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#lee minho fanfiction
hyunsvngs · 3 months
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hyunsvngbinimas !
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pairing: lee minho x fem!reader
warnings: reader is a cat hybrid, perv!minho, heats, slick, kind of omegaverse but not, breeding kink, unprotected sex, creampie, depictions of porn
Nothing is going right.
Minho’s apartment smells of those cliche candles that just reek of Christmas - spiced cinnamon apple strudel, or something like it. He’s burnt his cookies. His hair is covered in white sugary flakes that he’d tried to make snow for his gingerbread house with, and they’re currently melting into his hair from how stressed out he’s getting. Felix will be here any second. He’s freaking out. Felix always judges his baking.
He sighs, scraping the burnt remnants of his baking endeavours into the bin. Felix will have to be happy with just the gingerbread house. Anyway, Minho got him an amazing present for Christmas - a new headset for his gaming setup that had little holes for his white fluffy cat ears to peek through. 
Being best friends with a hybrid wasn’t easy for Minho. Unfortunately, Minho had some weird affinity for cat girls and boys alike, and his computer was decked out with mountains of hybrid heat porn that would make even Felix’s weird friend Jisung stutter. Minho had gotten drunk one night and opened up to Felix about it, and had received an overly wet kiss on a cheek and a sweet chirp of “I’ll fuck you whenever, hyung”. Minho still blushes to the tips of his ears when he remembers it. 
Felix’s hybrid status isn’t the only reason he’s reserved as Minho’s lifelong best friend. Felix is devious, weird, and a little bit evil just like Minho - he’s also always late, which really means a lot to Minho when he’s stressing out like this. 
True to his nature, there’s a loud knock on the door approximately fifteen minutes after the meeting time after Minho had just put the baking tray of newer, more promising cookies into the oven. Minho throws his oven gloves to the side and then he’s charging over to the door to swing it open, ready to give Felix a fake lecture about being late to their designated day for exchanging presents. 
Only, when the door opens, Felix isn’t alone. He’s standing on Minho’s doorstep with a wild smile on his face, a beanie pulled over his ears and his white tail swishing in excitement. Next to him is you. 
And you’re, well, you. You’re a cat hybrid, too, sans-beanie and baring your orange ears for the world to see. You have a matching smile on your face, and Minho can’t help but fight his own smile back. It’s that contagious. Your fluffy winter dress is swaying around your mid-thigh, and when you turn to stop your suitcase from falling in the snow, your tail curls in annoyance.
Wait. You have a suitcase.
“Yongbok-ah,” Minho starts, his apron covered in flour. His apron is covered in flour. He’s a mess, and the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen is standing on his doorstep with a cute little dress on. He wonders if you’d let him flip it up and stretch your pussy open with his thick- no. He clears his throat, repeats Felix’s Korean name once again. “Yongbok-ah. What is this?”
“Your new roommate!” Felix beams, his smile stretching from ear-to-ear. Minho contemplates how he can kill him. “She was looking for somewhere to stay. Her landlord just kicked her out over Christmas, hyung, isn’t that so sad? Anyway, I remembered you saying you wouldn’t mind someone moving in to help with rent, so-”
“I work!” You blurt, cheeks sufficiently rosy pink and your bottom lip looking so biteable. Minho mentally chastises himself. He needs to behave. “I can pay rent, and Felix said you’d like me.”
Oh, he did, did he? Minho manages to drag his eyes away from you to stare menacingly at Felix, who only nods in agreement and smiles. Minho sighs, eyes flickering behind him. How quick can he do a deep clean of the house so that you think he’s perfect and amazing and maybe want to be with him? “I do have a spare bedroom.”
“Great!” Felix chirps. His eyes flicker between you and Minho. You haven’t taken your eyes off of him, tail swishing around your back excitedly. It’s orange with faint stripes in it, and Minho’s trying not to get hard in his pants over the way you’re grinning at him. Felix claps his hands together, gloved and muffled. “So, I’ve got to go now. Bye, hyung!”
“Y-Yongbok,” Minho blurts. Did he really just stutter? “What about your present?”
“Oh, give it to me another day,” Yongbok waves him off, already turning down the drive.
Minho scoffs. “What about my present, you little-”
Yongbok turns around. “She is your present, hyung. Silly.” 
Minho reverts his eyes to you. He can feel how he’s widening them in shock, his bottom lip quivering. He wants to say something. He wants to talk to you, but how can he? You’re looking at him so expectantly and your dress has damn pom poms on it. He’s going to die. “Uh. D’ya wanna come in? I have cookies in the oven.”
“Great!” You say, and Minho’s convinced your voice is exactly how angels sound. You shimmy past him with your suitcase and leave it in the doorway, sashaying into the living room as if you’ve been there a million times. He watches you sprawl on the sofa in awe, stretching languidly. If he squints, he might be able to see the panties you’ve got on underneath your dress. “I love cookies.”
“Uh, yeah,” Minho says intelligently, kicking the door shut. He’s quick to follow you despite still being in his apron and having white specks in his dark hair. He tries to sit down casually on the sofa, and you gravitate towards his body heat, curling up beside him. “Have you had a roommate before?”
“A roommate?” You perk up, looking at him. Minho thinks he’s going to die. He’s definitely hard now, and he’s glad the apron is loose enough to cover it. You blink, and then you nod. “I guess so. In college, I stayed with a bunny girl. She was super sweet.”
A bunny girl? You two… lived together? Minho’s heart has stopped beating, officially. Maybe you’re still close friends. Maybe you can bring her over, when one or both of you are in your heats, and maybe you’ll let him watch if you-
Oh, Minho’s so fucked.
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
You’re so fucked.
When Felix said his friend Minho had mentioned wanting a roommate, you hadn’t expected him to be so sexy. Even standing on his doorstep with an apron covered in flour and a timid expression on his face, he was sexy. He’d shown you to the spare bedroom, nice as pie, and had waited while you got settled in to comfier clothes before getting on the couch with him. You couldn’t stop your tail from swishing when he fed you a cookie, warm from the oven, and you’d been looking at him with round, owlish eyes. He has to know. You’re wondering how much you can put down to kitty tendencies just to get closer to him. 
“Can we cuddle?” You chirp, and Minho turns to you. He blinks, lips parted. His eyes are so dark, so round. “You know, kitty tendencies. I like the warmth. If it makes you uncomfortable, that’s okay-”
“No,” He shakes his head, patting his lap. “C’mere, kitty- sorry, God, can I call you that? Is that okay?”
You giggle, curling up in his lap. Your tail curls around his arm comfortably, and Minho chokes back a noise. You wonder if he’s alright. “Kitty is fine. I like it.”
Minho lets out a stuttered breath. “O-Okay, so- how do you want to do this? I can cook for us, if you wanna clean?” He shakes his head. You feel his body tense up from beneath you. His thighs are so broad and muscled you can’t help but nuzzle your nose into one. You’re purring before you even realise you are. “Actually, no. Don’t clean.”
“I can clean!” You insist, but he’s already protesting again.
“No, kitty. Please don’t. Please don’t clean.”
Why not? You screw your face up in a pout, but you can’t help but feel the most comfortable you’d ever felt. It feels domestic, almost, the way you’re curled up on his lap and he’s just letting you. He’s warm. He’s warm and toned, and you flip over to look up at him. God, he’s pretty - sharp nose, pouty lips, the cutest bunny teeth that would have you swearing he had to be a hybrid too if you hadn’t seen his human ears. You want him.
Minho looks down at you then, a smile playing on his lips. “Why are you staring at me, kitty cat?”
You blush, shaking your head. “No reason. Hey, do you wanna watch a movie? I’m not moving though.” 
“Of course,” Minho chuckles, his shoulders shaking. You watch as he reaches over you to grab the remote, flicking through channels until he finds a decent Christmas one. He looks at you, almost hesitant with his spare hand raised above your hair. “I- Felix likes when I scratch his ears. Do you- would you-”
“Yes, please,” You nod eagerly, and he snickers at your response. His hand threads into your hair, fingertips rubbing absentmindedly at the start of your orange ears, and you purr. It makes him tense up again. 
When you finally turn over to pay attention to the movie, it’s some stupid film about two people finding love at Christmas. You can’t help but hope you have a similar experience, and you definitely wouldn’t be disappointed if it happened with the man who’s currently stroking over your ears and humming a soft tune. It feels too easy with him, too natural, but you’re not one to complain.
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
You’re panicking. You’ve been living with Minho for a week now, and between him doing absolutely everything around the house and refusing to let you pay rent - for what reason you’re unsure - you’re determined to get him a good gift for Christmas. Christmas is only in a few days, and you just can’t find anything perfect scrolling through your laptop. You have goosebumps on your arms from how cold you are, but you’re so focused you can’t put an extra layer on.
You’re convinced you’re hallucinating when the screen freezes, turns blue, and crashes. What? You bang on the keyboard with clenched fists, ears flattening in annoyance. What’s going on? Has it… broken? No way. No way would this happen to you, not during the most important time of your life. You had to get Minho a good gift. 
He’s sat on the sofa scrolling through his phone when you perk your head around the doorway - or perk your tail around, since that’s the first thing Minho sees. He grins, turning to you. God, his grin makes your stomach flutter. 
“What’s up, kitty cat?” He muses, and you grimace. 
“I- I was doing… something on my laptop, and I think it’s broken,” You say, voice quiet. Despite getting so close to Minho in the week you’ve been there, including even taking naps together on the sofa, you still can’t push past your silly little crush on him. Especially not when he scratches under your chin and feeds you cookies. “Nothing weird. I just- could I use yours? Just for an hour or two, and then you can have it back, and-”
“Of course you can,” Minho cuts you off. You try not to stare at his biceps as he leans over to grab his laptop, white t-shirt clenching tight around his muscles. You suppress a whimper as he hands it to you, and then you’re scurrying back to your room with a delighted squeal.
The sheets are soft on your legs as you make yourself comfortable again, and then you open the laptop. It has no password, which is just so Minho, and is covered in cat stickers. He must really like cats. The thought makes your tail curl in delight, and you try to calm your excitement as the laptop boots up. 
Immediately, you take notice of the fact that his laptop is definitely a newer, more expensive model than yours. It makes you shy, embarrassed that you’re not paying rent to live in his house and still can’t even get a good laptop, but then you furrow your eyebrows in confusion. He has around ten files, labelled nothing other than numbers 1-10, and they’re neatly organised in a row across the screen. 
Before you can even process what you’re doing, you’re clicking on the first one. You gasp, hand covering your mouth. You’re snooping. Maybe… maybe the files will help you learn what stuff he’s into, what kind of things he’d love for Christmas? Yeah. That’s why you’re looking. Definitely no other reason. 
The first file has ten files inside it, all video files that are just begging for you to double click on. Could you watch them? Could you be nosy like this? Does that make you an awful person? You realise that yeah, you must be an awful person because you’re going to watch them. You’re going to watch every single one just to find out what they could be.
You don’t expect to be met with a cat hybrid being bent over a desk. She’s a girl, noted from the way the man’s speaking to her, and her slick is gushing around his cock. Your eyes widen, comically round, yet you can’t tear them away. Her tail curls around his waist, keeping him close, and her eyes roll back into her head. The camera is positioned to the side but it captures every single expression she’s making.
Is this what Minho’s into? Is he… into you? Would he fuck you like this, would he talk to you like this?
You’re clicking on the second video before you can even think of it. This one is recorded by the male, camera positioned to capture the cat girl’s tits as they sway and bounce enticingly. You want Minho to record you while you ride him like this. You wipe sweat off of your brow. She’s pretty, with blushing cheeks and ears flattened to her head as she moans in ecstasy. His pubic hair is drenched with her slick. You whimper. You want it. You want it with Minho. 
He must jerk off to these, you decide, clicking on the third video. This one’s a little different - the girl is on her knees, slobbering and spitting all over a rather large cock. Is Minho that big? It’d be perfect to breed you, he could hit your cervix like that. You wipe drool off of your bottom lip. It’s suddenly very, very warm, and you feel like you can’t breathe. Imagining Minho’s cock is sending your senses into haywire, your whole body feeling like it’s been ignited with fire and electricity and-
“Kitty,” A voice from your door. You perk up. You’d left it open, just slightly ajar, and Minho is standing there with wide doe eyes. “Oh, no. You’ve seen them. I’m so sorry, if you want to move out I understand and I- kitty?”
You’re panting. Your eyes are glassy, covered in unshed tears, and your t-shirt suddenly feels like it’s stuck to you. Weren’t you just cold? You can’t remember. Your senses are full of Minho, Minho, Minho, and you want him to fuck you under the Christmas tree or bend you over the sofa or his desk or just take you on the floor, you aren’t picky. 
“Minho,” You finally speak, chest heaving. “Minho, Minho, you- you- you like these? You- Minho, please, do you like these videos?”
He’s slow walking over to your bed, almost anxious to approach you. He sighs when he reaches the foot of the mattress, climbing onto it to sit cross-legged. He twiddles his thumbs. “Yeah. It turns me on. Yongbok- Felix said I have a kink for it. I’m sorry.”
“S-Sorry?” It’s so warm. It’s so warm. “Minho, Minho, I- I’m really warm. Are you warm? It’s really warm in my room, isn’t it?”
Minho’s eyebrows furrow. He reaches over, placing the back of his hand to your forehead, and you whine. Loudly. Just him touching your forehead with the back of his hand is enough to make your pussy drool slick into your sleep shorts, and you can’t even begin to question why you’re suddenly so wet, until Minho speaks. “Oh, kitty,” He coos, his hand moving up to scratch your ear. You hum, leaning into the touch. Your vision is blurry, but you can see him perfectly. “Oh, my girl. I’m so sorry. I think you’re going into heat, kitty. I’ll call Yongbok, and-”
“No,” You wail, surging forward. The laptop slides off the side of the bed with a loud clatter, and Minho doesn’t even blink, staring owlishly at you as you wrap your arms around his middle. You’re in heat. You can tell when his body hits yours, your pussy gushing and making even more of a mess just from his body, despite being clothed. “No. God, please, Minho, don’t leave. It’s you, I want you, I was thinking about you and me, and the videos, and-”
“You want me?” Minho’s voice is soft, and he swipes a thumb over your cheekbone. Your head is positioned on his chest, and you can smell him, earthy and woodsy and manly. He sighs, and then he’s speaking again. “I want you.” 
“Please. Please, please, please, please, I need you, I need to see it, I need to feel you,” You’re babbling, sweat dripping down your temple, and Minho lets out an amused puff of air. “I- Minho, is- do you want to? Please.”
“You need to see it?” He chuckles, shoulders shaking. His eyes form crescent moons and you can’t even admire how cute he is through your haze of lust. “What’s it, kitty cat? My dick?” You nod eagerly, and Minho shakes his head in disbelief. “I want to kiss you first. Let me do it right, yeah? Let me do it how I want to. I need to treat you right.”
You’re still shocked when his lips press into yours, pouty and plush. He licks into your mouth and you have to avoid nipping at his bottom lip, until he does it to you and you deem it fair game. You’re devouring him then, nibbling on his lip and sucking on his tongue and encompassing your arms around his neck. He lets you push him into the mattress, lets you run your hands through his hair and pull away to nip at his neck teasingly. 
“Kitty likes to bite, huh?” He huffs, and you nod, nipping him again for his cheek. Your tail swishes behind you, excited and playful, and you can feel how hard he is against your leg. “Better not bite like that when you suck my cock.”
You pull away from his neck in alarm, the milky skin littered in teeth marks and red bruises. “I can suck it? You’ll let me? Oh, please-”
His hand envelops in your hair, wrapping your hair around his fist and tugging hard. “Maybe later. I can feel how that pussy is drooling on me. You need it badly, huh? Need me badly.”
“Yes! Yes, yeah, since I saw you, I- I wanted you to fuck me through my heat so bad, pin me to the bed and just make me take it, and when I saw the videos I- Minho, I thought I was gonna die, and-”
Minho flips you over onto the mattress, your front planted against the bed. You let out a satisfied purr when he strokes your tail with one hand, and then he’s hooking his thumbs into your sleep shorts and yanking them down your legs. You feel the cold air hit your pussy and you moan, loud and high pitched, spreading your thighs to arch your back and present your pussy to him.
“Oh, would you look at that?” Minho coos, his thumb swiping over your hole. Your hole clenches with the lack of fullness, oozing more slick over his digit, and he groans. “Messy little pussy. God, do you want me inside you that bad? Little minx.”
“Please, please. Minho, Minho, will you fuck me? Look’it,” You whine, spreading your legs further. “Look at how wet I am. I need you, need you. M-master, please.”
Minho hisses through his teeth, and then his cockhead is pressing between your folds. When did he get naked? “You dirty little thing,” He whispers, his voice low. “Take master’s cock, then. You wanted to see it, how’s about feeling it?”
He sinks into you, all of his shaft in one go. It doesn’t hurt, only stretches you beyond pleasure, and your fingernails rip into the sheets with one loud moan. It feels insane, raw and veiny and pressing against your walls as if he was made for you. You let him grip your hips and arch you further, your tail wrapping around his waist to keep him close to you. It’s like the first video you saw, and the realisation has you whimpering into the sheets.
“God, you don’t know how long I thought about you like this,” Minho grunts, and then he’s thrusting. His pace is punishing immediately, your slick gushing and squelching around his cock messily and you can only hope his pubes are drenched in it. You want him to cum inside you, breed you, fill you up with kittens and mark you as his so that everyone knows. “Pliant, wet and so desperate for me.”
“Love it,” You slur, eyes rolling back into your head. You don’t realise you’re bouncing back on his thrusts, ass hitting the bottom of his tummy with every movement. He’s bent fully over your body, chest against your back and his lips whispering filth into your ear. “Love your cock, master, ‘s so big, I feel so full, I- hnnfg, master, master, will you breed me? Will you cum inside me?”
“Oh, kitty cat,” He moans, passionate, and when you try to look at him his eyes are rolling back into his head. His bunny teeth bite his bottom lip, almost drawing blood. His cockhead fucks against your cervix with every thrust, primal and intense. He wraps his arms around your front, hands clutching onto your shoulders to pull you back into him. “I’ll breed you, jagi. I’ll fuck you full until it has to take, yeah?”
You can’t think straight. Your pussy clenches around Minho’s cock almost painfully and it only makes him feel bigger, pulsing and throbbing inside of you. You need his cum. You need to cum - your clit throbs painfully with it. “Oh, oh, I need’a- master, master, I need to cum, I need to cum, please, hurts,” You huff, squirming beneath him. He reaches from your shoulder to pin your hips down into the bed, ensuring that you can’t thrash or wriggle anymore and he has full leverage to fuck you the way you need it. “It hurts! Ah, it hurts, I can’t, I can’t, I need to cum, I need to-”
“What’s stopping you?” He questions, hips starting to fuck you in a sinuous grind instead. The change in pace has your toes curling, hands scrabbling to find a better grip on the sheets as he lets you feel every inch and every vein of his length. “C’mon. Cum around my cock, and I’ll give you my cum, breed you full of kittens. Give it to me, jagi, c’mon, let me feel it.”
With a wail and a sharp inhale of breath, you’re cumming quicker than you ever have with any partner or even your own hand. Your pussy pulsates and gushes around him, and he grunts through your orgasm, trying with all of his might to fuck you through it. You try to thrash, to grind back on him through it, but he has you pinned down with a vice grip that only proves to make you cum even harder. 
Minho’s hips press tightly against yours, and with a deep sigh, you feel his cum flood inside of you. You’re purring with the sensation of it, warm and thick and reaching your cervix with every messy pulsation of his load. You hope it takes, deep down inside you - you hope you’re swollen with it, that everyone knows he’s yours and you’re his. 
With the knowledge that you’re full of cum, your heat is slightly sated, and you blink through the fog while Minho sidles up next to you. When did he pull out? You huff and cuddle into his chest, and he reaches up instinctively to scratch over your ears. 
“Good?” He questions, voice timid. You blink owlishly.
“Good?!” You shriek, lifting your head up to stare at him. “I’m enlisting you for the rest of my heat, and then every day after that. You’re mine now.”
Minho chuckles. “I think that’s the best Christmas present I’ve ever been given.”
“Well, I was actually looking for something to get you when my laptop broke,” You say shyly, and Minho turns to look at you with a wide smile on his face. “It’s embarrassing! Just have me instead.”
“I think I’m okay with that,” He yawns, eyes fluttering shut. “Nap. You’re gonna need to be fucked again soon.”
You wondered how he knew, then you remembered the videos on his computer. “That’s true. Merry early Christmas, Minho.”
“Merry early Christmas, kitty cat.”
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etherealinowrites · 8 months
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love on the court | lmh
jock leeknow x nerd female reader
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✮ ❝ lee minho, a 23 year old senior at levanter uni is the jack of it all. he was the captain of the football team, the president of the dance club, the resident chef and a loving cat dad of three cuties. it was unfair how he seemed to just have it all! good looks, amazing physique, never ending charisma and irresistible charm. safe to say, he was the most popular guy at your college, known for being the heartthrob and heartbreaker of everyone attending. but when he crosses paths with the shy and smart y/n, who is walking around, trying her best to keep her 8.5 gpa intact, he cannot help but feel he’s been wearing a mask all along. and why does only y/n have the power to take it off him? drawn to the silent beauty, minho feels his priorities change and who knows, maybe they fall in love? one thing is for sure, he has a whole lot to prove if he wants to win her heart and have his own love on the court. ❞ ✮
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
➺ genre: university/college au, jock minho, athlete minho, shy girl x popular guy trope, strangers to lovers, typical college romance, nerd y/n, goody two shoes y/n and rule breake minho. cliche. CLICHE. so fucking cliche. it’s basically a 2000s girly movie in 2023 with lee minho in it. also some smau to make it fun.
➺ warnings: eventual smut, crude language- sweating and profanity, partying, clubbing, drinking and alcohol, mentions of drugs (none of the characters take them but they’re mentioned), causal sex, hooking up (i mean they’re all over age and in college so the usual), issues of mental health (anxiety and panic attack related to exams and assignments etc), minors dni
➺ schedule: whenever i can find time (i’m a full time uni student AND a part time intern AND i freelance so please try to understand🩵) . releases: october 2023.
➺ word count: in progress
➺ series taglist (don’t ask to be tagged if you’re a minor!!) : @endzii23 @you-make-skz-stay @tinyelfperson @nattisbored @jetblackbelle @helpsplease @lolos-hoes @noellllslut @thevampiregoth @astraystayyh @seo--changbin @jisunglyricist @felinows @she-wintersoldat @abbiestearsricochet @miin17 @laryisthinking @jisuperboard @theboyz-jacob @aishjah @skz-streamer @semi-semiisbae @httphans @urmomma0324
@hanjisunginc @moasworld @vixensss @realrintaro @ilovehimyourhonour @binnielovie @idkluvutellme @gnfelix @yandere-stories @berrybearbear @brooklynie @justletmehavethenamemarsomfg @phtogravi @yeetlixs @ddazed-lhs @skzwife-02 @moonlyah @babigriin @m111nho @boi-bi-ahaha @leeracha @hxraiiii @reidsfav @doyouknowbtsswag @skzwife-02 @dariangarcia @chlodavids
(taglist is CLOSED)
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✮ ✮ ✮
🩵meet the characters pt1
🩵meet the characters pt2
✨dynamics 📱
->chapter one | the meet cute - 3.5K
you make acquaintance of your uni’s football team captain
->chapter two | the strike - 📱
the two friend groups have some heart to hearts
->chapter three | twitterati - 📱
the people of the uni are the biggest gossip mongers ever
-> chapter four | locker room talk - 5K
apparently the guys talked about you. oh, and minho wants to take you out. nothing big. (you were freaking out)
…..more to be added
2K notes · View notes
fizzydrink698 · 3 months
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consort vi | minho
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pairing: lee minho x reader
word count: 17.1k
genre: historical au, arranged marriage au, enemies-to-lovers
warnings: period-typical sexism, a boatload of family issues, a rapidly increasing amount of sexual tension, like reader is starting to go the tiniest bit feral about it
series masterlist | one | two | three | four | five
summary:
Minho paused, the lingering traces of cheer disappearing before your eyes. The shift in his mood was almost tangible, and it felt as if you had made some sort of misstep in a dance, thrown yourself and your partner out of rhythm.
His gaze flickered upwards, so very briefly, to look at you, before moving downwards. Down to your notes, down to where the space between your bodies was at its narrowest, barely a few fingers’ width between your skirts and his thigh. He took a breath.
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An uneasy sleep must have reclaimed you in the night, because you awakened to soft morning light streaming through the windows – and chambers entirely devoid of Minho.
You sat up, unsteady, the beginnings of a headache already forming. Your thoughts were scattered, muffled as if wrapped in cotton, barely intelligible under the dull throbbing.
An empty bedchamber. Did that disappoint you? The sheets beside you seemed undisturbed, indicating that he hadn’t joined you at any point in the night, hadn’t risen from the couch he’d been sleeping on last night when – 
Embarrassment – hot, ugly flashes of it – flared within you, so violent that you physically shuddered in an effort to suppress it. You wouldn’t be so careless again, risking something so mortifying and so vulnerable as being caught in a position like that.
A tiny voice in your mind uttered thanks for Minho’s order to keep servants out of his chambers without specific request. You didn’t want to imagine having to untangle these awful thoughts in front of an audience waiting to dress you for the morning. 
The more you dwelled on the situation, the more you could feel something in your chest twist. Shame, perhaps. You couldn’t help but picture last night again and again, your awful thoughts painting over your memories, imagining Minho’s eyes open instead of closed, imagining the curl of his lip as he watched you in disdain, maybe even in disgust–
No.
You felt your expression harden, breath expelling from you in one sharp burst. You hadn’t realised how much anger you could summon at merely an imagined Minho. Already, even at just the thought of him, you found yourself itching to rebuke him, to challenge the contempt you had imagined yourself.
There was a danger that you could spend the whole day in this bed, imagining all the ways in which you could argue with Minho.
So, instead, you forced yourself out of bed, determined to focus on the rest of your day and leave last night firmly in the past.
It was strange to realise just how quiet these chambers were. They were so far removed from the bustling of the palace’s lower floors that even now, as scores of nobles and servants alike rose from their beds and began their days, you could almost mistake the palace for being empty.
The spring morning air was no longer a shock of cold, but pleasantly mild. Perhaps you should make use of the weather today, you thought. It would be good to get some fresh air.
And then, you came to a sudden halt – as a flash of orange caught your attention out of the corner of your eye.
You turned your head, startled, to find a tabby cat perched on the low table of Minho’s chambers, staring you down.
This was not the pampered sort of housecat you had seen in the houses of your mother’s friends during your youth. While this cat seemed well-fed, there were tell-tale signs of the fights it must have gotten into. There was a pea-sized chunk missing from its left ear, and a faint scar on its little orange snout.
Perhaps this was a kitchen mouser? But how had it wandered so far into the palace, all the way into Minho’s chambers? How had it gotten past those heavy wooden doors, not to mention the guards stationed nearby?
You dared to take a step towards it – to no response. The cat continued to stare. Its tail twitched from one side to the other, slowly, almost lazily.
It didn’t move as you approached, instead continuing to eye you with an expression so distinctly unimpressed for such a tiny face.
Of course, the second you lifted your hand towards it, it jumped away from you in the blink of an eye. There was no panic to its retreat, just a vague sense of disdain as it withdrew from your reach.
For one brief second, you were bizarrely reminded of Minho.
To your own surprise, laughter bubbled up in your chest, slipping out between your lips. It lifted a weight off of your chest, leaving you feeling just a little lighter as you observed the way the cat shot you what could only be described as the feline equivalent of a scowl before it padded over to the bed and disappeared beneath it.
Deciding against following the cat and disturbing its hiding place, you chose to head for the door and request breakfast be served outside.
It seemed only right that the lingering worries of the previous night’s events would disappear in the light of a warm spring day.
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There was something so calming about the palace grounds in the morning. At your request, a table and chair had been set up at the base of a hill, just by the long winding steps back up to the palace itself, in perfect position for you to gaze out at the huge expanses of land in front of you.
Morning dew budded on the still blades of grass. Clouds slowly drifted across the sky above, the sun hiding behind them, only reappearing at just the moment the air grew too chilly. In the distance, a light layer of fog lingered amongst the trees of the royal forest, retreating further and further with each moment.
There was nothing but peace and quiet.
You breathed deeply, savouring the morning air, as you reached for the last slice of bread. Beside it, in a tiny porcelain dish, sat a little pat of creamy butter. You scraped the last of it up with your knife to carefully spread onto the bread.
Your plans for the day were the same as always. Studying, mostly. You were eager to crack open the most recent council records you could find, already making plans to note down the stances of each member, the factions that might have formed, anything that might be useful.
How soon would Minho talk to his father? How much time did you have to prepare? You should have pressed for more details.
You could ask him at dinner this evening, you realised. It was still such a strange idea, to think that you and Minho could talk to each other so…often, now.
Because you shared a bedchamber, a voice in your mind – one that sounded suspiciously like your mother – reminded you. You should be doing so much more than just talking.
A mouthful of bread lodged itself in your throat mid-swallow, making you cough and splutter as you reached for your tea.
Not that you were particularly eager for that, of course. Last night had been a brief moment of insanity, a sudden break from rational thought, brought on by returning to the bed that held so many strong memories. It had infected your dreams, and even seeped into your sleep-addled actions in the dead of night, but now you had recovered.
Now, once again, you were just as uninterested as he was. Moving to his chambers was good enough to mend your image as a successful, stable pairing. It didn’t matter what happened behind closed doors, because you had gotten what you wanted.
But before you could make an effort to divert your thoughts back towards the day ahead, the peace of the morning was broken.
You watched as a group of palace guards marched into sight, descending the palace steps – and you stilled when you saw the person they were accompanying.
Her Majesty, the Queen.
You sat up a little straighter, as your eyes met across the wide-open space of the palace lawns. She always seemed so perfectly put together, her long dark hair twisted and braided neatly into a bun, the soft and sweeping fabrics of her dress somehow spotless even when brushing against the ground.
In her fine features, there was so much of Felix. You almost wanted to look away.
Instead, you followed protocol to the letter, rising to your feet and bowing your head at her arrival. “Your Majesty.”
“I didn’t expect to see you here,” she replied, and there was a genuine soft note of surprise to her voice that reinforced her words. “If you’re finished with your meal, would you like to accompany me across the grounds?”
You blinked, lifting your head in shock. You’d barely spoken to this woman in weeks. You’d half-expected her to ignore you. You’d half-given up on the affection the two of you had grown for each other during your childhood.
“Y-yes,” you replied, and cleared your throat. “Yes, I’d love to.”
She gave you a smile – one so deeply familiar that it made your heart ache for just a second – and inclined her head, silently offering you the place by her side.
You moved quickly, almost without thinking, barely retaining the grace expected for a lady of your position, as you tried to join her before she could change her mind.
Before the two of you could start walking, however, she first turned to glance at the guards behind her. With a firm, clear voice of a queen, she told them. “I trust I’m accompanied by guards possessing the respect of allowing two ladies some privacy while they talk. Am I not?”
The nearest guard’s eyes widened slightly in understanding, and he hurried to nod at her. “Yes, Your Majesty. Of course.”
“Delightful to hear. The usual twelve paces behind will suffice,” she said, her voice so casual that the comment could almost be described as offhand, before she finally set off. You had to quicken your steps slightly to catch up with her.
And, sure enough, the guards waited until you were twelve paces ahead before they followed – at the perfect distance to remain out of earshot.
This was the woman you remembered from your childhood. Always polite, always charming, and just a little cleverer than she seemed.
You fell into step beside her, searching for something to say to start the conversation. “I heard a delegation from the Lakelands are on their way.”
“Yes,” she said, nodding with a warm smile. “Most of the delegates only came to their position after I left, but I know a handful. Among them is a prince I last saw as a young boy. I look forward to seeing the man he’s now grown to be.”
“That will be nice,” you remarked, looking for something else to say. Something clever, or funny, or charming. It used to be so much easier to talk to her. “Do you miss the Lakelands?”
“Occasionally. Especially in the winter. I’ve never developed a taste for the cold that sets in here,” she said, but there was no trace of sadness in her voice. Nothing wistful. “But what about you? Are you keeping well?”
“Yes,” you replied – but it felt like a half-truth at best. “As well as can be.”
“I’m sure you’ve had so many pleasantries asked about your marriage,” she said. “That’s usually all people can think to talk about, with women like us.”
Her words struck something in you, hooking something strange and raw and tugging it out into the open.
“That’s usually the topic of conversation, yes.”
Her lips twitched, the briefest flicker of a smile. “Then we’ll speak about something else. Are you still keeping to your studies?”
