eulaenthusiast

[eulaenthusiast]

AAAAJASJSJA ISTG YOU PEOPLE ARE COMING UP WITH THE HOTTEST SCENARIOS AND COMBINATIONS

[eulaenthusiast]

damn

Call Me When You’re Sober

lee minho x reader

part 2/8 - come on fuck me emo boy. find the playlist here

word count: 3.1k

genre: smut, SO. MUCH. ANGST. MINORS DNI

warnings: toxic relationship on both ends, mentions of cheating, mentions of alcohol, verbal fights, oral (f receiving), restraints (belt), use of a gag, choking, unprotected sex (do i have to say it), referred to and called a toy, HEAVY THEMES: MENTIONS OF MISCARRIAGE. IT’S BREIF BUT STILL THERE. it’s just really sad at the end. if i missed anything, PLEASE LET ME KNOW

a/n: this is my first time really writing angst, so have fun experiencing this with me. i promise next week we’ll get a break from angst and heavier themes/topics. as sad as this is, i really hope you like this. i’m really experimenting as an author with this series, so any feedback is appreciated.

this is a work of fiction. this fic in no way represents lee minho as a person or stray kids as a whole. you are responsible for the media you consume. please read responsibly.

series taglist: @lix-ables, @rachalixie, @agustd-essert, @fthan, @chaitae-bae, @cloudyybinin, @lix001, @mmminhooo, @dnadoublefelixx, @whatudowhennooneseesyou, @cyder-puff - to be added, please comment or send an ask.

BY CLICKING READ MORE, YOU ARE CONSENTING TO READING HEAVIER THEMES.

The electricity had gone out hours ago. Weather channels had predicted a storm of this intensity for weeks, yet you brushed it off. There was no need for candles, no need for coolers to keep perishables safe, or power banks for charge electronics. Now, at 3:00 am, you realized the weight of your mistake.

You were squatted in front of the fireplace, still shivering even with the combined heat of the bright fire and the blanket you were wrapped in. Sleep was beckoning you, eyes growing heavier as each second passed, but you couldn’t. You had tried, hours ago, but the fear of the fire growing out of control kept you up and focused on the dancing orange flames.

And, Minho wasn’t home.

It wasn’t unusual at this point - most nights he didn’t come home, and if he did, he was too drunk to talk to. The nights he did come home were filled with fights, screaming at each other until your voices were raw and your eyes burned with salty tears. He had been home every night this week, which meant your voice was nonexistent.

The storm made you realize you couldn’t take it anymore. Before it knocked the power off, you were sobbing in the master bedroom, folding your clothes into suitcases. It was painful, packing a life once comparable to paradise away, but you couldn’t pretend like what this had become was an acceptable replacement.

What was once a paradise was now a hell. For both you and Minho.

The lock on the front door clicked, but you didn’t turn your head towards the noise. It wouldn’t be a new sight; Minho stumbling in, keys hitting the breakfast nook table with a loud thud. He would kick off his shoes, mumbling about how tight they felt before throwing them haphazardly at the shoe rack by the door. Once his slippers were on, he would drag himself to the kitchen and get a glass of water, refilling it as many times as he wanted before stumbling out and heading to bed.

Unsurprisingly, tonight wasn’t any different. You don’t even think he noticed the lack of electricity. He filled up his glass six times before you heard it hit the sink, Minho sighing as he left the kitchen.

He stopped when saw you in front of the fire.

“Why are you up?” His words weren’t slurred. Good. Not as drunk as he usually was when he came home.

“The storm. Couldn’t sleep.” You refused to look at him, new tears welling up from the sound of his voice.

Minho sighed, running his fingers through his hair before looking out the window. “How long has our electricity been out?”

You shrugged. “A few hours. I don’t know.”

You could practically hear him roll his eyes. “You don’t know when it went out? How am I supposed to file a claim with the electric company if you can’t remember?”

“I was busy. Excuse me for not noticing the time.”

“Busy with what?”

