus on what you ought to be: your failing grades. 

“So, let’s start with the main issue of your papers. Writing, in the legal sense, is cut and dry. It’s all about facts, findings, and nothing expressive or personal, which is where you seem to have the most trouble,” he begins and you try to absorb the information instead of noticing the way his lips look while sipping his coffee. 

This endeavor may be harder for you than just pulling your grades up. 

📖 ❤️

“I think that was a very productive first meeting,” he says optimistically as you start piling things back into your backpack. 

“I think so too,” you nod. Productive, yes - but now the real work begins and you’ll have to go home and actually re-write the damned thing. 

Professor Lee carries your backpack out the door, “Where’s your car?” 

“Oh, it’s at home, I just live a few blocks away,” you point in the general direction of your apartment. 

“You mean to tell me you carried this while walking from your house?” he holds the backpack with two hands for dramatics and you giggle. 

“It’s not that terrible, how long has it been since you were carrying books around, Professor? Surely you remember the struggle,” you tease. 

“I suppose it’s been a bit, here,” he reaches in his pocket and the SUV beside you beeps, he opens the passenger door, “I’ll drive you home so you don’t have to endure the struggle.” 

“I couldn’t ask you to do that sir,” you shake your head. 

“It’s fine, it’s a small college town Miss ___, I can get literally anywhere in less than five minutes, especially since the majority of students are gone this week. Let me be chivalrous for you,” he smiles and you melt a little bit. 

“Well, if you insist,” you look up at him as you slide into the passenger seat. 

“I do,” he closes the door, then places your bag in the backseat before coming around to the drivers side. 

“Are you always this difficult, Miss ___? Or are you just trying to be overly polite because I’m your professor?” he asks when you point him down the street towards your apartment. 

“Difficult, sir?” you look at him wide-eyed. 

“Mmhmm,” he nods, “You didn’t want me to buy your coffee, you nearly refused my ride home electing to carry a small library on your back while you walk,” a look of panicked concern washes over his face and he looks over at you, “This isn’t making you uncomfortable in any way is it? Being alone with me?” 

“No! No, absolutely not,” you assure him, though you wager that your thoughts about him would certainly make him uncomfortable. “I’m just so incredibly grateful for your help, and you continue to go out of your way for me. It’s just never something I…” you stop yourself. 

“Never something you what?” he presses. 

You laugh awkwardly, “It’s just not ever something I expected from you, given your reputation with the other students.” 

“Ah, yes,” he sucks his teeth, “My reputation of being an uptight jerk who doesn’t like anyone.” 

“I would never use those words sir,” you tell him. 

“You might not, but I have the internet too, I’ve seen the threads about me on social medias,” he shares. 

“You read those?” your voice raises at least three octaves. 

“Of course, I’m only human, curiosity gets the best of me from time to time.” 

“I don’t participate in those conversations,” you shake your head, “I understand that it’s only natural for students to want to know about the personalities of their upcoming professors, but the bias that occurs in those threads is absurd.” 

“I agree, though sometimes they can be helpful, to my ego at least,” he laughs. 

“How so?” you wonder, because you don’t remember seeing anything about his classes online that would feed his ego. 

“Some of my students may not like my personality, but they like looking at me,” he grins. 

“Professor Lee! That’s scandalous,” you laugh and playfully smack his shoulder. 

“What?” he laughs with you, “I’ve got to take something positive from it! 75% of those comments are atrocious, but I’m quite proud that I scored three hot peppers on the professor hotness scale.”

“Oh my God,” you cover your mouth, “I cannot believe I’m sitting in your car having this conversation,” you giggle. 

“Is this your building?” he points. 

“Yes, it is.” 

He parks on the street and you take a deep breath when he exits the car. He knows his students think he’s hot, and now he knows that you know he knows. You pat yourself on the back for indicating you’ve never participated in those threads before the conversation took a turn towards hot peppers. Though you are 100% guilty of voting for his peppers. 

He opens your door, hanging your backpack across his shoulder. 

“I’ll walk this up for you,” he offers and you swallow hard. 

“Sure,” you smile, your heart pounding out of your chest. Professor Lee Minho is about to see the inside of your apartment. You try to recall the state you left the place in. You remember doing your dishes before you left, but that’s about the only productive thing you can remember doing today. 

You unlock your door and flip the lights on. Your art supplies are everywhere, and you have a bag of laundry by the door because you plan on hitting the laundromat this evening. In trying to move it out of the way you knock it over, a pair of your underwear spilling out onto the floor right at his feet as he walks through. 

“Jesus,” you mutter, humiliated, as he looks down at you grabbing up the black lace thong and shoving it back into the bag. 

To your utter relief, he says nothing about your undergarments. He sets your backpack down and looks around.

“Can I offer you anything to eat or drink?” 

“Did you do all these?” he walks forward into the room towards the area you dry your paintings in. Canvas after canvas sits up against the wall, some completed, most unfinished. 

“Oh, yes,” you say, walking up beside him, “This semester has been really frustrating for me, and painting helps.” 

“Well, they’re beautiful, truly - you’re quite talented,” he looks down at you, “I can see why teaching art is a passion for you, you’ve certainly got quite a knack for it.” 

“Thank you,” you say quietly. 

“Teaching is very rewarding,” he adds, “I think that you should pursue your original dream Miss ___. You’ve clearly got a lot to offer the world,” he smiles down at you and you catch his gaze, a few quiet seconds pass as you look into his dark eyes. 

“You could just call me by my first name, ___, if you wanted,” you say softly, “and um, thank you, for complimenting my art.” 

“You’re very welcome, ___,” he responds, staring at you again. You watch his eyes flit down to your lips and your heart speeds up again. He suddenly clears his throat and looks back at the paintings, “I think we should make the most of the week, since classes aren’t meeting, this is a perfect time for you to catch up with your studies. Tomorrow is Sunday, which is the day I typically devote to catching up on grading, and I do have midterm grades to enter. Perhaps Monday?” he asks. 

“Monday, yeah. That works, um, I have a shift at work on Monday morning, but I’ll be free after 3PM.” 

“Perfect, we could meet at the Coffee House again, around 4:30?” 

“Yeah, that sounds good.” 

“Great,” he begins walking back to the door, “and, um, while we’re together - working on your coursework I mean - feel free to call me Minho. However when classes resume, it’s probably best to address me as Professor Lee.” 

“Of course, Professor,” you agree. “Thank you, er…Minho…for everything today.” 

“You’re most welcome,” he opens the door then pauses, turning his head slightly in your direction, “Nice panties, by the way. See you Monday!” 

You stand there, speechless, staring at the closed door. 

📖 ❤️

Monday afternoon you can’t help but notice that Professor Lee - Minho - sits closer to you at the table in the coffee shop as he helps you study for one of your other classes. You don’t blame him, truth be told, you spent over an hour after your shift at the bookstore getting ready, hoping he’d look at you the same way he did Saturday. You are, without a doubt, down bad. To impress him even further you’ve got a surprise for him.

“I re-wrote my term paper,” you blurt as the two of you are clearing up the table after studying. 

“Already?” he looks at you. 

“I worked on it all night Saturday, and most of the day on Sunday. Do you want me to email it to you?” 

“Absolutely,” he smiles, “Good girl.” 

Fuck off, he did not just say that. You bite down on your lip and your thighs press together as you bring up your student email. You attach the file and send it to him. 

“It should be in your inbox the next time you check,” you say…like a good girl. Swoon. 

“Great, um, I was wondering - and just tell me to shut up if you want to - but I was wondering if you had plans this evening?” 

Your heart grows wings and begins to fucking fly. 

“No,” you shake your head, “I have zero plans for a Monday evening in a town that’s practically shut down.” 

He chuckles, “Right. So, would you want to join me for dinner maybe?” 

You at least pretend to mull it over instead of just shouting YES in some unflattering, desperate tone. 

“Where were you planning on eating?” you ask. 

“There’s a really nice place I like, it’s about a twenty minute drive out of town, but the food is impressive, never had a bad dish there,” he shares. 

“I am hungry,” you say, “I’d love to.” 

“Good, shall we?” 

📖 ❤️

“Are we celebrating anything special this evening?” the waiter asks as he sets two glasses of water down, “A first date? An anniversary perhaps?” 

“No.” 

Both of you answer him at the same time, and try to hold your laughter in when the poor man looks taken back. 

“Okay,” he says, “Can I get you all anything to drink from our wine or cocktail menu?” 

“I’ll have a glass of this pinot, chilled, please,” you point to the wine and the waiter writes it down. 

“I’ll have the same,” Minho smiles. 

“I’ll get those right out.” 

Minho bites his lip and stares down at the tablecloth, you frown. 

“Is everything alright?” you ask. 

“Everything’s fine,” he says, “I’m just trying to remind myself that nothing inappropriate is happening here, I’m having dinner with one of my female students, but you are an adult and so am I and it’s fine.” 

“I won’t be your student after this semester,” you point out, “I don’t know if that’s helpful or not though.” 

“It is,” he nods, then tilts his head, “yet somehow I still feel like I’m misbehaving.” 

“It’s only food, how is that misbehaving?” 

“It’s not what I’m doing,” he bites his lip again and looks up at you, “It’s what I’m thinking.” 

You take a sip of water, your body practically vibrating with curiosity, “What is it that you’re thinking, exactly?” 

“Things that I shouldn’t be thinking about my student,” he says quietly. 

“This isn’t high school, Professor, this isn’t even undergrad. Don’t be harsh on yourself, I’m sure whatever you’re thinking about isn’t a bad thing,” you point out, hoping you sound cool and collected and not like you’re ready for him to take you right on this table. 