 “Yes!” you exclaimed, unable to keep your excitement from rushing out. “Practically every day. Mostly, I’ve been focusing on my histories and geography, but I like to brush up on my languages every so often.”
“You did always love studying your histories,” the Queen nodded, and for the first time in your conversation, you picked up on the slightest hint of sadness in her tone.
It sparked a vaguely familiar feeling. An old desire to cheer her, the feeling so ingrained that it felt like slipping on an old favourite coat.
“My new tutor has helped quite splendidly,” you said, with a smile just a touch forced. “I hadn’t realised how much more I could learn with someone following me in my interests, instead of just telling me what I should be interested in.” 
The Queen smiled back at you, and hers seemed entirely genuine. “There seems so much to catch up on. I’ve been meaning to talk to you sooner.”
Her words, as light and carefree as she had offered them, managed to hit something deep within you. Your expression faltered, as you felt the words dig into you, like claws gripping your flesh, piercing you.
You blurted out your only thought. “Why didn’t you?”
The question came out in a rush, an outpouring of emotion that you had tried so hard to keep dammed. You watched the way she paused, caught off-guard by your sudden harsh words.
You swallowed, trying frantically to recover some sense of manners. “I mean, I…it’s just I’ve been…I’ve been so alone since…”
��…I know.”
Her gaze grew so soft, as she watched you sadly. There were moments, occasionally, when her eyes were so expressive, just as Felix’s were.
For a moment, you pictured what it must have been like for her, all those years ago. Newly married to a stranger, not just alone but alone in an entirely different kingdom. A kingdom that her father and her father’s father and his father before that had been at war with. A kingdom with a people who mistrusted her, who still mourned for her husband’s first wife, the beloved wife, the wife she must constantly be compared to in public and in private.
You wondered how long it took her to learn to hide those expressive eyes. You wondered if it saddened her to look upon her son, and see those same bright eyes shining back.
“I missed you,” you confessed. “I miss how it used to be.”
“So do I, sweetling,” she murmured. There were only two people in this world the Queen called ‘sweetling’. One was standing in front of her. The other was half a kingdom away, quiet and aching by the coast. “But that’s precisely why I’ve stayed away.”
“What?” You asked, sharp in your confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“There are whispers at court,” she began, before pausing. You detected the faintest of eye-rolls as she continued. “There always are. Right now, they are centred on you.”
“Me?” You repeated. “I haven’t heard anything.”
“Oh, the subjects never do,” she said, her tone sharpening just a touch. You knew she’d had her fair share of experience with court rumours. “It’s no fun for them if the rumour gets dragged into daylight and exposed for the nonsense that it is. Better to whisper in secret, and give their empty brains something to spin from nothing.”
“What are they saying?” You asked. You’d half-expected something like this to happen, but you’d always thought your first reaction would be worry, or fear – and yet, right now, the news filled you with nothing but anger.
“They’re harmless, for now. Idle gossip. But if any fuel is added to them, they could prove dangerous–”
“What are they saying?” You repeated, cutting her off. You needed to hear it. You already had an inkling, but you needed it in words.
She sighed. “…You and Felix. I’m afraid my son will always be a subject for scandal in your future.”
Felix.
You turned away, eyes searching for the horizon, for something to fix on in the distance.
You hated that this didn’t surprise you. You hated that your paranoia, your constant insecurity about how you were perceived, about how your issues with Minho were perceived, that constant nagging feeling of your marriage being forced under a magnifying glass, was partially justified.
“Anything in particular?” You finally managed to ask when your voice returned to you.
“The stories change every week. Nothing has truly taken hold, which is a good thing,” the queen reassured you. “But until you and Minho…well, when your marriage seemed on shakier ground, I thought it was wise to keep my distance. I thought it would make things easier for you.”
Easier.
Right.
A lump was forming in your throat. You did your best to swallow it down.
“I thought you were angry at me,” you admitted. “For marrying Minho, instead of your son.”
“You did marry my son.”
There was such strong feeling in her voice that it forced your gaze back to her. The queen’s jaw was set, her mouth curved downwards slightly. Years and years of learned authority, of power however scant it might be, radiated through her as she stood firm.
“Minho is my son. In every way that counts.”
You stared, silent, as the faintest hint of guilt began to warm your cheeks.
The queen continued to walk, her gaze softening as she fell back into old memories. “He was so tiny when I entered the palace. I helped him take his first steps. I helped him learn his letters, I selected his tutors and I watched him grow.”
She slowed her steps, as you reached the edge of the forest that surrounded the palace. The two of you would have to turn back soon, but you took a moment to observe the quiet of the trees, the way that sunlight filtered through the newly-grown leaves.
“I might not be called his mother, but he is my son,” she finished, quietly. “And I’m very proud of him.”
She blinked rapidly a few times, clearing her throat, and turned to flash you the briefest of knowing smiles. “As mule-headed as he can be sometimes.”
You couldn’t help but laugh – albeit quietly, softly, as the emotion of the conversation still kept its grip on you. 
There was a pull in you – that familiar one, the one that urged you to please others, the one that pushed you to say exactly the perfect thing – to praise Minho to the Queen. To call him a good man. You knew she would want to hear it, she would want to hear how happy you had turned out in spite of it all, that by pure serendipity, your marriage to Minho was just as splendid and happy as the marriage with Felix you had been awaiting your whole life.
But the words stuck in your throat. You practically choked on them. Not just because they were untrue.
Because for a second – for such a brief, unthinking second – you had wanted them to be true, just as badly as she did.
Something cold began to take hold of you. It started in your gut, unfurling his long icy fingers, grabbing and twisting and squeezing as it slowly dragged the rest of you into its grip.
Betrayal. In that moment, you felt – you knew – you had betrayed Felix.
Did it show on your face? The queen was watching you now, and you couldn’t imagine the expression you must have had.
You swallowed, trying with all you had to shove that awful pain away.
You needed to say something. Anything.
“Minho…he’s always…he never seems to care when people believe the worst in him,” you said, the words stumbling out of you, as if your mind was two steps behind your mouth. “It’s almost like he prefers it. I don’t understand it.”
The queen took in your words. After one long pause, in which her eyes studied you so intensely that it felt they were about to burn through you, she turned to look up at the palace on the hill. Even from this distance, it seemed to loom over you, waiting so impatiently for you to return.
“This place…” she trailed off. Her jaw tightened - and in that one instant, as her eyes flashed, you saw the teenage girl that had first stepped foot into this court, so far from home and facing such a nest of vipers. “It pulls something out of the people here. A way to protect themselves. My husband already had his ingrained when I came here. I felt it take hold within myself. I watched it form in Minho, that desire to push people away. And you…” she turned to you, briefly, and you blinked at the twist of amusement in her lips. “What opposites you and he are. How perfectly you mirror.”
You stared. Her words were vague, cryptic…and yet, you couldn’t help feel as if you had been insulted. You opened your mouth to protest, but the queen had already turned away back towards the palace.
“You can’t live in a place like this without growing a few thorns,” the queen sighed. “Like the roses in my gardens, I suppose. The ones without thorns are the first to be eaten.”
There was something layered in her words, something sad, something resigned.
You realised then that of all the members of the royal family she had just mentioned, there was one obvious name left unsaid.
“Let us return,” she said, finally. “Before those guards grow too curious and drift too close.”
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Not only did Minho keep his promise of returning for dinner again that evening, he arrived even earlier than you.
You almost stopped at the door, thrown by the sight of him at the table, as perfectly poised as he always was, flicking through a sheaf of papers by the side of his plate. He looked up at your arrival, eyes meeting yours, and something caught in your chest.
You hadn’t realised how strange it would be to see him in person after last night, how…affecting.
Clearing your throat, you gave him a tight smile and made your way to your seat across from him – unfortunately for you, as it gave you a clear unobstructed view of Minho at a time when you very much wished for anything but that.
You reached for the decanter in front of you, eager to pour yourself a drink to deal with this building lump in your throat. To your surprise, you found it to be filled with water, not wine.
“How was your day?” you asked, finally speaking, hoping to sound calm and collected.
Minho eyed you carefully, as if you’d offered some sort of complex riddle, and not a feeble attempt at small-talk. “…Slow. Until the Lakelander delegation arrives, there’s nothing urgent to take care of. I’ve been looking over budget proposals for the harvest season.”
The harvest season was months away. In fact, you were almost certain that the fields had only just been sown at all. That truly did seem like a slow day. “I see.”
You knew you should try to continue the conversation, to ask him more about his work. Instead, you let your eyes drop to the plate of food in front of you, words dying on your tongue as you tried and failed to push down the memories of last night.
It felt so…deeply indecent, to sit across from Minho, and pretend you hadn’t touched yourself just a few feet away from him. And it was only made more indecent by the fact that he didn’t know.
It was all you could think about when you looked at him. You knew a secret, and he didn’t.
For dinner, the kitchens had prepared some sort of fish beautifully. Perfectly cooked, tender and soft and practically melting in your mouth.
You barely tasted it. You just kept eating, preoccupied, eyes trained on your plate. You were certain that if you looked up at Minho for too long, you would give yourself away.
In fact, the longer you sat there, the more uncertain you became.
Were you acting unnaturally? Were you too quiet, too reluctant to make conversation?
But, then again, what exactly did acting ‘naturally’ in Minho’s presence entail? You might have finally found yourselves on better terms, but…
“Something on your mind?”
Your eyes jerked up to meet his, caught off-guard.
How long had Minho been observing you? It looked like he hadn’t even touched his food yet, one hand resting on top of his papers, his other arm propped up on the table, hand curled under his chin as he looked at you.
You made an effort to swallow down the food in your mouth, despite how dry your throat had become, and reached for your water with all the nonchalance you could muster. “Not particularly. I was just…”
Think of something, think of anything.
“Wondering about those budget proposals. The harvest season must be months away. Was there really nothing else more pressing?”
Minho was quiet for a second, just long enough to spark the tiniest flicker of nerves in the pit of your gut, before he let out a sigh. “My father likes to drip-feed me responsibilities, one at a time. If there is anything else more urgent, I won’t know until my next meeting with him. And that won’t be for several days.”
There was an edge of frustration in his voice, something long-suffering, as if this were the topic of multiple arguments in the past, arguments that never seemed to resolve themselves in his favour.
He reached for his water, taking a sip, before his gaze returned to you. “That will also be when I talk to him about you joining the council.”
For a brief moment, all thoughts about the previous night and your embarrassing secret disappeared from your mind entirely. You leaned forward, intrigued. “What do you think his response will be?”
Minho tilted his head slightly in thought – and it filled you with surprise at the fact that you recognised this subtle shift in Minho’s body language, that at some point you had come to learn how to read him, even slightly – and replied. “…I won’t mince words–”
“Do you ever?” You retorted, almost without thinking.
Minho’s lips twitched, fighting a smile, but continued without acknowledging your mildest of jabs. “It will be a hard sell. My father is not a revolutionary. A large part of his popularity has come from his upholding of tradition. But he’s been dragging his feet on filling this council seat for months now, and for good reason. It’s a political minefield, and you are the best compromise. I hope he’ll see that.”
Minho was right. Your appointment to the council, however perfect a resolution to the infighting between your father and the blue-blooded nobility, would not be an easy sell at all. “I hope so too.”
The rest of your dinner passed in relative quiet, but the little calm you managed to gain in that time soon evaporated when you exited the dining room – and found yourself confronted yet again with the question of sleeping arrangements.
Minho’s bed was now the site of two of your most scandalous transgressions. Both of which involved Minho, both of which rendered you almost completely unable to look him in the eye whenever you thought of them.
In contrast to your internal strife, however, Minho seemed perfectly at ease.
He transported his sheaf of papers from the dining table to the couch, seating himself comfortably and setting them down on the low table in front of him.
Actually, perhaps ‘stack’ of papers might be more accurate a description than ‘sheaf’. Just how much work went into preparing these budget proposals? Had he done so little in his office all day to bring so much work to do in his chambers? Or was this a far more demanding responsibility than you had assumed?
All evidence seemed to point to the latter, as Minho worked silently throughout the evening, brow furrowed just a hint in concentration. He didn’t look up once, not when you rose to start preparing for bed, not when you returned in your nightclothes, not even when you wished him good night. He returned the words with a quiet murmur, clearly too enwrapped with whatever he was working on.
He was so engrossed, he didn’t see the way you hesitated by the bed.
Should you invite him over? He might have had work to do, but this would be yet another night that you went to bed without him. You were sharing a bedchamber now, surely the two of you should…
At least once, you should…
You tried to decide on the words of the invitation, of how to phrase it. A suggestion that he should bring his papers to bed, if he had so much work still to do? That was a reasonable question, wasn’t it? If he refused, you could press him on it, demand to know why it was beginning to seem as if he were still avoiding you…
“Yes?”
You blinked, emerging from your thoughts, to find Minho had glanced over to you. You likely made a strange sight, hovering by the bed, still yet to get under its covers.
The words were on the tip of your tongue, carefully crafted, ready to ask.
And then, traitorously, you thought of last night again.
Minho had been on the other side of the room, able to sleep through it, but if he’d been next to you… 
You pictured it. You pictured jostling him awake in your sleep, the embarrassing sounds you might make. What you might do.
An awful, awful wave of embarrassment crashed through you because what if you tried to grab at him in your sleep?
You swallowed, turning away without even attempting to reply to Minho, and slipped under the bedcovers without another word.
In the morning, you woke to find that Minho had already risen long before you. The bedchamber was empty, and again the sheets by your side were untouched.
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When the third night elapsed in just the same way, and the fourth, it became clear that this couldn’t be mere coincidence. Minho didn’t just happen to be so enthralled in his work that he fell asleep on the couch four nights in a row.
He was refusing to sleep beside you. You might have forced his hand in letting you share his chambers, but apparently he would not let that extend to his actual bed.
You were half-convinced he still held that early contempt for you, that he was still stubbornly maintaining that unconquerable distance between the two of you out of disdain.
And yet, he still sat with you at every dinner. He talked with you about his day, about your studies, telling stories about a particular odious noble that had done something to irk him, or listening to you talk passionately about a particular historical figure or event that had come up in your research. He’d even teased you once, when you confessed that you didn’t have the patience to read through the handful of art history books that Seungmin had added to your list.
The two of you were very slowly developing some odd sense of…well, perhaps friendship was still too strong a choice of word, but at least an understanding around each other that definitely hadn’t been present in the first few weeks of your marriage.
Nowhere else had this become so apparent than on your fifth evening in Minho’s bedchambers.
For a change of scenery, you had decided to spend the afternoon catching up on your research in these chambers, taking lunch there with your books, enjoying the little pocket of quiet in which Minho’s bedchambers were nestled within the palace.
To your surprise, and delight, the cat was back.
Initially, it was just as sullen as you remembered. It eyed you from across the room, perched on the low table yet again, sat as tall and imposing as it could make itself.
That was, until you called for a plate of kippers to be brought to you.
Despite its surly appearance, the cat barely needed convincing before it wandered over to you and the plate of fish, taking each offered kipper from your hand without hesitation. After three fish, it allowed you the softest of pets between its ears. After six, it drew closer, jumping from the table to the seat next to you, a little more relaxed as it took yet another fish from your hand.
To your delight, once the plate was empty, the cat did not abandon you immediately. In fact, it curled up near you – not quite close enough to be within easy reach, but enough that you could lean over and give it slow and gentle strokes as you continued to read. It even began to purr, just a little, whenever you scratched just beneath the base of its ears.
The more attention you gave the cat, the more you realised just how cared for it seemed to be. How comfortable it was with being touched, how well-fed it was, how soft its fur was. Even in a palace, this was not at all typical for a kitchen mouser.
“Someone spoils you, don’t they?” You murmured, giving the cat more strokes. “I can see why, you’re lovely. So cute.”
The cat, while not acknowledging your words, leaned its head up into your hand a little, chasing after those little scratches.
You were close to abandoning your studies entirely for the day, ready to devote your full attention to this adorable little creature, when the bedchamber doors swung open.
The cat jolted a little, jumping from its place on the couch – but to your relief, did not run out of the room. Instead, it lingered by the low table, ready to disappear under it, and stared down the sudden arrival.
Minho, mouth still parted slightly in whatever greeting he’d been about to give you, was silent as his gaze flickered between you and the orange cat eyeing him from the floor.
“We have a visitor,” you told Minho, solemnly, gesturing to the cat.
Minho nodded, briefly, still looking between you and the cat. “Yes. Yes, she seems to like it in here.”
“‘She’?” You repeated, raising an eyebrow.
Minho’s expression immediately smoothed into the perfect neutral, refusing to give even the slightest bit of emotion away. “…I assume.”
“Mm. Well, she seems to be a sweetheart.”
“Does she?” Minho repeated, glancing at the cat again, who seemed to have now relaxed. She began to approach Minho’s feet, sniffing familiarly at his boots.
“I may have had to bribe her with a plate of kippers,” you admitted, increasingly amused by the way the cat began to weave her way between Minho’s legs, but managed not to let it show too obviously in your face. “She seems very well-fed, for a kitchen mouser.”
Minho made a non-committal sound in response, not meeting your eyes. “…Yes, well, I imagine people must toss her dinner scraps here and there.”
“I suppose so. But who would be so soft-hearted in this palace, to feed a kitchen cat from their own plate?” You wondered aloud.
Minho’s face was a mask at this point, unmoving, perfectly calculated. He made his way to one of his armchairs, attempting to ignore the way the cat followed him happily, jumping up and perching herself on the arm of his chair.
You continued. “In fact, I wonder what a mouser would be doing here, so far away from the kitchens. That’s quite a distance for a cat to wander unprompted.”
“I suppose so,” Minho stated, perfectly neutral, even as the cat moved from the arm of the chair to seat herself in his lap.
You continued to stare at him, wordless, eyebrow raised – and finally, he relented.
“I might have given her some scraps, once or twice,” he admitted, even as the cat nuzzled into his hand from where she rested nearby. “I suppose she can’t help it if she isn’t good at mousing, and goes hungry.”
“True,” you allowed, thoroughly unconvinced by his façade. “And do you know if this failed mouser has a name?”
“…I think I’ve heard someone call her Soonie,” Minho said, and finally let his hand drift over to Soonie and begin to give her gentle scratching behind her ears. She purred loudly enough that you could hear her from where you sat, utterly content to receive affection from someone she was clearly very familiar with. “Somewhere. At some point.”
“How odd. Not many kitchen mousers have names.”
“Mm,” Minho hummed, noncommittal, but when his eyes dropped down to glance at Soonie, he couldn’t hide the slightest of smiles.
You took in the sight, this cold and prickly prince melting as he pet the scruffy little tabby cat. Minho was still in his usual daily prince attire, all high-necked and formal. His legs were clad in those familiar riding leathers that you never let yourself look at for too long, so you moved your attention instead to his jacket. Instead of a royal scarlet, this one was a dark blue, the fabric glinting in the candlelight from the clusters of beading embroidered within it. It suited him, you forced yourself to admit, far more than red did.
In fact, you tried to remember the last time Minho had worn the colour red, but nothing recent sprang to mind. Perhaps…
“I’m meeting with my father tomorrow,” Minho told you, and immediately your attention was captured.
Tomorrow.
The word sparked something in your gut – not quite dread, or alarm, but something akin to that. Urgency.
You swallowed back your excitement, remaining as calm and neutral as you could. “And you’ll talk to him about the council?”
“That’s the plan,” Minho replied, enigmatic.
You paused, and a quiet fell over the room. It wasn’t as if Minho was expecting you to reply – in fact, as Soonie settled completely in his lap, chin dropping to rest on his knee, he was looking down and away from you.
But something still just…tugged at you. Just a little bit.
Your eyes darted down to the book in your hands, and as nonchalantly as you could, you spoke. “…Thank you.”
You saw Minho move out of the corner of your eye, head raising to look at you.
“…I’m just doing what I’m supposed to,” Minho said, his voice detached and light. “One of my duties is to recommend the most capable candidate I can find. Don’t think of it as a favour.”
His words rendered you speechless, heart beginning to pound in your ears.
Most capable.
You were the daughter of a rich, powerful man. You had been given many compliments throughout your lifetime.
None of them had ever caused the same kind of lump to form in your throat as you felt now. None had caused this kind of strange heat to bloom behind your eyes, this way your heart swelled.
Most capable.
And just like that, you were spurred into action. If you had only one night left to prepare yourself and construct the perfect defence to prove why you deserved to be on the council, you would take full advantage of it.
You began combing through the papers you had with you, reading voraciously, consuming every piece of information available to you. You did this throughout dinner, chewing absently as you turned pages and scrawled notes. You were so devoted to your studies, you made your way through two full cups of tea before realising, upon looking up, that it was Minho who poured it for you each time.
Your eyes met, just as he held the teapot over your cup to pour a third time, and your gaze held long enough to note the flicker of amusement in his before he looked away.
When dinner was over, you retreated back to the couch with more reading to finish. Minho did the same, taking up the same spot he did every evening, that familiar pile of paperwork set in front of him. There was a strangely companionable silence as the two of you worked into the night.
You almost forgot he was there, despite the sounds of his writing and the crisp sounds of paper-shuffling, slipping into a quiet rhythm of reading and re-reading until words began to blur together.
As the candles burned low, and the hours grew later and later, you felt your concentration start to slip. Your eyes would close, just for a few moments, and the will to open them again slowly began to elude you. Exhaustion crept up on you, an old friend, and you found yourself repeating paragraphs, reading over the same sentence again and again and unable to take in its meaning.
Your eyes closed again, and you vaguely remembered telling yourself it would be just for a moment.
Sleep found you instead.
Blissful, calm. Warmth from the fire. Papers slipping from your hand, but never landing on the floor. You felt safe, wrapped in the quiet.
Something brushed your arm. Soft. Fur. Soonie?
Your eyes opened, bleary, only to find grey instead of orange. The wrongness of it jolted you, your hand darting out to grab at something pale and moving.
Skin.
A hand. Soft.
Except for a callus on the edge of a knuckle on the middle finger. You recognised it, for you had your own on the very same finger. It was where the pen sat whenever you wrote.
Your gaze wandered, still sleep-fogged, and there was no surprise when you saw the hand attached to a Minho.
Your grip on him relaxed, fingers slipping from his, and you barely mumbled a half-formed thought. “Your hand matches mine.”
Your eyes closed again, just as Minho stilled, and you drifted back to sleep.
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You woke up, neck aching, still upright on the couch. Your books and papers lay scattered around you, from where you’d been too tired to put them away properly. Morning light streamed in from the windows, and despite the ashes in the fireplace indicating that it had long since burned out, you found yourself unusually warm.
Ah. You had fallen asleep in the previous day’s clothes – and with very familiar furs draped over you.
There was a brief flash of a memory, of Minho’s hand pulling the furs over you. You dimly recalled saying something, perhaps, but the details escaped you. You pushed the furs off of you, your movements unusually gentle as you handled the blanket, as if it commandeered an unthinking respect from you. Sentiment, maybe.
As always, Minho had risen before you and left your chambers, but today this observation filled you with equal parts excitement and nerves.
Were they discussing it right at this moment? Did their meetings take place in the mornings? Or in the afternoons? Would other items be brought up first?
It was maddening, to have so many questions and no way to pursue the answers.
With a night’s worth of sweat sticking to your skin, you made up a bath for yourself, even heating the water entirely on your own. The only oils in Minho’s bathroom were lavender, suited for relaxation in the evenings rather than energising in the mornings, but you made do. 
The water was a touch cooler than how you usually liked it, but you didn’t have the patience to heat more water. Instead, you stripped and climbed into the bath with as much grace as you could muster and set about cleaning yourself.
This wasn’t the first time you had bathed entirely without servants – in fact, since you had moved into Minho’s chambers, the only times a servant had been permitted to enter was to bring them dinner each evening.
You found yourself becoming…amenable to that arrangement. It gave Minho’s chambers a sense of quiet, a private solace, that could not be found anywhere else in the palace.
Perhaps that was why it was so jarring, almost invading, when you heard knocking from afar, the sound of a door swinging open, and a woman’s voice ringing out hesitantly. “Your Highness?”
You startled, upsetting the water, letting some of it slosh over the side of the bath and onto the floor. “Yes? Is something wrong?”
Footsteps approached – timid, rushed – and the voice drew closer. “You’ve been summoned, Your Highness. By the king.”
Your stomach dropped, your breath cut short.
“He…said it was urgent, Your Highness, but I can let them know you’re still bathing–”
“No,” you blurted out, quickly, sharply. You got out of the bath hastily, dripping water all over the floor. “Help me change into something quickly, and I’ll go now.” 
There was only one reason you would be summoned by the king on this particular day, and from the sounds of it, it wasn’t to congratulate you on your new position on the council.
You needed to stand your ground, to explain your reasoning in the face of his refusal. And if there was any chance of persuading him to grant you the position, to ignore the concerns of your gender…
Well, telling the king that he needed to wait to discuss urgent business until the princess finished drying her hair was not the kind of image you wanted to present to him.
And so, you were laced into a dress with impressive dexterity by your maid, the luscious fabric increasingly dampened from your dripping hair. Was it an uncomfortable sensation? Absolutely, but it was difficult to dwell on it when all you could think of was why you were be summoned, what could have happened between the king and Minho to warrant such an urgent demand for your presence.
Discussions must not have gone as smoothly as Minho intended – but not so disastrously as to be dismissed out of hand.
As you slipped on a pair of shoes, your maid gave one last attempt to persuade you to wait. “Your Highness, are you sure…”
 You turned, smiling politely at her. “Yes. I’m sure it will dry soon enough. Thank you for all your help.”
She returned your smile, somewhat nervously, eyes darting to the dishevelled aspects of your appearance, but seemed a little more assured. Marginally. Barely.
Before she could protest again, you marched straight for the door.
Of course, as was so often the case with grand gestures, there were certain factors you didn’t think through entirely.
The palace halls were unforgivingly cold, especially as your hair continued to slowly drip water down your neck, soaking into the back of your gown. It made every step uncomfortable, as every little drop of water that landed on the nape of your neck was another reprimanding shock of chill.
You made sure to stand tall, proud.
If your head was bowed, if your shoulders were slouched and your steps more resembling a scurry than a stride, you would have made a pitiable sight. It would look as if you were caught off-guard, as if you were panicked, incapable, scared.
But with your chin held high, with your shoulders back and a confidence steeling you, this was intentional. This was a statement. An image fit for songs, for stories, a princess devoted to her role and to the orders of her king.
As you drew closer to the king’s chambers, navigating through the ever-narrowing hallways, you felt your chest begin to tighten. You realised you might genuinely hate it here, this deep within the very depths of the palace, its cold little stone heart. A king might be well-defended here, the walls witness to nearly a thousand years of history, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were descending into a tomb.
And then, you heard the voices.
The last time you had been summoned by the king, you remembered catching a snippet of conversation at the very doorstep of his chambers. That was how close you had to get before Minho’s and the king’s voices could be heard through the thick wooden door.
But now? You heard them in the corridor - because they were loud.
Not quite a screaming match between father and son, but–
“–talk of duty, but what’s your solution, Father? Burying your head in the sand, that tried and tested trick?”
You almost stumbled, shock rendering you clumsy, because did Minho just say that to the king?
“Caution, boy, is not ignorance. How do you mistake the two? You’re well-versed in the latter.”
The two guards in front of you exchanged a glance. You noted that they did not share your horror. In fact, you could almost mistake it as…resigned.
“Was it age that turned your belly yellow? Is that my fate too? Cowardice?”
“I will not be lectured by a son still wet-around-the-ears on age.”
Not just resigned.
Long-suffering.
They’d heard this all before. Frequently, by the looks of things.
And then, as if that knowledge had unlocked something, had lifted the veil over your eyes, you could hear it. The hint of familiarity, the ease with which the two hurled insults at each other.
This was not the first time Minho and his father had quarrelled. In fact, you’d wager this wasn’t the first time this week.
The argument paused when the guards knocked at the door, announcing your arrival. As the doors swung open, you caught sight of Minho and his father – not a hair out of place, not even a flush of anger to their cheeks – glaring at each other with familial exasperation.
Minho looked away first, turning to look at you – and paused.
His Majesty followed his gaze, and you watched those regal eyes blink in surprise at your appearance.
You must have made a sight, your gown on its way to being ruined, your hair still slick and dishevelled, trying hard not to shiver in the cold of these chambers.
“Your Majesty,” you greeted, not even the slightest bit affected, and bowed low. You straightened up before offering Minho’s greeting. “Husband.”
“My dear,” the king spoke, just the slightest bit alarmed. “If my summons caught you at an inopportune time, I assure you it’s perfectly reasonable to delay answering until you’re presentable. Don’t concern yourself so thoroughly.”
You smiled brightly. The picture of obedience, of devotion. “I hated the thought of keeping you both waiting. I imagine I know what this conversation is about.”
The king’s gaze flickered between you and Minho at this, a frown soon beginning to form. Still, there was a subtle note of surprise in his voice when he spoke again. “I see. The two of you are conspirators in this…”
“Proposal?” you supplied, gently.
“Attack?” Minho offered, bitterly.
“…Folly,” the king said, finally, turning back to you.
You dipped your head, keeping your voice soft and sweet. “I’m sorry to hear that you see it that way. I believe it to be a fair compromise, to ease the tensions at court.”
“Yes, Minho said the same thing,” the king sighed, dismissive. “Both of you are blind to the same issue. Any conflicts that your position on the council might resolve are outnumbered by the discord it would certainly cause.”
Minho sighed, eyes darting up to the ceiling. You wondered how many times he had heard that argument this morning. “And yet, a good king prioritises the future of his kingdom above all else, is that not so?”
The king shot Minho a look. It didn’t take much to realise that those were likely the king’s own words that had come out of Minho’s mouth, not his own.
“Son–”
“Talk to her,” Minho interrupted, gesturing to you in pure exasperation. “Listen to her. Ask her anything. She’s more than qualified to be on the council.”
After a moment’s hesitation, in which it looked as if the king was debating whether to indulge his oldest son or nip this matter in the bud entirely, he turned to you.
“…Very well,” he said, giving in. You watched as he made his way to the splendid-looking chair behind a monstrosity of a writing desk, sinking into it. For a brief moment, you thought you caught something of a grimace in his expression.
Exhaustion? Perhaps. It must have been tiring work, running a kingdom. Let alone arguing with Minho too. You had first-hand knowledge of how that could drain your energy.  
The king’s eyes became fixed on you, almost pinning you to the floor, as he spoke. “Suppose you were on the council, and a message was received, warning of a great army about to invade. What would you advise?”
Your brow furrowed as you considered the question. You needed to remain calm, measured, and use every scrap of information you had studied.
“Which border is the army advancing toward?” you asked, thoughtful.
The king’s face remained unchanged. “The one we share with the Lakelands.”
Interesting. No cardinal direction given – you assumed that must have been on purpose – but still plenty of information to form an answer. The Lakelands were in the north, and under treaty with your kingdom.
“I would advise you to send missives to Lords Kim and Geum in the north with instructions to muster their forces and man our security garrisons along the border. I would also–”
“Which garrisons?” the king interrupted, gently but firmly.
“Yalrock and Banna. Yalrock is the largest garrison on the northern border, Banna is strategically advantageous because of its position on the river plains. You’d be forcing the army to march along the mountain passes instead.”
The king’s expression remained cold, neutral – and you realised, in that moment, exactly where Minho might have learned the same habit. “Continue.”
“I would also advise you to send word to our allies in the hills and across the Sunrise Sea, informing them that the Lakelands have broken our treaty pact.”
“Broken the pact?” the king repeated. “I never said the Lakelanders were the ones invading.”
“The treaty pact also forbids the harbouring of any forces with aggressive intent towards treaty members. In this scenario, the Lakelanders would be doing just this – unless they themselves were invaded by this army too, which I doubt if we received no summons for aid or word from our ambassador there,” you said. Was this too much detail? Were you rambling? You did your best to keep your words steady, unrushed. “Therefore, the treaty would be broken.”
From out of the corner of your eye, you caught Minho watching you, a hint of a smile on his face.
The king, while perhaps a touch surprised at your answer, pressed on anyway with another question, changing the subject entirely.
“…Suppose Lord Sun’s lands are failing to produce the amount of grain demanded of them. How would you advise me?”
“I would be confused,” you admitted, “because Lord Sun’s lands produce fish, not grain.”
“And why is that?”
“Because his lands are in the east, along the coast. The land there isn’t arable.”
“Why?”
“The weather is too hot in the summer, too dry. There isn’t enough freshwater for crop-growing.”
The quickness of your answer was rewarded with the smallest – almost unthinking – of nods from the king. He paused once more, and spoke again. “Suppose I wanted to–”
“Another question?” Minho interjected, sighing, as he wandered across the room and took a seat by the window. He rested his head against his hand, elbow planted into the plush armrest of his chair. 