You didn’t answer, lips quivering as you attempted to hold your sobs in. You brought your knees closer to your chest, attempting to make yourself smaller. Maybe if you curled yourself up more, you would disappear into the air. Maybe then you wouldn’t have to tell him you were leaving in the morning.

“Busy with what?” He asked again, voice laced with impatience.

“Do we have to do this now, Minho-“

“Why not? We’re both awake. What were you busy with?”

You snapped your head up, finally making eye contact with your boyfriend. His hair was a mess, slightly wet from the rain and sticking up in different directions. His clothes looked intact for the most part; the black button down he wore out was still tucked in, his leather jacket looked clean and unstained. The white bunny slippers were such a contrast that you almost wanted to laugh - Minho wasn’t as intimidating and tough as everyone thought. If it was months ago, you would’ve laughed, poking fun at his tough exterior when he was nothing but a big softy. He would have probably laughed too, playfully threatening you before kissing you to shut you up.

He wouldn’t now, just like you wouldn’t make that joke.

“Can we please not do this?” Your voice was breaking, tears glowing in the light of the fire. “We can fight in the morning, Minho. Just please, let it be for tonight.”

You watched his chest as he took deep breaths, steadying himself before he answered. “Fine. Not tonight. Are you coming to bed?”

“It’s cold upstairs. I’ll probably sleep on the couch tonight.”

It wasn’t necessarily a lie - it was cold upstairs, but sleeping in the living room made it easier to sneak out in the morning.

Minho hummed, making his way to the large sectional before plopping down. He shimmed his jacket off, tossing it over the armrest before lying down on the couch.

Was he sleeping out here too?

“Well?” Minho asked as he worked on the buttons of his shirt. “Let’s go to bed.”

“Are you sleeping down here, too?”

“You said it was cold upstairs. Why would I want to sleep up there?”

The two of you stared at each other, eyes red and swollen for different reasons. When you didn’t answer immediately, Minho clicked his tongue and began to get up.

“You don’t want me down here with you. Fine.” He mumbled, grabbing his jacket. “I’ll go sleep in the ice box, I guess.”

“Minho, it’s not that-“

“Then what is it?” He snapped, fully facing you. “You’ve been avoiding me this entire week, even though I’ve come home every single night. What has made you so fucking miserable that you can’t even look at me anymore?”

You stood up, dropping your blanket on the ground. Even though the height difference wasn’t much, when you and Minho fought, it always felt like he towered over you. Looking at you with silted eyes, which were dark with anger and intoxication, face completely impassive as he stared at you like you weren’t worthy enough of his presence.

It broke your heart every time.

“You want to talk about avoiding each other? You can’t even come home to me if you’re not drunk. You don’t call me during the day, or talk to me-“

“That’s not true.“

“Oh, really? Then what were you doing tonight, Minho? Just fucking around at the studio, all night?” You scoffed. “Yeah, that totally explains why the living room reeks of gin.”

“Because you’re so innocent.” He snapped, walking towards you and forcing you against the cold window. “What about everything you’ve done, hm? Sure, I might come home to you drunk, but at least I didn’t flee the country with your best friend for a month. Or were those photos of you getting fucked by him photoshopped?”

“Shut up.” You grunted, fists pounding against his shoulders in attempt to wiggle free from the cage he put you in. A hand shot up, catching your chin between his thumb and forefinger and effectively stilling you.

“I just have one question, baby.” Minho’s tone dropped, voice eerie and dripping with lust as he leaned in, lips brushing against your ear. “Did he fuck you as good as I do?”

He nipped at your ear, catching the lobe and pulling it down. Your fist unraveled, now clutching onto his dress shirt as he released your ear. Minho pulled back, eyes boring into yours as his other hand slid up your shirt. Nothing about Minho was gentle, especially when he was drunk or angry. When he was both, he was brutal, using you as if you were just a toy for him.

And as much as he’s hurt you and left you broken, you couldn’t help but fall at his feet when he acted like this.

His nails dug into your skin, slowly scratching up your chest until he stopped between your breasts.

“I don’t think his touch felt this good…” his voice was low and dangerous like the nails now scratching the soft mound of your left breast, digging deeper the closer he got to the nipple. “Or made your heart pound like this.”