“So if I was thinking about fucking you after class in my office, across my desk, that wouldn’t be a bad thing?” 

You nearly choke on your water. Before you can respond the waiter returns with your glasses of wine, not a moment too soon. 

“I’ll let you guys look over the menu and come back in a few minutes.” 

You clear your throat once the waiter is gone, “I think fucking me on your desk would probably be inappropriate,” you smile, “especially to your neighboring colleagues. I have quite a mouth on me,” you say, opening your menu. 

You can feel him staring at you. “I’d very much like to hear it.” 

“Maybe you will, I guess we’ll see,” you shrug. 

The smile that spreads across his face is so dangerously mischievous, your clit throbs where you sit and you shift uncomfortably, only making it worse. 

📖 ❤️

The sexual tension between the two of you could be cut with a knife as you make your way back to his car. You reach for the door handle, but he grabs your arm and spins you around, your back pushed up against the door. 

His lips crash against yours, arms caging you in which is completely fine by you. You bury your fingers in his hair on either side of his head but he pulls away. 

“I want it to be clear I have never had any kind of sexual relationship with a student, ever,” he says quickly, then his lips are against yours again. 

“I believe you,” you manage between lips and tongues. 

He pulls away again, “And the only reason I’m pursuing this is because I can’t fucking resist you and you’re not going to be my student again after this semester,” he adds, then more kissing. 

“Got it,” you mumble into his mouth. 

Again he pulls away, “Seriously, even if you don’t quit law school I can never have you in class again, okay?” 

“Yes! Fuck that place, I’m done, and even if I wasn’t - I wouldn’t take you again, you’re an uptight jerk of a professor, remember?” you tease him, then desperately pull him back onto your lips. 

He shoves you harder against the car, his knee coming between your legs and you press yourself down on his thigh. You moan softly into his mouth and his hand smacks the side of the car. 

“Get in, fuck, please get in the fucking car.” 

He scrambles around to the drivers side as you jump in. 

“Your place or mine?” he asks, turning the ignition. 

“Which is closer?” you ask, pulling the seat belt so hard and quick that it locks up. 

“Uh…mine… mine I think.” 

“Then there’s your answer,” you tell him. 

Five minutes of him burning rubber down the highway is too long for you not to be touching him. You reach over and caress his thigh through his jeans, moving higher and higher until you find what you’re looking for in the darkness. 

He hisses as you stroke and massage his hard length through the fabric. 

You unbuckle your seat belt, “Are you as good a driver as you are a professor?” 

“I…why?”

You scoot as far as you can and lean over, undoing the button and zipper of his jeans, sliding your hand through the opening of his boxers until you feel the warm, velvety skin of his cock in your fist. 

“Oh fuck…oh my fucking…” he pants, his knuckles turning stark white around the steering wheel. 

You unbuckle his seatbelt as well and help him get it out of the way before pulling his cock from the confines of his jeans. 

You stroke him a few times, then let a glob of spit drip from your lips onto him so you can continue stroking more comfortably. 

“God…” 

You take him in your mouth and suck, running your tongue over the tip. The way he’s nearly whimpering, eyes so wide on the road, delights you. You put your mouth on him again, taking him deep in your throat, taking turns stroking and licking. 

“I’m going to cum,” he whispers hoarsely after several minutes, “I don’t have anything to…” he looks around frantically but you shake your head, popping your mouth off of him momentarily. 

“I can take it,” you whisper, then suck him between your lips once more. You can feel the base of his cock twitch and brace yourself, spurts of hot cum follow seconds later and you take it all from him greedily, swallowing then wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. 

“Holy shit,” he says through clenched teeth. “That was so fucking hot.” 

“Thank you,” you grin, pulling down the visor so you can fix yourself in the mirror. The “kiss proof” lipstick you wore today is evidently not “road head proof” and you clean up the edges of your mouth. 

He reaches over and grabs your hand in his, squeezing and rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb while he speeds down the road. 

📖 ❤️

The door to Minhos apartment isn’t even locked before he shoves you against it and presses his mouth to yours. 

“I want to make you feel so fucking good,” he whispers, trailing kisses down your neck. He drops to his knees and unbuttons your pants, pulling them down your legs. You kick your shoes off so he can get the pants off completely. 

He looks up at you and grins, tracing the lines of the black lace thong that toppled over at your apartment, “I was wishing very much that I’d get to see you in these,” he says, pressing his tongue against the tiny bit of cloth. 

You gasp at the way his lips move, teasing and licking through the thin lace, “Are you really going to eat me out against the door?” 

“Mmm,” he moans against your clit and your legs jerk, “Yes,” he says hooking his fingers in the strings and pulling the soaking wet cloth down your legs. 

“No patience at all Professor, I’m shocked,” you tease. 

“So… you can call me Minho,” he smiles, kissing and licking trails back up your legs, “but in class and when I’m fucking your pretty pussy feel free to use Professor.” 

“Absolutely Professor Lee,” you rest your head against the door as his tongue wiggles between your slick. “Fuck!” 

He finds your clit and wraps his lips around, gently sucking. You lay one of your thighs over his shoulder and try to steady yourself while he laps and sucks you off. You grab his hair with your fingers and move with him, fucking his face and listening to the delightful slurping, wet sounds erupting through the quiet room. 

“Oh…just like that, right there,” you whine when he begins to softly lick the perfect spot, “fuckfuckfuck…yes!” you release his hair from your fist and hold yourself against the wall as your legs begin to quake, cunt throbbing in rhythmic spasms as he milks you with his lips. 

“Oh my god,” you groan, trying to stand straight. He finally gets around to locking the door then picks you up, carrying you down a hallway. He pours you onto the bed and you watch as he strips himself of clothing, you follow suit, though half your outfit is in his foyer. 

You lay back, bottom lip between your teeth as you watch him crawl over you, positioning himself between your legs. 

“You’re sure this is okay?” he whispers, pressing his forehead against yours, the head of his cock leaking against your open cunt. 

“Yes, fuck, yes I want you,” you assure him, nails digging into his shoulder. He makes a gruff noise deep in his throat and lines himself up with your opening. You wrap your legs around his waist, encouraging him to push into you and he does, slow and deep. You both moan into each other at the sensation of it.  

Slowly he begins to move quicker, still deep, but urgently. The sound of skin against skin intoxicating. He sits up a bit, your hips coming with him and he grabs them, using you as an anchor to thrust into you. 

“Minho…” his name comes out as a whisper, your eyes screwed shut. “So close…” 

“No, no,” he tsks, slowing down and pulling himself out, pushing the head of his cock against your clit. “I’m not done with you yet.” 

He slides his cock against you until you start squirming beneath him, your clit still sensitive from his front door excursions. “Please? Fuck…” you whine loudly. 

“You want it?” he asks in a growl, stuffing himself inside you then pulling out again. 

“Yes! Yes! Please!” you cry, your nails scraping against the sides of his legs. 

“Are you sure baby?” he smirks, pushing into you and pulling out slowly several times. Your orgasm begins to build again and you meet his thrusts with your hips, chasing it. Until he pulls out again. 

“What are you doing?” you groan, half laughing and out of your mind. 

“Beg a little,” he urges, teasing your entrance with the tip of his cock but pulling away every time you try to push against it. 

You snap your eyes open, the sight of him looking down at you makes you unhinged. “Please, Professor Lee, please let me cum,” you say it as sweetly and earnestly as you can muster. 

His eyes practically roll back in his head as he lines up with you again and pushes in deep, his hands fly back to your hips and he drags you on and off his cock until your vision goes white with the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had. 

“Sit up, please,” he begs breathlessly as he pulls away, stroking himself. You do as you’re told and watch as his lips part, his hand stills and shots of pearly strings shoot across your breasts. 

“Hold on,” he says when he can move again, then disappears behind a door, emerging a few moments later with a warm damp hand towel. He kisses you deeply as he cleans his cum off your chest. 

“That was so fucking good,” you whisper, taking his face in your hands. 

“Yes,” he sighs, pulling you down beneath the blankets with him, “Yes it was.” 

He holds you close to him, your eyes getting heavier, “I think my books are still in your car. We could go over the paper on tort law I bombed over breakfast tomorrow?” 

He chuckles and nods, “It’s a date.” 

📖 ❤️

You sit in Professor Lees classroom as he passes back the latest exam. Term is almost over and everyone seems to be reeling with nerves around you. 

He slows beside your desk and lays your test down, “Much better, Miss ___, much better.” 

Seungmin looks over at your test, “Hey! Not bad,” he smiles cheerfully. 

“I’ve had a lot of help this semester,” you smile.

At the bottom of the last page you read the note of thin red ink,

See you at my place tonight?

The End

Endnote:

I am in my Lee Know slut era. I will not be taking questions about my worship of him at this time, thank you. As always, if you made it far enough to read this, please accept my virtual smooch.

Also as always this is unbeta’d bc that’s typically how I roll so it could be absolute trash but that’s okay bc we’re just having fun.

---

Oh to be spoiled by Minho 😍 the image of him shaking the papers at y/n though 😆 loved this, fits my happy ever after idea of them very well <3

Of Course, Professor (Drabble)

Pairing: Professor! Lee Know x Female Reader

Genre: Romantic. Smut. Fluff.

Summary: A spicy but sweet night at home.

Warnings: Explicit language and explicit depictions of sex.

WC: 950

A/N: I was originally going to end the main story with some 🌶️ but I changed my mind and never finished the scene. You all voted for spicy domestic fluff over raunchy, totally unethical office smut - which btw I'm proud af of you all lmaooo - so here it is.