The king shot him a look, either for the interruption, or for the flippant tone Minho had used, or perhaps even for the way he was lounging in the presence of his king, but he made no move to reprimand him. Instead, he turned back to you. “Suppose I wanted to offer a gift to the Lakelander delegation when they arrive next month to renew the treaty. A personal one, not a grand spectacle of an offering. What would you suggest?”
You paused. This wasn’t a question that could be answered with any of your recent studies of war or economics or geography. This was a question of hospitality, knowledge you needed as a queen, not as a councillor.
It took a moment, longer than it took with the first two questions, but soon there was an answer in your mind. “When the last Lakelander delegation came to this country to sign the treaty, one of the gifts they gave Your Majesty were wild rose seeds. Wild roses that were native to the Lakelands, difficult to grow in this climate, meant to symbolise a new peace and the care needed to maintain it. Her Majesty, the queen, still grows these roses in her private gardens, does she not?”
The answer to your question did not come from the king, but from Minho. “She does.”
“Then, I would suggest a bouquet of these roses. It would be symbolic of the care this kingdom has taken to nurture this new relationship with the Lakelands, a sign that we do not take their gifts for granted.”
The king eyed you carefully for a moment, silent. “…You weren’t present at the first signing of the treaty, were you? You’re too young for that.”
“You’re right, I wasn’t present, Your Majesty,” you replied. “But the queen graciously allowed me to play in her gardens when I was a child, and taught me the origins of those roses.”
Not quite. The queen allowed you and Felix to play in those gardens. She told you the origins of the roses when Felix tried to pick some for you, and accidentally cut open his palm on the sharp thorns of their stems. You remembered him, tears in his eyes, sniffling as Her Majesty held the both of you close and warned him gently that these roses were wild, were Lakelanders just like her and a little like him, and because of that, they were fiercely protective.
You remembered sitting and watching the two of them exchange smiles, and silently wishing that you were a Lakelander too. You wanted to be protective. You wanted to be like the roses, like them.
“Any more questions, Father?” Minho asked, jolting you from your memories. “Or has she proven our point? Impressively?”
And again, just as they had last night, Minho’s words stirred something within you. A kind of warmth, filling your chest.
The king regarded the both of you, silently, before sighing. “Your education is…indeed, as Minho says, impressive.”
Your heart soared, mind so entirely filled with elation that you almost missed his next words.
“But I’m afraid that still does not change the obvious. I did not secure decades of unprecedented peace under my reign by breaking with tradition. A woman sitting on the council is not tradition.”
You swallowed, heart sinking just as sharply as it had risen just moments ago.
“…There is precedent,” you pointed out, softly. “I found records of Princess Jiyoon on the royal council, less than two centuries ago.”
“That is true,” the king conceded, before tilting his head slightly. After a moment of consideration, he pushed himself out of his chair with the same half-grimace glimpsed earlier, and crossed the room towards a bookcase stuffed with leather-bound volumes. His hands hovered over them, fingertips brushing their spines, until he found the one he was searching for and pulled it from its stack with ease.
He made his way back to the two of you, opening the volume and thumbing through the pages as he walked, before offering the volume to you.
You took it, uncertainly, and looked down at what exactly he had handed to you.
Council records – but unlike the ones you had studied with Seungmin, you were shocked at just how much more detail this version contained. You supposed that made sense. The records in the library were likely censored, or edited for public consumption. These were private, a king’s own personal records, passed down from ruler to heir most likely.
Jiyoon’s name was there, listed amongst the other councillors, but these records included a strange symbol next to her name.
You frowned, and the king spoke again.
“I imagine you found no records of any contributions she made, correct? No votes cast, no motions brought to attention?”
“…No,” you admitted, reluctantly, looking up at him as dread began to curl in the pit of your stomach.
“There is a reason for that. Jiyoon filled a particular role. If you scour through the legal treatise of the time – dry reading, all of it, but it is there – you’ll find it. Jiyoon was not granted the role of an adviser, but of an observer. A silent one, there only to watch the council proceedings so that she could better educate her heirs in service of her husband. That is the precedent that Jiyoon set.”
Silent. Heirs. Husband.
Of course.
Of course. You should have known. That was what it always came down to. Centuries of royal women, millennia of royal women, and it was always the same.
Silent. Heirs. Husband.
You should have known. You should have known not to get your hopes up.
“What are you saying?” you heard Minho ask, dimly, as these thoughts repeated endlessly in your mind.
“The observer is required to be silent. She cannot vote, she cannot dissent, she cannot speak even when called upon to do so in session. She observes.”
Minho made a sound of disdain, maybe even disgust. “Then, what’s the point? Why have that great of a mind on your council if she can’t even use it? What a waste.”
“Perhaps, but that is the precedent you argue for. If you seek a compromise, that would be it.”
“A compromise? What–”
“I would accept it,” you interrupted, quietly. Your eyes were trained on the floor, voice barely above a murmur. Your brain still thundered with those three words, again and again. Silent. Heirs. Husband. “If Your Majesty were so gracious as to offer this role, I would accept it.”
You didn’t have to look at Minho to know the way his mouth was parted in surprise, astonished and outraged in equal measure. You could sense it in his tone when he spoke. “You can’t be serious.”
You raised your eyes to look at the king, purposefully avoiding Minho’s stare.
“I hope His Majesty knows that I don’t ask for this council seat out of personal ambition,” you said, softly, lying through your teeth to your king. “You said Jiyoon took the role as a duty to her husband and her children. If anyone objected to my position on the council, I would ask you say the same of me.”
“…You would take the council seat in service of Minho,” the king said, and even he sounded sceptical. You weren’t sure what that said about your marriage, but it wasn’t exactly promising.
“And our future children. We both take that duty very seriously.”
“Do you?” the king questioned, sharply, pointedly, but surprisingly it wasn’t you he was addressing – it was Minho.
You might have tensed at such an insinuation, but Minho practically bristled.
“Don’t,” Minho warned his father, straightening up in his seat. No, more than warned, he practically spat out the word. “I thought we agreed.”
Agreed? Agreed what?
You glanced between Minho and his father, sensing a tension that remained unspoken as the two eyed each other, jaws both set.
You were clearly missing something vital to this exchange, some secret piece of information – and, as always, the idea chafed at you.
And then, with a quiet and cold anger that you hadn’t heard in weeks, Minho told his father. “You owe me this.”
The king’s expression twisted. It was guilt, you realised. “Minho–”
“You owe me something.”
Another pause.
And then, finally, the king broke this staring contest with his son to look at you. “…The role requires complete silence. If I decided to grant you the seat on these conditions, and you flout them immediately, I will not look kindly on it. Do you understand?”
“I do,” you replied, solemnly.
“…Very well,” the king said, eventually. “I’ll make the necessary arrangements.”
You did it.
It was a hollow victory, yes, but a victory nonetheless.
You couldn’t quite muster happiness about it, or even gratitude, but there was a sense of achievement.
You nodded, quietly, and curtsied low before the king. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
When you lifted your head again, you found the king glancing between your face and Minho’s before he spoke again.
“You do have quite the mind,” the king said, gaze still shifting between the two of you. “You might not be able to speak in the council room but…well, you share bedchambers now. Whatever you might discuss in there is your own private business. Is it not?”
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Within days, news of your appointment to the council spread across the palace like wildfire.
You expected this, to some extent. Precedent or not, observer or not, this was still an undeniably shocking development. You knew there would be whispers about it, gossip passed around, growing and contorting with each telling and retelling.
All of this, and still you did not expect the conversation you happened upon one evening as you took a shortcut through one of the palace courtyards on your way back from a tutoring session with Seungmin.
The sun had just descended below the horizon, casting the square into shadow wherever the dim glow of torchlight did not quite reach. You caught snatches of voices as you walked, whenever you passed doors to parlours, to sitting rooms, to the dozens upon dozens of meeting places for the elite that resided within the court. Some of these doors were cracked open to enjoy the fresh air brought by the open-air courtyard on their doorstep, unaware of any passers-by.
And then, one particular comment caught your attention.
“Perhaps the poor girl is simply bored,” a haughty voice said, with a hint of laughter. “That council room might be a dreary place, but I’d wager it’s a damn sight better than her bedchambers.”
You froze, half within shadow, half without.
There was only one person that comment could possibly be referring to.
Immediately, you slipped behind one of the stone pillars lining the courtyard, heart pounding.
Finally, after all this talk of rumours, of whisperings at court behind your back, you finally had the chance to listen for yourself.
“Careful, Park,” another voice cautioned, although sounding more amused than concerned.
“A prince too scared to share a bed with his wife for weeks after the wedding,” the first voice – Park – scoffed. “What, did he hope no one would notice?”
A third voice chimed in, low and gleeful. “You want to hear something good? My wife heard a maid talking the other day. They change the sheets of that marriage bed every day. And they’re always pristine.”
Your face heated, something approaching bile threatening to burn the back of your throat. There was something about hearing your privacy be so…violated, and said so casually. Your bedsheets? They all talked about your bedsheets?
“You know my theory,” the third voice spoke again. 
“Your wife’s theory,” Park corrected, sounding dismissive.
“It makes sense. She’s saving herself for the other brother. Traded one for the other before, maybe she’s waiting to trade back when he comes home.”
Felix.
Traded one for the other. Is that how they saw it? Is that how they all saw it?
“He’s not coming back,” Park scoffed. “Not for a long time. Not unless His Highness fancies looking down and wondering why all his children have the Lakelander look to them.”
Your heart stopped. You felt the blood in your veins freeze, matching the ice­-cold anger settling into your bones.
“Gods be good, close the door before you say horseshit like that. Moron.”
This was more than fury.
This was wrath.
You stepped out of the shadows, just at the right moment to lock eyes with Lord Park as he stood by the doors, his too-late hand stilled on the handle.
“Good evening, Lord Park,” you said, voice so syrupy-sweet and cloying, and watched the blood drain from his face as he stared back at you in horror. You craned your neck to peek over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of the two other men with him. “Oh, I see Lords Song and Ryu have joined you. How nice.”
“Y-Your Highness,” Park stammered, and there was genuine fear in his eyes.
He knew what you had heard. He knew the words that had come out of his mouth, and how close those words danced along the line of treason. It would take you only one conversation with Minho, or with the king, and his career would be done. His family. His fortunes. Possibly even his life.
You smiled brightly at him. “I look forward to seeing you next week at the council. I’ve heard you’re quite the contrarian. You’ve voted to reject the last, what is it, seven bills put forward by my husband?”
Park didn’t answer. Perhaps it was more accurate to say Park couldn’t answer. You wondered what could possibly be going through his head at that moment. You wondered if he had ever felt this afraid in his entire pampered little life.
You tilted your head slightly, eyeing him. “Perhaps from next week, you might find yourself second-guessing a decision like that. Don’t you think so?”
Park’s face, still pale, twisted into something approaching realisation. He seemed to grasp exactly what you were hinting at – the threat that remained unspoken.
“…Y-yes, Your Highness,” Park agreed, nodding erratically.
“And your companions? Perhaps they’ll have similar changes of heart?”
From behind Park, his friends stammered their assent, just as rattled.
You beamed.
“Perfect. Have a nice night.”
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You attended your first council meeting the very next week, finally taking that last empty council seat that had remained vacant for so long.
Sixty-two members attended the session in total.
You felt sixty-one pairs of eyes on you throughout.
You recognised quite a few of the faces in this meeting. Lord Young, as delightful as ever, sat just a few seats removed from the royal family – a position of great honour, especially for a man with neither blood nor marriage ties to the crown.
Lord Park had also made an appearance, and blanched the moment your eyes met his.
Good.
You paid the stares little notice, attention completely and utterly captivated by the debates that took place. Every idea proposed, every motion considered and accepted and denied, every opinion volleyed back and forth, you noted down.
You might have been silent, but you wrote feverishly. Pages and pages of scrawls, near indecipherable as you worked to keep pace with the spoken word of the other council members.
Minho was seated next to you. Of course he was – he served as a visible explanation for your presence there at all. To be useful to him, to educate his heirs and better his legacy. In the eyes of everyone else, your seat on the council was essentially just an extension of Minho’s.
You weren’t sure what to expect of him during these council meetings. You knew just how seriously he took his position as heir, and his duty to the kingdom – but you also remembered that carriage journey home from Lord Young’s orchards, the disdain he had for politicking, his derision in his voice when he talked of strings attached.
It turned out that in council meetings, Minho kept up the same perfect princely mask he always did in public. Never once raising his voice, never slipping into anger or mockery. Exemplary behaviour from the first second of the meeting to the last.
Except for one moment, when an old lord from the Tan family had loudly proclaimed an argument so poorly constructed, with parts so moronic that you made sure to underline his exact wording for its stupidity, that you heard the quietest of noises from Minho. When you glanced up at him, he was watching the debate with apparent rapt attention. If you weren’t sat so close to him, you would have missed the slightest way his jaw clenched, as if to fight a look of disdain as he watched Lord Tan blather on.
Minho proposed only one new bill – investment in a new mill, to be built in one of the kingdom’s slowly-dwindling rural villages, in the hopes of creating employment opportunities. You paused your notetaking to watch each council member cast their votes for or against the bill.
Most supported it. Some rejected it. Your eyes sought out Lord Park again, and you watched as he reluctantly raised his hand in favour of the bill, gaze nervously flickering towards you as he did so.
What an astonishing change of heart from the man. Who could have predicted?
Still, despite it all, the council meeting ended without incident. The issues tabled for the next meeting were fairly standard: a new maritime trade deal with a kingdom across the Sunrise Sea, preparations for next year’s census, the ongoing reports from the Lakelander delegation slowly making its way to the palace. You made note of it all, jotting down your own thoughts on each matter when you were able to, and kept the notes closely guarded on your person.
You made sure to take them straight to your bedchambers as soon as the meeting finished, intending to lock them away in your desk until dinner that evening, when you could discuss them with Minho.
To your surprise, instead of making his way back to his office to spend the rest of the working day, Minho followed you back to your shared chambers. You tried and failed not to focus on his footsteps, how they matched your pace precisely, echoing along the empty corridors.
The slightest sense of frustration sparked within you. If you had to be watched by gossiping onlookers, why couldn’t they at least see this? Minho ignoring his usual duties to accompany you back to your bedchambers? Let them whisper about that, sordid or not, that could at least be useful.
You pushed away the thought with one last scoff at your own poor luck, reaching your chambers without so much as a single pair of prying eyes to witness you.
“So,” Minho said, as the doors swung shut behind the two of you. “How did you find it?”
Frustrating. Exhausting. Borderline insulting.
“Informative,” you replied, collapsing into a seat. Your hands ached from how feverishly you had written throughout the meeting, and you began to clench and unclench your fists in the hopes of relieving the pain. “I made a few notes.”
“I noticed,” Minho commented, eyebrow raising as he appraised the pile of papers at your side. “They look…detailed.”
“They are,” you confirmed, picking the papers up and beginning to flick through them. “If I can’t speak my mind in that room, writing will just have to do.”
For now, you added internally. You refused to accept that this silent role would last forever.
“Can I…read them?” Minho asked, and his question came out hesitantly, almost cautiously.
You looked up, surprised. You weren’t sure how much use these notes would be – you were both just at the very same meeting after all – but there was something about the request that was almost…endearing.
Minho. Endearing.
Hell had truly frozen over.
“Of course,” you replied, holding the notes up.
Minho paused for a moment before, slowly making his way towards you. When he sat next to you, he was close enough that his jacket sleeve brushed your bare arm.
You cleared your throat, focusing your attention on anything but how close he was. “These pages are about the logging site proposals, this one was on the Lakelanders’ progress, this…oh, this page is actually about Lord Tan.”
“Lord Tan?” Minho repeated, one eyebrow raised.
“Yes. He’s…” you trailed off, trying to think of a polite way to phrase it. “…He’s a blithering idiot, honestly.”
Minho, to your surprise, laughed. Openly, loudly, with a note of genuine delight. A few weeks ago, you wouldn’t have thought him capable of producing such a sound.
“Do you know how many hours of my life I have wasted listening to that old man ramble incoherently?” he asked. “There were moments I was driven half to madness. But he was my father’s first real supporter when he became crown prince, so he’s adamant on keeping the man around.”
You watched as Minho turned the page over, half-smiling to himself.
“He’s a sentimental old fool like that, sometimes,” Minho said, too lightly to really be considered critical – or treasonous.
“Who was your first supporter?” You asked, curiously.
Minho paused, the lingering traces of cheer disappearing before your eyes. The shift in his mood was almost tangible, and it felt as if you had made some sort of misstep in a dance, thrown yourself and your partner out of rhythm.
His gaze flickered upwards, so very briefly, to look at you, before moving downwards. Down to your notes, down to where the space between your bodies was at its narrowest, barely a few fingers’ width between your skirts and his thigh. He took a breath.
“…Felix,” Minho said, softly, discreetly shifting away as he held your notes out to return them. “He was the only one to never doubt me. Not even for a second.”
Yes. Yes, that sounded like Felix.
You took back your notes, and tried not to notice how Minho avoided your touch as your notes exchanged hands.
A new silence fell between you.
Stifling.
Deafening.
You tried to take a deep breath, and stood up, making your way over to your desk to lock away your writings from prying eyes.
From behind you, Minho’s voice brought you to a halt.
“We haven’t talked about Felix,” he noted. “…And we probably should. At some point.”
He said it so plainly, so devoid of nuance or emotion. As if it were a mere observation, a comment about the weather and nothing more. As if his words didn’t strike something deep and vulnerable within you, like fingers clumsily probing a freshly-formed bruise.
You hated his apparent nonchalance. You despised it, and you envied it because you might never be able to do the same. To speak Felix’s name as if it meant nothing to you.
To speak his name as if…
To speak…
You…
Realisation – cold, violent realisation – hit you at once.
You had not. Not once. In months.
It had been months. And you had not spoken Felix’s name.
Not since your wedding day.
Others had. Countless others had. They murmured it gently and sweetly like Her Majesty, or they crowed it before you mockingly like those noblemen, or they threw it at you, cold and cryptic and horrifically empty like Minho.
They dragged him out of your memories where you kept him locked away.
Away, where he was safest to you. Safest from you. Safest for you.
“…No. We haven’t,” you said, and the words were quiet. Pained. Final.
The two of you did not speak again that day.
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Soon enough, your father found you.
Your mother, all those weeks ago when she summoned you for that painfully awkward afternoon tea, had at least shown you the decorum your new status demanded and sent you a formal request.
Your father, a proud man, a pragmatic man, had no patience for such etiquette.
You were in the library, sat with Seungmin and poring over budgetary records with tired and bleary eyes, when he came marching in. He was flanked by two panicked guards, too fearful of your father’s status to lay their hands on him, too mindful of their duty to let him wander freely.
They fixed you with beseeching looks. “Your Highness, we – no one told us…y-your father…”
“Desires to speak with his daughter,” your father finished, in a tone you’d never heard from him before. “Urgently.”
Usually, your father was calm, collected, never one to show even a hint of vulnerability.
Now, here, he was impatient. Almost rattled.
You rose to your feet, so thrown off-kilter by the situation that you were a touch unsteady. After a moment, you nodded to your guards. “Very well. Please leave us.”
They did just that – and so did a third guard who had been sat just a few paces away from you and Seungmin.
Your father’s eyes darted to your tutor. “Him too.”
Seungmin, however, stayed seated. Slowly, he laced his fingers together and rested his hands on the table in front of him, returning your father’s glare with an unimpressed stare.
“It takes a bold man to order around a princess,” Seungmin remarked. Gently, as always, but firmly.
Your father’s expression hardened. He opened his mouth to speak back, but you cut him off at the pass.
“He’s right, Father,” you said. You couldn’t quite shake the nerves from your voice. You supposed that was only natural, after a lifetime of loyally following his orders and keeping your mouth shut in the process. “What’s wrong? Has something happened to Mother?”
Your father stared at you for a moment, almost…bewildered. He recovered quickly enough. “Your mother is fine, which is more than I can say for the state of your…of…” he gritted his teeth, swallowing back whatever he desperately wished to say, and instead cut straight to the point. “You took a seat on the council?”
His question, and the venom behind it, almost took you aback.
Still, you lifted your head, trying to stand firm. “Yes, I did.”
“How could you be so…foolish?” your father demanded to know, anger giving way to frustration. “I could have protectedyou there.”
It took you mere moments to read between his words.
You didn’t take a seat on the council.
You took his seat.
“Could you?” you said, swallowing. “Or would you have protected your own interests?”
Your father’s eyes blazed at the accusation. You knew the look. Your own temper was a family trait – and it certainly didn’t come from your mother.
He thundered his response. “You are my daughter! My interests are your interests!”
“Are they?” You shot back, your voice rising to match his.
“We are family, we are blood–”
“And what have I done, except increase our family’s legacy?” you interrupted him. “I did that, I secured our first council seat.”
“And what seat is that?” he replied, incensed. “A mute councillor, never to vote, never to speak?”
Your face burned, as you tried to think of a rebuttal to his questions. Something began to twist in the pit of your stomach.
Your father sighed, fixing you with a stern look. “Let me be frank, girl, if you’re so eager to play politics. Your position is not secure.”
You swallowed. “I know–”
“No, you do not,” he snapped, briefly raising his voice, before dropping his voice to a more controlled volume. “You inspired the love of the people, but what else? I know half a dozen lords are plotting your annulment, and another dozen with their own girls waiting in the wings. What will you do with that council seat, when a proposal comes to terminate your marriage? Watch silently when they vote to cast you aside?”
You stared at him, as that twisting sensation in your gut finally earned a name: dread. You tried to respond. “Royal marriages are a king’s prerogative, they can’t–”
“Yes, they can,” your father said, simply. “Any silver-tongued politician could convince the king that your marriage is a matter of the state. Perhaps if you were married to the younger prince, you’d be safe, but you’re married to the heir–”
At those words, coming out of your father’s mouth of all people’s, your vision turned red. Your response, when it came, hung heavy in the air.
“And whose fault is that?”
Your father’s eyes widened, and he hissed. “Mind your tongue.”
“I did,” you said, your voice cracking. Before you could top yourself, words began tumbling out of your mouth, every secret silent thought that had festered in the darkest, most vulnerable corners of your mind, spilling to the surface. “I was happy and content and loved, and I still bit my tongue and let you scheme to take it away. I married the right brother for you, are you still not satisfied?”
In an instant, your father stormed his way towards you, eyes blazing as he loomed over you. “Be careful, girl.”
For a moment, you thought he was threatening you. Your own father.
And then you watched his body crumple slightly, panic and concern finally bleeding through all that pomp and anger. “Especially about…that. Him.”
You watched him take a deep breath, rendered speechless. You had never – not once, in all your life – seen your father like this.
He seemed almost…scared.
“If there are plots to annul your marriage, there are plots for something far darker. Annulment would be catastrophic, but bearable. But any whispers of adultery, of treason? To see you executed…”
Gently, he lifted his hand to cup your cheek. And for a moment, you were four years old again, showing your father your very first letters, beaming as he called you his little princess, long before the rest of the kingdom was obliged to.
“You are my child. My only child. Doubt my intentions, if you must, but do not doubt my love.”
You were stunned into silence. His words should have been touching, and you supposed on some level that they still were. But you felt almost numb as you absorbed them. Was it shock, hearing your father speak of his emotions so plainly? Perhaps.
There was a small part of you that whispered if this was all just too little, too late.
Your father dropped his hand and stepped away from you, silence filling the air between the two of you.
Then, he paused, and turned his attention to something behind you.
For a moment, you felt confusion, turning to follow his glare – before embarrassment consumed you.
Seungmin, of course, had been sitting there the whole time.
“And you,” your father interjected, his voice cold and bordering on menacing, pointing at your tutor. “If you breathe a word of this–” 
Seungmin, despite showing the very clear signs of awkwardness one would expect from someone who had just witnessed such an intense and private family dispute, managed to keep calm as he replied with unfailing honesty.
“I am no fool. This position keeps my family fed, and will see my sisters marry well. I am only here at Her Highness’s request, and if the princess goes, this job goes with her,” Seungmin said, fiercely. “…And if nothing else, I know about your reputation, sir. I would rather like my tongue to remain inside my head.”
Your eyes widened.
That was a bold insinuation on Seungmin’s part. Tongue mutilation had been outlawed years ago, deemed too brutal a punishment when death was a surer way to guarantee silence.
You half-expected your father to deny this with bluster and offence. And yet, all he did was eye Seungmin silently, before nodding once and turning to the door.
As he approached it, your father spoke one final time to you.
“Keep your wits about you. You’ve made a dangerously bold move, and your enemies will use it against you,” he warned, before finally leaving, letting the heavy door slam shut behind him.
The echo of it reverberated across the library, as you stared after him with far more questions than answers.
It was Seungmin who first broke the silence, clearing his throat with just a touch of unease. “…Well, I imagine you’re no longer in quite the right mindset for last year’s harvest calculations. Would you like to finish our sessions early today, Your Highness?”
You didn’t speak. You barely looked at him, in fact, as you silently sank back into your chair.
Seungmin waited a moment or so longer, beginning to tap nervously on the smooth wooden surface of the table in front of him. “…Your Highness?”
“I…” you trailed off, as you realised the incriminating words that had fallen from your own lips just moments ago, and your head jerked towards Seungmin in panic. “Don’t… I don’t know how much you report to Minho about our lessons. But…please don’t tell him what I said about being…you know, about…”
“Biting your tongue?” Seungmin supplied for you, but his tone was heavy, knowing. He knew that wasn’t the offending part of your outburst.
“Yes,” you replied in the same tone, and when your eyes met, you knew you had an understanding. “He’s a smart man, I’m sure it’s nothing he doesn’t already know, but…it just seems cruel. I think. To hear it directly.”
Seungmin observed you for a moment, brow furrowing just a touch. He opened his mouth as if to say something, hesitated, before speaking anyway. “Actually, you should know that I don’t ‘report’ anything to Minho. Sometimes, he asks questions about what we study, and I answer them. Nothing more.”
You blinked, and before you could stop yourself, your curiosity won out. “What kind of questions?”
Seungmin eyed you again, and for a split-second, you could have sworn something akin to amusement quirked the corner of his mouth. Whatever it was, it disappeared in an instant, as he replied. “He asks about what interests you. Once, he asked about a book he’d seen you reading, and took a copy for his own use.”
“Oh.”
Whatever you were expected, it wasn’t that. A strange, unbidden feeling began to spread in your chest, warm for just a moment before common sense returned and drove it away.
“Well, I suppose that makes sense. Minho sometimes takes an interest in my education. Perhaps he wants to test me on it, make it a competition or something.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” Seungmin said, perfectly politely. “Or something, indeed.”
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Soon after that, the first move was made against you.
Details were leaked about the maritime trade deal discussed in the council meeting. Confidential details that were now freely gossiped about, within the palace and without. No one could say for sure who was the source of those leaks, but the evidence was damning.
Before you joined the council, there hadn’t been a single leak in years. And now, after you attended your first meeting, sensitive information was being bandied about within days.
There was only one simple conclusion to be drawn about the identity of the leaker.
You.
Your father was right. Whoever your enemies were, they’d been scheming, and they did use your position on the council against you.
Perhaps the library would have been a better place to take a breath, dwell on the knowledge a little longer, turn it over in your mind alone to work out the whos and whys and how to press forward.
But your feet drew you to your chambers, through the doors, and even once inside they refused to let you sit idle. You paced, backwards and forwards, going over the situation, the accusations about to be levelled at you, the defences you might need, the evidence you had and did not have to prove your innocence.
You paced and paced, and thought and thought, until your head spun and your feet threatened to leave its imprints in the stone beneath you, until it became clear to you exactly what you were doing.
You hadn’t chosen these chambers for silent contemplation.
You were waiting here.
Because when you imagined defending yourself, you didn’t picture a faceless mob before which to protest your innocence. You didn’t picture the king, and his councillors, and the lords scheming behind your back.
You pictured Minho. His expression flickering between accusing, betrayed, angry, cold, pitying, wounded. It was him you wanted to convince before any others, as illogical as it was.
It was hurt, perhaps, maybe, at the idea that Minho thought you would betray his trust. You knew how he’d pushed hard for your position on the council. You would never throw it back in his face like this, and you needed to make sure he knew that.
You questioned just when Minho’s good opinion of you had become so…important.
Eventually, the chamber doors opened, and your words came spilling out at the mere sight of Minho in the doorway.
“I didn’t do it,” you declared. You wished you could be calmer. You feared that the panic in your voice would mislabel you guilty.
Minho, blinking in surprise for a moment at your sudden outburst, regarded you calmly. “Ominous words to hear when entering a room.”
“I’m not the leak,” you clarified, with little patience for his cleverness. “And don’t pretend you haven’t heard about it. I know the information being spread, and I know fingers are pointing in my direction. With some reason, I suppose, but it was not me.”
“You seem agitated,” Minho remarked, maddeningly, all but ignoring your words as his hands moved to begin undoing the fastenings of his jacket. It was some sort of rigid construction, high-necked and broad-shouldered, and perhaps once the imposing princely sight of him in it might have intimidated you. Now, there was a familiarity to the sight – and a bizarre comfort that came along with it, perhaps. “Usually I’m the one to spark it. It’s actually quite bemusing when something else is the source.” 
You stared at him for a second. Off-guard, waiting for any kind of actual response to what you were saying. When none came, irritation sparked in your chest. “Minho–”
“You’re innocent,” Minho said simply, halting you in your tracks. “I know. I told my father as much.”
It took you a moment to register exactly what he said, your head too full of practised arguments to leave much room for the recognition that Minho didn’t need to hear them.
He believed you without them.
It felt as if you had been barrelling towards something at high speed, a runaway horse, only to come to a sudden jarring stop. Air left your lungs in one unconscious breath, like a weight that had crushed your chest had been lifted.
“…Good,” you said, haltingly, and then relief struck you with such a violence that your eyes began to sting with tears.
At the sight of them, Minho’s expression shifted instantly from flippancy to something bordering on horror.
Frustrated, and more than a little mortified, you wiped them away impatiently. “Don’t. I’m fine.”
Minho opened his mouth, about to speak–
“No,” you interrupted, pointing at him, embarrassment warm in your cheeks. “This is just a serious allegation to be faced with, and I’m…relieved that I don’t have to waste my time defending myself.”
You managed to regain your composure, with no more tears threatening to make an appearance and humiliate you further. Taking a deep breath, you refused to look at Minho, refused to know if he believed your words or if that damned expression still lingered on his face.
“People are talking,” you said, finally.
“…People always talk. We’ve discussed this before.”
“It’s different now. I thought it was just idle gossip before, but…” you trailed off. “My father came to me a few days ago. He believes some of the nobles are scheming to dissolve our marriage. Free you up to marry a daughter of their own, and have me removed.”
Or worse.
You hadn’t fully comprehended what your father had hinted to you that day, not until now. You could see it all now. The image of your execution, a hundred smirking noblemen awaiting it, ready to thrust their own girls into your role. Perhaps to perish after you. Their scheming would not end with your death. They would simply turn on each other, try again and again, a dozen dead brides falsely accused and outmanoeuvred and doomed from the start.
And then, you snapped out of your dark thoughts when you realised that Minho had closed the distance between you, standing almost toe-to-toe.
His eyes sought your gaze, and held it.
“They can’t do that,” Minho said, firmly, gently. Certain. “We are married, and nothing can change that now.”
“It could. It would be easy, really,” you argued. “There’s no real proof of our consummation. You could say it never happened, and our marriage could be annulled by day’s end.”
“I would not,” Minho said, firmly. “Believe what you will about me, but I would never break off our marriage with a lie like that. Those are a craven’s actions, not mine. I swear it.”
Perhaps to your surprise, you found that you believed him. Minho could be called a great many things – indeed, you have called Minho a great many things – but ‘craven’ was not one of them.
Minho’s lips set into a grim, serious line. “Is that what concerns you? That I would set you aside?”
Would he?
Even after so many years around Minho, after weeks of being married, you still could not guess his true intentions.
“…I don’t know,” you confessed.
Something small flashed in Minho’s eyes. It looked like hurt.
“You have done a lot for me these past few weeks. More than I ever expected. More than I could ever ask for, truthfully. I think…I hope that we are friends, or at least something approaching it,” you told him, because it was true, and the lastthing you wanted was to destroy this budding trust you had developed between the two of you. Still, he deserved total honesty. “But I know you didn’t want this marriage, Minho.”
Minho was silent for a moment. You knew he couldn’t refute it, and he didn’t try to.
Instead, to your surprise, his hands lifted to rest gently on your shoulders. You could feel their weight on you, and how warm it was. Solid. Grounding.
He held you there and when he finally spoke, his tone was serious – grave, almost.
