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minjinlix-blog · 6 years

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all on me (minho x reader)

➥ words: 4.5k ➥ genre: fluff, college!au, soccer player!minho ➥ pairing: lee minho x reader ➥ summary: the star soccer player of your university is interested in you, and maybe you kind of like him back. ➥ warning: alcohol consumption, frat parties, all that fun stuff

You are pissed off.

Why, of all options possible, did your computer science professor decide to assign a scavenger hunt project? You thought taking the intro to computer science class at your university would mean huddled in a corner cubicle of the library, typing code furiously into the wee hours of the night, not trudging across campus under the blistering heat of the sun on this unreasonably warm day, laptop tucked under your arms. This scavenger hunt project required you to write a code that so that you could input a year and the computer would spit out coordinates.

Writing the code had been the easy part. But now your professor had emailed the class a map of campus with coordinate lines drawn over it and a starting year with which to begin your quest.

“It’ll be fun,” he promised, bow tie slightly skewed at the base of his neck as he scratched his beard. “You get to explore campus! And when you finish the hunt, a prize is waiting at the end.”

So you had typed the year on your computer and ran the program. Coordinates had flashed a split second after on your screen. Looking at the map, the coordinates fell...

…directly on the soccer field house.

So here you are, currently making your way toward the soccer field, still a good twenty-minute walk away given the enormous size of your campus. You sigh wistfully as you move past the campus center, which has a café that makes great iced coffees that you would absolutely kill for right now. But no—you’re on a mission right now, heading toward a place that you’ve only gone to once before for Homecoming weekend.

Just as you’ve made the turn to a smaller road that leads down to the soccer field, a sudden thought emerges. What if you had looked at the map wrong? What if the coordinates actually mark a different place on campus and your trek to the soccer field is a complete waste?

You flip open your laptop—still walking—to open the map file your professor emailed. Just as you’re trying to type in your university email login info, you collide with something large and hard in front of you, face flying into your laptop screen and leaving a print of your nose.

“Oof!”

You gasp backwards, slamming your laptop closed and rubbing your nose, wincing at the slight throb. “Oh my god, I am so sorry!” you tell the boy whose back you’ve just carelessly rammed your laptop into. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

The boy turns slightly, and your face heats up. It’s Lee Minho, a player on the soccer team and rumored to be next year’s captain despite being only a sophomore this year. You only vaguely remember him scoring the winning goal in last year’s game against your rival school, but you remember with distinct clarity the rest of the team hoisting him up on their shoulders, his hair glistening with sweat and mouth carefree and open. Minho’s goal had made him all anyone on campus talked about for weeks. You remembered last walking into the bathroom after your chemistry class and hearing upperclassmen girls talking about him.

“I know he’s only a freshman, but I would, like, totally go for him,” one girl had giggled.

“He’s so hot,” another girl confirmed.

And he was. Minho as a freshman had been undeniably attractive, and this year, he had only gotten better looking. His naturally dark brown hair swept across his forehead naturally, the ends glinting chestnut-brown in the sunlight. His athletic frame was emphasized by the tight-fitting athletic shirts emblazoned with STK University Football he often wore.

You’re staring now at the black STK University logo on Minho’s chest before your eyes flicker up to meet his own open and friendly eyes.

“It’s okay,” he says, and it takes you a second to remember that you had just jammed your laptop into his stomach. “Hey, you’re Y/N right?”

You’re startled. How does Minho know who you are?

He must have seen the confusion on your face, because he hastily clarifies: “We’re in the same psych class. Social psychology with Professor Lee right?”

Upon your nod, he clears his throat slightly, almost hesitantly. “Uh, so where are you going?” He nods at the laptop you’ve entrapped under your arm.

“It’s for a comp sci project,” you explain, flushing slightly. “It’s a scavenger hunt type thing, and I have to go to the soccer field house.”

Minho glances down at the watch on his wrist. “It’s after five, and it’s not a game night, so the field house is closed right now.”

Your heart deflates. So you had walked all that way for nothing? You sigh.

“Well, shit, I guess I’d better make the trek back to my dorm so I can go vegetate until tomorrow morning.” You turn to leave, but Minho’s voice stops you.

“Wait, I have an idea.” You turn back to face him, and the corners of his lips are lifted up. Something jumps in your heart as you see his half-smile morph into an open-mouthed one.

“What is it?” you ask.

“I have the keys to the field house.”