“What are you working on?” Minho asks as he sits beside you on the couch with a pile of papers in his lap. 

You look up from your sketchbook and shrug, “I’m trying to sketch out some ideas, I’d like to put some original paintings in my classroom as decoration.” 

He looks over your shoulder onto the notebook in front of you, “I like all the different shapes in this one.” 

“I like it too,” you turn your head and peck his lips with yours, “I think I’m going to do it in really bright, bold colors. The kids will like it.” 

“They’ll love it,” he smiles, “Are you nervous for school to start?” 

“No,” you say sheepishly then chuckle, “but yes. It’s been a while since I was in a classroom, and when I was I was still a student, with a veteran teacher to correct my mistakes - being in a room alone, with no one there to fix it if I mess up is intimidating. Then again, it’s just art, how bad could I possibly fuck them up?” you laugh and Minho chuckles too. 

“It’s not just art,” he takes your sketchbook and starts flipping through, “To at least one of those children, it’s going to be the most important class they ever take. Years - decades - from now they’ll remember what they learned from the teacher who taught them that their art mattered, that it was important. They’ll think of you every time they pick up a brush, or pencil and I can’t think of a more perfect person for the job.” 

You stare at him, a soft smile playing at your lips.

“What?” he grins back, “Is there something on my face?” 

You shake your head and crawl over him, pushing his paperwork to the side, your legs straddling his lap and you take his face in your hands. 

“I just can’t believe there was a time when I didn’t know how sweet and soft you were,” you tell him, pressing your lips against his. 

“Mmm,” he moans into your mouth, “I am not.” 

“You are.” 

He tosses you over onto your back and you giggle, “And I can’t believe you ever thought you were going to be a lawyer,” he clicks his teeth and sorts his papers back in order, shaking them at you, “No discipline at all. Your classes don’t begin until August, but some of us are teaching Summer classes and Sunday is my day to grade…”

As he lectures you, you slide your shorts and underwear off. When he looks back his eyes go dark as you allow your knees to gently fall apart. 

He makes a raspy sound in his throat as his eyes narrow, “No fucking discipline…” he mutters, tossing the papers on the coffee table. 

“Then teach me some, Professor,” you bite your lip. 

He chuckles as he pulls his shirt over his head, “A pointless endeavor. I spoil you is what I do,” he grins, situating himself between your legs. He begins kissing the inside of your thighs, the cool air hitting your center tells you you’re already soaked. 

He dips a finger into your cunt and twists, your hips come off the couch and you sigh. He continues to pump you while his tongue paints swirls of pleasure over every centimeter of your pussy. He’s so fucking good. You find yourself burying your fingers in his hair, latching him onto you as you move your hips with his mouth as the pleasure builds. Every time he eats you out you try to hold it, to stop yourself from coming just to bask in how good his tongue feels on you, but maybe he’s right - you have no discipline. You spread your legs as far as they go and stiffen, your orgasm hitting you in rhythmic waves. 

“More,” you manage to squeak out. 

“Spoiled,” he whispers back, wiping his mouth with the back of his arm as he pulls the rest of his clothes off and resumes his place between your legs. 

He grabs your hands and holds them in place above your head, his lips come down on one of your nipples and he gently sucks and licks wide languid strokes over the sensitive bud. You squirm beneath him, needing to feel him inside you. Finally he relents, and removes his mouth from your breast, still stiffly holding your hands while he pushes into you. 

He pauses for a moment, even all these months later both of you still need a second to adapt to him deep inside you. It’s more than a physical connection of body parts, it feels incendiary, it feels right - it feels like love. 

You wrap your legs around his hips so he can go as deep as he needs to, his open mouth against your neck spilling rapid breaths and dirty, sexy secrets. You know he’s close, so you lift your hips slightly because you’re so in tune with him that you know it will hit just right, know it will push you over the edge too and he needs it. 

When the coil all wound up inside you springs, you spasm around him and he moans, freezing all movement except for the throbbing of his cock spilling inside you. He remains on top of you for several moments, letting his breath return to normal. He lets go of your fists and slides his palm over yours, lacing your fingers together as he plants kisses along your cheek and jawline, his cock softening inside your body. 

“I love you,” he whispers against your temple, eyes closed. 

You use your free hand to wipe his sweaty bangs from his face, you kiss his nose and lips, “I love you too Minho.” 

THE END

Endnotes:

Thank you for reading, and here's your virtual smooooooch 😘

My Sluts for Minho tag list / people who asked to be tagged in pt 2: @katieraven , @linocz , @screamobubbles , @hpnsfwaddict , @simpforleeknaur also @moni-logues (so she doesn’t send me threatening discord messages 😂) …If I missed you somehow I’m sorry, I’ve got zero organization methods when approaching tag lists and relied on re-reading the replies on the main fic to remember who asked, so if you asked a different way it probably got lost in my brain 🙃

---

This legit made me squeal, Penny is sooooo cute and pretty 😍😍😍 thank you for this, my evening is MADE <3

Hard to Handle

Pairing: Jungkook x Fem Reader 

Genre: Romance. Smut. Really, just smut. Also F2L.

Summary: You’re starting to want a little more from your FWB buddy.

Warnings: Explicit Language. Explicit sexual acts (oral, protected penetration). FWB situation. There is alcohol being consumed but not an amount that would inhibit or impair judgment or decisions. 

A/N: A few nights ago I had a dream I played Jenga with Jk in his apartment 😂 it was NOT spicy at all bc my unconscious mind is boring, so let’s fix that. Also let’s give it a better ending than me waking up to my dog burping in my face.

WC: 2k

You’re sitting around Jungkooks dining room table, two beers in and hoping to lose at Jenga, which is a terrible game to play with drunk people, by the way. You didn’t really want to go out tonight, didn’t want to put on anything cute or put makeup on your face, but Jungkook reminded you that it’s been over a month since you’ve seen any of your friends in person. You’re overdue for socializing to meet basic human emotional requirements. Fair point. 

Your phone goes off in your pocket, which you find odd, because everyone you know that would be texting you after midnight is sitting at this table. 

JK: Everyone is going to start scattering soon. 

You read the message then look over at him bewildered, shrugging your shoulders. 

Me: Okay…and? 

JK: Stay here tonight. 

You look back over at him, he’s staring at his blocks, pretending to organize them but you can see the corners of his mouth slip into a mischievous smile. 

Me: IDK. We probably shouldn’t keep doing that. 

JK: Uh. Hard disagree. I feel like we should absolutely keep doing that. Over and over. A lot. 

Me: You need a girlfriend dude. 

JK: Maybe. You up for the job? I’m pretty hard to handle. 

Me: Don’t joke about that shit. I don’t care to stay with you sometimes but I don’t want to start joking about being more, then it’s going to get confusing and I don’t want to deal with that. 

JK: Right. Sorry. Zero confusion. Will you stay with me tonight so I can make a mess of you?

Me: …Yes. 

Me:...Assuming we’re not still playing this damn game at 6AM. Jin could do this shit all night. 

JK: Oh, I got you. Watch this…

“I gotta piss,” Jungkook says, standing up a little too quickly, his hip catches the edge of the table and the tower collapses with the devastating sound of blocks hitting the table and floor. 

“Yah!!” Jin howls, “Look what you did!” 

“Shit,” Jungkook tsks, “Sorry guys.” 

You press your lips together, trying not to laugh. The rest of the group moans and groans, but finally Namjoon stretches, looks at his phone and plants the seed, “It’s late, I need to get going.” Just like that, the table erupts with similar sentiments, and even Seokjin who sits and pouts for several moments, stands and starts grabbing up his things. 

“Do you want a ride home, ___?” Yongsun asks. 

“Uh, nah,” you shrug, “I’ve got a ride already.” 

She grins, “I bet you do. Talk to you later.” 

You feel the tips of your ears get hot and force a quiet laugh. Your friends aren’t stupid, and it was only a matter of time before someone decided to make a comment on why you always seem to stick around Jungkooks house after one of his little gatherings. 

Jungkook follows everyone out into the hall to bid farewell then shuts the door softly and twists the lock. He turns and the two of you stare at each other for a few seconds in the middle of his living room. 

“Hi,” he says, pulling you into him, nuzzling the side of your face with his nose. 

“Everybody knows what we’re doing,” you say softly, fingers already twisting into the hem of his shirt. 

“Does that bother you?” he asks, hands slipping under your blouse, squeezing the small of your waist. His hands are so fucking warm. 

“Kind of…no…I don’t know,” you answer. 

“It doesn’t matter if they know we fuck sometimes, it’s not like they care, it’s not like they’re judging us,” he says, his lips start roaming the side of your throat. 

“I know, I don’t know why it bothers me,” you lie. You do know why it bothers you. It bothers you because eventually someone’s going to ask what’s up, and the answer is that you want to completely fuck up this friendship. It didn’t start out like that. It started the way most arrangements like this start, he was single, you were single, and you were left alone in the same room. 

It’s only been the last two or three times this has happened where you got stuck on it. Thinking about it days, even weeks after the sex, daydreaming about it. Wanting to ask him to go out just so you could hold his hand, just so you could be with him. You can’t pinpoint the exact moment you started to fall for Jungkook, but it was getting harder and harder to deny it. 

“If you don’t want to then let’s not,” he pulls away from you, lacing his fingers in yours as he places his forehead against your own. 

“I do want to,” you tell him, and that certainly isn’t a lie. Now’s not the time to have an internal battle with your logical side, so you grab his shirt hem and pull it off, then shove him down onto his sofa. 