His nails ran across your hardened nipple, eyes focused on the way the feeling made you shudder. An evil smirked played on his lips, slowly scratching back across to make you fall apart even more.

Minho closed the space between your faces, lips hovering inches above yours. Your mouth salivated from the anticipation of his taste. He was the perfect combination of sweet like pineapple, but salty like the ocean. With the hints of gin that were likely still dancing on his tongue, you had no doubt that even the smallest kiss would make you putty in his hands.

But when you subconsciously tried to close the gap, Minho moved his head back, dark chuckles making your face flush in embarrassment.

“Don’t forget, darling.” The scratches on your chest stopped, only to be replaced by Minho pinching your nipple, tugging on it just enough to be slightly painful. Your shoulders hit the cold glass window as your back arched, your middles meeting and softly grinding. “I’m the one who taught you what feels good. I’m the one who made you like this. Nobody can make you feel as good as I can.”

It was then that he kissed you, tongue diving down your throat. He swallowed up every sound you made - every strained moan or wet whine, Minho took all of it without complaint. Your hands gripped at his dress shirt, pulling his chest to yours so that you were completely molded together. One.

Something you hadn’t been in a while.

Grabby hands tore at each other’s clothes. The buttons on Minho’s shirt clattered to the floor, the sounds of your crop top ripping lost in the rhythm of your moans. Once you both were bare from the waist up, Minho moved his hands to your yoga pants and pulled away from your lips. He squatted, face in front of your core, staring up at you as he pushed the tight material down.

The smell of you greeted his nostrils, and you watched as his eyes rolled back in pleasure. “Fuck, you’re drenched.” When your pants reached your thighs, it appeared that Minho had lost his patience, deciding to attack your clothed cunt.

The sound of your slick and his tongue, with only the lace as a barrier between the two was sinful. Overwhelming. It made your thighs clench together, Minho’s head crushed in between them. But it was clear he didn’t give a fuck, quickly grasping the outer edges of your thighs to keep you in place. When you moaned, so did he, the sound vibrating through your lower body.

“Min.” You whined, fingers intertwining with his brown locks. “Please. Want to feel more of you-“

At your request, Minho’s hands wrapped around your body, one squeezing your ass while the other slapped it hard enough for it to tingle.

“Shut up.” He had pulled back just enough so you could hear the warning in his voice, tongue still flicking at your slit. “And let me do my fucking job.”

Minho never let up - refusing to remove your panties or use his fingers. He looked up at you as you squirm, silently begging in the form of whimpers. It made you so incredibly annoyed how well he knew your body. How he could bring you to the brink of orgasm with his tongue alone, even with clothing stunting it.

So it was no surprise that he knew you were about to cum. He taught you your tells. The way your body shook only at the hips, eyes rolling so far back all you could see was black, the whimpers that sounded almost like the meow of a cat falling from your lips. Minho knew what they were before you did, so when he felt your hips begin to quiver, he quickly pulled back.

It shouldn’t be surprising that he pulled back at the last possible second, but you still couldn’t help but fuss, fist clenching as you banged them mildly against the window.

“Stop fucking crying.” Minho said as he peeled both your pants and underwear off. “It’s annoying.”

“You’re annoying.” You whined, eyes focused on the ceiling.

He stood up, laughing as he undid his belt. The malice and lack of sympathy behind that laugh made your body shiver. You were almost scared of him, of what he would do to you tonight.

But that made it so much better.

The belt was off his waist and around your wrists in less than ten seconds. Minho tightened it until he heard you whine, only stopping when you cried out. He slammed the bound wrists above your head, the metal of the belt buckle hitting the window and echoing throughout the room.

Minho grabbed the base of his cock with his free hand, slowly pushing the tip inside you. “You wanna cry about something?” His slid into you, hips moving at a snail's pace to make sure you could feel every ridge of his cock. “I’ll give you something to cry about.”

That’s when he bottomed out without warning, not bothering to stretch you out the rest of the way. Your mouth fell open, but before even the smallest moan could slip through, Minho shoved your ruined panties down your throat. He pushed them all the way back, only stopping when you began to gag around them.