So there you are, walking side by side with Lee Minho, soccer superstar of your university. You feel especially self-conscious today, reaching up every few seconds to tuck your hair behind your ear, trying hard to not notice how well your steps align with his and how his arms swing ever slo slightly outward while he’s walking so if you were just a smidge closer to him maybe your hands would—

“Y/N?”

Your thoughts are interrupted by Minho’s voice cutting through the comfortable silence. You’re jarred, stuttering slightly. “W-what?”

Minho blinks a little harder than what would be considered normal, almost as if he’s nervous. “So...what’s this project that you have to do?”

You pout. “Just this dumb scavenger hunt my comp sci professor thought it’d be fun to do. Basically he had us write a code with an algorithm to tell us coordinates on a map if we typed in a year. Then he sent us a map of campus and a starting year and we have to go to each of these places to finish our assignment.”

Minho thinks about that for a second. “So...you’re looking for a year on the field house? Like the year it was created or something?”

Shrugging, you say, “Something like that. But it could just be a random year that’s on a plaque inside the building - who knows? My professor is crazy.”

“This does seem like a pretty unusual assignment,” Minho hums in agreement. “But it’s okay. We’ll check it out together, yeah?”

The way he says “together” makes your heart beat a little faster—his voice is soft yet clear and so different from the way it seems like it should be given he’s the most popular person on campus and literally a superstar—

Minho’s voice breaks your thoughts again. “So what are you majoring in?”

You relax slightly. Small talk is something you can do. “Developmental psychology. I want to work with kids in the future. What about you?”

“I’m thinking of declaring sports medicine,” Minho says, eyes sweeping across your face. “But I find psychology interesting, so that’s why I’m taking it this semester.”

“Yeah? How do you like Professor Lee?”

“He’s an asshole,” Minho frowns. “Three research papers in one semester—seriously? And they all have to be more than ten pages each?”

You suppress a grin at his petulant tone. “I’m so sorry. I know it’s hard having to actually do work at college,” you reply, deadpan.

Minho actually pauses a little, turning to look at you. He scrutinizes your face for a few awkward seconds before he lets out a small, soft laugh. “I thought you were serious for a second,” he smiles before continuing his walking pace from before.

The small glimpse of his pearly white teeth makes your heart skip a beat, and you can feel the slight flush of heat curling up your neck. You will for it to stay down.

As you two step closer to the field house, you notice a large sign attached to the outside. “SK University Field House. Constructed in 1957 from the generous donations of SK University’s Class of ‘45,” you read. You stop and pull up your laptop again, entering 1957 onto the screen and running the algorithm. The next coordinates that pop up lead directly to the dorm next to yours.

“Wow, that took a lot less searching than I expected. I didn’t even need your key to get into the building,” you remarked, turning to Minho and giving him an apologetic smile. “Sorry I made you come all this way with me.”

Minho shrugs slightly and gives you a sheepish look. “I forgot that sign existed. And it’s okay, I didn’t mind walking here with you.” He blinks twice rapidly and your breath catches for a slight moment as you watch his eyelashes flutter up and down.

Wow. You are fucked.

“Wait, let me get this straight.” Joy, your bubbly roommate and best friend, plops down on your bed, shoving a couple of your pillows toward the end of the frame so she can scoot up close to you.

“The Lee Minho, as in soccer superstar Lee Minho,” she continues, eyes penetrating yours harder with each word, “knew you were looking for a year somewhere in or on the football field house, and even though he goes in and out of that building every day for practice, claimed he ‘forgot’ the giant sign with a year on it existed?”

“Something like that, yeah,” you mumble, typing away at your psychology lab report. Joy reaches over and slaps her hand on top of yours, effectively stopping them from pressing any more keys. You look up and over at her.

Joy gives you a narrow-eyed look. “Y/N, that’s the most ridiculous excuse I’ve ever heard. Homeboy clearly wanted to spend time with you and you gave him the opportunity to do it.”

You laugh. “I don’t think so, Joy. We’ve never talked before; I’m sure he was just being nice.”

“But he knew your name,” Joy points out, eyebrow lifted.

“Our psychology class isn’t that big! He hears Professor Lee say my name when checking attendance every class,” you say. “It’s not a big deal. Minho’s just a really nice guy.”

“A really nice guy who has the hots for you,” Joy says archly, a small smile playing at the edge of her lips. “And is basically the most-wanted boy in the entire university.”

You reach over to grab a pillow from the end of your bed and shove it in her face. “He doesn’t have the hots for me, oh my god!”