“Strip,” he points to your body as he unbuckles his belt and undoes the button and zipper of his jeans. You watch as he shimmies them down his hips, until the base of his cock where his pubic hair gets thicker is barely showing. You’re pretty sure you were wet to begin with, but if not you certainly are now. You can feel it pooling between your thighs. 

You remember your instructions and begin removing clothes piece by piece until you’re fully naked. 

He curls his finger and beckons, “Come here pretty girl.”

You crawl onto him, straddling his lap. He tangles his fingers in your hair and pulls, tilting your head back so he can suck and lick where he wants, which starts with your neck then dips down to your chest.

“Koo…” you groan as he gently licks at your nipples, leaving wet trails and kisses between them.

“I know,” you can feel him smile against your nipple, he blows cool air against you and you instinctively grind your hips against him. “How wet are you, hm?”

He licks the pad of his middle and index fingers, then reaches between your legs, swirling them through your slick.

“Please…” you beg.

He pops his fingers back into his mouth, “So good, you taste so fucking good. Lay down.”

You fall over onto the couch and he rids himself of his remaining clothing then perches himself between your legs. He grabs one ankle and nips at your calf before propping your leg on the back of the couch. He slides your other leg off the cushion with his knee so you’re spread wide for him.

“Say please again,” he draws his tongue across his lip, wiggling the silver and black stud. “It’s so fucking hot.”

You smile shyly, “Please Koo?”

He narrows his eyes playfully and drags the back of his knuckle up your slit, you writhe on the cushions with a gasp.

“More specific,” he teases. “Tell me you want me to fuck you with my mouth.”

“Fuck,” you whine, “Please fuck me with your mouth, fucking please Jungkook.”

He chuckles, lowering himself onto his stomach. He drags his tongue down the inside of your thigh, slow and wet, then up the other leg. He’s teasing you, planting sloppy kisses everywhere except where you want him to. Finally you’ve had enough, you bury your hands in his hair and guide him to your center.

“Impatient much?” he jokes, flicking his tongue over your clit.

“It’s been a month, give me a break,” you breathe.

He pauses and looks up at you, “You haven’t…since the last time you and I?”

You want to tell him you haven’t been with anyone since you started this whole fling, not just since the last time. That might be too much information though, so you just shrug and nod your head.

He seems to contemplate this a moment, but then that mischievous smile returns, “Well let me help you out.”

He doesn’t hold back or tease this time and you lay your head back onto a throw pillow, rocking your hips in time with his expert tongue and listening to the wet noises and little moans he’s making.

“Like that…right there,” you pant. “Oh fuck…”

He sweeps his tongue over your entrance, slowly sliding your wetness up to your clit where he softly licks and sucks, sending you over the edge. You grip the edges of the couch as your body shudders and your breathing becomes uneven.

Jungkook sits up on his knees, eyes dark, cock throbbing as he wipes his mouth with the back of his arm.

“One second,” he pants, skulking off through the house, leaving you breathless and hot.

When he comes back he chews the corner off a condom wrapper, spitting the tiny piece somewhere in his living room. You grab his arm and drag him down. Wrap your arms around him, kissing and sucking his shoulder as he rolls the latex down his length and pulls your leg over his lap.

“Ride me,” he growls, gripping the sides of your ass so hard you’re sure there will be bruises. Good.

You lower yourself down on him, pausing when he’s flush inside. You wonder if you’ll ever get accustomed to the delicious stretch of him inside you and hope that never happens.

He smacks your ass with his palm, then grabs your hips, dragging you back up his length then slamming you back down.

“Fuck,” he groans, leaning his head back against the seat.

“Feel good?” you ask, taking his mouth with yours.

He nods, “mmhmm, keep going, feels so good baby.”

You kiss him once more then brace yourself on his shoulders, finding a rhythm between bouncing and grinding that makes your insides vibrate and has him coming undone beneath you.

“I’m gonna cum again,” you pant.

“Good, keep going,” he smiles. He starts meeting your bounds by thrusting himself up hard, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoes in the room, your whimpers and his moans occasionally overpowering the noise. You can feel the pull, and you bounce harder, faster, chasing it until it explodes.

Once Jungkook feels you spasm around him he holds you still, burying himself inside you while he reaches his own high.

He grabs your chin gently with his fingers and pulls you into a kiss, tongue gently pushing against yours.

“What if I wasn’t joking?” he asks, rubbing the tip of his nose against yours.

Your heart jumps inside your chest, “What do you mean?”

He pushes some of your hair off your face, “Earlier when I was texting you about being my girlfriend, what if I wasn’t joking?”

“Is that…do you want that?” you press.

“I wouldn’t be asking this if I didn’t,” he laughs.

“What about being friends for so long? Would that be weird, to change it?” you point out.

He shrugs, “I think being friends lays a pretty good foundation, why? Do you not feel the same way?”

You shake your head and laugh, “No, I feel the same way. I’ve been freaking out over how I feel about you for months Koo. I’m just blurting out all the questions I’ve been keeping to myself.”

“You could’ve said something,” he laughs with you. “You’ve always been like that, gotta hash out all the answers and outcomes in your head before you bring anyone else in.”

“What can I say,” you shrug, “I’m hard to handle. You think you’re up for the job?”

“Most definitely, pretty girl.”

Endnote:

1. This is very unbeta’d because it’s just for fun and so very unserious. So there’s that. Also I’m very out of practice writing smut so also that. Ok thanks 💜 if you made it far enough to read this I’m giving you a virtual smooch 😘

---

Guess who finally found some reading time to catch up with your writing 🙌

I just love the way you write <3 I’m very much team cheating-is-a-deal-breaker and yet I found myself rooting for them! Especially if he really groveled and suffered for 2 years, even my petty ass is inclined to forgive him. You write your characters beautifully, I’m in awe! All the hurt and pain and self-reflecting, it made me feeeeeel so many things! The imaginary games we get up to in our heads, who is really winning when you’re the only one keeping score - so good!!!

I would have probably strangled the bride and groom with all their meddling and well-meaning advise, even though I know they were trying to help 😅

The grumbly hotel employee made me laugh “have a good evening’, though she looks like she hopes you two have anything but” 😆 they can add “don’t wear cashmere near the pool” to their sign now 🧶👙

Say hi to Penny from me 👋

Imaginary Games

▪️Pairing: Kim Taehyung x Fem. Reader

▫️Genre: Romantic, Smut, Exes to Lovers, Smidge of Hurt

▪️Warnings: 18+ Explicit language, sexual content (vanilla), pining idiots, past infidelity.

▫️Summary: The only thing that could make a destination wedding - in which you're the maid of honor, who has to give a speech in front of a crowd, who has to wear a dress that cost you a pretty penny that you'll never wear again - worse is the fact that your cheating ex is the best man.

▪️WC: 8k and some change

▫️AN: Repost from previous blog. Honestly I just really liked this fic. It wasn’t everybody’s cup of tea and I get that. Cheating is one of those things that we all have very strong opinions on, naturally, and that’s totally valid. For me, I just really enjoyed writing this and I liked how it turned out. The whole bit about Taehyungs ruined cashmere alone was enough for this to make the reposting cut 😂🧶

“He isn’t here yet, he won’t be here until dinner tonight so you can relax,” Fi, your best friend and blushing bride-to-be tries to comfort you as she shifts around on her beach chair. 

She’s talking about Taehyung, of course, you don’t need to ask. He’s your ex, that you haven’t laid eyes on in two years. Not since the night that he admitted to cheating on you with a co-worker. You’d felt so incredibly stupid. You’d been casually babbling about meal planning of all the mundane things (it’s more cost effective and healthy blah blah!), and he started crying and spilled the whole story out of guilt. You’d been too stunned to argue, or fight, so you did what you always do when someone hurts you: You said nothing, or at least nothing of value, and you walked away. He’d tried to run after you, begged you to just talk to him, tried to wipe the tears that fell from your face in a devastated shower, but you wouldn’t let him. You slapped his arm away so hard your fingers had tingled for an hour, and you told him never to speak to you or touch you again. 

A typical person might fight, scream, or try to have a discussion. A typical person would ask questions between bouts of screaming like “Do you love her?” “Did it mean anything?” “Do you still want me?” - the kind of questions that are natural when you’ve been fucked over like that. You definitely dwelled on those questions a lot, but you were too stubborn to ever ask them, because that would mean you’d have to speak to him, and you’d made it clear you were done speaking. If you spoke to him that might give him the impression that you were willing to listen to his side of things, and that might lead to him thinking you could forgive him. Can’t have that. 

You’re not a forgiving person, not when the offense is that deep and it was. You loved Kim Taehyung with your whole heart. You planned on doing ‘old and gray’ with him. You built future plans together, he was your best friend, he was your safe place and you were all those things for him as well. It was right, he was Mr. Right. 

You find it so unusual and infuriating that even after two years, you feel that pain like it was freshly served every time you think of him.

“I’m relaxed,” you tell her with a stiff shrug, “and this weekend is about you and Joon, not me, so I don’t care when he’s coming.” 

 In the two years you’d been broken up with Tae, you had found it quite challenging to keep up your friendship with Fi, considering her significant other - and now fiance - was Taehyungs older brother. In fact, they met because you and Tae had set them up on a blind double date. You managed, however, to avoid him at all costs. Until now, because who else would Namjoon choose to be his Best Man other than his brother? 

“Yeah you really look it,” Fi snorts, “you’re sitting beside the ocean underneath a warm sun and you look so uptight that I’m scared you’re going to start shitting diamonds.” 

“Well maybe I’ll shit a necklace, it can be your ‘something new’,” you tease and she laughs, maybe you’ve dodged the wrath of her observational skills. 