“…The night before Felix left for the coast, he came to me,” Minho admitted. “He made me swear – on my life, on his, on my mother, on my crown, on everything I have ever valued – that I would protect you from harm.”
Your lips parted in shock.
Felix.
“I love my brother, more than anything. He was once my only friend, in all the world. The very best of me,” Minho said, words beginning to pour out of him, as if finally freeing thoughts he had kept buried deep inside for months, perhaps even years. “I didn’t tell him how much he meant to me, not really. And now…”
Minho swallowed, eyes closing for a brief second, before meeting your stare again with a quiet intensity.
“He will never forgive me for marrying you. Never. The least I can do is honour the last thing – the only thing – he has ever asked of me.”
You didn’t know what to say.
A sudden realisation hit you. A small piece of an inscrutable puzzle, revealed.
“Is that what you meant, when you told your father he owed you something? For making you marry me?”
Minho swallowed, pausing for a second, and answered.
“Yes, in short. My father and I have had our squabbles but this marriage…it was the first true fight we had. The first time he’s ever had to order me to do something as a king, not asked me as a father. We haven’t seen many things eye-to-eye since. He doesn’t…understand,” he said, and then, almost to himself, “but he doesn’t need to. I know I’m doing what is right.”
There was a terrible sadness in his eyes, a shocking vulnerability. It was almost alien to see such an expression on Minho’s face, to glimpse beyond the walls he so skilfully kept up.
Unthinkingly, you surged forward and wrapped your arms around him.
He stilled in your hold, tense with surprise. You ignored it, squeezing him tightly, pressing your face into his chest. It was an awkward embrace, perhaps. The hard edges of the embroidery on his jacket dug into your cheek, stitching rough against your soft skin, and Minho’s movements were stiff and unpractised as he returned the hug.
But it didn’t need to be perfect. It only needed to prove the one thing you intended to show him.
Trust.
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That night, when dinner was cleared, Minho retreated to his couch and paperwork. You left to change into your sleepclothes in private, as usual, and returned to slip quietly into bed.
There, however, you fidgeted and fumbled with exactly what to say before finally, bravely, breaking the silence. “…You can sleep in the bed. Next to me. If you were…unsure about it.”
Minho’s stare in response was indecipherable. But he nodded once, and when he finished whatever report he had picked up from the pile of papers, he disappeared to the bathroom and reappeared dressed for bed.
White linens. Thin, soft. You remembered them from your wedding night.
It was enough to make your breath hitch – and, embarrassed, you rolled to your side to avoid looking at Minho, lest you stared too openly at him.
You heard him pull back the covers on his side, and felt the weight of him sink into the mattress. He seemed to keep his distance, as not a single part of you touched, and yet you were painfully aware of his presence there.
Silence fell over the two of you, interrupted only by quiet breaths in tandem.
Something squeezed gently in the pit of your stomach. You recognised it as something like anticipation, which was bizarre, as you knew nothing was going to happen.
Nothing would happen.
…And yet, you supposed it would be easy for Minho to shift closer towards you. You could imagine him reaching over, and setting his warm hand on the curve of your hip.
Would he turn you, so you were facing him? Perhaps, but you could also see him keeping your back to him. Letting you hide your face, a small mercy, because he would probably know how embarrassed you would be.
Your eyes drifted shut.
It would be easy for him to press his face into the back of your neck, his mouth into the crook where your neck and shoulder met.
And perhaps he would whisper, soothingly, as his hand travelled lower, seeking the hem of your nightgown, sliding it up your thighs and…
No.
Your eyes snapped open as you scolded yourself, a mixture of excitement and shame heating your face. You banished every remotely inappropriate thought from your mind, turning to lie on your back and stare up at the ceiling.
You wondered, briefly, if Minho was looking up at the same thing too. You refused to glance over at him to check. The thought of seeing his face after all…that that had been swirling in your thoughts? Absolutely not.
It took far longer than usual to fall asleep in the deafening silence, but eventually you managed to.
The next morning, you awoke and realised, for the very first time, you had woken up before Minho. He was sleeping peacefully, unaware that the two of you must have turned to face each other in the night, bodies still a careful distance apart.
With one exception – Minho’s left arm lay outstretched, the knuckles of his hand just barely kissing the delicate skin of your wrist.
You stared at where your hands touched, skin-on-skin.
And you did not move your hand away.
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yxngbxkkie · 10 months
Text
mornings with minho ✨️
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the final part of my mornings with mini series! i really hope you guys like this one 🥰💓 enjoy!
~
The feeling of fur startles you, jerking your head back slightly. "Hm?" You grumble to nobody in particular, slowly opening your eyes to see Dori standing right in front of you. "Oh, hi, baby."
He rubs his head against your face, causing you to chuckle. You scratch the top of Dori's head as he lays down beside you, curling into himself.
You close your eyes again, hoping to fall back to sleep quickly. "Dori," the sound of your husband's voice keeps you from sleeping, and you lift your head up.
"He's right here," you mumble while lifting the blanket, revealing the tiger cat.
"Did he wake you?" Minho whispers, climbing onto the king-sized bed.
You nod your head, laughing lightly. "Yeah, but it's okay. He just wanted some cuddles," you mumble, gliding your fingers along the cat's spine.
"He's just like his father," Minho jokes with a smirk, moving some of your hair out of your eyes.
"Are you going to start rubbing your head against my face too?" You ask, giggling. Minho hums before leaning down, rubbing his forehead with yours. More giggles erupt from your lips, and you playfully push him away. "I hate you."
The brunette laughs before placing a kiss on your lips. "No, you don't," he says with a grin. "If you didn't, you wouldn't have married me."
You suck in a breath, agreeing with him before pulling him into another kiss. "You're right," you whisper against his plump lips, grinning slightly. "I'm so in love with you."
"Me too, honey," Minho kisses you a third time, hooking a finger beneath your jaw.
He moves the covers and slides back into bed. He ducks under the blanket, feeling the back of his hands against your side. You can hear him mumble quietly, knowing that he's trying to persuade Dori to move.
It doesn't take long for Dori to leave your side, watching the cat jump off your shared bed. Minho wraps his arms around your waist, pressing himself against you.
"You made him move just so you can cuddle me?" You laugh, moving the blankets to see him.
"I didn't make him move," he mentions, lifting his head to meet your eyes.
"Sure, bunny," you shake your head, bringing your hand to his hair. Minho nuzzles his face into your tummy as you comb your fingers through his hair.
His hands dip under his shirt you're wearing, and a shiver runs down your spine at the ticklish feeling. You glance towards your phone as Minho traces shapes on your lower back, checking the time.
"Do you have to work today?" You ask him in a whisper, noticing it was almost seven am.
He shakes his head, scooting up the bed a bit so he's face to face with you. "No, the big boss man gave us a few days off," he informs you.
"Oh! A few days, you say??" You joke, bringing one of your hands to his face. "What are you going to do with yourself?"
Minho gives you a look before dipping his head into the crook of your neck. "Spend time with you, honey," he sighs, placing light kisses on your skin.
"You're so cute, bunny," you whisper, tilting your head back. Minho trails his lips up your jawline before kissing your lips softly.
"I love you."
You kiss him a couple of more times, bringing both of your hands to his cheeks. "Hey, bunny?" You whisper, suddenly feeling a bit nervous.
Your husband pulls back from you, his dark eyes meeting yours. You can see the love he has for you in them and it makes you less nervous. "Yeah, honey?" He whispers back, leaning into your touch.
"You know how we talked about starting a family?" You ask, stroking his cheeks. Minho nods his head in response, seeing the confusion settling on his face. "Well, I'm pregnant."
~
tagging: @thewxntersoldier @reddesert-healourblues @spacegirlstuff @moon0fthenight @foxinnie8
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20cxbe · 1 month
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LITTLE ACCIDENTS (TEASER)
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parings; lee minho x reader
synopsis; one night drunk was all it took to create a heinous mistake, a mistake that would cost you a lifetime.
mentions; stray kids, sana from twice, tba
warnings; ceo!minho x fem!reader, non idol au, swearing, smut (minors dni), mentions of alcohol, unprotected sex, fingering, hints at a creampie, soft dom!minho, short of switch!reader, mentions of pregnancy, lemme know if i missed anything…
word count; 1733
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There were blaring noises and countless wasted people surrounding your staggering figure, you felt a headache oncoming, Shit, I knew I shouldn’t have taken that shot. You were at your company’s party, celebrating the hotel’s sixth year anniversary, and transition to a new owner. Normally you wouldn’t attend such useless parties, but all your friends were attending, and unfortunately your only friends were your coworkers.
“Yn, get over here.” Speaking of the devil, Felix, the bartender at the hotel, was calling you over to the dance floor.
“Coming!” You shouted from across the room, you’d rather not, you considered yourself a shy person, who didn’t like the spotlight, but not only were you drunk, which made all rational thoughts irrational, Felix was smiling. And Felix’s smile could make anyone crack. You spent a good chunk of your time dancing with Felix and cracking jokes with those around the two of you, which was why you didn’t notice the man staring into you from across the room.
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“Minho?” A young man with blonde hair and piercing brown eyes stared at the man. “What are you looking at?” His name was Chan, Bang Chan to be precise, he was the co-owner and best friend of Lee Minho, the new owner of the establishment Stay In Hotel.
“Hmm?” He turned around to face Chan, “I’m not looking at anything, I’m looking for Jisung.” That was a blatant lie, If he needed Jisung he would’ve just called him, but Chan didn’t care to know the truth,
“I don’t think he’s on the dance floor…” He was right, Han Jisung was the last person anyone would ever expect to be in the spotlight on the dance floor, which was probably why others found the friendship between the two of them strange. Lee Minho a cold stern man, who would do anything to get his way and had barely any time for others, was childhood friends with Han Jisung, the sunshine of the town who was always there for his friends, and would do anything for anyone as long as it didn’t involve putting himself out there.
“I think 'm going to head out,” Minho looked at Chan, “’m tired, see you tomorrow.” He stumbled on his words as he pushed past Chan who said a quick goodbye before turning to a random guest to start a conversation. Minho walked down the stairs clutching to the railing to avoid falling, before hopping off to walk towards the dance floor, presumably to get to the other side where the exit was, but he had other plans.
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“Felix.” You stopped dancing, panting out of breath, he looked at you in concern, “I..” you paused to catch your breath, “I think ’m gonna head out.” You stumbled on your words,
“You need me to call an Uber?” You shook your head,
“I can call one ‘mself,” You gave him a hug before moving away from the crowd, and stumbling towards the exit. Reading the giant sign that said EXIT in bright red, you collided with a man, a young man,
“‘m sorry” He mumbled as he staggered for balance, “You good?” You didn’t really register what he said, to focused on his face, he was handsome, really handsome.
“Sure…” you paused. “What’s your name?” You sluggishly said,
“Lee Know, what's yours?” This Lee Know, smelt profusely of alcohol, but not that you minded, he carried a smirk when he talked, which when put with that smell, made your thighs clench together,
“Yn, the names Yn…” The two of you stood in silence for a good two minutes before you spoke, “So, Lee Know, do you find yourself alone this fine evening?” You elongated his name hoping to get your point across, you wanted him, bad. And from the way he kept eyeing you up and down in your tightly fitting dress, you could tell he wanted you just as bad.
“And what If I am?” You smiled at him, before brushing your hand against his chest while walking towards the exit, his answer was all that you needed,
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The two of you barely made it to the door of wherever, too busy letting your hands roamed around each others bodies, and when you did make it in, he stopped to close the door, allowing you to take a nice long look around his house, “Woah” to say you were astonished would be a lie, his house was huge, not that you minded, but still it was huge.
“If you’d follow me madame,” he bowed, before walking up these big sets of stairs, following him you found yourselves at a door. The door was a dark brown which contradicted the dull, lifeless white and gray walls aligning the halls. “After you.” He opened it, allowing you to walk in. He closed the door behind him, and walked up behind you as you stared at the room, “If you like this, then you’re really gonna like this.” He placed his hands on your hips before lifting you up and throwing you onto the bed. Out of shyness you pressed your thighs together, “Baby don’t be shy. Where’d all that confidence go earlier,” He smirked, he crawled over to you on the bed,
“‘M not sure, maybe I just wanna let you do all the hard work,” You were staring directly into his eyes, his lips almost touching yours, slowly, his hands reached for your waist, traveling down until he hooked his fingers under your dress,
“May I?” He looked at you, almost like he was pleading for your permission. You nodded, That was hot,
feeling him drag your panties down, you felt the cold fan against your clit, causing you to lean back and roll your eyes, Lee Know hovered over you, while letting his fingers roam all around your plush thighs, touching everywhere but where you needed it.
“Lee Know” You warned him, bucking your hips up when you felt a light tap of his fingers brushing against your clit,
“I know baby, I know.” He was testing the waters,
“Please” You begged, all you could think about was his fingers, you just wanted something in you, anything, you wanted to feel full, and so far you felt everything but that. Giving it another pass, he moved to get a better view, he pressed a thumb to your clit, causing a moan to erupt, before forcing a finger into your pussy, curling it at just the right spot, making you feel a tingle form in your stomach, but it wasn’t enough
“More.” He sighed, adding two more fingers, pushing at a much faster pace, making your eyes roll back. Feeling a coil tighten in your abdomen you felt your climax approaching, “‘m almost there,” he stopped making you whine,
“If you’re going to cum it’s going to be around my cock,” You could’ve came just at that,
He unbuckled his pants and pushed aside his boxers, letting his cock spring out, it was what you would assume to be normal size, but god was it thick, just looking at it made you drool.
“Ready?” He looked at you, before looking down to alined his cock with your aching entrance. Nodding he grunted as he began pushing it in. He struggled at the beginning, but eventually bottomed out. He set a slow pace so you could adjust to the girth and feeling of his cock, but when you wrapped your legs around his hips, and placed your hands on his back,he no longer cared about comfort. Too lost in the feeling of the blissful pussy his cock was plunged into.
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Shit you woke up with an excruciating headache, you opened your eyes, trying to adjust to the light coming in from the open window. Wait, I don’t have a window on that side of the room? You sat up, to find yourself in an unfamiliar room, “Shit. Shit. Shit, what did I do?” You mumbled many incoherent swears and you pushed yourself off the king sized bed, only to find yourself naked, legs sore, and sticky, especially around your inner thighs. You panicked, you were aware what this meant.
The signs were all pointing to the fact that you slept with a stranger while drunk, and it pained you to not remember anything, but you didn’t have time to ask questions, you had work, and you could only pray you didn’t wake up late. So you gathered your clothes that were thrown around the room and quietly tip-toed out the room to avoid waking up the sleeping stranger you slept with. It took you a while to find the exit but when you did, you did not hesitate in calling an Uber, to hyped up to tell Felix and Sana about what happened, or at least what you could remember, to realize you were missing something.
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“So you just got up and left?” Sana said, smacking your shoulder teasingly. Sana was your friend since primary school, so the two of you were basically inseparable, she was also friends with Felix, which was how the two of you met. She was a bright girl, who loved social events, so she was the perfect waitress, and everyone who ever met her was jealous of her social skills and wished to be like her, she was perfect. Aside from the fact that sometimes she got ahead of herself. “Well what do you remember?” You shrugged,
“That's the thing, I can’t” You paused before sighing, “I was too drunk,”
“That’s unfortunate, also where is your earring?” Felix handed you a dirty cup, its important to note that he didn’t really care about what you did in your spare time, but he did question why you had one earring on. Shit, you must’ve lost it during the party last night,
“I’m not sure where, I probably lost it while bartending last night.”
“Or during your little sinful activities you did with mr. Lee Know,” she giggled while walking off with a tray of beverages, “I’ve got to get back to work, but we are finishing this conversation at my house later this week.” She pointed at herself then towards the two of you, all three of you let out little giggles, before returning to work.
“Why later this week?” Felix looked at you, before handing you a dirty bottle,
“She’s getting new floors installed, so she probably doesn’t want us seeing the mess.” You never understood why she was like that, she always hated when people saw her place un-neat or messy. Felix let out an ‘O’ handing you another dirty dish.
You laughed, “What?”
“Why are you handing me dirty cups, you’re on dishwash duty today.” you told him handing back the cups he gave you.
“Oops…”
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AUTHORS NOTE 🗒️ ! okay so this was so inspired by jane the virgin, and business proposal, which btw jane the virgin i just started watching. and normally i hate pregnancy tropes but trust, i will do this one justice!!
any questions or recommendations you might have please reach out via asks, requests or the comments
TAGLIST IS OPEN ! please also use the comments or ask to be added
@palindrome969 @fvilixx @manuosorioh @possibly-zoe0218 @jisuperboard @miinghaosstuff @rylea08 @tearsandwishes @kangyeonie @fun-fanfics @chrizzztopherbang @bincxtesworld @hoes4lino @cookiesandcreammy @yerijaksel @leeknowluvr143 @wolfs-howling
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straylightdream · 1 year
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“𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈 𝐭𝐡𝐢����𝐤 𝐈 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐈 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭“
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Lee Minho x F.Reader
friends with benefits / roommates au / college au
↳ The lines between friends and lovers is quick to blur. There isn’t anyone you would rather spend your time with, and he finds his sweet escape when he’s alone with you. What started out as casual thing that was supposed to be secret kept between the two of you leads to so much more.
wc: 5.8k
warnings: soft dom! Minho, unprotected sex, rougher sex, dirty talk, begging, edging, names such as: (kitten, angel, pretty), breeding kink, creampie, cockwarming, cum play and cum eating. Minho mentions knocking up the reader.
an: I probably didn’t edit this enough. This is a part of my college skz series SSFW where you can read one or all the stories. Each boys story weaves together but they can be read as ones shots. Thank you @sulfurcosmos for helping me with this stories and all my other stories.
Part two
𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬.
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Rough hands grip your hips as he thrust into you from behind. Your hands grip the headboard holding on for dear life. Biting your bottom lip you try your hardest not to scream his name. 
“Minho,” you moan, his name barely loud enough for him to hear. He bends over so his body is pressed against yours as his hips snap into yours. His hand reaches around covering your mouth attempting to muffle the sounds coming out of your mouth. Muffled moans leave your mouth as his lips are brushing your ear. The feeling you get when you’re with him is like nothing you have ever experienced before. 
“That's it angel, your tight pussy is sucking me in,” he whispers into your ear. His pace is rough and quick and you can’t get enough. “How are you still so tight after I’ve fucked you so many times?” he whispers filthy words into your ear. 
“I think it’s time you came, angel,” he growls in your ear. 
Like a command your orgasm washes over you. Your walls contract milking him. Your head falls forward as silent moans pass your lips. Biting your lip you try your hardest to hold back making noise. Hyunjin is home and the last thing you need right now is him hearing you. 
“Fuck, I’m gonna fill you to the brim,” Minho moans in your ear.
He snaps his hips into your two more times before painting your walls white. His hand grip your hips, holding you flush against his hips as he rocks into you a few times. His hands leave your skin as he pulls out of you. Rolling onto your back you take slow deep breaths trying to calm down. Your legs are left spread and bent at the knees. An accelerating high washes over you. 
Minho sits back on his hunches between your spread legs. He runs his fingers through your wet folds. His release is already slowly seeping out of you. Using one finger he pushes his cum back into you. Leaving his fingers in you for a long moment. You watch him as he intently stares at your sensitive core. 
“You’re so obsessed with coming inside me. It’s almost like you want to get me pregnant,” you laugh. 
“Believe me angel I’m not trying to get you pregnant, but it wouldn’t be the worst thing if you did.” The idea of having a child with him isn’t terrible. Minho would make a great father and with his genes that kid would be beautiful. “To be honest you would look good pregnant though. Especially with my kid.”
His fingers run through your slick collecting some of his release. He brings it up to your mouth and your lips part, taking his fingers into your mouth. Your tongue swirls around his finger, getting every bit of his release off his digits. 
“It’s a good thing I’m on the pill then,” you smile. 
“I wasn’t like this before you. The thought of coming inside someone didn’t turn me on until you,” he leans forward, pressing a kiss to your bent knee. “You're the first girl I’ve come inside. Hell you’re the first person I have ever had sex without a condom.”
It’s nice to know he appreciates you, and knows the fact that you trust him enough to have unprotected sex with you is a big deal. 
“So your breeding kink is only because of me?” You raise your eyebrows suggestively. 
He scoffs rolling his eyes at you. 
“Well you’re the only guy who has ever been inside me without a condom,” you reach up grabbing his hand so he’ll lay down with you. You share a type of trust with Minho you’ve never shared with another person before. He’s someone you trust to do anything with your body. You know no matter what he would never do anything that would make you uncomfortable. 
“To be honest you’ve made me a different person. I wasn’t exactly social before college. Back in highschool I kept to myself. I was never someone with a huge group of friends or someone who went to parties. If I wasn't roommates with Changbin, who knows how college would have gone for me.”
“I’m glad you were roommates with him, because it led you to me.”
He leans over kissing the tip of your nose, “pretty I’m glad it led me to you.”
Having sex wasn’t a new thing for you and Minho. In August before senior year of college started you started sleeping with your roommate. Changbin went home with Jisung to see their families and Hyunjin was so busy at his art studio he was rarely home. You were home alone with Minho and after a night of watching movies you got to talking about your sex lives and one thing led to another and you were naked on the living room floor with Minho head between your legs. It wasn’t a one time thing by any means. You and Minho were constantly hanging out like you used to and now most of the time the night ended with either you sneaking off to his room or him sneaking into yours once he thought it was safe. Your nights spent with Minho we’re your little secret. You decided after your first night together you didn’t want to tell your friends. You told him if something happened and you stopped your arrangement you didn’t want your friends in your business. 
“Do you think Hyunjin is still here?” Minho asks.
“I don’t know, why?” 
“Because I need a shower before going to Chan and Jisung’s, and you should probably shower with me. I need to clean you up after the mess I made of you.”
Getting out of bed he reaches on the floor for his boxers. He pulls them up his thick legs before walking over to your closet. He pulls out the black silk robe he bought you when you bought a set of lace lingerie, because he said he saw it and thought of you. 
“Who should sneak off into the bathroom first?” Minho asks, handing you the robe. 
“You should go first and I’ll meet you there. Don’t lock the door.”
He slips out of your room while you get up pulling in the silk robe. You give Minho a minute to get the water warmed up, and you hope that Hyunjin won’t notice you joining Minho in the bathroom. Opening the door into the steaming bathroom You lock the door and take off your robe sitting on the counter next to Minho boxers. Sliding the glass door open, you step into the water. He’s in the process of washing his hair. He steps back under the warm water rinsing away your mango scented shampoo. He steps aside letting you step under the warm water. You lean your head forward letting the water hit. 
“Have I told you recently you’re beautiful?” you look up at him. His eyes are intensely trained on your wet body. You can’t help but smile. He steps closer to you holding a washcloth. There is something about the look in his eyes that always makes you weak in the knees. “I need to clean you up. I made a mess.” He’s always like this after you let him come inside you. Minho’s aftercare has always been great with you. Minho told you once if you’re sleeping together it’s his job to take care of you. 
“How crazy do we think Honey’s birthday party is gonna get?” You ask as he finishes wiping away his release from in between your legs. 
“Probably not. She doesn’t exactly like wild parties.” 
You work on washing your hair with the same mango shampoo Minho used. 
There is a knock on the door and you freeze in your spot. “Minho are you in there?” Hyunjin shouts. 
You open your mouth and Minho’s hand covers it quickly. You weren’t going to say anything. You were just startled by the interruption. 
“Yeah Hyunjin?”
“I think YN, already left but I’m heading over to Chan and Jisung’s place, I might meet Felix and Cherry there” he shouts over the noise of the water. 
“Okay, see you at the party,” Minho shouts. 
His hand stays covering your mouth for a few months after. Removing it you look up at him with wide eyes. Leaning forward he presses his lips to yours for a kiss. “We almost got caught,” he whispers with his lips close to yours. 
“It’s okay we didn’t,” you smile. 
Leaning forward he presses his lips to yours for a kiss. He can’t seem to get enough of you and that’s okay because you can’t get enough of him. Things with Minho are easy. You don’t feel like you have to put an effort in to make things work between. You have this perfect little thing between you. You have absolutely amazing sex, but you have this amazing friendship with him. Most days it’s rare if you don’t hang out with him after class, or eat dinner together. With Changbin having a girlfriend and Hyunjin being interested in Felix's roommate they’re both rarely home. For the most part it’s just you and Minho like it has been since you moved in with them. Even before both of your other roommates were busy with other people you were always with Minho. You started sleeping together long before the other two got into relationships. You didn’t think anything had really changed between you except for what happened when you were alone in bed. 
Your past relationships with men hadn’t been anything thrilling. You were still with your high school sweetheart freshmen year of college and then that fizzled out. Sophomore year you dated another guy and you got to really find yourself but there was just something in your heart telling you needed to stay guarded. Your bond with Minho seemed to happen as soon as you met. Even when you had a boyfriend Minho and you were still close. You lived with Chan’s girlfriend freshman and sophomore year. When junior year rolled around she rented a one room apartment off of campus. Changbin and Minho wanted to move off campus and found a four bedroom townhome not too far from campus. One of Minho’s classmates, Hyunjin, wanted to move in but they still needed another roommate. You had originally been trying to find your own one bedroom studio but gave up when Minho told you they still needed one more roommate. 
Adjusting to living with three guys was interesting. Luckily you were friends with them already and they all were nice and respected you. 
-
Chan and Jisung’s house was always the place for parties. You remember the small arguments Jisung and his girlfriend had about him throwing her a birthday party. The house is filled with friends, it’s quite a small gathering compared to the other parties the boys have thrown in the past. Walking into the kitchen looking for Minho you find an unsuspecting Chan with his best friend turned girlfriend pinned to the wall. His lips are all over her neck with her eyes closed. She looked like she was desperately trying to hold back a moan. 
Clearing your throat they pull apart and Chan’s cheeks immediately blush. His girlfriend on other hand seems way less embarrassed. 
“Chan don’t you literally have a room here you can do that in?” Minho says walking up behind you. 
Chan is left speechless and his face and tips of his ears are burning bright red. Bambi on the other hand is unfazed by Minho's comment. 
“Minho let’s leave the love birds alone,” reaching down you grab his hand pulling him out of the kitchen.  
The living room is filled with friends of Jisung, Chan, and Changbin. Changbin is standing on the staircase whispering in his girlfriend's ear standing very close to them and Jisung is playing beer pong while his girlfriend Honey is sitting on the couch with Felix talking. There’s a mix of other people who are friends with the rest of the boys in one way or another. Minho disappeared off to the kitchen and walking over you sat down on the couch next to Felix. 
“I feel like I never see you anymore,” Felix pokes your side earning a smile from you. 
“This last semester of school has been hard and getting into my nursing program hasn’t been easy,” think back to all your late nights studying and the difficult test you’ve been taking. 
“How have you two been?” You look between Felix and Honey who is sitting right next to him. 
“School is going good and my job is nice. I still spend most of my Friday nights at work with Jisung sitting in the library so I’m glad that didn’t change.” You remember before you had even met Honey you heard Jisung go on and on about the library girl that he brings strawberry lattes to. 
“This second year of college has been rougher but okay. Having a new roommate has been interesting,” he says. Felix's roommate is an interesting girl. She’s very sweet but kind of a hot mess. She comes from an extremely wealthy but controlling family. She’s been trying her hardest to be an independent person away from them but it hasn’t been easy. 
“Did Cherry come to the party?” You’re curious about where his roommate is. 
“Where do you think Hyunjin is?” He smirks. 
“Wasn't Hyunjin going to play beer pong with Jisung?”
“Cherry showed up a few minutes ago and that means Hyunjin will be by her side,” Felix smiles. 
“Poor guy's head over heels for her,” Honey chimes in. 
“I’ve told her she has to be gentle with him,” Felix responds. “I don’t know all about Hyunjin's past but I know he doesn’t date or anything like that. I told her he’s quite innocent.”
You remember one of the first times Hyunjin brought Cherry over to your place. She looked like she had been crying when she showed up late at night and the next morning when you found her and Hyunjin eating breakfast in the kitchen. From the stories you had heard about Cherry from Felix and Hyunjin you were a little worried she would hurt Hyunjin but after talking to her once when Hyunjin went off to his room you realized she’s a sweet girl. 
“Hyunjin can be naive and want to see the good in people, but I told Cherry one day I know she won’t break his heart,” you made her promise she only had good intentions with your friend. 
You watch as Hyunjin walks into the living room with his hand on Cherry’s lower back. The way she looks up at him you can tell she truly cares about him. You’ve seen him bring her into your apartment a handful of times with her makeup running down her face after she looks like she’s been crying. Hyunjin has become her person. From what you have seen he’s always there to pick her up when she’s had a fight with her parents or just needs someone to hold her. You can’t help but watch him as he stands by the doorway to the kitchen. Cherry is dressed in an expensive looking dress and her lips are that glossy cherry color they always seem to be. You don’t know the full details of Hyunjin’s relationships with this girl. You aren’t sure if they’re sleeping together or anything like that. You just know he’s kissed her before because he’s come home late before with her red lipstick stained on the side of his mouth. 
Honey’s birthday party is a fun time. After Jisung wins his beer pong game he pulls his girlfriend off the couch and makes her stand in front of a cake as the room filled with all our friends sings happy birthday to her. Jisung puts a dab of frosting on her nose before he kisses her. 
The party is fun and it’s nice to actually get out of the apartment and not have to worry about studying. Minho stands next to you barely leaving any space between you. Leaning over Minho lips, brushing your ear, “when can we go home? I’m too tired for this.”
Out of your whole friend group Minho has always been the one who isn’t a fan of parties. Most parties normally consist of you and Minho skipping them all together or leaving early. 
“We can leave now if you want. Did you just want to sleep?”
“Can we get food and then cuddle?” He asks. 
You say your goodbyes to Jisung and Honey, noticing that Chan and Bambi are nowhere to be seen. Finding Changbin in the kitchen with his girlfriend and Hyunjin you let your roommates know you guys are heading out. Walking out of the house Minho arm is over your shoulder holding you close by. You get into Minho's car and he drives off to his favorite ramen place that is open late. You’ve spent countless late nights at this place between studying or just hanging out with Minho. Minho doesn’t even look at the menu; he just rattles off both your orders to the waitress the moment she walks over. Minho presents in your life has been a source of comfort and security for a long time. Becoming roommates just made him truly become your best friend. 
“Do you think Bin is coming home tonight?” You ask as Minho takes a drink of his hot tea. 
He shrugs his shoulders and takes another drink. “If he does it’s fine. If he comes home he’ll probably have Kitten with him.”
Changbin and his girlfriend rarely slept alone at night. They tended to rotate from staying at your apartment or her apartment. 
“Do you think Bambi and Chan will be the first to move in together?” Between the three boys that have girlfriends you’ve been wondering which pair would move in with their significant other first. 
“Chan and Jisung have a nice house together and Bambi likes her apartment a lot. I don’t think they would move in together. I think if anything Kitten might move in with us.” You have to say you agree with him. Changbin and Kitten seem to be the closest to moving in together. 
“What about Jisung and Honey?” 
“I could see Jisung moving out with Honey too. I think if he did Changbin would probably ask us if we’re cool with him moving in with Chan.” For some reason the idea of Changbin moving out makes you a little sad. You’ve grown to be really close with him since living with him, but you know his best friends are Chan and Bambi so I would make sense. 
“Don’t be sad Angel, Bin isn’t leaving anytime soon.”
The waitress comes out bringing too hot bowls of ramen. Your late dinner with Minho is delicious like always. The hot broth of the ramen warms you up, making you feel good. 
Walking into your apartment you kick off your shoes. Minho takes off his own shoes before leaning forward and pressing his lips to yours for a gentle kiss. 
“Your bed or mine?” He pulls off his jacket and lets out a yawn. 
“Let’s go to my room,” follows you off towards your room. You make quick work of getting dressed for bed. You pull on just an oversized shirt and a pair of small shorts. Minho strips down to a pair of lounge shorts he leaves in your room. You both stand in the bathroom brushing your teeth before heading off to your room again. 
Crawling into bed with you watch as Minho walks around your room. He strips off his shirt leaving him in nothing but his boxers. His beautiful skin is on full display. He pushes his fingers through his hair letting out another yawn. Joining you in bed he wastes zero time pulling you against his body so he’s spooning you from behind. When he suggested leaving the party you fully thought your night was going to end with you once again naked and moaning his name. You didn’t expect him to just want to cuddle. Pressing his lips gently to your shoulder you can’t help but smile. 
“You only want to cuddle?”
“I just want to hold you,'' he whispers. There is this feeling you have that's been creeping up more and more that Minho isn’t just your friend. You feel things for him you don’t feel for your other friends. 
“I want you to hold me,” you whisper. 