The next morning you find yourself in line at the café in the student campus center, waiting to order your daily caffeine fix before heading off to the library to crank out some work. As the person in front of you finishes ordering, a surly-faced student worker nods at you, expressionless.

“What do you want?” He asks, bored.

“A regular iced chai latte, please,” you say as you reach out to give him your card.

“Add a large hot coffee to that. No milk or sugar,” a hand slides past yours and an unfamiliar looking card is placed in the barista’s hand. You turn around in surprise and come face to face with Minho, hair mussed and slightly damp. He must have come from early morning practice.

“Wait no,” you protest. “I can pay for myself.” You try to give your card to the barista, who just raises an eyebrow at you.

“Sorry, but I already charged your order to Minho’s card.”

Minho grins at him as you look on in outrage. “Thanks, Changbin. I owe you one.” He puts his hand lightly on your arm. “C’mon, Y/N, let’s go wait for our drinks. We’re in the way of others.”

Still sputtering, you two make your way over to the pick up counter to wait for your drinks to be made.

“You know,” Minho speaks casually. “If you had ordered something normal, I could have just dropped the whole ‘make that two’ line and the whole ‘me buying your drink’ situation would have been smoother.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “‘Something normal?’” you echo. “What does that even mean?”

“Like a hot drink. None of this ‘iced’ bullshit.” Minho shrugs.

“Excuse you,” you scoff. “But iced coffee is clearly superior to hot coffee. Do you want your tongue to get burned?”

“I disagree. Don’t you remember reading that psych study talking about how people holding hot drinks in their hand were more generous than people holding cold drinks?” Minho pushes the sleeves of his hoodie up to his elbows and leans against the edge of the counter, forearms exposed. “I think that was just proved by my buying your coffee despite your flavorless order.”

You raise your eyebrow. “You’re the one that ordered the bitterest drink on the menu. I wouldn’t be the one to talk about flavorless orders.” Though you try your hardest to keep a straight face, Minho catches the small twitch of the edge of your lips and he grins. He opens his mouth to respond, but then a voice calls out—

“Regular iced chai latte and large black coffee for Minho?”

You both turn to face a bright-faced barista with a young face and smattering of freckles on his cheeks holding two drinks. You take yours and look back up at the dark-haired boy next to you.

“I’m off to the library now to write my psych research proposal, but thanks for the drink,” you tell him. “I’ll pay you back somehow.”

“No need to,” Minho smiles, making you frown. You hate feeling indebted to people, and Lee Minho is no exception.

“No,” you say. “I will.” And your promise hangs in the air, lingering even after you walk away.

It’s Saturday evening when Joy runs into the room screaming. “The soccer team just won the national championship game!” The door slams against the wall from the force she used to open it, and you wince. You hope you won’t get billed for dorm damage this year.

“That’s great,” you say, trying to stay focused on your problem set. Joy sighs audibly and grabs your shoulders, forcing you to turn your head to look at her head-on.

“Our team won,” she emphasizes each word. “Which means that Sungjae and the rest of the soccer frat are holding a party tonight at their house!” Sungjae was what Joy called her “exclusive friend with benefits,” though you didn’t really know how that was any different from a boyfriend, and he also happened to be the senior captain of the soccer team and therefore president of the soccer frat which liked to hold parties on days they won their games.

“That sounds fun,” you say noncommittally.

Joy huffs again. “You’re getting dressed in something cute and coming to the party with me tonight. Sungjae told me to bring you for Minho.”

You blink. “Wait—what? He said for Minho?”

“Well, no,” Joy waves her hand in the air flippantly. “He didn’t say Minho’s name exactly, but he did tell me to bring you, and Minho’s the only reason he would tell me to do something like that.”

“So you’re saying Minho told Sungjae to tell you to ask me to go to the party?” You ask skeptically. “Sounds a little convoluted to me.”

Joy rolls her eyes. “Minho bought you coffee last week. He’s obviously interested. And stop denying it—I know you like him too.”

You feel heat rise up to your cheeks. “I do not!”

Joy purses her lips and gives you an amused look. “I think your blush right now says otherwise.” She walks over to your closet and begins sifting through clothes on the rack.

“I’m going to put together a great outfit for you, don’t worry,” she promises. “You’re going to look hot as fuck and make Minho’s jaw drop.”

After throwing a few articles of clothing onto your bed, Joy dashes over to her side of the room and rummages through her bottom drawer before pulling out a bottle filled with clear liquid.