You try to go back to your book, you’ve made it all the way to page two, but just like every other time this morning you’ve attempted to read - the words start to blur together when your mind begins to think of the inevitable: He will be here. You will have to interact. You’ll have to play nice. 

“You know, Joon says he hasn’t gone out with anyone since you two split,” she offers casually as she flips onto her stomach. 

“Fi…” her name comes out as a warning. 

“Sue me, I’m just saying that it’s worth noting the man has been punishing himself the entire time you’ve-,” 

“Where’s your phone? I need to check the time,” you say quickly, digging in her tote until you feel the shape of the device that you don’t need whatsoever. You’ve got nowhere to be until dinner this evening. 

“You can change the subject all you want, but tonight at dinner you’ll have to face the problem you’ve been running from all this time head on,” she reminds you, painfully. 

“I’ve not been running Fi. I walked away, with the entire thing blowing up behind me and didn’t look back. There’s a difference,” you point out. 

“Fine. Avoiding is the better verb then. Semantics,” she eyes you from under the brim of her hat, “you never gave him the chance to explain what happened.” 

You scoff, “Unless his dick leapt off his body and kamikazed into her vagina I don’t really need to know what happened. Do you know what happened?” you ask out of curiosity, though you immediately regret the words, it gives the impression that you give a shit. 

“No, I don’t. I promised you I wouldn’t discuss you with him and I haven’t - though he’s tried many, many times - but I do think it’s a conversation you should have with him ___,” she props herself up on her arms, “People move on from affairs all the time, sometimes together, sometimes apart. The point is that they decide what’s best based on all the information, not just the pain it caused.” 

She’s making you angry. You bite down hard on your lower lip to ground yourself. You don’t want to yell or fight with her, not this weekend when it’s her big moment. Her wedding. 

“Hey, I’m starting to feel the sun,” you say, and it’s not a total lie, “I think I’m going to go in and cool off, get some water and lunch. Do you want anything?” you ask. 

You look up towards the hotel and see that Namjoon is on his way down with a towel draped over his shoulder. 

“Ah, nevermind,” you pat her on the back, “a buff Sea God approaches. He’ll take care of you.” 

You gather up your own things and start walking up the beach access where you cross paths with him. 

“Joon,” you greet him with a little nod. 

“Hey. So, how many mimosas has my bride had this morning?” he chuckles. 

“Four,” you answer, “but those last two had like the vapor of OJ in them, so I think it’s probably time for a dunk,” you wink. 

You don’t quite make it into the hotel before you hear Fi’s shrill scream and you smile as you watch Joon pluck her off the chair, toss her over his shoulder and head to the water. They splash and play and you can’t help but enjoy it - but then pain encroaches on the moment and your smile fades as it so often does, and you disappear into the hotel before anyone can see how bitter you are. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Namjoon and Fi had wanted you all to carpool to the restaurant together, but you’d insisted on driving yourself for a few reasons. 

For one, it gave you an immediate means of escape, should the sight of Kim Taehyung drive you to projectile vomiting. Also, it gave you some time alone to talk yourself up, to psych yourself into thinking you could navigate this evening without succumbing to any emotions. You’d done such a good job, for two long years, of not letting him know what he did to you. Not letting him see how he devastated your life. Most importantly though, not letting him in. 

“The Kim-Park wedding party?” you tell the hostess as you walk into the lobby. It must be freezing in here, the way your arms and legs erupt in chills. 

“Sure,” she smiles brightly and points across the dining area, “out on the patio, just through those glass doors.” 

“Thanks.” 

No less than sixty seconds ago, getting out of your car, you’d felt confident. However, as you close in on the patio doors you realize that despite knowing this moment was coming, despite going over it in your head every night for the past few months - you have no idea what to say to him. You’d not practiced the conversation even once in your head, which is unprecedented for you. 

You pull your hand off the door like it burned you and slip to the side before anyone from the party can see you through the glass. You press your back up against the cold wall and take a deep breath. 

“I think we’re both doing the same thing.” 

His voice, so deep and familiar, daggers you. You look over and sure enough, on the other side of the doors he stands there, tall and lean, pressed up against the wall with his fists shoved into his pockets. 

He crosses over to you, and you take an instinctual step back, he notices but doesn’t remark on it. 

“I’m hiding from you and you’re hiding from me,” he continues. 

At some point, you’ll have to speak. Eventually he’s going to think you’ve either lost your voice or worse, that his presence has rendered you speechless and you refuse to let that happen. 

“Why would I hide from you?” you ask, correcting your posture and steeling your nerves. 

“Because you don’t know what to say, and you hate not knowing what to say,” he answers and your blood boils at the fact that he’s right. You hate that he knows you, inside and out, knows your personality, your faults, your strengths, your comforts. He knows what you look like naked, what you love in bed and how to - STOP. There is absolutely no way you’re letting your mind go there. 

“Why would you be hiding from me?” you ask instead of admitting he was spot on with you. 

“Because I was afraid at how much it would hurt to see you,” he says, “turns out it was worse than I’d thought.” 

He looks at you then, really looks, from your face all the way down to your heels. 

“You look so pretty,” he whispers with the saddest smile you think you’ve ever seen on a human being. You think you also see the glint of tears dusting his lids. 

“Thanks,” you say in a cold, disinterested cadence, “We should get in there before they start wondering where we are.”

“Listen, __, I’d really like to sit down and talk to you this weekend,” he stops you by placing his palm gently on your shoulder. It may as well have shocked you, the way you stiffen up and shimmy away from it. 

“Taehyung,” you say sternly, “We’re here this weekend because your brother and my best friend are getting married. It’s their weekend, and you and I are responsible for making sure everything is memorable and good. That is the beginning and end of my obligations. So I really couldn’t give a flying fuck about what you want.” 

Then you push through the doors without giving him a chance to reply. 

You hate yourself. You didn’t have to be that cruel, not after two years of giving him the silent treatment. The look on his face tells you that you may have taken it too far. 

However, by the time you’ve sat down you’ve already switched gears. You angrily set your clutch on the table. The look on his face? On his face? It’s nothing compared to the look that was on yours. The look you wore for months in the wake of what he’d done. So he can look however the fuck he wants. To Hell with him. 

A waiter brings you a glass of champagne and you fight the urge to chug it down and ask for another. That won’t do any good though. The last thing Fi and Namjoon need is for you to get hammered at their party and ruin it. Besides, champagne hangovers are the worst. It’s not worth upsetting Fi. 

When you look up to see Fi storming towards you, you think that ship may have already sailed. 

“What?” you ask like a child about to get yelled at. 

“What did you do to him?” she hisses, taking the seat next to you. You don’t dare ask who she means, else she might smack you out of your chair. 

“Nothing?” 

“That’s weird,” she scrunches her face, “because Joon is in the mens room convincing Taehyung not to leave! He’s crying ___.” 

“Oh for God’s sake,” you roll your eyes. 

Her hand squeezes your arm, more violent than comforting, “Go fix this. For two years I have been on Team ___ one hundred percent. I have cried with you, screamed with you, drank with you, wallowed with you and hated on him with you. It’s my turn. Please go be on my team.” 

Her words hurt, and you suddenly feel like a villain. 

“Okay, okay,” you stand and finish off your champagne, “I’m going right now.” 

When you swing open the mens room door you catch sight of Taehyungs disheveled face in the reflection of the mirror. You have to look away because he’s so devastatingly handsome, but also because it turns your stomach in knots to see him hurt, even after everything that happened. 

“I’ll just,” Namjoon mumbles, side stepping you towards the door, “yeah.” 

You both stand there silent for a long time, the only noise in the space are his sniffles, which echo against the metal stalls. Eventually someone is going to come in so you need to move it along. 

“I won’t apologize to you,” you begin with, because you feel like it’s important to outline that boundary. You owe him nothing, least of all an apology. “There are no words that I could use against you that will hurt you more than you hurt me.” 

“I’m sorry,” his apology comes out in a hoarse rasp that grates on your deepest heartstrings. “___, I’m so fucking sorry. You have to know that by now. I’ve not dated another person, I’ve not even fucking touched anyone since you walked out of my apartment - two years!” 

You don’t believe for a second that he’s been touch starved for two entire years, and you add that on to his pile of lies. 

“I love you, still, I’ve loved you every second,” he blurts it all out in a rush, and you expect he assumes you’re going to walk out or slap his mouth shut any second. The words still effect you, the notion that he still loves, after all that’s happened, and you feel your throat tighten with the threat of tears. 

“Don’t,” you hold up your hand, “Just don’t. We need to get it together. Namjoon and Fi expect us to be there for them this weekend and that’s what we need to do. So we’re going to walk back in there together like we’re best fucking friends, go on, do what you need to do,” you wave toward the sink. 

He sighs, resigning to you, and turns away. 

When he’s splashed his face and dried off the two of you end up where you started at the patio doors. He offers you his arm. 

“Pretending to be friendly doesn’t require you touching me Taehyung,” you point out. 

“Can I at least open the door for you?” he asks, pushing the door ajar before you can answer. The palm of his hand ends up resting against the small of your back. You stiffen and shoot him a look. 

“Sorry,” he pulls it away rapidly, “old habits.” 

“Break them,” you seethe, then transition back into the party, trying to look pleasant. 

Your back tingles in the wake of his touch, or maybe tingle isn’t the right word, but you feel it. Like a phantom pain. You hate that it felt good, natural, and like a comfort. 

You try not to think about it. You try not to think about how different this weekend would be had he not ruined everything. You try not to think about how happy and fun it would be to celebrate Namjoon and Fi together, as a couple. Would he have proposed by now? Would he have done it this weekend? After Fi and Joon ride off into the sunset together, would he have taken your hand and walked you down the beach and given you a ring? 