-
This semester has been extra hard for you. Your senior year of college isn’t nearly as easy as you thought it was going to be. You have a huge test next week and you just finished a ten page essay you were beginning to think you were never going to finish. A few friends were going out to the bar tonight and they had invited you, but you had to decline so you could get some more studying in. 
“YN do you want to order dinner while we study tonight?” Minho sets his laptop on your bed in front of you. 
“Why aren’t you going to the bar with Bambi and Chan?” You thought he might go out tonight after you heard him talking to Changbin before Changbin left for class. 
“Why would I go there when you’re staying home?” He knits his eyebrows together and looks at you like you’re insane. 
“You are aware you’re allowed to have fun without me right?” Minho doesn’t normally do anything social if you don’t go with him you’ve come to notice. 
“I know that. Let’s be honest Changbin and Kitten will show up and to be honest I don’t want to watch him feel her up every chance he gets.” He’s not lying basically since the moment Changbin and his girlfriend have gotten together Changbin can’t seem to keep his hands to himself. He’s been head over heels for her long before they started dating and ever since they finally got together he’s always touching her. 
“So instead you would rather study with me?“
“I also have a huge test coming up. I thought senior year was gonna be easier and then I decided to apply for grad school,” he sighs, laying down on the bed next to you. 
“It’s okay Minho,” you pat the top of his head. “If we get enough studying done maybe you can feel me up.”
He looks up, cocking his eyebrow. “Are we talking about feel,” he motions his hands. “Or are we talking about me filling you to the brim.”
You scoff, pushing his shoulder, “you are literally obsessed with coming inside me.”
“Can you blame a guy?” He laughs. 
“I guess not,” you lean down pressing his lips to yours. 
Minho is one of the best study partners you’ve had. He’s actually helpful and can easily focus on a task when he needs to. 
Studying for this huge test seems to have melted your brain. Sitting on the bed with your back against the headboard and your legs across Minho’s lap as he sits in the middle of the bed. Biting down on the burger Minho ordered you, your eyes are trained on the side of Minho's head as he’s focused on the book he’s holding. He made a big deal about you eating your food before it got cold but can’t bring himself to put down the book he’s reading. 
“Minho,” you say. 
Lifting his head looks over at you and blinks rapidly a few times trying to focus. “Yes?”
“What happened to eating while it’s hot?” 
“I was trying to finish this chapter,” he closes the book, setting it down on the bed next to him. He picks up his burger and finally starts to eat. Things between you are comfortable just like they always are. 
“Minho I don’t want to study anymore you,” you whine between taking bites. A soft laugh leaves his lips. His hand that isn’t holding his burger reaches down and rubs your calf. “My brain can’t take anymore information tonight.”
“Okay, no more studying.”
“After eating if you massage my back I’ll give you a reward,” Minho giving you any type of massage is one of your favorite ways to relieve stress.  
He takes one final bite of his burger chewing slowly before looking over at you smirking, “can my reward be I get to fuck your brains out?”
Your stomach flips at the thought of having rough passionate sex with Minho. You could just picture it now him having you bent over the closet surface while he pounds into you. 
“Anything you want,” you rub your foot gently across his Jean over soft cock. He groans, biting his lip. You feel his erection start to grow before he grabs you by the ankle. He gets up so he’s sitting on the bed next to you and taps between his spread legs. Getting up you move so you’re sitting in front of him. He starts massaging your neck first. His finger works your tissue massaging away your tension. 
“Did you want to get dinner Friday?” He says casually as he continues his work on your shoulders. 
“Just the two of us?” You go out often just the two of you, but the way he’s asking makes it sound more like a date then it normally does. 
“Obviously.”
“Yeah I'm down for dinner.”
He finishes massaging you and both take all your studying materials off the bed. It takes little effort before he has you born completely naked. Laying on your back with your legs spread, Minho's hardened cock fits snugly inside you as your lips move together. He’s shown no signs of moving. He seems absolutely content just kissing you. He’s resting on his elbow with his body right on top of yours. Everything about him is consuming you and you never want it to end. 
You push your fingers through his hair pulling his lips away from yours. A crooked smile pulls at his lips. 
“What happened to I’m going to fuck your brains out?” 
“I’ll do it later, right now I want to savor my sweet reward,” he whispers.
The way he kisses you sends butterflies to your stomach. 
“Do you think Changbin or Hyunjin know about this?” You’ve wondered for a while if any of your friend group knows what goes on behind closed doors between you and Minho. 
“Are you worried they know we’re lovers?” he purrs before between kisses across your jaw. 
“Minho,” you whisper his name. 
“Pretty I could care less if anyone knows what we do. The only person’s opinion I care about when it comes to you and I, is yours.”
“I have a feeling Changbin has caught us,” you say knowing that your room is right by Changbin’s. “He always makes comments calling us love birds, and he seems more observant than Hyunjin.” You know Hyunjin’s mind is quite preoccupied between his art and whatever he has with Felix’s roommate. 
“I don’t care if he knows. I’m not trying to hide you. I would have no issue kissing you at one of Chan and Jisung’s parties. Or right out in front of Bin and Hyunjin.”
He’s staring into your eyes like you truly are the only thing that matters to him. Running your hands up and down his back you can’t help but smile at him. 
“I’m not some dirty little secret?”
“Pretty, you are definitely dirty, but you have never been my secret.” 
You can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips. “Is dirty a bad thing?”
“God no. Not when it comes to you pretty.”
Ever so slowly he rolls his hips into yours. His lips are all over the sensitive skin on your neck. He gently sucks on the juncture where your neck and shoulder meet. Your leg latches over his back resting just above his cute butt. He thrust into you at a slow but firm pace. Sex with Minho doesn’t normally happen in the missionary position, you learned early on that Minho is a fan of taking you from behind. Being able to see his beautiful face while he thrust into you turns you on even more. Your hand tangles in his hair and pulls his head back lightly. He removes his lips from your and smirks as he looks down at you.
“Lee Minho, I like you a lot,” you moan.
“Oh my pretty angel I like you a lot too.”
He sits up on his hunches and works on continuing to thrust into you at that same slow but firm pace. He leans over taking your hands. He laces your fingers together pinning your hands above your head. He thrust into you a little bit harder earning a gasp. 
“Minho,” you moan.
“Yeah Pretty?”
“I’m so close,” you moan.
Releasing your hands he moves so he’s hovering right over you again. His hands are on each side of your head. You wrap your legs around his body holding him as close to you as possible. With each thrust he hits the gummy part deep inside you earning loud moans from you. You’re so happy nobody is home that you and Minho can be as loud as you want. As you get closer and closer to finding your release Minho is there to coax you closer and closer to the edge.
“Pretty, can you come for me?” His words are intoxicating.
Silently you nod your head desperately wanting to come. “Minho, if I come will you come inside me?” you’re begging him. You want anything you will give you.
“That’s why you’re my girl angel. Come for me and I’ll come inside this tight pussy. I’ll fill you to the brim,” he groans.
A white hot wave washes over you. You see spots as your walls contract around his still hard length. “Your pussy was made for me,” he groans as his thrust grows sloppier. 
With one particular deep thrust he finds his own release painting your wall. He sits back on his hunches pulling out of you slowly. His eyes are glued to your core as his release slowly drips out of you. He drags two fingers through your lips collecting his release. He looks at the milky liquid before gently pushing it back into your sensitive hole. 
“Pretty?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re all mine. I don’t ever want to share you,” he hops off the bed and leaves you alone. He comes back with a warm washcloth. Your legs are still spread and waiting for him. He cleans up the mess he made and comes back to bed. You get under the covers and lay on your side. Your body feels absolutely spent after the passionate sex you just had with the man you’re in bed with.
Staring at him laying in bed next to you. He scrolled through his phone smiling at something. It feels like a light switch suddenly clicked. There is a warmth that takes over your chest. Nobody in your life matters to you quite like Lee Minho. The boy who was your friend, turned roommate, turned lover. You realized then that you were indeed head over heels in love with him. Sitting up you stare at him for a long moment studying his face.
“Minho, do you love me?” You wanted a straightforward answer, you didn’t want to play games.
“Yeah of course?” He sets his phone down on his nightstand.
“I don’t mean as a friend. Are you in love with me?.” He knits his eyebrows together and give you that signature smirk he gives people he when he thinks they're dumb.
“Yeah? Why? Of course I love you.” He said it like it was something that was completely common knowledge.
“Doesn’t it seem weird that all our friends are in happy relationship and we just have sex and do everything they do but we don’t tell them that?”
“Angel of course it’s weird, but if you want to date and have the boyfriend and girlfriend titles we can. But know you’ve been my girlfriend in my head since September,” he leans over with his lips close to yours. “You’re the only thing that I think I got right.” He leans forward pressing his lips to yours for a searing kiss “Should I formally ask you?”
You can’t help but smile, “yeah.”
“YN, you are the girl I literally spend every day of my life with. You’re the girl that Changbin literally refers to as my girlfriend. Will you be my girlfriend?”
“Obviously,” you lean forward pressing your lips to his.
-
The next morning you and Minho are in the kitchen making breakfast. More so he’s making breakfast while you make two cups of coffee. Kitten just left saying she had something she had to do and Changbin and Hyunjin joined you in the kitchen. It’s rare all four of you are home at the same time these days. 
He leans forward pressing his lips to yours. Changbin lets out a laugh as Hyunjin stares at you and your boyfriend with a very confused look on his face. 
“Does this mean you aren’t just fuck buddies anymore?” Changbin asks. Your eyes can’t help but go wide at Changbin’s response. 
“Wait what?” Hyunjin can’t get the confused look off his face.
“To be honest I don’t know who was more clueless. Hyunjin… or you two.” Changbin laughs as he pats Hyunjin on the back.
“Have you guys been sleeping together for months?” Hyunjin asks.
“I’ve known about it since December but I would bet money it’s been going on way longer,” Changbin says.
“You’ve known since December?” You can’t believe Changbin didn’t tell you before now that he knew. Minho just laughs wrapping his arms around your stomach from behind. 
“Hey it wasn’t my place to say anything especially if you guys hadn’t said anything. Let’s be honest even though you have been acting like a couple for way longer than December, the most your two do in front of everyone is hold hands and sometimes Minho likes to cuddle you like the cat he is.”
“Are you officially together?” Hyunjin asks.
“Yeah I have considered her to be my girlfriend since like September,” Minho finally speaks up.
“Yes we’re official and we plan on letting the rest of the group know,” you say.
Soon Hyunjin leaves telling everyone he needs to go see Cherry and Changbin heads over to his class on campus. You’re left alone with your boyfriend and you can’t help but smile.
“I knew Changbin knew,” you say.
“Somehow Changbin always knows,“ he says before pressing his lips to yours.
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staywithsy · 3 months
Note
2,8,10 with Lino
vhgjchxjexje im already blushing 🤭
winter morns
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mains: bf!minho x gf!reader
summary: its the morning of a snowy morning
genre: fluff
warnings: .......... tell me if one actually exists
wc: 192
a/n: me toooo kicking my feet, burrying my face in the pillow. im thinking my blog is starting to turn into a minho blog lolol❤️🥹
The rays of sun slipped into the folds of the window in you and Minho's shared room. Snuggled under the duvet, your eyes squinted from the piercing light. As you fought a mental fight with the blinding streaks, something came up to shield you from them. Looking to your side, you see Minho's eyes open and staring at you fondly. As you made eye contact with him, his raised hand nudged your head gently towards his neck. You shuffled closer to him and stuffed your freezing face into his warm neck. Minho wrapped his legs and arms around you like he would to a bolster, and stroked your hair gently. "Good morning, sunshine~" Minho rested his chin on your head. "G'morning~" you answered. Then, lifting your head up, you pouted your mouth and complained, "Min, my hands feel frozen..." He peeled his hands from your hair and back and took them under the covers to your icy palms. Wrapping his hands over yours, he kissed your lips and questioned," Better, honey?" You hummed in happiness. Minho leaned down to press his forehead onto yours, whispering," You know, I just really love you."
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coupsie-daisies · 4 months
Text
Kinktober '23: Begging | Lee Minho
Pairing: Lee Minho x Fem!Reader
Genre: Smut (minors DO NOT interact), Kinktober 2023, College AU
Summary: A drunken encounter with a friend at a frat party leads to a possessive side of Minho that you never expected to see
WC: 2.8k
Warnings: heavy dom/sub dynamics, mean dom!Minho, jealousy, alcohol consumption, name calling (whore, slut), sir/master kink, reader is called kitten, spanking, fingering, implications of subspace, feelings, mild exhibitionism if you squint
A/N: I'm actually like,,,,really proud of this one so please please let me know what you think and maybe give it a reblog if you're feeling generous?
Tags: @dragonofthenorth0726 // @wooyussy // @burningupp-replies // @bunnypig18 // @decaffedthoughts // @brownieracha / @ferrethyun // @snow-pegasus // @walkxthexmoon // @aesteraceae // @wonuqrtz // @mixling-blog // @wonwooz1
Main Masterlist
Kinktober Masterlist
This fanfiction is property of @/coupsie-daisies, reposting on any other platform is prohibited
It was a dumb idea, you knew that when you decided to do it, but you were never one to pass up on a good time. A party at the boys' was always a good time. So you had dressed yourself up with your girls, making the walk across campus to the looming frat house in front of you.
The music was spilling out onto the lawn alongside the chatting partygoers needing a break from the heat and noise of the inside. Among them you found Jeongin laughing with Beomgyu as the latter told him some story that necessitated wild gesturing and amusing facials. You waved as you made your way past into the house with Goeun following close behind you.
The warmth of the house hit you first, making goosebumps rise on your exposed arms, then the smell of alcohol and weed and the general musk of sweat that came with too many people cooped up in too few rooms hit and you scrunched up your nose. You'd adjust, but that was always the worst part of the party in your opinion.
The music was loud, the bass booming through your chest and leaving you feeling a little disconnected from reality, washing out the hum of conversations around you as you weaved in and out of the crowd, searching for one of the boys, or maybe a drink you could get yourself going with. Luckily for you, you found both of those things at the same time.
"You came! Good to see you," Chan said with a grin, pulling you into a hug before turning around and pouring a couple of different drinks into a cup and pressing it into your hand. "Minho should be around here somewhere, he's probably looking for you."
He poured his own drink while you took a sip of yours, scrunching up your nose.
"What the hell even is this?" You asked him, moving past him to pour more fruit punch into the cup to mask the brick wall that was the amount of alcohol in it. Chan laughed, taking a drink of his.
"Jisung's newest concoction. He says it doesn't leave you hungover. We'll see about that in the morning." He said. You laughed, shifting out of the way as more partygoers came in to find their drinks.
Chan was actually the first of the frat members that you'd met. He had tutored you in one of your classes, inviting you to the end of semester shindig they'd thrown. Which was where you met the others. Where you'd met Lee Minho.
Minho was your best friend at this point, the two of you fitting together in a way that you hadn't known you could fit with someone. He was smart, and funny, and just weird enough to take you by surprise over and over again. People had their preconceived notions about him, and you couldn't begin to understand where they came from. But what was more, that party was the first time you'd slept with Minho.
It had been some drunken encounter, the two of you kissing on a dare, and finding that you really weren't so against kissing each other. Or touching each other. Or fucking each other absolutely dumb. But it had never been weird after that, there was no real reason for it to be as you moved on with your lives as close friends, turning to each other when you wanted to relax. Sometimes that would mean going to the arcade, and sometimes that meant ending up in his bed and getting knowing looks from his brothers the next day.
Everyone knew about your arrangement, it wasn't something that either of you thought to keep a secret. That was sort of immature in your opinion, acting like grown adults couldn't have sex and still be normal about it. As if everything in a relationship boiled down to your knowledge of each other's bodies. And, most importantly, you weren't exclusive. The two of you had slept with other people, albeit rarely and - in your case at least - with very little satisfaction.
So it wasn't blasphemous for you to be dancing with Chan after that drink kicked in, even if he was a little more bold than he would usually be. His giggle in your ear when you played with his hair sent tingles down your spine, and the music drove the two of you to press closer. You had just been talking really, sharing stories about your past few months and the break that the two of you had both gone home for. You couldn't exactly remember how his hands ended up on your hips, or how your back was turned to him, arms snaking up around his shoulders as you looked at him over your shoulders,
The part you remembered the least, however, was winding up in Minho's bed, waking up with a raging headache and the lights boring into your still closed eyes. You groaned, rolling over and burying your face in the pillow only to hear Minho clear his throat.
"Wake up. I brought you water. And advil." He said, tossing the bottle of painkillers at you. His voice was sharper than you were used to, or maybe that was just the hangover. You made a mental note to tell Jisung that he was a bitch ass liar next time you saw him. 
"You're good to me." You praised. He hummed, sitting on the edge of the bed and passing you the glass of water. You took a long swallow, sighing out in relief of the way that it eased the dryness in your throat.
"Have fun last night?" He asked. You closed your eyes.
"I think so? Must have cuz I don't think I remember most of it. Not after my third drink. Except when Goeun went home and left me with you." You said, rolling onto your side to look at him. Minho looked better than you figured you did, but he didn't generally drink much at the parties. If anything he'd get high and watch you make a fool of yourself with his friends. Which, you assumed, is exactly what you did last night. "So what did I miss?"
"Other than you practically fucking Chan in front of everyone?" He looked at you, jaw set tight, and you pushed yourself to sit up.
"There's no way that happened." You argued, and he rolled his eyes.
"It definitely fucking did. He was all over you, pretty sure you would have let him bend you over the beer pong table if he'd asked. Didn't know he was your type." He took the water, taking a drink from it himself before putting it down on the bedside table.
"He's not. We were just drunk and you know how we both are when we drink. We were just being friendly. You're overreacting, Min."
He moved so fast, so easily that it made you jump. In a single moment he was hovering over you, eyes dark and boring into you with your faces only inches apart.
"Am I? Overreacting? Or are you just so fucking neglected that you'd let anyone try to fuck you stupid?" He snapped. Your eyes went wide, stomach twisting with guilt and maybe just a little bit of arousal. He didn't generally talk down to you like that. He didn't actually talk much at all when he had you like this. You were beginning to wonder why not.
"No," You answered, voice sounding weak and small. He chuckled, reaching up to grab your jaw.
"No what?"
"No, sir, wouldn't let anyone fuck me. Don't want anyone else," You answered quickly.
"Took everything in me not to bring you up here and fuck you last night." He hissed, lips clashing against yours. He tasted minty and cool against your tongue, and you didn't want to imagine what you tasted like after last night, but he clearly didn't pay it any mind, diving into you and driving the kiss so hungrily that you were struggling to keep up. "But you were so wasted off your ass I couldn't do that. Wasn't gonna let anyone else do it either. But he fucking tried. He'd be stupid not to."
Then his mouth was trailing down your throat, nipping at the skin and suckling over the spot that he knew drove you wild every time. You squirmed under him, your fingers falling into his hair only for him to grab your wrist and pin it back against the bed.
You knew you'd have a mark by the time he was done, a big one if the stinging just under your jaw was any clue. He'd never marked you up before, and the feeling had you soaked already. You whined his name, and he left a harsh bite to your skin before pulling back to look at you.
"Please," You mumbled, feeling downright pathetic with the way he was looking at you.
"Please what?" He coaxed, voice condescendingly sweet. You rubbed your thighs together, trying to relieve the pressure that was distracting you.
"Please fuck me, need you so bad." You said. He laughed then, truly laughed at your plea.
"You think you deserve that? After trying to whore yourself out to my friend last night? I was right there, kitten, could have taken care of you but instead you decided to play games. And you lost." He said, moving back to pull your panties down your legs and toss them aside.
You were left just in one of his oversized shirts that he must have helped you change into before you fell asleep. He sat back, patting his lap. You squirmed, knowing exactly what was coming next. You knew better than to make him ask twice, but even as you moved to lay yourself over his lap, you whined.
"Sir, please. Didn't mean to be bad. Don't want punishment." You pouted. He scoffed, just pushing your shirt up so he could see the curve of your ass fully. He kneaded the supple flesh under his palm, listening to your begging before landing a slap against your ass.
You hissed, your legs kicking up in an attempt to escape. But Minho knew how you reacted, pushing your legs back down without even bothering to warn you.
"Do you ever want a punishment, kitten? Isn't that the point? You misbehave, you get punished. And Master is the one who decides when you get punished." He reminded you, smoothing his hand over the spot he'd spanked to soothe the burn. You whined, but nodded anyway.
"Yes, sir. I'm sorry! I'm really sorry." You promised him. And you were. You would never come on to the boys if you were sober, especially not Channie. And you would most certainly not want any of them to take care of you the way Minho does.
He didn't answer, just landed two more spanks against your ass, holding you tight when you writhed away from the pain. You sniffled, turning to look at him. He was watching you, eyes traveling up your legs, over the abused flesh of your ass, along to your waist, then he met your eyes.
"How many more do you deserve?" He asked. He always asked that question after the first few, once he was truly pushing you into your headspace. You pouted.
"Three more?" You asked. He nodded. He almost never argued with your decisions on the matter. After all, punishments were learning experiences and you knew what you needed.
"Good girl." He said, barely finishing before his hand came down on one cheek, then the other, then back again. You kicked your legs up again, and this time he let you, running his warm palms over your thighs.
"Can you touch me now?" You asked. He smiled, helping you back onto your position on the bed.
"Yeah, kitty, now I can touch you. Did so good." He promised, moving to kneel between your thighs. His fingers moved faster than you expected, knuckles brushing against your aching pussy and making you jolt, a tiny gasp falling from your lips.
"Please, please don't tease. I need it." You huffed, and he pressed a kiss to your lips.
"I know, I've got you. Just relax." He hummed as his fingertips slid between your folds, coating his fingers in your arousal and teasing against your clit with every swipe. It wasn't enough, but this was his favorite part. He liked working you up higher and higher and higher, he always said that it made it so much prettier when you came tumbling down.
His thumb found your clit, rubbing light circles against it, and your hips chased the feeling, needing a little more pressure, but still he eased off, never letting you get as close as you wanted to. Once you were finally relaxing into the feeling, he stopped, taking the opportunity to ease two long fingers into your eager hole.
You moaned, head lolling back against his pillow as he slid deeper into you, filling your hole with his fingers and curling them expertly in just the way that made you fall apart. His pace picked up gradually, his fingers pistoning into you and squelching in your wetness, the lewd sound serving to drive you closer to the end. He loved how wet you got for him, how desperate your body was for his touch. It went straight to his head. Both of them, actually.
"Close. Please can I cum?" You gasped out, fingers twisting into the blanket beneath you. Minho hummed as if thinking about it, all while moving his thumb against your clit in a messy slide that had you struggling to focus your vision. "Master,"
The title was a whine, pathetic and high and exactly the way he loved it.
"Beg for it. Show me how bad you want it." He decided, his hand coming to press against your lower abdomen slightly as his fingers bullied your gspot. You cursed loudly, panting with the attempt to keep from tipping over the edge without his permission.
"Min, please. Fuck, I need it so bad. Need to cum for you, need you to make me feel good. Can't hold it, just wanna cum on your fingers. Master, please," You couldn't lay still as you begged him to make you feel good. He took a minute to think as he continued fingering you.
"Could anyone else make your pussy cream like this?" He asked, and you shook your head adamantly, barely even processing the question. "Would you beg for Channie-hyung like this, hm? Let Jisung-ah use you like a little slut?"
"No! Never, just you. Promise, I'm just for you. All yours." You wailed. "Minho, please. Please I can't, I'm-" Your voice cut off in a sob, tears leaking from your eyes and wetting your cheeks as you tried to writhe away from the torment.
"Cum for me, then." He said. You weren't sure if you heard the words or if your body just reacted, but your pussy clenched around his fingers, sucking them in and soaking them in your cum. A scream of his name ripped from your throat, certainly loud enough for the others to hear, and his only response was a satisfied smirk. He worked you through the orgasm, waiting patiently for you to float back down to earth. It took a moment for your vision to clear up and your ears to stop ringing. When they did, you looked up at him, watching the way he lapped your juices off of his hand as if it were his favorite treat.
"Min," You whined, reaching out to him. He crashed against you, pulling you close and peppering your face with kisses.
"Such a good girl. You were amazing." He promised, pulling back to look at your face and using the back of his hand to wipe away any trace of tears. "Feel okay?"
You nodded, snuggling closer to him and breathing in his scent, the body wash he used and the warm cologne that lingered on his skin.
"Minho?" You mumbled, looking up at him. He reached down, brushing a lock of hair from your face with the fondest eyes.
"Yes?"
"I don't want anyone else. Just you." You promised him, nuzzling closer. "I always just wanted you."
"I always just wanted you too. I'm all yours, don't worry." He promised, tipping your chin up to press a kiss to your lips, and you melted into him, the lines between friendship and partners blurring and fading away until it was just you and Minho and nobody else in the world mattered in the least.
copyright 2023 coupsie-daisies, all rights reserved
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godsmenusuperbowl · 7 months
Text
How Many Days? ~ *Lee Minho*
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Summary: Your relationship with Minho is on the verge of collapse. You just want things to go back to the way they were.
Pairing: Lee Minho X G/N!Reader
Genre: Angst Drabble
Word Count: 887
Warning: Possible break up, sadness, guilt, anxiety, hurt to comfort
Masterlist
Taglist: @foxwinter @mxnsxngie @maeleelee @imagine-a-life-like-this @kpop-will-kill-me
How many days has it been since you last saw Minho? How long has it been since you last kissed him? How much time has passed since you were in his arms?
It was hard to say anymore. For the longest time he seemed to always be by your side. You were attached at the hip and you loved every second of it. It felt like your life was perfect and you didn’t want to change a single thing.
You were the perfect team. You supported his idol career and he supported all of your dreams as well. He was always there for you when you really needed him. He’d listen to you and be a shoulder to cry on. You were also there to lift him up when he was feeling low. You also went to all of his concerts and cheered for him the loudest. 
When the two of you had time, he would teach you some of Stray Kids dances and then the two of you would ballroom dance afterwards. Those were the best days and you always thought back on them fondly. To you, Minho was your soulmate and you loved him more than anything else in the world.
How many days has it been since you last saw Minho?
As of right now, you were in your car, in some parking lot somewhere, crying your eyes out. You had no idea how things got to be so bad. One day you were dancing and laughing together in the Stray Kids practice room. The next you’re screaming at each other and running away. Minho has practically moved back into the Stray Kids dorms and you go out for a drive every night just to find a new parking lot to break down.
You thought you were perfect for each other. You got along so well. You were so in love with him. How could you not have seen all the cracks and bruises? What happened to the perfect love you both shared? Where did all of that go?
The tears kept coming as you wondered what happened and where to go from now. You couldn’t go back to that apartment. It was too much of you and him. You couldn’t go back anymore. But you had nowhere else to go. You were so lost, alone, and afraid. And that just made you cry even more.
You almost didn’t hear your phone go off. However, you managed to answer it. With a sniff, you spoke, “Hyunjin?”
“Are you okay? Are you crying?” He asked, his voice thick with worry.
You couldn’t lie to him. “Sorry. Yes, I’m okay. I just…yeah, I’m okay.”
He sighed. “You don’t sound okay. But considering the state Minho is in, I don’t expect you to be.”
This has you worried now. “Minho? What’s wrong? What happened to him?”
You hear Hyunjin shout to someone in the same room as him. “I told you they still cared about you!” Returning to your conversation, he said, “Hey, I need you to come to the dorms.”
“Why?”
“It’s Minho. He’s been stressed and anxious for the longest time now. He finally told us the reason why and all of Stray Kids believes the two of you need to talk. I’ll make sure you both have the space you need for whatever happens, but please just come over. This needs to be solved right now.”
Before you could ask what he meant, he ended the call. Now you were really scared. Something was wrong with Minho. Even if you two were in a rough patch, you didn’t want anything bad to happen to him. So you turned your car on and drove to the dorms. 
As soon as you arrived, Seungmin was the first one to find you. He didn’t answer any of your frantic questions. Instead he escorted you to Minho’s old room and told you to talk to him.
You opened the door and almost started crying again. He looked like a mess. He had eye bags and his hair was all over the place. You ran over to hug him before you could stop yourself. You felt the tears slip free when he hugged you back just as fiercely.
“I’m sorry.” He croaked out, his voice hoarse and thick with tears. “I’m sorry for everything. I shouldn’t have left and I shouldn’t have abandoned you. I’m such an idiot for doing this to you. You’re the best thing to ever happen to me and I’m just so sorry.”
“I forgive you.” You assured him. “Just tell me why.”
“It’s a stupid reason but I did it because I was scared. We were moving so fast and everything felt so perfect. I felt like something bad was going to happen and I was going to lose everything.” His breath hitched but he kept going, burying his head into your shoulder. “I guess I pushed you away before I got hurt. And I’m so unbelievably sorry I did that to you. You didn’t deserve it. I’m so, so, so sorry.”
You shook your head. “Please don’t. Don’t say anything. We’re together now. And that’s all that should matter right now.”
He nodded. “You’re right. It’s the only thing that matters.”
How many days has it been since you last saw Minho? Zero.
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lixiesfreckless · 4 months
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Burn It | l. m.
the last installment to Punch It, a fic from the PICU
➸ synopsis: The Golden Tire Cup semifinals is today, and Minho has the opportunity to get the Wolfgang Street Racing club to the finals for the first time in four years.
Hopefully with you by his side, he'll be able to make it into the top two.
➸ starring: lee minho x female reader(ft. idols from jypnation, smtown, hybe, kq, everywhere, I went a bit crazy)
➸ word count: 3.6k words
➸ general content: streetracer!minho, very very dangerous street racing(do not attempt to do any of this, no matter how tempting it may be), a stupid amount of cameos, one somewhat misogynistic background character, gearhead culture
➸ warnings: alcohol consumption, swearing, a mild car wreck
➸ rating: teen+
➸ author's note: this is(should be) the final official installment to the picu! imagine punch it, floor it, and burn it as one continuous timeline, with the ending being this chapter. do I have a favorite? no, not after writing this chapter.
♫ this fic has a soundtrack! you don't need to listen to it while reading(especially if the lyrics will bother you), but it's a street racing tournament for crying out loud. do yourself a favor and listen to these epic vibes.
yes, it's meant to be listened to in that order(starting from Deja Vu). shuffling it will result in Minho cramming you into an air fryer for 20 minutes at 180 degrees.
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♫- Deja Vu
You feel the refreshing spray of hose water on your bare back, soaking your black bikini top for the fourth time this evening. 
Whipping around, you find Minho rinsing off the back of his car, free hand stuffed into his pocket as he whistles and avoids eye contact.
He’s hit with a soapy sponge, square on the back of his black shirt.
“Hey!” He ditches the hose, deciding to pause washing the vehicle in favor of chasing you around the bumper.
The Wolfgang racing club had gathered at Changbin’s house for the annual Golden-Tire-Cup-and-car-show-preparation-party, detailing and fixing cars as needed before it’s time for the race, which takes place in the California desert shortly after sundown. Members were littered across the lawn and garage, replacing rims, tightening brakes, and avoiding Minho, who had taken a liking to spraying anyone that came close to his ride.
“Yo Min, I love what you did with the brakes!” Jisung points and yells to him, twirling and fumbling a ratchet wrench as he runs into the garage, kneeling to meet Seungmin who slides out from under someone’s car on a skateboard.
“What did you do to them?” You ask, cocking your head to the side and crossing your arms.
“Oh, I painted them red to match,” he says nonchalantly, the only sign of something strange being the pink dusting his cheeks.
“Match…match what? There’s no red on your car-”
No, but your whole car is red.
A slow smile spreads across your face as you walk around the hood of the car, and Minho only looks up at you right before you lean in and plant a kiss on his cheek. He smiles as you step back, sighing and admiring your teamwork.
The 1993 Toyota MR2 glistens in the late afternoon sun, not a single scratch or scuff mark streaking the ebony shell. Minho doesn’t think the car has been this clean since he first got the keys.
“You nervous at all?”
“Me? Nervous?” He scoffs and waves you off, and then worry creases his features as he drops the act. “...a little. We haven’t made it this far in years.”
“Yeah, but…” you say, pulling him in to wrap your arms around his half-soaked waist, “for the best racer in the city, I think it’s manageable.”
“Laying it on thick, are we?”
“Better take advantage of it while you can,” you giggle, and he rolls his eyes before leaning down.
Suddenly, a set of loud engines cut into the air as they fly around the block corner, cars rumbling and thundering as they slow down and approach Changbin’s house. A modified black vintage Mustang jerks to a stop in the driveway, and then the door flies open, a slender man with long skunk-stripe hair stepping out onto the hot pavement. A leather jacket with the word Guerillaz across the back sits draped on his shoulders as he closes the car door behind him, and other men start leaving their respective cars.