“Nothing like some good old vodka to get the pre-party started,” she winks at you.

You sigh outwardly, but inside you feel a small twinge of excitement beat in your chest.

A few shots and a new outfit later, you find yourself clinging onto Joy’s arm as you both stumble a little up the walkway to the entrance door of the soccer frat, Sigma Kappa Zeta, or SKZ. The vodka shots had definitely loosened you up—you and Joy giggle at everything the other says, and you don’t feel the chilly weather at all.

The party’s in full swing by the time you walk in the house, most of the lights turned off and people dancing and drinking from red solo cups.

“Hey, I’m going to go find Sungjae!” Joy shouts in your ear over the blaring music. You feel her squeeze your hand before she untangles her arm from yours and slips away into the mass of people.

Well shit. What are you supposed to do now? You sober up at the realization that you’re alone but then spot the kitchen entrance off the far side of living room. You could definitely use another drink right now.

When you arrive in the kitchen, you pause as your slightly-drunken self takes in the sight of Minho leaning against the counter laughing with another player of the soccer team. He’s in a white button-up shirt with the sleeves loosely rolled up to his elbows, the veins of his arms prominent from the angle you’re looking at him at.

You gulp. Yep, another drink definitely necessary.

You spy the collection of alcohol on the counter opposite from the one Minho’s at, and you pray that he won’t notice you slinking over. Your wishes, however, seem to go unfulfilled as while you mix some rum and Coke a shadow looms over your shoulder.

“Why is it that we keep running into each other,” you ask Minho, who has a lazy smile on his face.

“I think you’re just the one running into me,” Minho replies, shit-eating smile on his face.

Your eyes narrow as you down your drink. “Now just because you’re some bigshot soccer player and the hottest guy on campus doesn’t mean you’re about to get full of yourself,” you stick your tongue out childishly.

Minho raises an eyebrow, and you swoon a little at the movement. “Hottest guy on campus, huh?”

Your ears turn red, and in your tipsy state you don’t even think before throwing your hand over his mouth. You lean up closer to him. “Shhh,” you whisper. “You didn’t hear that.”

Minho laughs, and you can feel his lips move against the palm of your hand. Eyes widening, you rip your hand away from his face.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to touch you like that,” you clear your throat, then giggle. “I’m a little drunk right now if you couldn’t tell.”

“I can tell,” Minho nods at your empty cup. “Are you feeling okay?”

You make your fingers form the “ok” symbol. “Just peachy,” you grin widely at him. “I’m Absolutely Fully Capable right now.”

“Sure,” Minho nods, clearly disbelieving you. You purse your lips.

“I am!” you insist. “I could beat you in any competition right now. Trivia, dance-off, whatever. Bring it on.”

The corner of Minho’s mouth lifts, and his eyes glint with a mischievous smile. “Dance-off, you say?” At your vigorous nod, he holds out his hand. You stare at it stupidly for a moment before he reaches out and grabs yours and starts to pull you toward the living room. “Let’s dance then.”

Somehow Minho’s idea of a “dance-off” evolved from him busting out some ridiculously complicated moves and you tripping over your feet on the second beat right into his arms to semi-slow dancing in the middle of the dance floor, your head buried in the crook of his neck, hands on his chest. The music is still blasting around you, but everything is muted in the presence of Minho. You know that the sober version of you would have never been so bold to be this touchy with him, but at this point you can’t bring yourself to care.

“I think I won the dance-off,” Minho murmurs in your ear, arms snaking around your waist to hold you closer to him. “What happened to being Absolutely Full Capable?” His breath tickles your ear, and you feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

“Shut up,” you mumble back. “I might be Almost Fully Capable instead.” Minho snickers in response, and the reverberation of his laugh against the shell of your ear sends a rush of warmth across your body.

“So what do I owe you? I already need to pay you back for the coffee.” You yawn slightly. What time is it—midnight? One?

Minho notices your sleepiness and pulls away from you. “Are you tired? Do you need to go home?”

“Probably,” you say sheepishly. “But I came with Joy and I don’t know where she is.”

Minho coughs. “I saw her with Sungjae earlier. I don’t think she’ll be coming back with you tonight.” His hand moves from your waist to your hand, fingers dragging slightly down your arm. You shiver.

“Come on,” Minho says as he laces his fingers through yours. “I’ll walk you back to your dorm.”