You push it down, pretending that you’re not hurting. You smile through a dance with Taehyung and Joons father, and brush it off when he mentions how disappointed he was how things ended between you and his youngest son. You smile through a photo of the wedding party, which just consists of you, Tae, and the bride and groom - thankfully you stand on the opposite end of Taehyung. 

You wait until you get back in your hotel room to fall apart. 

~~~~~~~

“No rest for the wicked?” 

Namjoons voice startles you. You’ve been sitting in an outdoor area of the hotel that overlooks the ocean. 

“I don’t get to come to the beach often, just soaking it in,” you tell him and look out over the seemingly infinite darkness of the water against the night sky. 

He hands you a beer and sits down in the seat next to you. 

“Thanks.” 

“Thank you,” he says, “for talking to Tae so he wasn’t a sniveling mess all night.” 

“I didn’t,” you reply honestly, “I have no interest in talking, but I did tell him we needed to keep it together for you and Fi.” 

Namjoon nods and sips his beer. 

“You’re still angry with him?” the question sounds more like a statement, but either way it irks the shit out of you. 

“Wouldn’t you be?” you snap a little. 

“I don’t know,” he shrugs, “Maybe. I’d think I’d at least want some closure though. So I could move on with life without being so angry all the time.” 

“I’m not angry all the time,” you argue. 

“Aren’t you?” again, it sounds more like a statement. 

“You know, since it’s such a monumental event I’ve been trying really hard not to knock your heads together, but if you and Fi don’t stop dredging up my relationship with your brother I make no promises,” you half joke, half warn. 

Namjoon laughs a little, but his smile fades after a few moments. 

“Maybe we just see something you don’t.” 

“Yeah? What do you see?” you challenge. 

Namjoon raises an eyebrow, “Do you want me to be brutally honest?” he asks permission. 

“Sure,” you lie and take a difficult swig of beer. 

“I see my little brother, who made a mistake. A terrible, awful, stupid mistake - but a mistake no less,” he begins but you cut him off already. 

“Namjoon, a mistake is filing your taxes wrong. A mistake is forgetting to pull the roast out of the oven. A mistake is something you didn’t mean to do. Fucking someone else is a very long string of choices in which multiple opportunities to stop occur and the person chooses to continue anyway,” you explain. 

“Okay, fair enough,” he sighs, “I see my little brother who made a very awful and stupid choice. I’ve watched him rot in it for the last two years. I’ve watched him punish himself to torture. He won’t let himself enjoy anything, he won’t let himself be happy. He doesn’t smile, doesn’t laugh. I’ve never seen him in such a dark place.” 

“You’re breakin’ my heart,” you mutter darkly, taking a long sip. 

Namjoon tenses, but he doesn’t scold you. 

“Then I see you,” he points the tip of his bottle towards you, “who’s writhed in your own misery for two years. You never even had a conversation with him, you just stamped a period down before the sentence was even over. You love him,” he holds his finger up to shush you when you start to deny this, “Don’t deny it. Just shut up and listen. You love him, because if you didn’t it wouldn’t still effect you so much. He loves you too, by the way. I’m not saying you need to get back together with him, I know it seems like that’s where I’m going with this but I’m not. What I mean is that you need to talk, and I’m sure it will be a very uncomfortable conversation, but you both need that closure. This misery has to end.” 

“He cheated on me Joon,” you say pathetically, chin wobbling. 

“I know, I know he did and it was so disappointing to all of us. We were all pissed at him, but I also know how uncharacteristic it was. He’s never done anything like that before, and I doubt he’d ever do it again. You’ve got to stop acting that even entertaining the idea of forgiving him or even speaking to him would make you lose this imaginary game that no one is playing,” he says. 

An imaginary game that no one is playing. 

The words play over and over in your head long after you finish your conversation with Namjoon. They plague you all night, and most of the next day. 

Are you playing a game in your head? The more you allow yourself to think about it, the more you realize that you’re no different than you were that night. You haven’t changed or grown or moved forward in any direction in two years. You’re still the same wounded, humiliated, hurt woman who was sitting in his apartment while he told you he fucked someone else. Maybe you should have had a discussion - no maybe - you should have. Probably not that same evening, God knows you were in no condition to have a stable, adult conversation. 

In the aftermath though, that’s when people start to rebuild, and you did nothing of the sort. Not with Taehyung by any means, but not with yourself either. You’d chosen to stay miserable, chosen to hold that hate so strong in your heart that no one, not him or anyone, could penetrate it. You’d done it all because you thought it would punish him, but all you’ve truly done is punish yourself. 

~~~~~~~~

Rehearsing the ceremony, and going to the dinner that followed was non-negotiable as Maid of Honor. Obviously. This is the part you’d been dreading, because as Best Man, Taehyung was practically your escort for the duration of the wedding. 

So far you’ve managed to remain civil, if being completely silent is civility. Thankfully Taehyung has read the vibe and hasn’t tried starting up any type of conversation with you. Eventually the minister pulls Namjoon and Fi off and you and Taehyung are left completely alone. 

“Think we’re done?” he asks. 

You’ve rehearsed the ceremony no less than seven times, and aside from the bumpy first take, the rest went off without a hitch. The music is on point, you and Taehyung know your cues, Fi’s youngest cousin had a blast tossing her pretend flowers. Everything went according to plan. 

“Probably,” you offer him three syllables and no more. 

“Good. I’m starving,” he says, resting his elbows on his knees. He starts playing with the sand beneath him, and you watch him. Like this, with his attention elsewhere, you can observe. His hair is much longer, his frame a little thinner and you wonder if that’s got something to do with an emotional issue or if he’s been dieting or something. It bothers you, that he might not be eating properly, and you get angry with yourself. Then Namjoons words echo, “an imaginary game that no one is playing.” Being concerned about a man that you spent loving for so long won’t make you lose anything. 

“You’ve lost weight,” you tell him, attempting to keep any emotion from your voice. You pull your arms around you. 

“I guess,” he shrugs, looking at himself as if he’s never seen his own body. 

“You should eat more, you look thin,” you say, then before you can add anything else, you stand up and walk away toward the banquet room. That’s where the rehearsal dinner will be, and that’s where they can find you if they need you. You can feel Taehyung staring at you as you go. 

Everyone is so enamored with the bride and groom that you scrape by without being noticed much. You fill a plate that you poke with your fork, and smile when it’s appropriate. You look happy whenever Fi starts talking to you about anything, and you smile and participate in pictures. 

You’re sat next to Taehyung for most of the dinner, but thanks to the chaos of the event with so many conversations going and attention on Fi and Joon, you don’t have to interact with him much. 

“These noodles are fucking good,” he says as he slurps some into his mouth. 

“Here, take mine, I’m full,” you use the back of your hand to scoot the bowl over to his area. 

“Thank you,” he says politely, though you can feel his eyes boring into you as if to ask ‘why are you being nice to me?’ 

“You’re welcome.” 

“Wine sir?” a waiter asks Taehyung and gestures to his empty glass that’s remained as such the entire time you’ve been eating. 

“No, some more water would be nice though, thanks,” he says and the waiter nods and trots off. 

“It’s good, not too sweet,” you tell him, picking up your own glass and taking a sip. This is your attempt at a conversation, the sweetness of wine. 

“I don’t drink anymore,” he says in a way that makes you feel like you shouldn’t ask why. Something in your stomach twists and you think you can probably guess. 

He was probably drunk, when it happened, when he decided to bed somebody else. It puts a sour taste in your mouth as you swish the wine around. You force it down your throat and set the glass back down on the table, wiping your mouth with a napkin and standing up. 

“I’m going to go lay down, not feeling good,” you tell Fi, and you can see in the way that she looks at you she knows you’re lying. You don’t care. The rehearsal went fine. No one cried. No one yelled. You’re still on her fucking team, but dinners over, and you don’t have to do this anymore, at least until tomorrow afternoon. 