“Whoa whoa whoa, what did I miss?” The man says, tilting down his sunglasses and smirking at the two of you, still holding each other. You take the hose from Minho and aim it at him, spraying a stream of water and sending him into a fit of shrieks as he holds up his team jacket as a shield.
“Look what the scaredy cat dragged in,” Changbin taunts from the garage, before ditching his work gloves and crossing the lawn to meet the unexpected intruder.
Wooyoung catches Changbin in a hug, elated to see his old teammate after so long.
He used to be a part of the Wolfgang racing club before he moved up the coast to Sacramento– but since he couldn’t keep his hands away from the wheel, he ended up making his own club, one that ended up driving back down to team with Wolfgang to win the Kingdom Cup a year later.
They only come back down twice a year; once for the Christmas car show, and again in the summer for the Golden Tire Cup Championship. 
Wooyoung lets go of him, nodding towards Minho as he takes off his sunglasses.
“Semifinals, huh?” He says, looking at him in awe. “You must have gotten a lot better since I last saw you.”
“My teacher was alright,” he sighs and shrugs, and you spray his face and walk off, leaving him dripping wet in favor of going to find Yeji.
“Now that, I did not see coming,” San whispers, dapping up Hyunjin as he approaches the latter’s Supra, now painted red to match his hair. “The last time I saw them, they hated each other.”
“Wouldn’t you feel the same way if you met your match?” Ryujin pipes up from the ground, tightening the nut on a wheel. “They both thought they were the best before Minho won Changbin’s car.”
“Minho did what?” He asks, eyes turning to saucers.
“Dude, let me tell you about what happened last summer…”
‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧ ♫- Hall of Fame ‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧
Night is falling in the desert, but it’s never looked more awake.
Rows upon rows of cars line up on the dry earth, and photographers and gearheads alike gawk at the automobiles, snapping endless amounts of pictures and videos with their devices. 
Further down the track a stage is set up, with some DJ working a growing crowd as they sip on whatever they can get their hands on.
You’re at the edge of the car show with Yeji, helping her ward off condescending men with boring car questions. Surely they must know that car enthusiasts don’t all have to be male.
Another one saunters up to the two of you, sizing you up with a stare that lingers just a little too long at your exposed midriff.
“And this is your car?” he asks, and in favor of keeping your team from being disqualified, you keep your arms folded tight against your chest.
“Yes, it’s-” Yeji stops you with a raised hand, looking up from inspecting her manicure and staring him dead in the eyes.
“It’s my 608 horsepower V8 engine 2015 Porsche 918 Spyder, why do you ask?” She asks sweetly, smiling and batting her eyelashes at him. He narrows his eyes and reluctantly walks away, realizing this wasn’t a fight he could win.
“Nice one,” you chuckle, right as your phone rings in your team jacket. You check the time and answer it, noting that it’s just after 8 pm before speaking.
“Hello?”
“Your boyfriend says to ‘get your ass over here’. The race is about to start,” Lia says, half drowned out by the crowd you’re sure is swarming there by now. You look at Yeji, who waves you off with a shake of her head.
“I think I can fend for myself,” she whispers, and you nod in response.
“I’ll be there in two minutes.”
‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧
You hear bets being made and taunts being thrown as you push your way through the crowd, making your way to the start of the track. Four cars of different makes, models, and colors sit at the starting line, with members of their respective teams standing near each one, buzzing with anticipation.
After showing the back of your jacket you get let onto the track, where at least half of your gang circles Minho, giving him some last words of advice and encouragement.
“Remember, the gas is on the right and the brakes are on the left,” Felix jokes.
“Oh oh, and your seatbelt,” Jeongin joins in, egging him on, “don’t wanna break the law, now do we?”
“Alright alright, knock it off you two,” Changbin laughs, then looks to the team’s resident mechanic.
Chan is silent for a moment, then puts a hand on Minho’s shoulder.
“You’ve got this,” he says quietly, and the team nods in agreement. “Be safe.”
You push your way into the circle, and Chan smiles at you before gesturing to everyone else.
“Let’s give them some space, yeah?” he says, and the group disperses, wishing safety and slapping Minho on the back before exiting the track.
The man of the hour turns to you as you step up to him, the shouts of the crowd fading into the background as you meet his eyes.
“How are you doing,” you whisper, flicking some sand off of his team jacket. He looks out at the crowd, drawing in a deep breath before looking down at you again.
“I’m scared.”
“Scared of what?”
“Of losing,” he admits, running a hand through his black locks. “I don’t want to let everyone down, we’ve come so far-”
“Because of you, Minho,” you interrupt, pushing a pointed finger against his chest. “We only got this far because of you. We’ll be proud no matter what trophy you take home.”
The creases in his forehead ease at your words, and you take his gloved hand into yours.
“You’re not here to be the best; we already know you are,” you remind him, smiling. “You’re here to have fun. Winning would just be a nice bonus.”
“Oh yeah? And what happens if I win?” He grins, pulling your hand a bit closer as you chuckle at his forwardness.
“I can think of a couple things-”
“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, WELCOME TO THE TENTH ANNUAL GOLDEN TIRE CUP SEMIFINALS!”
The voice of the announcer booms over the speakers as a tall man with a silver microphone enters the track. You quickly leave a kiss against Minho’s cheek, then lean over to his ear.
“Come back to me in one piece,” you whisper, then squeeze his hand and run off the track. 
“WE HAVE QUITE THE LINEUP FOR YOU TODAY, SO LET'S HEAR IT FOR OUR RACERS!”
The crowd erupts into cheers as each racer stands in front of their car, awaiting their introduction.
“FROM THE P1ECE PEDAL PUSHERS, HWANG INTAK!”
A guy with curly brown hair waves at the crowd, blowing kisses and causing several girls pushed up against the barricade to faint.
“FROM THE BLUE FLAMES, NAKAMURA KAZUHA!”
A Japanese chick with sick looking sunglasses does a small curtsy, and you scream along with the crowd, always excited to see other women excited about racing.
“FROM THE NEVER CRASHING TIRES, LEE JENO!”
A guy with snow white hair spells out his team’s acronym with his hands before waving, and you can hear his team start chanting from down the track.
“AND LAST BUT CERTAINLY NOT LEAST, FROM THE WOLFGANG, LEE MINHO!”
You and the gang howl as loud as you can as Minho turns around and points to his back, showing off the detailed wolf design on the back of his team leather jacket.
The four racers shake hands with each other before each getting into their cars, waving one last time at the crowd before shutting the doors.
‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧ ♫- Turn Back Time ‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧
If Minho really thinks about it, all races are the same.
The announcer had gone over the rules, and despite this not being his first race by a long shot, he assumes that anyone would have been able to guess them.
Three laps around the track.
No shortcuts.
Start at the sound of the gun.
Unlike NASCAR, foul play technically is allowed, but none of the teams that made it to the semifinals made it by playing dirty. It felt too much like cheating. That, and no one wanted to scratch their nice cars for a trophy if they didn’t have to.
Minho grips the wheel and closes his eyes as a girl wearing next to nothing struts out to the middle of the track, holding an air gun in her gloved hand.
Slowly, the sounds of the crowd roaring and his opponents cheekily revving their engines fade into the background, the world around him becoming more still as he goes to his happy place.
He opens his eyes again and he’s back, back in the passenger seat with you holding the steering wheel.
“What are you waiting for?” you say, giving him an annoyed side eye.
“Aren’t you going to tell me when to go?” 
“Okay, go.”
“What-”
BANG!
“Go!”
Minho breaks out of his reverie and floors it, the racers doing the same as the crowd screams in delight.
“AND THEY’RE OFF!” The announcer booms, standing in a tower on the other side of the starting line as a black haired girl next to him waves a giant checkered flag. The cars zoom forward, getting smaller and smaller as they tear down the track. A tiny drone follows them, becoming a tiny red light flashing in the distance.
Minho grins, falling into the rhythm of upshifting like it’s an old song he loves.
The P1ECE’s car takes the lead, narrowly cutting corners while NCT’s car stays hot on its trail, not letting it get a lead. The Wolfgang’s car gives them their space as Blue Flame’s car stays next to it, hugging the inside of every curve. 
One lap down, and Minho is cruising in third place as the cars zip past the finish line.
“IT REALLY IS ANYONE’S GAME FOLKS…”
Silently, you say a prayer as the cars disappear from view, the crowd going insane around you and your gang.
Inside the car, Minho is having a ball, treating the desert track as his own personal time trial as he and the others burn rubber, trading places around every turn. 
He lets Kazuha’s car pass him as he eases up on the gas, enough to let her gain a small lead.
“What is he doing?!” An angry man yells, gripping onto the barrier as the cars fly past the start again, signaling the final lap. You assume he has money on the line as you smirk, knowing Minho’s real strategy.
“THERE GO THE RACERS AND- HOLD UP- LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, DO WE HAVE A DRIFT RACER?!”
The crowd becomes uncontrollable as they hear the announcer, seeing a small cloud of smoke go up from the edge of the track as Minho drifts around the first turn, not slowing down.
“That’s my boyfriend!” You point and scream, barely keeping yourself behind the barrier.
Minho spins the wheel left and right, howling inside of his car as it slides around every curve, leaving a smoky trail behind it. Threatened, the other racers speed up, attempting to widen the gap between him and them, but he’s gaining ground way too quickly.
He couldn’t wipe the smile off his face if he wanted to. He’s having too much fun.
He hardly realizes there’s only thirty seconds left between him and the GT Cup Finale.
And then, on the final turn, the unthinkable happens.
Jeno’s car pulls away as something under Kazuha’s car explodes, and then starts smoking.
Minho watches as her car drifts into Intak’s, making them both turn sideways and start to block the inside of the turn. 
Heart dropping, he realizes he won’t be able to clear the turn.
“Are you not going to slow down?!” He yells, frightened at the calmness in your voice.
“Why would I do that-”
“To keep us ALIVE?!” He screams, grabbing onto the middle console. “Because that’s how you handle turns?!”
No.
“This is how you handle a turn,” Minho whispers, and then taps on the break and spins his steering wheel to the right.
Up ahead, you feel yourself going lightheaded as you see the smoke start to build, blocking the rest of the track from view. Only the neon green NCT car was visible, blazing towards the finish line.
Next to you, Hyunjin goes pale, and you grip onto his arm, more to steady yourself than to comfort him as the crowd collectively holds their breath.
And then, the crowd explodes into cheers.
“RUN ME OVER AND CALL ME DINNER- WOLFGANG MAKES IT AROUND THE FINAL TURN!”
Minho flies around the corner, tires skidding against the ground while the car drifts before he steps on the gas again, emerging from the smoke. You scream, nearly shaking Hyunjin to death as you grip onto his jacket and watch the MR2 draw near to the finish line.
The girl next to the announcer wildly waves her checkered flag as the NCT car crosses the finish line, followed two seconds later by the Wolfgang car, before they both screech to a halt.
Minho throws the door open, nearly tripping over himself as he strains to see down the other end of the track, followed by Jeno.
A hush falls over the crowd as they wait in near silence, hoping to see anything other than smoke emerging from the two cars that fell behind.
In the red haze from their tail lights, one figure emerges.
Kazuha’s thumb shoots up from her body, carried in Intak’s arms as he walks them both towards the starting line.
“THEY’RE OKAY!” The announcer cheers, nearly dropping his binoculars as the crowd joins him.
Relieved, Minho's eyes search for yours before locking on them, barely having any time to react as you sprint across the track, and subsequently crash into him. The rest of the gang hops the barrier, whooping and hollering as they celebrate their finalist.
“I knew it, I knew you could do it,” you nearly sob, clutching onto his jacket.
“You saved my life,” he shudders, holding your shoulders tightly. “I would have crashed into them if you never taught me to drift.”
You don’t hesitate; you can’t. You throw your arms around his neck, pulling him in for the kiss he should have gotten before the race.
The crowd screams as he picks you up and spins the two of you, not caring one bit about who’s looking as he returns your embrace in earnest, smiling against your lips.
“GET A ROOM, WILL YOU?” The announcer laughs, walking up to the two of you and dragging Jeno with him. Minho chuckles and puts you down, and you catch a glimpse of the announcer’s mic, spelling Soobin in sparkly silver letters.
“EVERYONE, OUR GOLDEN TIRE CHAMPIONSHIP FINALISTS!” 
Soobin takes Minho’s arm and raises it along with Jeno’s, and the crowd goes wild.
‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧ ♫- Be Free ‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧
slowlee: come to the kitchen rq
You read the text and swipe away the notification, slipping the phone back into your jacket pocket.
“Glad to hear that no one got seriously injured,” the man you were talking to says, stepping back onto his motorbike. “Typically for people like us, crashes end up being way less epic.”
“Well I'm glad you haven't gotten into any,” you jest, waving to him and his crew before they roll off the driveway, their silver hexagonal logos glinting off their jackets in the moonlight.
You turn and walk back up to Changbin’s house, alive and overflowing with guests as the afterparty is in full swing.
Making your way through the crowded house, you dap up Hongjoong and a tipsy Mingi, do a shot with Chaeryeong and Yuna, and slide into the kitchen right as Minho picks up a brown bottle, instantly meeting your gaze.
“EVERYONE!” Minho yells, pouring a shot of whiskey into his cup before pulling you to his side. You try and fail to keep a grin from landing on your face.
“I’d like to make a toast,” he announces, surveying the room of members and supporters turning to face him and grinning. “To this team, for making it to the finals after four years!”
Whoops and whistles fly around the room.
“To Changbin, for helping me keep his old car in top condition so I don’t die on the road!”
A crazy sounding laugh comes from the man holding baby Chun Ja, complete with a mini racer jacket and red binkie.
“And to the rightful owner of his car,” he lowers his voice, face softening as he looks down at you.
“Minho,” you whisper, eyes widening as you stare up at him in shock.
“I want them to know,” he whispers back, hand squeezing your waist.
“For beating my ass by seven seconds in our duel last year,” he continues, and you watch as several members around the room blink and look at each other in confusion. Yeji and Hyunjin’s eyebrows shoot up simultaneously, and your best friend’s eyes meet yours, equally shocked. “And teaching me that there’s no point in being the best, if you’re not having fun with it.”
The room erupts into cheers as Minho raises his solo cup, and everyone follows suit, cups rising all around the kitchen. “Next stop, the Golden Tire Cup Finals!”
“Shit, I’ll drink to that,” Wooyoung laughs, before everyone throws their shots back.
As the party quickly resumes, you’re swarmed by some of the girls in the gang, bombarded with questions about the legendary duel that decided the fate of the club’s leader. Amongst the chaos, you lock eyes with Minho, who’s getting slapped on the back by Hyunjin while some other members tease him.
He mouths three words to you, and you swear you feel your whole soul light on fire.
You giggle, flaming red as you mouth them back.
I love you too.
After all, you should have known that after acquiring your heart, there’s only one thing he could do.
Burn it.
‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧
Burn It
a lixiesfreckles_ production
cast(in order of appearance)
Lee Minho as the finalist
Han Jisung as the baby mechanic
Kim Seungmin as the only one working
Jung Wooyoung as the old teammate
Seo Changbin as the host
Choi San as the one that's figuratively late to the party
Hwang Hyunjin as the drama
Shin Ryujin as the pit crew
Hwang Yeji as the one who knows her shit
Lia as the messenger
Lee Felix as thing 1
Yang Jeongin as thing 2
Bang Chan as the experienced mechanic
Choi Soobin as the mc
Hwang Intak as the heartthrob hero
Nakamura Kazuha as the victim
Lee Jeno as the neo one
Kim Hongjoong as the designated driver
Song Mingi as the passenger princess
Lee Chaeryeong as party girl 1
Shin Yuna as party girl 2
dedicated to everyone who read Punch It and demanded a book afterwards. it's never gonna happen, but the flattery stayed with me.
do not copy or repost. all rights reserved.
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hyunsvngs · 6 months
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kinktober !
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kink: period sex
pairing: lee minho x fem!reader
wc: 2.6k
period sex: sexual activity that happens while at least one partner is menstruating or on their period.
It was the worst form of torture. Every month, your period would leave you feeling the horniest you’d ever felt, and it was even worse when you had a sex god boyfriend who would walk around looking so tasty. In all honesty, he could walk around wearing anything and it’d still have you wanting to shove your hand down your panties and get yourself off. But you couldn’t. Not while he was there, being so lovely and caring for you through the most horrible cramps you’d ever felt in your life.
“How are you feeling now, baby?” Minho murmured. You’d been laying practically on top of him, a cat shaped hot water bottle trapped between your stomachs as you half-watched the movie that was on. You’d been too horny to even pay attention to it, and you weren’t even sure what the fucking thing was called. Minho had been watching, though. He was a stranger to your internal suffering. 
“I’m comfy, thanks, Min,” You replied, kissing his cheek. You didn’t miss the way the tips of his ears still burned red, even after so long. He was so cute, but you wanted his dick. Time to change the subject. “I hate cramps. They’re awful, y’know? They say dark chocolate helps.”
“Want me to get you some? I can drive to the shop,” Minho asked, his hand rubbing circles on the small of your back. You hummed, shaking your head.
“I don’t even like dark chocolate, it was just something stupid I saw years ago,” You said, and Minho chuckled, shaking his head fondly. Then, he turned to you, his eyes soft as he looked you up and down. He always looked at you like you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen - even when you were suffering an intense period-caused acne breakout and wearing one of his t-shirts and a pair of fluffy pyjama bottoms. 
“I heard something similar,” He began, biting his lip. “I heard orgasms help. Have you tried getting yourself off, baby?”
Oh, he was too sweet. Always looking for solutions to make you feel better. “Well… Min, I can’t exactly get myself off while you’re here. That’d be weird.”
“I’d love every second of it,” He was serious, but you still giggled, poking his cheek playfully. “Baby, in all seriousness, if you want me to fuck you, I will. A bit of blood will not bother me.”
You blinked, leaning up. “You’d really do that?”
Minho chuckled, kissing you chastely. “It’s blood, baby. It’s really not a big deal. I’ll lay a towel down.”
You stared at him for a moment, and he stared back, raising an eyebrow in questioning. Then, you yanked the fluffy cat hot water bottle out from between you and kissed him. He just deserved a kiss for that, but he still let out a little ‘mmph’ in shock at your boldness. “Minho,” You mumbled against his lips, and he hummed in response. “I’m so fucking horny, you don’t even understand. Every fucking period, you walk around looking so hot, and I could’ve just asked this whole time?”
“Baby, I look like this all month,” He chuckled, kissing you again. “Honestly though, yeah. You could’ve just asked, dummy.”
“Oh my God,” You sighed, curling into him more to kiss his neck. He let you mouth your way down his soft skin, and you sucked a mark into his collarbone where you knew it wouldn’t be seen. He scoffed out a laugh, his hand moving to rub over your ass instead. “Oh my God, Minho, get a fucking towel.”
He was still laughing when he stood up, shaking his head as he grabbed an old towel from his wardrobe. You belatedly realised that oh, he’d see the blood, and you were starting to feel a little less confident. When you hadn’t moved from the bed to let him lay the towel down, he tilted his head at you in confusion. 
“You can’t look, okay?” You gushed, jumping up from the mattress. Minho bit his lip, hiding a laugh. You pouted, stomping your feet in a mild tantrum. “I’m going to pull my pants down, and you have to close your eyes, because there will be blood on my pad. Okay?”
“Baby,” Minho shut his eyes, shaking his head. When he opened them again, you could see the amusement in them, and it made you pout even harder. “I’d be shocked if there wasn’t blood on your pad, y’know? Given that you’re on your period.”
“Well, yeah, but still-”
“Come here,” He commanded. You couldn’t deny that tone of voice, even if you were mid-tantrum and shy. You walked over to him, and he tossed the towel onto the bed, wrapping his arm around your waist. You let him kiss down your neck like he’d done to you, biting at the skin and humming when you let out a choked noise. “I think you’re so fucking sexy, you know that?”
“You’re sexy,” You protested, and he shook his head against your skin. He pulled away from your neck, using two fingers to get you to look into his eyes. You were practically melting. 
“I’m gonna get you naked the way I always do,” He said, and his tone was firm. You wanted to protest, to make a big deal, but he shook his head before you could even speak. “I’m going to get you naked the way I always do. I’m gonna take my time worshipping those tits, and then I’m going to fuck you and get you to cream nice and wet on my cock. I do not care about blood. Okay?”
You blinked. You couldn’t even argue with that, really. “Okay.”
“God, you’re so good for me, aren’t you?” He murmured, his eyes dark and staring directly into yours. “Letting me fuck you like this. What a good fucking girl, huh?”
“I need you so bad,” You whimpered, and Minho chuckled. You gasped when he wrapped his hand around your throat, a light pressure but there nonetheless, and then he was kissing you. It was different to his soft, loving kisses on the bed, his tongue demanding dominance inside your mouth and making you whine. You couldn’t protest when he ran his hands up your back underneath your shirt, and you definitely couldn’t protest when his hands gripped your ass firmly. He was such a fucking wet dream.
You watched in awe as he yanked his shirt off from behind his neck, revealing planes of milky skin and toned biceps. You didn’t even hide your gaze, your eyes running over him in delight as you felt the arousal pool in your stomach. He pushed you back against the bed, somehow landing you directly on top of the towel as he made quick work of your shirt. You weren’t wearing a bra for comfort purposes, and he made a sound akin to a growl as he saw your tits, nipples pebbled against the cold chill of the room. 
“Baby, these tits,” He moaned, grabbing them both with his hands. “They’re fuller, huh?”
“It’s the period,” You gasped, letting him tweak your nipples with his fingers almost painfully. He knew how you liked it. “You like them?”
“I like them every fucking day,” He responded quickly, wrapping his lips around one of the buds and sucking. You let out a choked noise, feeling the sensitivity of them from your current state. Minho perked up, grinning. “Are they sensitive?”
“I think every part of me is fucking sensitive, God, please fuck me,” You gushed, spreading your legs and letting him get between them. Minho chuckled, letting his tongue run over your nipple again. 
His fingers went to the waistband of your fluffy rabbit pyjama bottoms, playing with the fabric. He raised an eyebrow at you, and his facial expression was soft, fond. “Can I take these off, baby?”
You bit your lip. “Only if you’re sure.”
“I’m sure I want to fuck you all the time, so yes,” He said, grinning. You held your breath as he pulled your pants down, taking your underwear with them and tossing them to the floor. He hadn’t looked, and you knew he did it to make you feel comfortable. You loved him so much it made your heart swell. His eyes dragged down your body, his hand stroking softly over your tummy and eyes landing on your pussy. Oh, God. “Fucking beautiful. You’re so beautiful.”
“Can you get naked now?” You shifted impatiently. Minho smiled, nodding, and then he was pulling his own bottoms down. You were more than delighted to see he’d foregone underwear, cock springing out and looking solid. You leaned forward instantly, letting your lips brush his as you wrapped your hand round the base of his cock, the trimmed hairs tickling your skin. “This fucking cock. It’s so amazing.”
“He likes you too,” Minho mumbled against your lips, kissing them chastely. “You gonna jerk me off a bit, baby?”
You sighed. “I wanna suck it, to be honest.”
Minho shook his head, letting his hand fall to yours and moving it on his shaft. “I will cum instantly if you suck me off right now,” He admitted, leaning down to run his tongue over your nipple again. You jolted, moaning and starting to pump his cock steadily. You tightened your hand a little bit more at the tip, just the way he likes it, and his cock leaked just a bit of precum in approval. “Something about this, baby. The way you trust me so much. I think I could die.”
You giggled, moving your hands to pull him in at his waist. “I think I’ll die if you don’t fuck me. I need to cum on your cock so bad.”
“Yeah?” Minho asked, but the look on his face told you he was very aware. He positioned his cock at your pussy, letting the tip run through your folds teasingly. “I think I’ll fuck you then.”
“God, do you want me to beg?” You huffed, wrapping your legs around his waist. “I’m not above begging.”
“I know, I have you begging for it every night,” He mused, and then he was pushing inside. The stretch startled you, and you moaned loudly, making Minho chuckle. He bottomed out easily, the slide wet and your pussy more than pliant for him. You were sure your pussy was moulded to the shape of his cock at that point. “How do you want it? Tell me, baby.”
“I- oh, deep, hard?” You said, voice lilted as if it was a question. “Give it to me the way I like it, you know.”
“Yeah?” Minho asked, starting to thrust into you steadily. You moaned, clenching tight on his cock. You were so sensitive, unabashed moans and whines falling from parted lips and echoing around Minho’s room. “You want me to call you my slut, so desperate for my cock? You want me to fuck you senseless?”
“Oh, oh-” You keened, and Minho laughed, kissing your neck. His cock was solid, hard inside of you, and the way he was thrusting into you was such a smooth, slick slide that it had you wanting to cum instantly. 
“Yeah, you are my slut, aren’t you?” He murmured against your skin, and when he pulled away to look at you, you were left breathless. His hair was dark, flopping over his forehead but not obscuring his beautiful features, his pouty lips parted and exposing his cute bunny teeth. They pressed at his bottom lip as he fucked into you, and when you looked into his dark, feline eyes, all you could see was love. You couldn’t help but moan, nodding. You let your fingers grip onto his biceps for stability. “I know, I know, baby. Let me take care of you.”
You gasped as he pushed his thumb into your mouth, and you were quick to suck on it dutifully, running your tongue over his digit. He pressed it in deep, swirling it around your tongue and staring at you with half-lidded eyes. You startled when he reached down, rubbing your clit with his thumb. “Min, the blood-”
“Ssh,” He urged you, shaking his head. He pushed one leg back with his other hand, letting it fall over his shoulder and fucking you deeper with his thumb massaging circles into your sensitive bud. “I know how to make this pussy cum, don’t I?”
“Yeah, yeah, you do,” You agreed, nodding. His chest pushed your thigh into your tits, leaning over you to kiss you once, filthily and deep. His thumb didn’t let up and neither did his thrusts, his cock bullying into your hole over and over and making you whine. “Jesus, Minho, your cock is fucking amazing.”
“It’s all yours, baby,” Minho’s voice was strained, hips stuttering against you. “Baby, you’re so wet, I don’t know if I can hold out.”
“Min, please,” You begged, eyes bleary. “I’m- I need to cum, Minho.”
“Fuck, fuck, yeah, I know,” He gasped, eyes rolling back into his head. It was a rare sight seeing Minho pussydrunk - he normally held out for a lot longer than you did, but clearly the added wetness on his cock was a little bit too much for him. “Feel me, baby. Focus on my cock. It’s so fucking hard for you, yeah?”
“Yeah,” You gasped, bucking your hips into his thrusts. He pinched your clit meanly, smirking when it made you squeal. Your chest heaved, a sheen of sweat forming on your skin. 
“Gorgeous fucking girl. Your little pussy always needs me, kitty,” He moaned, grunting into your neck with every thrust. You were getting close, his ministrations too much to handle when combined with his filthy words. “Fuckin’ slut. My slut, yeah? Always needing me, needing my fucking cock inside of you.”
You whined, nodding. You’d started to bounce on his cock now, letting him pinch and rub your clit to send you into oblivion. “Always need it, oh, oh, Min, mean, be mean-”
“Be mean, kitty?” He scoffed. You gasped when he moved his hand from your thigh, and then he was slapping you across the face, a light slap but definitely there nonetheless. Your eyebrows furrowed, lips parting. “Got me pussydrunk, kitty. Fucking minx.”
“‘M gonna cum, Minho,” You warned, your sopping walls fluttering around his cock happily. “I’m gonna fucking cum, you’re gonna make me cum, oh-”
“Yeah?” He moaned, his noises getting higher in pitch. He was getting close. “I’m gonna cum with you. Do you want it? Do you want my cum?”
“Always want your cum, oh, breed me, Min, I’ll soak your cock-”
You let out a loud whine, digging your fingernails into his shoulders almost painfully as you came. You felt your pussy gushing on your boyfriend’s cock, soaking his length and moaning like a fucking pornstar all the way through your orgasm. Minho tensed, his hands grabbing your hips. His hips stopped completely, cock bottomed out inside you as he filled you with his cum. 
He collapsed on you, his weight a welcomed addition. “I’m not g’na pull out yet ‘cause I know you’ll get shy,” He mumbled, kissing your sweaty skin. You giggled, nodding. 
“Do you wanna take a bath?” You asked, running your fingers up his back. 
“I can’t think of anything better, baby,” He sighed. “I said I was going to fuck you senseless but I think you’ve just fucked me.”
“On the upside, my cramps are gone,” You grinned. Minho looked up at you, kissing your nose fondly. 
“Let me know if they’re back,” He said, eyes earnest. “I’ll just have to fuck you again, since you don’t like dark chocolate.”
“Really hate the stuff,” You hummed, nodding. “I like you though.”
Minho giggled, his nose scrunching up cutely. “I like you too, baby.”
2K notes · View notes
fizzydrink698 · 1 year
Text
conflict, conceal, confess | minho
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kinktober day 31: thigh-riding
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pairing: lee minho x reader
word count: 18.1k (💀)
genre: college au, enemies to lovers, (modern!consort au)
warnings: sexual content (thigh-riding, oral sex, fingering, handjob, marking, a whole lot of smut honestly, like 6k words of it), swearing, an ungodly amount of academia
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summary:
“Why don’t we call a truce?”
Minho blinked, caught off-guard. “Truce?”
“Yeah. No more arguments…” you trailed off, the words already sounding hollow and you were the one saying them. “OK, maybe some academic debate. But nothing personal.”
“Nothing petty,” Minho added, giving you a pointed look.
It took an impressive amount of willpower to force your smile to stay on your face. “Exactly. We somehow managed it as kids. How hard could it be to do it again?”
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“Your brother is such an asshole.”
You wondered how many of your conversations with Felix had started with those exact words. In the years since childhood, there had probably been countless variations of this very situation: you collapsing into a seat near Felix, ready to unleash after biting your tongue for however many hours beforehand.
His reaction was second nature at this point. Without even glancing towards you, Felix paused in the middle of rolling out what looked to be shortbread dough and turned to switch on the coffeemaker. “What is it this time?”
“Do you remember how many new people signed up to debate at the start of the year? Had to be at least twenty, right? Maybe thirty?”
“At least thirty,” Felix confirmed. “I gave out blondies to every person that signed up. The entire pan was gone in like an hour.”
Yes, you remembered that day. Specifically, you remembered Felix holding up the empty pan with a big smile on his face and proudly declaring how many people had shown interest in joining. And you’d had to figure out how to politely break it to him that the hordes of first-year students walking back and forth in front of his table were eyeing a little more than just his baked goods.
Sweet boy. Sweet, innocent, oblivious boy.
“Guess how many are left,” you challenged him, eager to prove a point.
Felix frowned, thinking it over. “There were still about fifteen when I was last there. So, ten?”
“Six,” you exclaimed, balling your hand into a fist and planting it onto the tabletop for dramatic effect. “And Minho made one of them cry today.”
In just a few years, you and Minho had transformed your university’s debate team into one of the most successful in the country. You’d won awards, you’d attended international competitions, you’d gained notice from several notable figures in academia. Membership of the debate team had gone from a minor footnote you’d discard in an application to a badge of prestige, of recognised talent.
Minho’s standards were high, shockingly so, but he got results. As a second-in-command in all but name, it was usually up to you to run damage control, to nudge members towards persevering instead of walking out the door. The good cop to his bad cop, the carrot to his stick. You’d be tempted to call it exhausting, were it not for the undeniable rush of satisfaction whenever you succeeded in building up a member where Minho failed.
Lately, however, your efforts were starting to fall short. In just eight weeks, over twenty recruits had quit before team selections had even finished.
“Oh, jeez,” Felix muttered. Before he could say anything more, the coffeemaker chirped behind him, and he wasted no time pouring you the biggest cup he had lying around.
You motioned it over with greedy little grabby-hands, accepting it with a smile.
Felix returned to his shortbread dough and picked up a star-shaped cookie cutter. “Why did they cry?”
You made a vaguely displeased noise through a mouthful of coffee, only managing to word a response when you set the mug down. “I don’t even know. This week’s debate was on the ethics of nuclear power, and I could tell she took pretty much all her talking points from Wikipedia. I assume it was about that. Minho probably got all Minho about it and tore her to shreds.”
Felix paused. You wondered if it was just because he was concentrating on his cookies, until you realised he was hesitating. “…I don’t know. I know Minho takes this stuff seriously, but he’s not the kind of guy to make some poor kid cry over debating.”
“Why not?“ You asked, and you can’t stop the bitterness creeping out into your voice. “It’s nothing he hasn’t done before.”
“Oh…” Felix said, eyes widening in realisation. He lifted his head up to look at you, sympathetic. “Shit, yeah. I’m sorry.”
For the most part, you’d gotten over your experience in high school debate club, but the memories still stung a little.