The pace he set was brutal, only pulling out to mid-shaft before shoving back in with more pressure than the thrust before. Every time a muffled whine fell from you, he went harder, faster. As if he wouldn’t be satisfied until you were actively sobbing with his cock inside you.

And knowing Minho, that very well might be his goal.

“You look so fucking pretty like this.” He grunted as a hand found your throat, squeezing it gently. He locked eyes with you, waiting for your consent. When you gave a brief nod, he immediately tightened his grip. His thumb flicked up, wiping up a bit of drool that was rolling down your chin. “Crying and drooling, and silent. God, you’re the perfect little toy, aren’t you?”

The praise was condescending, but enough to make you nod your head quickly. All you wanted was to cum, to feel good for the first time in days.

As mean as he’s been lately, Minho always made sure you ascended around his cock.

You watched as his wet his lip with his tongue, teeth pulling it in when it was damp. His eyebrows furled, nose scrunched. His breaths were more of huffs, coming out hot and fast.

When he taught you your tells, he also made sure you knew his.

You pushed your hips up, centers knocking together. Minho glared at you, moving the hand from your throat to take the panties out of your mouth.

“What?” He hissed, hard demeanor slowly beginning to fall.

“Cum. Cum.” You panted, unable to say anything else.

“Oh? Me, or you baby?”

Your body was so close to giving out. The leather of his belt bit into you in the most uncomfortable way, your throat raw from the combination of your panties and his grip. But, somehow, with the most pathetic tone, you croaked out: “Both.”

Minho didn’t have enough in him to edge you, or himself more. In fact, he didn’t even verbally respond. He slammed into you harder, pubic bone pressing into your clit just enough to send you over the edge. When he felt you clench, your orgasm coming to life, Minho spilled inside you. His head fell back as he groaned, fucking every last bit of him into you.

He pulled out of you slowly, gentle hands bringing your wrists down. Minho laid his head on your shoulder as he undid his belt, letting it fall to the ground between you two. Once free of restraints, you fell limp against him. Minho gathered you in his arms, moving the two of you back in front of the fireplace. It was almost comforting - the warmth of the fire and his body lulling you into a sense of security.

Almost.

You sat across from each other, naked and covered in each other’s essence. Minho held your wrists in his hands, gently rubbing lotion onto the bruising skin.

The question left your lips before you could consider it.

“When did you fall out of love with me?”

Minho paused, thumbs pressing into your wrists. You were sure he could feel your pulse, relaxed but fast. He stared at the space in between you, eyes focused on a certain spot on the rug. The fire reflected his eyes, showing the tears that were beginning to build up.

“You didn’t help me build the crib.” His voice was a whisper, almost getting lost in the crackling of the fire. “Which was fine, you didn’t have to help.” Minho looked up to meet your eyes, a single tear breaking free. “But you didn’t help me tear it down, either.”

You took a deep breath, the exhale making you shudder. “I’m-“

“Please.” He said, words catching in his throat. “Don’t. It’s not your fault.”

Silence took over again. Minho continued to massage your wrists, tears falling onto your cold skin and mixing in with the lotion.

“What about you?” He didn’t look up as he spoke.

You focused on the way his thumbs moved. The lotion was absorbed by now, but Minho refused to stop the massaging movement. It made it harder to speak, even though you were the one who prompted this conversation.

“You stopped coming home.”

There was nothing else that needed to be said. Minho tightened his grip on your wrist, gently pulling you into his body. You let him hold you close, his chin resting against your shoulder while you nuzzled into his neck.

“Ju-Just let me hold you.” His voice cracked, sniffling as he let himself succumb to the emotions. “One last time before you leave.”

You tightened your arms around him in response, clinging onto his body. Skin to skin, molded together. One body as you held each other for the final time.

You never hated Minho. He never hated you. You had both loved a love that was too powerful, too much for this tiny planet you called home. It was bright and beautiful, shining brighter than any sun in all of eternity.

And when you fell out of it, everything broke like lightning in a thunderstorm. Including the two of you.