As you’re heading out you notice the table where they’re keeping the bottles of wine and champagne being served. With a quick look around to make sure no one’s watching you pluck a bottle off the table, they can consider it your fee for having to make a speech in front of a crowd tomorrow. Small price to pay for gushing about love and happily ever afters when you’d rather eat dirt. 

~~~~~~~~

The hotel pool closes at 10PM, and it’s well after midnight as you sit on the edge, skirt bunched up around your thighs, legs dangling in the water. 

Fi had come to check on you, and you’d continued the charade of a headache, explaining that you’d taken something and you’d see her in the morning to help her get ready for her big day. She was apprehensive, but left you alone. 

Too overwhelmed by the silence of your room, you decided to take your stolen booze and sit by the empty pool. The sound of the nearby ocean should be enough to drown out your thoughts. 

Except it wasn’t. 

You were still thinking about everything Namjoon had said. You were still thinking about what you wanted to say to Tae. And each time you took a sip of wine, you were thinking about him hovering over his coworker, the scent of alcohol on his breath, as he pushed into her and made her feel good the way he did with you. You felt like vomiting, but kept drinking anyway, call it self-flagellation. A punishment for being a bitter hag who can’t let anything go. 

When the pool gate creaks open, you turn, expecting to explain to a staff member that you were just about to leave. It’s not an employee though. It’s Taehyung. 

Your gut reaction is to tell him to fuck off, but you stop yourself. He seems to expect it, in the cautious way he approaches, he looks as if you’re about to send him away any second. Instead you turn back to the water, watching the reflection of hotel windows ripple on the waters surface as he rolls his pants up and sits next to you. 

“It’s warm,” he says after several moments, when it’s clear you’re not going to snap him in half. 

Silence. You sit next to one another for what feels like forever, though only about ten minutes probably pass. You take languid sips from the bottle occasionally, but you don’t look at him or offer any words. You’re just procrastinating, sitting stagnant as you’ve been doing for two years.

“Go ahead,” you finally say. 

“What?” he croaks, seemingly shocked that you’ve spoken at all.

“I want to know,” you take a big gulp from the bottle, “I want to know why you did it.” 

He takes a long time to answer and you wonder why. After two years, after all the five thousand word essays he tried to send you, shouldn’t he have all this outlined already? 

“The entire PR department was at that conference,” he starts. You remember. He’d gone to a week-long conference with the other people in his department, which you’d not really given much thought to, but that’s where it happened. While he was away. 

“The group had never been out together, in all the years we’d worked with each other, so on the last night we decided to go out drinking at some bar. It was all just good fun, until it wasn’t,” he says darkly and you waiver, but let him continue. 

“We got so drunk, God I was wasted,” he says with a shake of his head, “the kind of drunk where anything sounds like a good idea. Someone could suggest jumping off a bridge and you’d be like ‘fuck yeah, that’s the best idea I’ve ever heard’ because you’re just so out of your mind. Eventually we all had to go back to the hotel we were staying at, but I honestly can’t remember if it was because one of us suggested it, or because the bar staff wanted us out, but somehow I ended up in an Uber with Lia.” 

Lia. You’d met her several times at his office Christmas parties, and you knew she was the one he’d fucked without ever having to say her name. You choke down the whimper that wants to escape and wipe your tears away with the back of your hand. 

“She randomly admitted to me that I was her work crush, but I could barely comprehend what she was saying. The car was spinning. I kept looking out the window, but then she’d start talking again. She was telling me that her marriage was ending and she was depressed. She felt alone and hopeless - it was all so heavy - and then she started touching my leg, and scooting closer-,”

“Okay stop, stop,” you suck in a ragged breath. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, “I thought maybe being transparent was best, but the whole truth - without the gory details - is that there was no reason ___. I was drunk. She was drunk. I think I felt bad for her, but I don’t remember feeling anything. I don’t remember what we said, I don’t remember how it felt,” he drags a hand down his face, “I threw it away for nothing. I ruined us, everything we built, everything I loved, everything I wanted for absolutely fucking nothing.” 

You look away from him and hide your face so you can sob quietly. He places his hand on top of yours, and you stiffen, but don’t pull it away. 

“Please say something,” he urges. 

“I don’t know how to feel,” you sniff, “I don’t know if I should feel better because it was nothing or feel worse because you threw me away for nothing.” 

“I’m so sorry,” he repeats and you’re not sure how many times you’ve heard the words, a thousand - millions? Suddenly though, it doesn’t disgust you when he says he’s sorry.

“I hated you,” you say.

“I know,” he cries, “I deserve it.” 

“I hated you because it was your fault, you’re the one who ruined everything, you’re the one who should’ve suffered but instead I spent six months balled up in my apartment sobbing, screaming for you, screaming at you, I was a fucking mess Tae,” you sob. 

“I know, God I know that I hurt you so bad, and I know you may not want to hear it, and I know it was a different kind of pain but I swear to you I have been in agony for the past two years,” he sniffs. 

“I will never be the same,” you admit, to him and to yourself, “I will always feel like I’m not good enough, I will never be able to trust like I used to, and I will always wonder when someone is going to choose someone else over me and it’s all your fault!” 

“I’m so sorry ___,” he says. He scoots over close and starts to wrap his arm around you. God damn it you want him to. You want him to comfort you, you want to cry into his shoulder. You want it so bad. 

So you shove him into the pool, naturally. 

You watch him flail for a few seconds before he realizes the water is only waist deep, then he stands up, flinging his wet mop of hair from his face and sputtering water. 

“Are you kidding?” he squeaks, he looks like a drowned mouse. 

The look of utter shock on his face has you biting down hard on your lips trying to hold it together, but it comes out anyway. 

You laugh. You laugh so hard you can’t breathe, so hard that you snort, so hard that you feel like your chest is going to burst but you can’t stop. 

“Sorry, I gave in to my intrusive thoughts,” you tell him between gasps of air. 

“Intrusive…fuck,” he mutters, trying poorly to pull himself back onto the edge of the pool. You use your foot to shove him back in. 

“___!” he scream-laughs. 

“I couldn’t stop myself,” you shrug, still giggling. 

“Yeah?” he gives you a look as he pushes his wet hair out of his face. 

“No…” you warn, but before you can even get the whole word out he drags you in by your arms. 

“Bastard!” you squeal, wiping the water from your eyes. 

“Sorry, I gave into my intrusive thoughts,” he parrots and then splashes you for good measure. 

You shove him backward and he disappears under the waters surface, until you feel him grab you by the ankles. He pulls hard and you lose your footing, joining him under the water. You fight the sting of chlorine as you open your eyes, finding your target, and you reach out and pinch one of his nipples beneath his ruined sweater before pushing off the bottom to get air. 

“Oh that does it!” he jeers, dramatically rubbing his chest and leaping over to where you try to scramble out of the pool. He grabs you by the waist and drags you back down, pinning your arms with one of his and using his other hand to tickle you. 

“Stop! Please stop!” you plead between fits of laughter. 

You manage to loosen his grip and twist yourself until your chest is pressed against his. Suddenly playtime is over, and it’s just you looking up at him, his arms still around you, unrelenting. 

“What are we doing right now?” he whispers, pushing a wet piece of your hair off your cheek. 

“I think I’m forgiving you,” you say, and you rest your forehead against his chest as he holds you tighter. It feels so good that you continue to stand there, despite the absurdity of standing in a pool fully clothed. 

“This pool is closed, and those clothes are not appropriate swim attire to be wearing in the facilities,” a stern voice intrudes and you both spin around to see a very annoyed looking employee drumming her fingers on the top of the fence. 

“Sorry!” you yelp, jumping towards the pool stairs. 

“We were just going, we’re very sorry,” Taehyung echoes as he follows suit. 

“Yes, well, the pool rules are posted right here,” she taps a sign hanging on the fence aggressively, “for future reference. Have a good evening,” she grumbles, though she looks like she hopes the two of you have anything but. 

Taehyung grabs a few towels off a nearby caddy and you pour out the wine, then toss the bottle into a waste basket. 

Only a few people stare as the two of you walk towards the elevators, clothes drenched, but then again, there’s only a few people around at this hour anyway. You both grin like cheshire cats as the doors shut in front of you. 

Without giving it much thought, you reach over and lace your fingers into his, and when the elevator opens on the floor that’s been rented for the wedding, you lead him out and down the hallway to your room. 

“Wait,” he stops short, though he doesn’t let go of your hand as you slide the card into the door lock. 

“What?” 

“Are you sure you want me in there? I don’t want to wake up tomorrow morning and have you regret all of this,” he says, holding your hand to his chest. 

“I’m not going to, at least that’s not my plan,” you assure him as you cross the threshold - though if you’re being completely honest, you have no plan. You have no idea what you’re doing, or if it’s a good idea or a bad idea. 

“Then… what?” he wonders, looking like if he breathes the wrong way or says one wrong word you’ll smite him. 

“Take your wet clothes off and just lay down with me,” you shrug. 

“You want me to get naked, then get in your bed?” to say he looks stunned is an understatement. 

“Yes, if it will make you less uncomfortable I’ll sleep naked too,” you tell him with a shrug, pulling your skirt off. 

His eyes darken just a bit, “Is this some kind of torture? You want me to press my body against yours and try not to touch you?” he laughs, but his mouth sounds dry as a desert. 

“It’s not meant to be a punishment, but yes, that’s what I want. I want to lay here with you, in a very vulnerable state, because I want to know what it feels like. I want to know if it makes my skin crawl or if it makes me want you to fuck me and hold me against you the rest of the night. I’m testing the water, so to speak,” you say. You continue peeling wet layers of clothes off until you’re completely nude, then you pull down the sheets and get in. 

Taehyung stands there for about three seconds before he starts fighting his wet clothes off. You watch the lean muscles of his stomach ripple as he tugs the, very expensive looking, ruined cashmere off, and you lock eyes with him as he pushes his jeans and boxers off in one go. 

He’s hard, which isn’t very surprising, not that you’re just so incredibly irresistible that he can’t help it, but you understand what he’s going through because you are too. You’re wet, you can feel the slickness with every movement of your lower body. It’s been two years. You weren’t completely chaste in that time, though it was never anything that lasted more than a weekend, and the number of encounters were very few. You also aren’t sure if he was being honest about his two year celibacy streak, you’re not ready to accept that or not, but if it is true he’ll probably combust. You only take a tiny bit of inappropriate satisfaction from that. 

When he crawls in as well the two of you just lay on your backs, a whole other person could fit in the space between you, and you stay like that for a little while. 

“Skin crawling yet?” he asks timidly. 

“Not yet,” you sigh, and turn the lamp off, then roll over next to him, draping your bare thighs across his. You’re a little embarrassed that your slick slides against his leg. 

“Jesus christ,” he groans in a whisper as your hand slides up to find purchase on his chest, his arm coming around to pull you in close. 

“What about now?” he asks in a strain. 

“Nope. Not yet.” 

You’re being honest. It doesn’t make you sick, or angry, and it doesn’t make you feel like you’ve lost. There is no imaginary game. No imaginary score. Not anymore, and you breathe the first easy breath you’ve taken in two years. 

You take his hand that rests on top of yours and pull it down your torso, his fingertips brush over one of your nipples and your lips part against his shoulder. 

“Fuck,” he breathes out, and you continue pulling his hand lower and lower until his fingers rest above your cunt. 

“What do you want?” he asks, twisting over so you’re more under him than beside him. His fingers play idly in your soft tuft of hair, but he doesn’t try dipping them any lower. 

You take a deep breath, your pussy aching, “I think you owe me one, wouldn’t you say?” 

He nods, licking his lips, “I’d say I owe you a lot more than one, tell me, I’ll give you anything you want. Just tell me,” he urges you, his lips ghosting the side of your face. 

“I want you to touch me, and then I want you to go down on me like your fucking life depends on it,” you take his mouth with yours, sliding your fingers into his still damp hair to anchor him. 

You both let out involuntary moans when his fingers come in contact with your slit. He drags the wetness up from your entrance to your clit, circling around in a way that has you pushing back, spreading your thighs further for him. 

He toys with you as you kiss him, tongues teasing, teeth bumping, but his fingers persist. Then he pushes one in, followed by another and you groan. 

“Tae,” your voice is soft and pleading, and he delivers, thrusting his fingers into you hard and deep, the way you love. The way he knows you love. He pauses every so often to work your clit, and each time you have to hold yourself back, have to control your body so you don’t cum so soon, so you can enjoy it longer. 

“Does it feel good?” his voice is deep and scratchy in your ear and you nod, eyes closed, hips moving in time with his fingers, “Are you close?” 

You can’t help the breathy laugh that escapes, “Yes. So fucking close, fuck,” you curse as his fingers go back to your clit, this might be it, but he slows down. 

“Do you want me to finish you like this, or do you want me to eat you out? Because I really, really want to eat you out,” he smiles, taking your ear between his teeth gently. 

“Tongue,” you manage, “Definitely tongue but please keep using your fingers for the love of God.” 

“Absolutely,” he kisses you deeply once more before disappearing under the sheets. 

“Oh my god.” 

When his tongue drags up your slit, your back arches so far off the bed you’re pretty sure you’ll feel it tomorrow. Your mouth drops open as he fights your hips back down on the bed, tongue snaking and sliding over every centimeter of you. When you finally manage to settle down, he pushes his fingers back into you, lips wrapped around your sensitive bud in a gentle suck. 

Your eyes water at the sensation as you gasp and shake, then he switches to soft, wide licks and it finishes you. 

“Ohfuckohfuck,” your hands land on the sides of his head and you hold him in position as you cum, contracting rhythmically around his fingers, still buried inside you. 

When he resurfaces you immediately drag his wet mouth onto yours and wrap your arms around his neck. 

“More,” you tell him, reaching between your bodies to guide his cock to you. 

“I won’t last long enough for you to go again,” he warns. 

You shake your head, “I don’t care, just keep going, please,” you beg and it sounds so desperate but you don’t care anymore. 

“I missed you,” he whispers, and he pushes into your still throbbing cunt. “Oh fuck.” 

It feels like forever before he starts moving, thrusting in and pulling out agonizingly slow. You meet him with every push, grinding into him, connecting yourselves. 

“I can’t,” he whines, “I can’t hold it.” 

“Then don’t,” you tell him, dragging your nails down his back. 

“Shit,” he freezes on a particularly deep thrust and you feel him twitch, spilling himself inside. 

He collapses beside you, damp from sweat and breathless. He’s beautiful.

You scoot over and wrap yourself around him, like before, and he pulls you in, kissing the side of your head. 

“I missed you too,” you whisper, then close your eyes and let yourself rest against his chest. 