You’d been so eager, signing up the very second you were eligible, talking Felix’s ear off about how excited you were, how much you were looking forward to it. You’d known that Felix’s older brother - a year ahead of you - was somewhat of a big deal in the club, and you’d maybe imagined him taking you under his wing. Looking out for you, encouraging you with gentle feedback and a warm smile.
You’d gone into your first debate, attempted to expand upon the few points you’d known about the topic, and shyly waited for Minho’s counterarguments.
He had stepped up to the microphone, levelled you with a blank stare, and eviscerated every single argument you’d made. Pointed out every logical fallacy, every gap in your research, every misspoken or poorly worded statement, everything. He’d cut you right to the bone, with zero mercy.
You spent the rest of the club meeting holding back tears, ran all the way to Felix’s house as soon as it was over, sobbing your eyes out – and actually, maybe that was the first of many “your brother is an asshole” exchanges.
Huh. Funny how things come full circle like that.
When Minho returned home about a half-hour after you, you’d stormed into his room and demanded to know why he would treat you so badly. Did he want to drive you away from the club? Did he secretly hate you this whole time?
You’d never forget his response. The shrug he gave you, the arch of one eyebrow as he took in the sight of you, burning with rage, fists clenched by your side. The fucking sigh.
I just thought you’d do better than that.
What a fucking thing to say to a fourteen-year-old. Especially one that looked up to him the way you did.
And, deep-down, there was a certain sting that accompanied his words. Something you could never bring yourself to admit out loud, not even to Felix. An extra flash of pain, because back then you’d…
Whatever. It was ancient history.
You had almost quit on the spot. Instead, you dove headfirst into researching the next week’s topic, determined to beat him, paranoid about every little mistake he might pick at.
And that…
Well, that was your life for the next nine years. Even that one blissful year when Minho had graduated, the year you’d taken over as head of debate club, the year you’d gotten your team all the way to nationals - he still didn’t leave you in peace.
He’d turned up to that final competition, gaze intense, face neutral. You’d spotted him in the audience, unable to tear your eyes away, watching every little twitch of his jaw, every tiny shift in expression, and knew he was picking apart your arguments. Waiting for you to trip up and fail in front of everyone.
It felt like a glorious ‘fuck you’ when your team won that year. You’d held that trophy, looked right into Minho’s eyes, and wanted to scream ‘I fucking told you so’ right in his smug face.
Ugh. Asshole.
“It’s all in the past,” you said, forcing yourself to shrug it off.
Taking another swig of coffee, you reached over and poked Felix’s shoulder, grinning.
“And besides…Minho isn’t the one coming with me to the U.N. next month.”
“Next month,” Felix repeated, slightly in awe, matching your excitement and then some. “Holy shit, it’s so soon.”
It was. In just a few weeks’ time, you’d be standing in front of a U.N. committee giving a speech on commitment to environmental preservation with your best friend by your side. You’d worked for this for months, years even. And you’d be doing it together.
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“I’m afraid I have bad news about the U.N. speech.”
You sat there, horrified, as your supervisor – Dr. Koning – shuffled the papers on his desk with a grave expression. “What? What happened? Don’t tell me it’s cancelled.”
“It’s not cancelled,” Dr. Koning said, before pausing. “…But it has been postponed. Certain recent global events have pushed it further down the agenda. The speech will happen next January.”
“January?” You repeated, and horror quickly dawned on you. “No, wait. Felix can’t do January. He’s studying abroad next semester. There has to be some other…”
“I’m afraid there’s not. I’ve tried to speak to the few contacts I have, but changing the agenda of the United Nations is…well, a little beyond our capabilities, I’m sure you can understand.”
“But this is just as much Felix’s speech as it is mine. It’s on environmental preservation, he’s the one that’s specialising in environmentalism, he can’t just get dropped like…what if he flew back for the U.N. speech? That’s doable, right?”
“Even if he could, he would still be missing the weeks of preparation leading up to the speech,” Dr. Koning reminded you, sounding genuinely apologetic. “Unless he withdraws from his study-abroad program, I’m afraid we have to give his spot to someone else.”
You felt like you’d just been punched, right in the gut. Felix couldn’t withdraw from the program. It was one of the main reasons he’d chosen this university in the first place. He’d spent months competing for the limited spaces at the best partner university, he’d e-mailed the faculty there ahead of time to begin networking, he’d based his entire career path on the connections he could make there.
Even the fucking United Nations wasn’t worth the damage his future plans would take if he dropped out of studying abroad.
“…Who’s taking his spot?” You asked, quiet, defeated.
Dr. Koning looked down at the papers, and adjusted his glasses. “Well, there are a few candidates in mind. But at such short notice, there’s really only one feasible choice. One of my colleague’s PhD students, you might know him. Lee Minho?”
…No.
No.
Absolutely fucking not.
You choked on the sudden anger bursting from your chest, trying your best to push it down before you started cussing out Lee Minho right in front of your professor. Finally, you were able to respond through gritted teeth. “Yes, I know him. We don’t…really get on.”
Dr. Koning frowned, pushing his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry to hear that. Are there any incidents I should be aware of?”
“No, nothing like that,” you said. “Just…it’s been a thing since we were kids. We don’t like each other.”
“Well, we can look for others…” he said, before trailing off. Frowning, he leaned forward slightly, granting himself an air of conspiracy, like he was letting you in on a secret. “But, honestly…if this is something you feel comfortable setting aside, just temporarily, you should know that Minho really is the best candidate. By quite a wide margin.”
Of fucking course he was.
You let out a deep breath, closing your eyes and fighting the urge to start massaging your temples.
“…Maybe,” you relented, even if it took every ounce of willpower you had. “I’ll talk to him.”
“Good to hear,” Dr. Koning said, smiling. “I really do hope the two of you can work together on this. Both of you have shown astounding potential. I look forward to seeing what you come up with.”
“…Mm-hm. Me too.”
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It was a cold, crisp Monday morning, and you found yourself stood on the steps of the lecture halls. The expression on your face was enough for the dawdling first-years around you to give you a wide berth, allowing you to scroll through your e-mails in peace.
Scroll through your e-mails, and wait.
For him.
Felix had mentioned that Minho was sitting in on a talk from a visiting financial expert on the state of global economics, and you figured now was as good a time as any to confront him about the speech.
…And by ‘confront’, you meant ‘patiently and politely open channels of communication’. Of course.
Fuck, it was freezing.
You shivered, pulling your scarf just a little tighter around your neck, and exited out of your e-mails to shoot a text to Felix.
You
Who in their right mind voluntarily sits in on an economics lecture at eight o’clock on a Monday morning?
Lixie
i mean
…literally you last week
You
OK first of all
That was a fucking Guillaume Van Bebber seminar
The man has a Nobel prize
Second of all
That wasn’t a Monday
Third
Shut up
Lixie
ok no cookies for you
You
Wait no, what??
I take it back.
Take it all back.
You’re my bestest friend in the whole world.
Bestest and smartest.
Waittt
You were so distracted texting Felix, you didn’t notice the doors to the lecture halls opening, and the slow stream of students beginning to file out.
You did, however, notice a familiar voice.
Your head snapped up to see Minho at the top of the steps, talking with who looked to be the guest lecturer. The two were standing still, rather than walking along with the rest of the students, positioned just out of the way so they could continue whatever conversation they were having without interruption.
Cool, even more waiting.
You shifted your weight, shoving your hands into the pockets of your coat to keep warm, and watched as Minho continued to speak – and, unbelievably, managed to make this lecturer laugh.
You blinked.
What the fuck? Minho didn’t make people laugh. He made them miserable, yes, but never laugh.
And then, suddenly, as if he could sense your insults, Minho looked over and locked eyes with you. His eyebrows raised slightly, probably in surprise at seeing you on campus so early in the morning. You made sure to maintain eye contact – an old habit with Minho, by this point. You hated being the first to look away, it always felt like weakness.
He turned away, saying something to the lecturer with a slight incline of his head.
The lecturer blinked, before nodding. You watched as, with a warm smile, the lecturer extended what looked to be a business card to Minho.
Minho accepted it, the two exchanged one final handshake, before Minho turned on his heel and descended the steps.
Towards you.
It was a little unfair, you wanted to grumble, that Minho always looked so put-together, no matter the time of day. He was wearing a black turtleneck sweater, perfectly suited for the chilly October morning air, under a tailored beige overcoat. It looked designer, the plaid pattern on its lining looking vaguely familiar, but that was standard for Minho’s wardrobe. You’d known since you were a little kid that Felix’s family had money.
Like, ­fuck-you money.
You forced your eyes up to his face before they travelled any further downwards, but you knew from a glance that Minho was wearing some form of tight black jeans. They were a staple of his wardrobe, and you hated them. You hated any and every reminder of Minho’s…
Well, Minho’s fucking tree trunk thighs.
Which you also hated.
With a passion.
He did dance as a kid. And some kind of equestrian thing in his teenage years – because, again, fuck-you money – which all contributed to…
You know what?
Didn’t matter.
Because you hated them. They weren’t worth mentioning.
“We need to talk about the U.N. speech,” you said, as soon as he got close enough, cutting straight to the chase.
“OK,” Minho nodded, approaching closer. You paused, confused, as he showed no sign of slowing. He drew closer and closer, and something tightened in your chest, as he–
He brushed past you, shoulder nearly bumping yours, continuing onwards past you.
You stilled, rooted to the spot for a moment, blinking at the empty air where he had just been standing.
Shock quickly morphed into incredulous anger, and you turned sharply to storm after him, blown away by his rudeness. “Hey, where – what the fuck?”
Minho paused, turning to face you, halting so suddenly that you almost bumped right into him. You stumbled back a step or two, before righting yourself, as Minho asked. “…Wait, did you mean now?”
The way he said it, confused, as if you were the strange one for not specifying the obvious.
“No, I was thinking in three weeks. But let me just check my calendar first,” you retorted, deadpan. “Yes, now. Why else would I be here?”
“For classes,” Minho pointed out, gesturing to the lecture building he’d just exited.
You opened your mouth instinctively, before pausing.
Because the honest answer, that you were here because you’d been waiting for him, now sounded…
“…Look, are you free to talk about the speech or not?” You asked, folding your arms over your chest.
Minho stared at you for a moment, before giving you a shrug. “I’ve got about an hour before my next class.”
“Good.”
“I usually get coffee around this time, while it’s quiet.”
“…OK? Good for you?” You said, frowning slightly.
Minho kept staring, looking…strangely expectant.
What, he wanted a pat on the back for having coffee in the morning?
Finally, with a sharp exhale that could almost be mistaken as an exasperated sigh, Minho turned away and set off walking again.
Rude. You were literally just having a conversation? Now, he just expected you to follow him?
Ugh.
Reluctantly, you did just that, having to quicken your pace to match Minho’s stride with those…fucking gargantuan legs of his.
Legs that didn’t matter. Because you didn’t notice them. At all.
To your surprise, Minho didn’t head for Muffin House, the main coffee shop on campus. That was your go-to place for caffeine – it was cheap, they had a bunch of muffins in different flavours, and they had an irresponsibly large number of discounts on extra espresso shots for students.
Instead, you had to follow Minho down a little side street nestled between two of the towering science blocks, cut across a near-deserted car park, and finally took a right towards a quiet little pocket of buildings on the edge of campus.
You would have walked right past the coffee shop entirely, were it not for Minho suddenly ducking through the doorway of a non-descript stone building. You paused, and it was only after looking up and studying the front face of the building that you noticed the sign for Kwon’s Koffee.
Inside, it looked indistinguishable from other coffee shops on campus – except it was far less crowded, with only a few tables taken up by exclusively postgraduate students.
This was definitely one of those little insider-knowledge haunts for PhD students, like Minho. And the idea almost made you want to hate it on principle.
You joined the queue behind Minho, gaze wandering toward the board of coffee specials.
…Fuck, OK, they did look pretty good.
Still, the principle of the matter remained.
“You realise Muffin House was so much closer, right?” You asked, glancing at Minho.
Minho made a face. “Yeah, but their coffee is shitty.”
“No, it’s not!”
“It’s always bitter.”
“Yeah, because it’s made to go with the super-sweet muffins,” you said, slowing your words as if trying to explain the concept of taste to a toddler. “They balance each other out.”
“Which means if you don’t get muffins, you’re shit out of luck,” Minho pointed out, and glanced over his shoulder at you. “And I never get them.”
You stared at him, genuinely affronted by this statement. Yet another thing to add to the colossal-sized list of reasons to dislike Minho. “What? Why? How?”
He shrugged. “I don’t have much of a sweet tooth.”
“How are you and Felix even related?”
“It’s because of Felix,” Minho argued, and you had to admit, your interest was piqued. “Who do you think was the test subject for all his recipes?”
“What, were they bad?” You asked, intrigued.
Minho smiled ruefully. “Some were. But the most dangerous ones were the great ones. There’s only so many whole pans of brownies you can inhale before your body just rejects sugar on sight.”
Huh.
You forgot, sometimes, how close Minho and Felix were. It didn’t entirely fit in with your general doctrine of ‘Minho = The Worst’ so it was often banished to the back of your mind.
You supposed even the absolute dregs of humanity usually had at least one redeeming quality.
…Wait, this was coming dangerously close to an actual conversation with Minho.
“I think you’re just a coffee snob,” you dismissed with a shrug.
Minho rolled his eyes, and that brief façade of reasonable humanity vanished. “If Muffin House figured out how to brew coffee without burning it to shit, I’d drink it. But they haven’t yet, so…”
You opened your mouth, already raring to start an argument, but it was at that moment that the person in front of Minho in the queue finished ordering. Minho turned away from you, and walked up to the counter.
You followed closely behind, and it was only when your attention shifted from Minho to the person behind the counter that your eyes lit up.
“Seungmin?”
Seungmin blinked, leaning to the side just a little to look over Minho’s shoulder at you, surprised. “Oh, hey! Long time no see.”
Seungmin had been a stalwart member of your debate team for the first few years of undergrad, until he landed a job as research assistant for one of the most respected professors on campus. You had a lot of good feeling towards him, not least because he – along with Felix – often acted as the mediator between you and Minho.
He must have remembered that role too, as his gaze soon shifted back and forth between you and Minho, and his brow furrowed slightly. “Wait, are you two getting coffee? Like, together?”
You saw Minho bristle out of the corner of your eye, and you fought back a scoff. Did he really find it so insulting to be seen in public with you? “Yes, we are.”
Seungmin’s eyes flickered between the two of you again. “…Voluntarily?”
Minho answered this time, seemingly through gritted teeth. “Apparently.”
“Huh,” Seungmin said, mostly to himself. “Interesting.”
“Can we order now?” Minho asked, impatiently.
Seungmin shrugged, ignoring Minho’s rudeness, and set about taking your orders.
(Of course, Minho took his coffee black. Pretentious motherfucker probably had a whole thing about palate and bean aroma or whatever. You threw in a muffin with your order, to spite Minho more than anything else.)
It was only at the end, when it came to payment, that Seungmin looked up again at the two of you. “Are you guys paying separately, or…?”
That was kind of a dumb question.
“Separately,” you said, pointing out the obvious.
“Very separately,” Minho echoed, giving Seungmin a very pointed look.
Impressively, Minho’s glare did little to change Seungmin’s expression. In fact, Seungmin only smiled a little wider, calmly reverting back to his standard customer service script. “…OK. Cash or card?”
After payment, it only took a few minutes of waiting for your coffee before you found yourself sat at a table in the corner of the coffee shop, facing directly across from Minho.
The two of you sat there in silence, coffee in front of you.
How did you…how did you even start a conversation with Minho that wasn’t an argument? Usually, you relied on him to say something incorrect and pounce on it.
Now? You had to figure out how to be…nice. Civil. All because of this dumb speech.
You watched Minho shrug off his coat, turning in his seat to drape the coat over the back of his chair. The black turtleneck he was wearing underneath was surprisingly form-fitting, and when he turned back around to face you and pick up his mug, your eyes dropped down to your own cup before you gave into the urge to scowl openly.
Sometimes, you wondered if it would be harder to hate Minho if he were less attractive.
It was a thought you crushed down the second it came into your head, but you couldn’t entirely deny it. There had been moments, unspeakable moments, when you started dating someone, that your brain betrayed you and compared them to Minho. It was like he had to just…infect every part of your life. He had to ruin everything.
You swallowed, curling your fingers around the handle of your mug, tapping the edge of it with your thumb. “…So, the speech.”
“The speech.”
“I assume Koning already talked to you about it?”
“Yes.”
“…And?” You said, resisting the urge to scream. This was like pulling teeth. “Your thoughts?”
Minho sat back in his chair, eyeing you closely. “Why the U.N.?”
Easy question. So easy, you’d almost call it moronic. “It’s the U.N. It’s literally where I want my career to take me.”
“You want to work at the U.N.?” Minho asked, and you could almost mistake his tone for interest.
“Yes,” you said, confidently, half-prepared to defend yourself in case Minho decided to find your ambition laughable. Screw him. “The Human Rights Council, preferably, but I wouldn’t say no to a job in the General Assembly.”
“Who would?” Minho remarked, deadpan.
“Ergo, a speech there. It wasn’t easy, but we managed it,” you said, not even pretending to be humble.
“…It’s impressive, honestly. What you’ve achieved.”
“What me and Felix achieved,” you corrected him automatically, but honestly, you were a little thrown. That sounded…dangerously close to a compliment. From Minho.
“Koning said it was your idea,” Minho said. “You came up with the proposal, and you were the one ballsy enough to actually submit it to the U.N.”
“Yeah, but the speech is literally on environmental preservation–”
“International NGO commitment to environmental preservation,” Minho interrupted, and you bit down the sudden flare of anger that he felt the need to correct you on your own fucking speech topic. “International commitment is your wheelhouse, isn’t it?”
“And Felix is literally specialising in environmentalism,” you reminded him, and it was then that one of your biggest concerns about this whole situation reared its head. “Which reminds me, actually, why did they pick you to replace him on it?”
Minho stared at you for a solid moment, eyebrows slowly raising, as if he couldn’t believe you were being serious.
You felt yourself bristling, growing defensive. “What? You’re a politics student, not–”
“My master’s thesis was literally on environmental activism. I help teach undergrad classes on green politics and ecological efforts in government policy. How do you not know this?”
…OK. So, fine, maybe you didn’t pay that much attention to what Minho actually studied. Why would you? You imagined it would only piss you off more, reading through his fucking glowing examples of academic writing – like, seriously, in your second year of undergrad, one of your professors used one of his essays as a literal example of how to do the assignment.
You scoffed, lifting your coffee up to your mouth, muttering under your breath. “Ego-logical efforts, more like.”
Minho tilted his head, clearly having heard every word you just said. “What was that?”
You stared him down, taking one long, unabashed drink of coffee, before setting your cup down. Maintaining eye contact, you forced your most innocent smile. “Nothing.”
Another moment of silence fell between the two of you, as Minho’s mouth twitched. You could tell he was very tempted to call you out, and you almost wanted to dare him to say something. Going this long without some kind of conflict with Minho felt…weird. Strange.
Instead, Minho sighed, and you couldn’t imagine the visible shock on your face when his expression actually softened towards you. “…Look. I know you really wanted to work with Felix on this. It’s really shitty that this got taken out of your hands.”
…What? What the fuck was happening here?
He continued. “I’m sorry you got screwed over like this.”
What the fuck was in this coffee?
“I’m not trying to butt in and mess with everything you’ve prepared,” Minho said. “I genuinely just want to help you. I know we’ve got…issues.”
“That’s a bit of an understatement.”
“Sometimes people just don’t get along,” Minho said, eyes flickering downwards to his mug as he took a sip of coffee. “But I hope we can be professional about this.”
You fought the urge to scowl, but you couldn’t quite stop yourself from clenching your jaw at the assumption.
You could be professional.
You could be insanely fucking professional.
“Yes, I hope we can,” you said, your voice perfectly level. Calm. Composed. Professional. “So, actually, until this speech is over…why don’t we call a truce?”
Minho blinked, caught off-guard by your choice of words. “‘Truce’?”
“Yeah. Until the speech is done, we’ll try to be nice to each other. No more arguments…” you trailed off, the words already sounding hollow and you were the one saying them. You backtracked slightly. “OK, maybe some academic debate. But nothing personal.”
“Nothing petty,” Minho added, giving you a pointed look.
It took an impressive amount of willpower to force your smile to stay on your face. “Exactly. We somehow managed it as kids. How hard could it be to do it again, for the next few months?”
Minho didn’t answer immediately, clearly thinking the proposition over.
You took another sip of coffee, trying your best to leave it at that. But you couldn’t help but add, pointedly. “I mean, I don’t think it’ll be hard for me. But if you think you–”
“I’ll manage,” Minho interjected, dryly, unimpressed. “You’re the one who starts it most of the time, anyway.”
“I don’t–” you bit your tongue, taking a second to claw back your patience. “…I mean, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure.”
You sat just a little taller, frowning. “OK. So, we’re decided.”
“Yep.”
“Truce?”
“Truce.”
“…Good.”
“Good.”
“Great,” you said, maybe just a little eager to get the last word. Maybe.
It was only when you took another sip of coffee, content with yourself, that Minho dropped the sudden curveball. “My housemates are throwing a Halloween party this weekend. Maybe you should come.”
You very almost did a spit-take with your coffee. “What?”
“If you’re so interested in a truce,” Minho added, tapping his fingers against the wooden surface of the table, and that was when you recognised the invitation for what it was.
A challenge.
Minho was absolutely trying to get you to chicken out.
You straightened your shoulders. “I’d be happy to,” you said, and it sounded vaguely threatening.
“Great, I’ll let them know.”
“Looking forward to it.”
“Me too,” Minho said, his words so edged, you could imagine them slicing into you.
Yeah, this truce was definitely going to last.
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This was a terrible idea.
You hesitated on the pavement outside of what was very obviously a Halloween party in full swing. You’d purposely waited a little, hoping to avoid the awkward early stages of house parties, your imagination filled with dreadful images of being one of the first to show up and having to make conversation with Minho.
The later, the better. More people to act as a buffer, and a better excuse to get drunk.
Hopefully, fingers-crossed, maybe Minho had already gotten absolutely wasted and wouldn’t even notice you were there.
Bolstered by the thought, you shot a text to Felix – who should already be inside, having volunteered to swing by early and help his older brother with decorations – to say that you were here.
OK.
Breathe.
Go.
You marched up the path towards the front door, refusing to be distracted by the partygoers scattered around the front yard, smoking and chatting and one couple leaning against the wall and already looking very handsy.
The front door was open, and you made your way inside, senses alert for any sign of Felix (to approach) and Minho (to avoid) as you did so.
The house was impressively large for student housing – of course it was, Minho lived here – and yet, every room held a crowd of people. Dancing, drinking, having fun. A drunk girl, dressed in what looked to be some variation of zombie Disney princess, stumbled into you, giggling apologetically as she did. Her drink – a can of something, maybe a bottle – was icy-cold as it brushed against your thigh.
You should have worn something longer, you thought. Your costume was cute, and dare you say, maybe even kinda hot, but it was not cut out for any temperatures colder than a room full of warm bodies. Just the walk up to the house had you shivering, just a little.
Your hunt for Felix led you from room to room, as you tried and failed to prevent yourself from rolling your eyes at the size of this place. Someone had set up tables – multiple – for beer pong in one room, while another room hosted an impressive speaker system for dancing, while another room was all softly-lit and calm background music, clearly the designated room for quieter, laid-back conversation.
A layout that checked all the house party boxes, sure. But a terrible place to try and track someone down.
Eventually, somehow, you found yourself in the kitchen, and it was here that you wondered whether you should just give up for a second and grab something to drink. You’d find Felix at some point, hopefully. Just as long as you didn’t run into…
“Oh.”
You turned at the voice, instinctively, but on second thoughts maybe you should have pretended not to hear.
Minho was standing in front of you, leaning against the kitchen counter.
And he…
He looked…
Holy fucking shit.
From the fake blood on his billowy white shirt and the painted-on bite mark on his neck, he was clearly some kind of vampire. Someone – maybe Minho himself – had applied the subtlest amount of eyeliner, and between that and the rumpled dark hair, and the…
Fuck, those were leather pants. Skin-tight.
Oh, you had to leave right now–
“Hi,” you said, standing your ground.
“You’re late,” Minho noted.
It was only then that you realised Minho was part of a loose cluster of guys, all of whom turned to see who Minho was talking to.
And one of them, to your intense relief, was Felix.
“Hey!” Felix greeted, wandering over to throw an arm around you in a half-hug. He was a cheerful drinker, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t help your confidence a little to see someone so unambiguously happy to see you here.
When he pulled away, you noticed that the little hand-drawn stitches around his neck had already started to smudge. Miraculously the little fake plastic bolts on either side of his head remained intact.
“I like your costume,” Felix told you. “It’s very…pink.”
“It is very pink,” you agreed, looking down at yourself.
When you glanced up, you caught the way Minho’s eyes flickered upwards too, as if he’d just finished looking you up and down.
You tensed a little, preparing yourself for some kind of critique. Lee Minho, champion appraiser of cheap Halloween costumes.
To your surprise, however, Minho quickly averted his eyes and took a deep swig of the drink in his hand.
“I like your costume too,” one of Minho’s friends chimed in. He was kind of cute, all dark hair and big brown eyes, so adorable that his werewolf costume came across as looking more like a chipmunk. “What are you?”
You smiled, relaxing a little. “The most accomplished woman of our time.”
The guy blinked, looking briefly thrown for a second, eyes back on your costume as he tried to decipher who you were.
But Minho, astonishingly, cracked a half-smile. Which, for Minho, was practically a laugh. “Are you Barbie?”
“Yes,” you admitted, reluctantly, half-tempted to lie just to be petty. Except, damn it, no more pettiness. You’d agreed.
“Barbie is the most accomplished woman of our time?”
“Princess. Astronaut. President. I am prepared to fight you on this.”
“Really?”
“Yes, and I’ll win.”
“Mm,” Minho hummed, and again, his gaze flickered downwards. What, was it so shocking to see you in pink?
You shifted your weight, and you almost folded your arms over your chest before you remembered what the neckline was like on this dress. Maybe not.
Unbeknownst to you, Felix and Minho’s friend exchanged a look.
Clearing your throat, you turned your attention to the large and varied alcohol selection littering the kitchen counter. “So, what can I get to drink here?”
“Minho can talk you through it,” Minho’s friend suddenly announced, patting Minho on the shoulder. Minho blinked, tearing his eyes away from you to look at his friend. “I’m gonna go find Chan, he promised me a beer pong rematch. Felix, bro, you should come with.”
Felix hesitated. “…Actually, maybe I–”
“Nah, come on,” Minho’s friend insisted, hooking his arm with Felix’s, cheerfully pulling him away. “Be my cheerleader.”
You stared, as it dawned on you that your biggest support in this minefield of a conversation was being frogmarched away.
Right. OK. Alone with Minho.
Cool.
You chanced a look back towards Minho, only to find him still watching you, and you quickly diverted your attention to the alcohol again. Smoothing down your skirt, you forced yourself to shrug. “I thought about coming as Frieda Dalen, but I figured no one would get the reference. She was–”
“The first woman to speak at the U.N., yeah.”
You snapped your head back to stare at him, bewildered. “How the fuck do you know that?”
Minho raised one eyebrow, and you were genuinely irritated that, in combination with the hair and the blood and the outfit in general, it almost…almost maybe twisted something in your gut. “My first official university debate was about the history of women in global affairs. She was a good factoid. 1946, right?”
You fought the urge to scowl as you confirmed his answer. “Yep. 1946.”
And, because even the tightest of leather couldn’t dull your burning dislike of seeing Minho smug, you pressed him further.
“Do you remember which country she was the delegate of?”
“No,” Minho admitted, tilting his head slightly to one side as he looked at you. After a moment, he straightened up from where he’d been leaning, gaining an inch or two of height in doing so, forcing you to tilt your chin up slightly to continue meeting his gaze. “Why don’t you tell me?”
His words should have sounded patronising.
Except, there was a strange edge to his voice, almost a playfulness but not quite. Not a lightness, because it definitely didn’t feel light. It felt kind of heavy, actually.
If you didn’t know any better, you would almost mistake it as…
“Minho!”
Both of you jolted at the sudden shout, barely having the time to turn towards it source before a tall guy with a Phantom of the Opera mask and ridiculously pretty long, blond hair staggered into Minho and hugged him.
You blinked, too caught off-guard to even appreciate the bemused expression on Minho’s face as the pretty guy mumbled into his shoulder. “Minho, I think…I’m druuunk.”
You took that as the perfect opportunity to back out of this…interaction with Minho, even as something strange twisted inside of you. You quickly grabbed the closest drink you could and retreated out of the kitchen as fast as your dignity would allow.
You needed to drink. And maybe dance. Anything to distract you, before your mind wandered anywhere dangerous.
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This wasn’t working.
Drinking your problems away was a terrible idea in and of itself, but you’d been tempted to give it a go. After your second drink, however, you were blindsided with the intrusive thought of getting wasted and throwing up in Minho’s bathroom, and all the humiliation that could go with it, and it had warned you off alcohol for the rest of the night.
Dancing, your alternative solution, had worked for the first hour or so. You had let loose a little, but as your drink-fuelled buzz slowly faded, you found yourself growing increasingly uncomfortable by the stale air and the press of warm bodies. You were getting hot, something under your skin beginning to itch.
You needed to get out of here, just for a moment, to clear your head.
With crowds of people blocking your way to the front door, you decided on a different path towards some peace and quiet. Upstairs was mostly left untouched, understandable since there were no drinks to be found and no music playing, and you breathed out a sigh of relief when you reached the top of the stairs and turned a corner, and found an empty hallway.
Perfect.
Before you could think twice, you sat down on the floor, your back against the wall. The relief of taking a break from standing in these heels was immediate, and you let your head loll backwards, closing your eyes.
You just needed a few minutes here, you decided. Just to recharge.
“What are you doing?”
You didn’t open your eyes, but you felt your expression immediately sour. Of course it had to be the worst possible person to find you here, alone and close to misery, sitting in the hallway.
Minho approached, or at least, that was what you gathered from the sound of his footsteps. He came to a halt fairly close, pausing, and spoke up again.
“How are you this wasted already?” Minho asked, and there was surprisingly little amusement in his voice at the idea. In fact, you’d almost mistake it for concern.
“I am distressingly sober, actually,” you replied, slowly opening one eye to glare at him, but it was half-hearted at best, and you closed it again. “Just needed some quiet. Had a headache.”
Minho didn’t say anything in response. In fact, it was silent for so long, you started to wonder if he’d walked off without you even noticing, when he suddenly spoke up again. “I know a good place for quiet. And for fresh air, if you want it.”
Slowly, you opened your eyes again, fixing him with a look of suspicion. Admittedly, whatever he was suggesting sounded like the perfect place for you right now – which was exactly the reason you were so suspicious. “Where?”
“It’s pretty nearby,” Minho said, and to your disbelief, held out his hand.
Your eyes flickered from his face, to his outstretched hand, to his face again, before taking a deep breath and pushing yourself up to your feet by yourself. To his credit, Minho withdrew his hand smoothly, seemingly unaffected by your refusal to take it.
“After you,” you said, still reluctant to let down your guard.
Minho nodded, and set off down the hallway, going just a little further from where you were sitting, and stopping in front of a door. With a glance back to you, probably checking to see if you were still following, or if you’d lied about being sober and collapsed while he wasn’t looking, he opened it and wandered inside.
You took a few steps towards it – and then caught one look inside the room and halted dead in your tracks.
That was…
Was that…?
“Is that your fucking bedroom?” You asked, in pure disbelief.
Minho stopped, turning around to look at you, and how the fuck could he look so calm about this? “…Yeah? Last time I checked, why?”
“Why? Are you…” you trailed off, scoffing, before putting on your best Minho impression. “‘I know a good place, come follow me’ and it’s your bedroom. Come on.”
“I wasn’t…I was talking about the balcony. There’s a balcony through…” Minho gestured vaguely towards the far wall, where you realised the huge ceiling-to-floor curtains hanging there must be hiding the doors to it.
Of course he has a balcony.
Of course.
For once in his life, Minho looked just the slightest bit ruffled as he finally caught on to the incredibly obvious implications.
He swallowed. “Look, if you’re not comfortable, that’s–”
You interrupted him with a scoff. “I’m not uncomfortable.”
In fact, to prove just how comfortable you were, you marched into his room, forcing yourself to appear entirely unbothered.
“See? Fine,” you said. “Just, maybe lead with the balcony thing next time, so you don’t look like some massive sleaze.”
Again, Minho’s reaction surprised you. Instead of anger or annoyance at your accusation, Minho cracked another half-smile. “Fair.”
…Yeah, you really weren’t used to this whole ‘nice’ thing between the two of you. It felt weird, like the very foundations of your dynamic were shaken by it.