You look from your intertwined hands to Minho’s face. “No, you don’t have to do that. You live here. It’s a waste of energy for you.”

He shrugs. “I don’t mind.”

One of your eyes squints in thought. “You’ve said that before.”

Minho raises one of his eyebrows in interest. “So you pay close attention to what I say, huh?”

You sputter. “Uh...n-no! What are you talking about, jeez!” You wrack your brain for things you can say to change the conversation but all you can think about is how good Minho looks and how good he smells and so you blurt out: “So I’ve been thinking.”

Minho looks at you in amusement. “Glad to know your brain’s doing its job.”

“Shut up,” you grumble before hesitating. Should you really do this? The rational part of your mind screams No! but the drunken, spontaneous part of you quells the dissenting opinion. Fuck it, you think. “I’ve come up with a way I can pay you back for that coffee.”

“I told you you didn’t need to pay me back.”

“But I do,” you insist. “Even if you have terrible taste in coffee.”

“Okay then,” Minho says, arms tightening around you. “How are you going to pay me back?”

“I’m going to pay you back right now,” you giggle.

Minho looks a bit confused, and you feel giddy seeing the look on his face. He’s too cute. “Right now?” he asks.

“Right now,” you confirm. And without thinking, you drunkenly lean forward and press your lips against his, your hands falling on his chest. Minho is completely frozen for a beat, but then his arms weave naturally tighter around your waist, hands drawing you closer. As you feel his lips start to move against yours, one of your hands travels upward, fingers touching his jawline, kiss deepening.

“Wait, no no no–” Minho breaks away from you, chest falling up and down, hair tousled and eyes a little wild. “You’re drunk. We can’t do this.”

“But I want you,” you whine, leaning up to kiss him again. Minho turns his head so your lips meet the underside of his jaw. You pull back and pout.

Minho takes your hands in his, placing them in between you two like a barrier. “I want you too. But I also want to do this right.” He laces his fingers through yours. His face is close to yours, and you’re struck by how long his eyelashes are, how perfectly they curve outward from his sparkling eyes. Minho squeezes your hands, and the pressure brings you back to reality—standing in the middle of the living room of a frat party, lights off, floor sticky with spilled alcohol. You suddenly really need to get some air.

Minho understands the look on your face, because he immediately squeezes your hands again and begins to tug you toward the door. “Come on. I’ll walk you home.”

With the coolness of night settling in on your skin when you leave the stuffy frat house, your head begins to clear. It suddenly sets in on you that here you are with the Lee Minho of your college campus walking you back to your dorm in the wee hours of the morning. You feel self-conscious, awkward even.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” You blurt out suddenly. Hmm, maybe the cold air didn’t sober you up quite as much as you had thought.

Minho looks startled. “What do you mean?”

“I mean...why are you walking me home? Why did you kiss me? W-why are we even holding hands?” You motion down at your linked fingers. Maybe you’re being irrational with these questions and freaking him out a bit, but at this moment you don’t really care. You just want answers.

Minho wets his lips, and the sheen of his skin reflects the moonlight.

“I...” He starts to say but trails off. “I don’t think we should have this conversation right now.” He says finally.

You’re confused. “Why?” You demand.

“Because,” Minho groans, running his free hand through his hair in slight frustration. “I don’t want to confess while you’re drunk.”

Confess? “I’m not drunk,” you say automatically. At this point, the lie is instinctual. At Minho’s wry smile, you continue: “I promise I’ll remember this in the morning,” you insist.

Minho looks down at your entwined fingers, and his thumb comes up to rub against your knuckles. Back and forth, like he’s trying to reassure himself of something. When his voice comes out, it’s small, almost nervous.

“I was going to wait until it was a better time to say this, but I like you. And I would really like to take you out for coffee some time, if you’ll let me.” Minho’s eyes flicker anxiously between your hands and eyes, like he’s nervous about your response.

Something in your heart bursts, and you feel like flying. You can’t control the grin that spreads across your cheeks. “Oh my god,” you say.

“Oh my god?” he repeats. “What does that mean?”

You start laughing. “I,” you start. “would love to get coffee with you. As long as you don’t judge me for getting iced coffee,” you grin at him.

Minho smiles back at you, eyes sparkling in the darkness. He takes your free hand with his own, fingers entwining together, warmth seeping between both your bodies. He draws you in closer to him until your foreheads are pressed together, noses almost touching.

“You can get whatever drink you want,” he murmurs to you, breath cascading over your lips. “It’s all on me.”

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