~~~~~~~~

You wake up to frantic knocking on your hotel door. 

“___! Hi, it’s me, Fi, I’m getting married today, in case you forgot - just mentioning it because you and I have an 8:30 appointment for massages and it is now,” a brief pause, “8:27 and I’ve not heard from you!” 

“Shit!” you scramble out of bed, grabbing the blanket as you go to wrap it around you.

“Ahh!” Taehyung whines, “Cold!” 

You open the door and greet her. 

“Oh my God,” she says, looking at your naked, disheveled state wrapped up in a hotel duvet. 

“Uhhhh…” 

“I’m cold!” Taehyung shouts from the darkness of the hotel room and you squeeze your eyes shut, bracing for her reaction. 

“Oh my GOD,” she screams. 

“I’ll meet you at the spa, I swear, just…go…just…I’m so happy and this is your special day…but go,” you stumble over the words. 

“I…” she points to the hall, “I’ll go. Meet me down there,” she says then jerks you close, “and be prepared to tell me fucking everything.” 

You pad back into the room, flipping on the light switch. Taehyung sits up and rubs his eyes. 

“Hi.” 

You slide into your bra and grab a shirt, “Hi,” you say back. “You have to go.” 

“Do I have to go because you’ve got somewhere to be? Or do I have to go because I make you nauseous and you don’t want to look at me anymore?” 

You press your lips together trying not to laugh, “You have to go because my best friend and your brother are getting married today, and we both have places we need to be - with them. After everything is over, we can figure all this out,” you say pointing between the two of you. 

“Promise?” 

“I swear.” 

He nods, then gets up grabbing his discarded clothes from the night before. 

“This is still wet,” he frowns, showing you his sweater. 

“Sorry about your fancy sweater,” you laugh. 

You’re not entirely sure what to say or do, so you stand on your toes and kiss his cheek. 

“I’ll see you later,” you tell him. 

He nods, “Later.” 

~~~~~~~~

When you check in at the spas front desk they send you to the waiting area, where Fi awaits you, looking very smug. 

“Don’t,” you tell her, taking the seat next to her. 

“Don’t what?” she says innocently, “Don’t bring up the fact that I just caught you red handed from spending the night with my brother-in-law?” 

“Technically he won’t be your brother-in-law until after 1 o’clock,” you point out. 

“Deflecting. Interesting. What does that mean I wonder?” she raises a brow. 

“Weren’t you and Namjoon both hounding me, telling me I needed to talk to him?” you ask. 

“Talk?” she snorts, “Boy, when you have a talk you sure go all out.” 

“We did talk!” you defend, “Before - we had a conversation at the pool.” 

“How did that go?” 

You think about it for a second and sigh, “Well, it definitely made me sad. It reminded me of everything I felt in those months after everything. I ugly cried clutching a bottle of wine,” you say with a half laugh. 

“I can tell, your eyes are grotesque - no offense - we’ll have to fix that for the photography later, but go on,” she compels. 

“So yeah, I cried, I told him how much I’d hated him and how miserable I’d been, he apologized for like the trillionth time and I don’t know, I felt different all of a sudden, I actually believed him. So I pushed him in the pool and ruined his cashmere,” you explain. 

“The cable knit Celine?” she gasps. 

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter, walking over to the coffee bar, praying it’s strong. 

“Sorry,” she says, “but that shit is easily more than two G’s. But yes, we’re talking about you, sorry. What made it feel different? And why did you push a grown man in cashmere into a pool?” 

“Something Namjoon said, the first night Taehyung was here after the bathroom incident, he kind of put things in perspective for me,” you tell her. 

She smiles dreamily, “Yeah, he kind of has a way of doing that huh? What was it he said?” 

“Imaginary games,” you say. 

“I don’t follow?” 

“Would you say I’m a forgiving person? That I handle offenses well?” 

“Abso-fucking-lutely not,” Fi says resolutely. 

“Agreed. I get in my head and keep score. If they hurt me, I have to hurt them worse and if I can’t, then I act like letting it go is losing, so I hang on to it and stay angry because in my sick little toxic mind, that means I’m still winning,” you sit back down and slurp the coffee. 

“Tired of winning now?” she says softly, taking your hand in hers with a squeeze. 

“Yes,” you sigh, lay your head on her shoulder, “I’m tired of winning now.” 

“Good.” 

~~~~~~~~~

Fi was stunning. No, more than that - she was traffic stopping, literally. In her custom wedding gown, guests and even strangers literally stopped in their tracks to stare at her. You cried all day at how beautiful and happy she looked. She glowed. You only looked away from her once really, to see Namjoons reaction when she cornered the aisle and came into view - worth it. 

At the reception Fi leans over to you, “I think someone has been itching to get you alone all day,” she whispers, nodding over to Taehyung who’s in the middle of a conversation with a cousin, but you see him side eyeing you every couple of seconds. 

“I’m your maid of honor Fi, it’s my job to be in your ass all day in case you need me,” you tell her, resisting the urge to run to him. 

“Okay. I appreciate that and everything, but I’m letting you go. Your job is complete, you married me off. Now go,” she nudges you out of your seat. 

You walk over to him as the cousin disappears back into the throng of people and he turns to you. 

“Dance with me?” he asks, and you nod as he takes your waist on the floor. 

You sway back and forth to some romantic jazzy number, resting your head on his shoulder, drinking in his scent and his warmth. You smile. 

“So what happens now?” he whispers, “What happens when we leave this paradise and have to go back to the dreary, gray city?” 

You look up at him, and he kisses you gently on the lips. 

“I think…” 

“Yes?” 

You tilt your head and smile, “I think we should start meal planning.” 

“Meal planning…” he looks perplexed, but then recognition reaches his eyes and his face softens. “Meal planning.” 

“Yes. It’s more cost effective, and it’ll be easier to eat healthy if we only buy what we plan for.” 

“Sounds like a good plan,” he grins, then pulls your head back onto his shoulder and the two of you continue dancing, even when the music changes to a more upbeat song, you just sway back and forth, pressed together tightly to make up for the distance you held for too long.

---