As Minho led you towards the balcony, you tried your best not to look too closely at his bedroom, as much as your curiosity protested otherwise. The most detail you got was that it was fairly neat, fairly clean, and he had a stupidly large bed. Which, you know, Minho, fuck-you money, that made sense.
You point-blank refused to dwell on it.
As soon as he slid open the door, you quickly leaned forward and breathed in that refreshing cold night air, and felt your headache fade just a little. It was only when you stepped out onto the balcony that you truly felt yourself relax, and the tension built up in your head began to ease.
“Better?” Minho asked, and you heard him come up from behind you, coming to a stop beside you to look up at the night sky. You couldn’t make out many stars from here, thanks to the light pollution of the city, but it was still undeniably a pretty cool view.
“Yeah,” you admitted and, begrudgingly, you turned towards him to mutter. “…Thanks.”
“No problem.”
“I won’t be too long out here,” you added, feeling the weirdest need to justify accepting this kindness from Minho, to downplay it. “I’m not exactly dressed for October weather.”
Minho paused, keeping his gaze fixed on the night sky above and very much not on you. “Yeah.”
…Yeah?
You frowned, unable to stop yourself from feeling slightly defensive. “I mean, you’re one to talk.”
That got his attention. Suddenly, Minho had no problem looking at you. “What?”
“Your pants, Minho. Did you paint them on yourself?”
And you realised then and there that you must have made some kind of error, because Minho looked genuinely amused. Glancing down at himself for a moment, his eyes wandered back up to meet yours, and there was a genuine note of curiosity in his voice. “What, do you like them?”
You stilled, faltering just slightly, before retorting. “I’d probably like the cow they’re made from more.”
“Don’t worry, they’re not real leather,” Minho quipped back. “If that’s your only issue with them.”
“Well, you know, the fake leather industry is actually…” you trailed off, because your comeback sounded lame even in your head. “Whatever.”
The two of you fell into a silence, both watching the stars for a moment, listening to the thud of the bass downstairs and the muffled cacophony of voices.
And then, quietly, reluctantly, Minho spoke. “…Can I ask you a genuine question?”
If it was about the pants, you might actually throw him off this balcony. “OK. You’re not guaranteed a genuine answer, but go ahead.”
“The U.N. speech. It was your idea. If you want to go into human rights, why are you doing a speech about the environment?”
You paused, genuinely flustered by his question. Your response came out jumbled. “I don’t…you know, the two aren’t mutually exclusive, environmental damage is having a huge impact on–”
“Yeah, but that’s not what the speech is actually about. It’s a great speech, but why isn’t it on a subject youwant to do?”
“Who says? You? You don’t know what I want,” you shot back, irritated, refusing to admit that he’d touched a nerve.
Rather than snapping back at you immediately, Minho took a deep breath, calming slightly. “…You’re right. I don’t. I shouldn’t assume.”
What was this? You didn’t want him to agree with you, you wanted an argument. This ‘nice’, truce stuff was really starting to grate on you. “Exactly.”
“It’s just…it’s important that you do what you want, and not try to shape yourself around other people.”
“I don’t,” you argued. “Maybe what I want is for you not to attack every little decision I make. Like you always do.”
Minho’s brow furrowed, his stance shifting slightly. It took a second to realise that he was appraising you, eyeing you thoughtfully.
“You…really seem to dislike me,” he noted.
“Oh, do I?” You remarked, bitterly.
“Why is that?”
You let out a deep breath, mostly out of frustration, but also a little out of exhaustion. Closing your eyes for a moment, you tried to construct some kind of response.
There seemed to be a multitude of answers to that question. Minho was arrogant. He was atrociously blunt in most social settings and seemed indifferent to the hurt he caused others. He had an exorbitant amount of money and had very few qualms showcasing it. He scared away almost every single new debate team recruit because he was apparently allergic to the concept of constructive criticism. He’d ruined more than one relationship you’d had. Apparently, you talked too much about him, but there were only so many ways to honestly answer questions about your day or how you were feeling without mentioning how aggravating Minho was in some capacity.
But honestly, the more you thought about it, the more you felt yourself slipping back into the shell of that little fourteen-year-old, looking up at the cool older boy with wide eyes and hoping for just one kind word.
And it made you feel so…small. Pathetic.
“Because you’re an asshole,” you stated, simply.
Minho stared at you for a second, before frowning slightly. “I mean, not really.”
…Oh, he decided to say just exactly the wrong thing there, didn’t he?
“You absolutely are. Like, objectively,” you argued. “You literally made a girl cry last week over debating.”
“What? Who?”
“That first-year girl. Dark hair, super perky. You know, when she’s not crying her eyes out.”
Something approaching recognition dawned on Minho’s face, but to your surprise, his expression dimmed slightly. “Oh, her. She told you it was about her debating?”
Well, not in exact words, you wanted to say. But it wasn’t hard to read between the lines, given what you knew Minho to be capable of.
“OK, then what was it about?” You asked.
“She came up to me after our last meeting and asked for some tutoring,” Minho said, before giving you a very pointed look. “As in, a specific kind of ‘private’ tutoring. Very specific. And she was not subtle about it.”
You blinked. “…What?”
Minho’s brow furrowed, visibly searching through his memory of the incident. “To be fair, I might have laughed in her face. In my defence, it was less about her and more about the audacity.”
You pictured the scene, of that girl coming onto Minho, his face when he realised what was happening, and the worst part of you maybe wanted to smirk a little. But you would not indulge it. “Still, sounds like you could have been nicer abut it.”
“OK, yeah, I feel a little bad. But no, it wasn’t over her debating skills. I might be harsh, but you think I’d make someone cry over that and not give a shit?”
Every ounce of amusement drained out of you in an instant, replaced by something cold. “I mean…yeah, you’ve done it before.”
“What? When?”
He didn’t know?
How could he not know?
You might have finished sobbing by the time you’d confronted him, all those years ago, but hadn’t it been extremely obvious?
You stared at Minho for a good few seconds, waiting for him to slip up, to give up the joke. But all you got in return was a genuinely confused expression on his face, waiting for you to clarify what exactly you were talking about.
Oh.
Yeah, he really didn’t know.
Shit.
You swallowed, looking down at your hands, picking at one particularly jagged edge of your thumbnail. “…Me.”
Minho stilled. You could feel his eyes burning into the side of your head, searching your face. “You cried?”
Oh, fuck this guy. You stiffened, embarrassment roiling in the pit of your stomach, and snapped, seething. “Just forget it–”
“No, I didn’t mean…” he trailed off. When you braved a look over at him, you didn’t find the smirk you were expecting. Minho looked genuinely chastened, watching you with a deep but unreadable emotion. “I…didn’t know.”
You didn’t like this, you didn’t know how to handle…earnest Minho. Where the fuck did asshole Minho go?
“It was just the once. It was my first debate, and you were a dick about it,” you said, forcing yourself to shrug.
“Oh,” Minho said, with such a strangely specific tone that you couldn’t help but look over at him. There was a look of dawning realisation on his face, and the slightest hint of…
Embarrassment?
“I think I remember that,” Minho said, sounding vaguely horrified. “…This is going to sound dumb.”
Minho? Dumb? And aware of that fact? “…OK.”
“And a little pathetic.”
“Good, go on.”
“But I think, at the time…I was hoping you’d ask me for help.”
You stilled, trying to comprehend the string of words that had just left his mouth. Trying to forge them into anything that made even the smallest bit of sense.
“…And you didn’t, I don’t know, think about offering your help? Before humiliating me in front of my classmates?” You asked, and you almost surprised yourself with the way your voice shook with an old, familiar anger. “That didn’t, you know, maybe occur to you?”
Minho turned his whole body to face you head-on, hand curling around the balcony railing at his side. It was in that moment, seeing him entirely, that you glimpsed that blunt, ruthless young man that had cut you so deeply all those years ago – and saw, for the first time, how small he really was. That memory had taken up so much space in your mind, had warped itself until Minho towered over you, a titan, a symbol of each and every one of your failings.
Now, for once, a new image appeared. An awkward teenage boy, too embarrassed to admit that he wanted to be something in your eyes.
You softened, just for a second.
And then, remembering yourself, remembering all that had happened between the two of you since then, you came back to your senses.
“And what about everything after? It’s not like you were nice after that one little misunderstanding, you picked at everything I did for years.”
“In my defence, neither were you. You refused to speak to me unless you had to for years,” Minho pointed out. “And I realised how much you could do, what you could achieve–”
“If you kept being an asshole?”
“If I held you to actual standards,” Minho corrected, and for the first time in this conversation, he was starting to get heated. Good. “The next time the club met, you wiped the floor with seniors. Seniors. You were just as good as me, and you barely had experience.”
A compliment from Minho, however begrudging and biting it was, had a dangerously addicting effect on you. Actually, maybe the begrudging part only made it better. “And what? That pissed you off?”
Minho’s expression faltered, just for a split-second, and that spoke more than any confession could.
“It did,” you said, half-shocked for a second, before pressing on. “So, you wouldn’t get off my fucking back foryears. You even turned up at nationals after you graduated, hoping I’d fall flat on my face.”
“Is that what you think?” Minho asked, incredulous.
“What else would it be?”
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe…” Minho stopped, before letting out a short, bitter laugh. “Never mind. Forget it.”
You wanted to press him further, but the anger that had sustained you so far was starting to flag a little.
This was just…exhausting, sometimes.
You let out a deep breath, just as a cold October breeze decided to kick up, making you shiver. Instinctively, you folded your arms over your chest, tucking your hands into your sides to get just a little bit of warmth.
Maybe it was time for you to leave.
You looked over at Minho, opening your mouth to say something–
Only to catch his gaze openly, unmistakably, dipping down towards your cleavage.
You stopped.
You stared.
His eyes moved upwards again, finding yours, and he realised he’d been caught.
He tensed, just for a second, and you watched a tangle of emotions play out across his face before he settled on a neutral, blank, composed expression. But he didn’t speak.
He just…looked at you.
Waiting for you to say something? Daring you to say something?
It was hard to decipher, because at that moment, your brain was still 100% stuck on the fact that Minho had been checking you out.
Because that wasn’t some little accidental flicker, his gaze had stayed there.
Minho had been absolutely, undeniably, checking you out.
For all your complaints about the cold weather, it was starting to get very warm out here.
Why the fuck wasn’t he saying something? Anything?
You swallowed – or, well, you tried to at least.
Something had awoken, deep in the pit of your stomach. You felt it starting to unfurl, slowly, your nerve endings beginning to prickle.
“Are you…” you didn’t finish the question, you couldn’t finish the question, because the words ‘are you into me?’ were so laughably alien that they just refused to leave your mouth.
Minho waited, expectant for something, searching your face. Whatever he found – or didn’t find – was enough to make him speak.
“What?” he asked, and it was that same voice he had in the kitchen. Quiet, loaded, just a touch lower in register that almost made your breath catch.
It was like he was challenging you. Goading you. Wondering whether you were too much of a coward to finish that question.
You needed to ask. You needed to say it.
Come on, you were about to talk to the fucking United Nations in a few months, surely you could handle asking one question to Lee fucking Minho.
“Are you…attracted to me?”
Already, you were starting to cringe internally. Already, you were preparing for the worst. You tried to reassure yourself that it was fine, that when he said ‘no’ you could call him out on staring at your chest, he had no room to speak, it was a logical question, it…
Except Minho didn’t say ‘no’.
He didn’t say anything.
And the longer he looked at you, the longer he stayed silent, the more obvious his answer became.
…Oh.
That…
Maybe you were drunk, actually. Surely you had to be. Because the idea that Minho found you attractive didn’t drive you off like you thought it would.
Minho found you attractive.
Minho, the man with an ego so large it could smother a man, a superiority complex so vast it could bring awe-stricken observers to tears, that Minho…found you attractive.
Huh.
As you stared back at him, you were hit with the sudden thought of kissing him.
Which would be a terrible idea.
Because Minho was Minho and just because he was into you, just because he was perhaps objectively maybe a little good-looking, just because he’d admitted that all these years he’d seen you as an intellectual equal, just because he had the kind of thighs that could probably crush a watermelon, he…
He…
You paused, mind-blank, before rising up on your toes and pressing your lips to his.
The first few seconds were strange. Of course they were, it was surreal to feel someone’s lips on yours and know this was Minho, holy shit. You could feel how still he was, how shocked, and you knew he must have been on the exact same wavelength.
And then, he closed his eyes, his hand lifted up to gently cup your cheek, and everything clicked together perfectly.
This felt right, like really weirdly right despite it all. Some kind of base level of brain chemistry was screaming about how right this was, and it had you shivering in a way that had nothing to do with the cold.
Was this a bad idea? The two of you had to work together for the next few months, you should have been aiming to keep things strictly professional, personal issues could complicate–
Minho let out the tiniest exhale, recapturing your lips immediately, and your thoughts stopped dead in your tracks.
Fuck professionalism, you’d earned this, you’d been working your ass off for months, you deserved to take satisfaction whenever you could get it.
You looped your arms around his neck, pulling yourself up slightly to press the entirety of your front against his. He was warm, shockingly so, and when his free hand moved to press itself into the small of your back, you chanced parting your lips just a little.
Minho followed suit, deepening the kiss, angling his head just slightly. Everything about his touch, how he held you, it was all so strangely gentle in comparison to the usual way he treated you. As if you were an illusion, like if he squeezed too hard, you might disappear.
One of your hands came up to run your fingers up his neck, through his hair, and the drag of your fingernails coaxed a quiet hum out of him.
Every noise you pulled from Minho, every little reaction, felt like winning an argument. It felt like a strange natural extension of your debates, isolating the weakness in the other’s defence and targeting it.
You let your fingers tangle in his hair, biding your time, and when you tested a sharp little twist, you heard his breath catch.
Minho went still, just for a second, just enough to take a deep breath, before grabbing your hip and swinging you around, pushing you up against the sliding balcony door, trapping you between it and him.
The impact was enough to knock a gasp out of you, and he pulled away briefly. You watched him, cheeks flushed, eyes dark, breath heavy, as he tried to form words. “Fuck, are you–”
You pulled him back to you, a hand fisted in his shirt collar, too impatient to let him finish the rest of his question. Your kiss was rushed, insistent, and you took your time before you pulled away to mutter against his lips. “I’m fine. Just…fuck it, just keep kissing me.”
Minho’s head dipped towards yours, briefly, as if he were about to do just that – before he paused. “…Ask me nicely.”
“Fuck off,” you snapped, impulsively, heat rushing to your face.
He pulled his head away, his whole body even, until the two of you were just barely touching. He lingered, teasingly close, an amused glint in his eye. “Why, is that want you want? Me to fuck off?”
You didn’t know if he was being sincere or not. You never knew if he was being sincere or not. That was Minho, through and through.
You scrabbled for an answer, brain still sluggishly working through the fact that you weren’t kissing anymore, chest rising and falling with every quickened breath. You found your words, looking him directly in the eye, tilting your chin up slightly.
“Kiss me,” you said, practically venomous, before setting your jaw. “Or I’ll find someone else to do it for you.”
You didn’t know why that was the threat you made. Logically, it held no weight – Minho might have been attracted to you, but would he really care if you kissed someone else? You half expected him to laugh you off, and wander off back to the party without even a glance back at you.
He did neither of those things.
In fact, the teasing look in his eye vanished completely. His gaze turned so intense that you wondered if he could burn a hole straight through you.
When he finally spoke, he was deceptively calm, his voice perfectly even as he noted out loud. “I see. So, that’s how we’re playing this.”
You barely had time to process his words, before his mouth was back on yours, almost feverish, and with a newfound harshness.
You met him with just as much enthusiasm, matching him move-for-move.
A gentle Minho was too complicated. A soft, kind Minho forced you to confront some preconceived notions that you were very happy to keep unchallenged.
This Minho, the one who dragged his right hand down your side, the one who gripped your hip so tightly you could imagine it bruising, this was something you could handle. Something you didn’t have to overthink.
Because, fuck, you really, really didn’t want to think right now. You were sick of thinking, your whole life was thinking.
Minho’s hand slipped downwards to your thigh, his palm sliding around to the back of it before he lifted your leg up slightly to slot his thigh right between yours.
The instant he lowered your leg, you realised exactly what he’d done. Immediately, you felt the press of him between your legs, subtle enough to allow plausible deniability, and yet too firm for you to just ignore. To make matters worse, you were now just slightly off-balance, your foot just brushing the floor.
You couldn’t lower it, you couldn’t regain your balance, without pressing down even more on his thigh. You tried anyway, and the friction resulted in your first whimper of the night, light and breathy against him.
Minho’s grip, still on your leg, tightened.
He dropped his head to press his mouth to your neck, kissing at the skin there – and then he clenched his fucking thigh muscles, and your resulting moan slipped out right by his ear.
Your hands scrambled for him, clutching his shoulders, breath heavy as you tried not to rock your hips. You couldn’t give him the satisfaction, you absolutely refused to. You grabbed a fistful of his hair again, pulling by the roots to drag his head back upwards so your mouths could meet again.
Your kiss was now heated, almost clumsy. You caught Minho’s bottom lip between your teeth and nipped, enjoying the way he hissed, the way his tongue licked over where you’d done it, the way his left hand came up to your face – not to cradle this time, but to clutch, to grip.
His right hand moved up to your ass, giving it one firm squeeze, before suddenly and very deliberately pulling you down and along his thigh. More noises fought their way out of your mouth, and you were too weak to resist just one roll of your hips, chasing that same friction. It had barely been a few minutes, and you could already feel yourself starting to ache, heat beginning to collect at the apex of your thighs.
It was gratifying to learn, when you pulled Minho even closer, forcing the full length of his body to press against yours, that you weren’t alone in that. You felt something firm beginning to press into your hip, and when you slid your hand down to confirm what it was, palm sliding against it, Minho inhaled sharply.
You grinned against his lips, and squeezed him through those damned fake-leather pants.
He groaned, eyes drifting shut for just a second, before suddenly snapping open.
“Come on,” he said, swallowing, and took you by the wrist. Before you knew it, he pulled you away from the balcony door to slide it open again, and hurriedly tugged you inside.
You had been a little too distracted to notice how much colder it must have turned outside, but inside welcomed you with a warmth that radiated through your whole body.
But it took you a moment, brain still in a thigh-induced haze, to realise the full extent of what it meant to be inside.
To be inside Minho’s bedroom.
You hesitated as Minho slid the balcony door shut behind you, drawing the curtains together.
You stared ahead, eyes on that huge bed – and the first hints of panic seized your chest.
Quickly, almost unthinkingly, you grabbed Minho by the arm and pulled him. He stumbled, clearly caught off-guard, but he went along with it, letting you pull him to you and turn, pressing him up against the wall.
Easy. Your back was to the bed now, removing it from your sight, and that strange new weight of anxiety disappeared entirely. You went back to kissing him, hands back in his hair. Your new comfort zone, apparently.
Apparently, however, you didn’t entirely fool Minho, who must have picked up on your tension at least a little.
“I thought,” he murmured, between kisses, and made no move to grab at you like he had outside, “you might want,” more kisses, “some more privacy.”
You hummed, non-committal, your concerns already disappearing as you tried to figure out how to get Minho’s leg back between yours again without outright asking.
“Outside, people can…” he paused, probably because your nails had scraped along his scalp almost accidentally, and he shivered, “hear.”
You pulled away slightly, hiding how breathless you were, fixing him with a playful look.
“Hear what?” you challenged, pretending as if you hadn’t literally moaned in his ear just a short while ago.
Minho didn’t answer, but you knew that expression. It used to keep you awake at night, anger burning through you at just the thought of it. He was smug.
Surprisingly, the sight no longer filled you with burning rage – but it did prompt you to back him up against the wall again, stepping right back into his personal space, and pull his head down to kiss you again.
He relaxed into you, soft and gentle as his hands eased over your sides, which only served to wind you up more. Frustrated, you tugged at his shirt, pulling it up and out from where it had been tucked into his waistband, and let your hand snake up under it.
You had learned over the course of the evening that Minho, as mouthy as he liked to be around you, wasn’t the most vocal partner you’d encountered. Maybe that would have discouraged the average person, but you knew Minho. You’d known him for years, you knew every tell he had, the meaning behind every hint of body language.
You knew that when Minho’s breath caught, as your hands ran up his stomach, up his chest, exploring his upper body, it was basically his equivalent of shaking with anticipation.
You took the hint, grasping his shirt with both hands and pulling it upwards. The shirt – some kind of billowy white poet’s shirt, the kind with the little lace-up ties at the neck that he’d left undone and open – was loose enough to remove easily, and you let it drop without a second thought.
Even now, despite everything, you were reluctant to stroke Minho’s ego by openly ogling him. It was a challenge, trying to ignore the smooth skin, the lean muscle, so you dipped your head before he could see your reaction, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the underside of his collarbone.
Again, it felt like a special talent to recognise Minho’s deep inhale, when your hands brushed his chest, for the emotions it betrayed.
Your mouth descended lower, eager, towards his chest – and you let your tongue brush his nipple.
His breath caught again, and when you experimented with a quick nip of your teeth, his grip on your sides tightened briefly.
That was Minho’s equivalent of being horrendously, painfully turned on.
Your hand slid down past his abdomen, cupping him through his pants, and this time you let your palm gently grind against him.
Minho’s body shivered under your touch, and it felt like winning.
And then, suddenly, as if he had somehow read your mind, he scrambled for the zipper of your dress, determined to even the playing field. You briefly pictured denying him, pictured staying clothed while undressing Minho, having that kind of advantage over him.
Tempting, maybe. But then you imagined the feel of Minho’s hands on your bare skin, and you made your decision pretty quickly.
Minho pulled down your zipper, building anticipation as he hooked two fingers under each of your spaghetti straps and slowly peeled your dress from you, letting it pool around your ankles.
His eyes dropped, and his expression changed.
“Oh, wow.”
You couldn’t help but grin slightly, glancing down at what you knew Minho was staring at. Your underwear was a matching set of pastel pink silk, with little hints of lace and ribbon, even a bow or two. You’d taken one look at it and knew it screamed princess.
“I always commit to my costumes,” you replied, refusing to feel even the smallest hint of embarrassment. It was hard to feel so anyway, with Minho staring down at you with dark eyes, drinking the sight in, amusement long since shifted into something else entirely.
He reached forward, tracing the ribbon at the edge of your bra cup with his thumb, before letting it sweep down over the lace – and right over the peak of your nipple, eliciting a sharp inhale from you. “Were you expecting someone to see it?”
“No,” you admitted, half-tempted to arch your back, just to press your breast into the curve of his palm. “Nothing about this was expected.”
Minho hummed quietly in agreement, still taking his time admiring you. He grabbed at your breast, not quite rough but not entirely gentle, fingers splayed, making sure to drag his thumb back over your nipple as he did so. “I never imagined you wearing something like this.”
You were so focused on the weight of his hand on your chest that you almost missed the implication. Almost. “Imagined? You imagined?”
Minho’s eyes darted up to meet yours, looking caught out for just a moment before his expression smoothed again. “Sometimes. Occasionally.”
OK, you had to ask. “What did you imagine?”
“Not this,” Minho stated, stubborn, refusing to give a single detail.
Your mind whirred at the possibilities anyway. What? Did that mean it was the complete opposite of this? What was the opposite of this sugary pink ensemble? Black, sexy? Leather? A whole dominatrix-style thing, was that what Minho was into?
“Tell me,” you demanded, incredibly curious now.
He hesitated, before sighing. “…You know that red skirt you wear sometimes?”
Well, that was not where you thought this was going. “Yeah?”
“I’ve thought about you wearing it at debating. You’re stood behind the podium, most of you hidden from sight,” Minho described, and his voice slowly began to shift. “I’m stood behind you, like I’m reading your notes over your shoulder. You don’t look at me, but your legs part, just a little.”
Your breath caught, as his left hand brushed against your inner thigh, fingertips stroking circles into the sensitive skin there.
“You let me slide my hand up,” he continued, and slowly, his hand begins to drift upwards. “Because you want me to know you aren’t wearing anything underneath.”
Holy shit.
“And you want me to feel how wet you are, waiting for me,” Minho said, pausing his hand just a few inches from the edge of your underwear, waiting as he checked your face for any signs of protest.
You couldn’t imagine what exactly your expression was, but you’re certain that protest was probably the furthest fucking thing from it.
And so, his hand moved, cupping you through your underwear, feeling just how damp the fabric was. Your breath rushed out shakily at the first moment of contact, almost akin to a gasp, body shuddering.
“That’s what I imagine,” he said, and fucking shrugged, even as his thumb pressed directly against your clit.
You moaned, your hand immediately flying up to clutch at his shoulder for balance. Everything about Minho’s touch, the pressure, the pace, screamed relaxed. He wasn’t trying to do anything but just…touch you. Gauge your reaction.
You closed your eyes, dropping your forehead to his shoulder, as his fingers continued to work small, slow circles around your clit, still over the barrier of your excessively pretty underwear.
“Should have known,” you murmured, trying not to gasp, and trying not to push your hips towards his hands. “You’re the type to tease.”
Minho’s voice came low from somewhere above your ear, as his hand moved at that same maddening pace. “Not usually.”
“Ah,” you breathed, understanding. He was on the exact same wavelength as you. Every reaction sparked from the other was a victory, to be enjoyed, to be savoured. “I get it. I’m special.”
Minho murmured something under his breath, something you couldn’t quite make out, and pressed just a little firmer against you. You moaned from the surprise of it, burying your face further into his neck.
Beneath your hand, you could feel his dick twitch, now so firm and so insistently pressing against your hand that you knew it had to be aching, trapped in those skin-tight pants like that.
You moved your hand up, struggling briefly with how tightly his waistband sat around his hips, before your hand suddenly slipped inside, fingers grazing roughly against something slick and warm and hard.
Minho finally moaned, loudly, openly, hips bucking briefly up into your hand. “Shit.”
“What was that you were saying?” you asked, innocently, running your fingers back over what you knew to be his cockhead, teasing. “About no underwear?”
Minho sucked in a breath, and from where your head was resting in the crook of his neck, you could hear him swallow. “…These were already too fucking small.”
“They are stupidly tight.”
“Don’t act like you – fuck,” he hissed, cutting himself off. Probably because you’d squeezed him again.
His free hand found its way to the corner of your jaw, prying your face away from his neck so he could duck his head down and kiss you, hungrily. You reciprocated, basking in the way he groaned against your mouth.
And then, he asked. “Bed?”
You stilled, hesitating. “…Bed?”
Minho paused, pulling away a little to take in your expression. Immediately, you did your best to smooth it out, to appear unbothered, casual, fine.
He wasn’t fooled. “Is something up?”
You swallowed, still trying to maintain your composure. “Besides your dick? No.”
Minho raised an eyebrow, and faked one short, sharp laugh. “Ha. You’re so funny when you dodge the subject.”
“I’m not dodging anything,” you argued.
He paused again, waiting, watching you. And, after a moment, he pulled his hand away from your underwear to wrap around your wrist, gently tugging your hand out of his pants.
“OK, fine,’” you relented, composure cracking. That old familiar dread returned, lodging itself in the pit of your stomach. “I just don’t…do this. All this,” you said, gesturing between the two of you, and towards the room at large. “The way it’s all spontaneous, I mean.”
“Me neither,” Minho said, calmly, still waiting expectantly. “What else?”
Fucker.
You scowled, jaw clenching, teeth gritted as you admitted. “And my experience in general, is…one could say limited.”
“I figured as much.”
“Rude,” you pointed out, vaguely offended. You’d had this man fucking shivering from just touching him. And what? Now, he was calling you inexperienced? Amateurish? Like he could tell the whole time? Bullshit.
“No, not…” Minho cleared his throat, looking mildly exasperated. It was a look you often inspired in him. “I don’t mind. That’s why I’m saying this, because I don’t want you pretending when it comes to shit like this. If you’re not going to be honest, I don’t want it.”
Honest.
Shit.
You hesitated, debating internally, weighing the pros and cons in your head. It was so fucking Minho to pick the most aggravating time to do the right thing. Of course, the one time that him being an asshole worked in your favour, he refused to do it.
“Fine,” you snapped, crossing your arms over your chest. “Fine. OK.”
He waited, eyes on you, and you couldn’t stop yourself from averting your gaze, looking up at the ceiling.
“Technically…technically,” you repeated, with emphasis, “one might argue that…I haven’t had sex yet.”
Minho stilled, staring at you, eyes widening.
You swallowed, trying to stay firm. “It’s really not a big deal…”
“It is,” Minho argued, tersely, but when you looked at his face, there wasn’t a hint of anger. There was, however, a strong hint of guilt in his eyes. You could practically see his thoughts, the way he replayed everything he’d done tonight, the fear that he’d done too much, come on too strong, picturing you as some blushing innocent virgin he’d deflowered–
“I’ve done everything else,” you said, eager to clear up that misconception. You were far from innocent, there was just one particular act you hadn’t gotten around to. “Hands, oral, all that. Done it. It’s literally the one thing that hasn’t…like, I’ve had relationships, it just never reached the point that…”
It always went around in circles. You wanted your relationship to be serious, to be settled and firmly established and in a good place before it happened – but the time it took to get there made your partners panic, made them think that to go so long without sex, without wanting them, the relationship must actually secretly be failing. And then you’d break up, and you’d be even more guarded and hesitant the next time, and on it went.
“And I’ve been busy with school and my career anyway,” you added, swallowing, forcing a shrug. “Who has the time?”
Minho was still staring at you, but at least the guilt had faded away.
He’d made no move to get away from you, at least, so you took this as a good sign. With a deep breath, you turned around and took slow, measured steps towards that ridiculously large bed, and looked him dead in the eye as you made a point of sitting down on it.
Doing your best to sound certain, reassuring, convincing without leaving a single bit of room for doubt, you spoke.
“I’m happy and comfortable with everything but sex-sex happening. So, if you want that…” you trailed off, trying to think of a polite way to phrase the thought in your head, before giving up with a shrug. “Tough shit, I guess. That’s my line in the sand. Everything else is fair game, though, so don’t get all…weird about it.”
“I’m not getting weird about it,” Minho said, stubbornly.
“You were. Just a little. Like you’re afraid to break me or something.”
Something sparked in Minho’s eyes, and he smiled slightly. “I’d never think I could do that.”
“Good, because you can’t,” you repeated, firmly. “There, honesty. Done. So, either come over here or leave.”
“Leave my own room?” Minho asked, amused.
“Yeah,” you said, doubling down, leaning back to plant both hands behind you on the bed. “It’s my room now.”
For a second, it looked like Minho was going to laugh. And then you caught the way his eyes began to lower, following the lines of your body, the way you were sitting on his bed, clad only in underwear, waiting.
He exhaled slowly, appreciatively. “…This is happening.”
You weren’t sure if that was aimed at you, or himself, but either way it didn’t matter much when he crossed the room in a flash. Barely taking the time to plant one knee into the mattress beside you, his mouth was on yours, hand on the back of your head.
It was a gentle gesture, sweet even, how he cradled the back of your head.
So, just to be certain that he knew exactly where you stood, and exactly how much patience you had for gentleness, you took his other hand and slid it into your panties.
Minho groaned, pulling away from the kiss to look down, and you felt his fingers slip through your folds, the movement made slick and easy by the way you were soaked.
“You’re so impatient,” he muttered, but he didn’t sound particularly annoyed about it. “All the time.”
“Yeah,” you replied, unapologetic. “I know what I want.”
“Mmhm. And so do I,” he said, and pulled his hand out of your underwear. You opened your mouth to argue, to question why, until you felt his hands move to your back, to the fastening of your bra.
He unhooked it easily, sliding the straps off your shoulders. Pushing up from the bed to stand tall, Minho let the bra fall from his hands, before reaching down to grab at your waist and pull you to standing.
He kissed you again, briefly, ignoring your bewildered expression, before switching your positions – him sat on the bed, you standing over him.
“These are staying on. They’re a bitch to peel off,” he told you, and your gaze was practically glued to his hand as it ran up his faux-leather-clad thigh before he gestured to your underwear. “It’s up to you, what you do with those.”
Your hand, unthinkingly, drifted to the lacy hem of your underwear.
“…What, no preference?” you asked him.
Minho stared at you, eyes dark, the corners of his mouth twitching ever so slightly with knowing, and didn’t reply.
Heat flooded your belly. You swallowed once, and hooked your fingers around your waistband, stripping out of your underwear before you could think twice.
He reached for you immediately, his hands on your hips, pulling you towards him. From what you could tell, he seemed to be guiding you towards straddling his lap – to which you took the slightest detour at the very last second, planting your knees either side of his thigh, the very same one that had been pushed between your legs on that balcony.
How very familiar a feeling. And yet, how very different, because now you were pressed against Minho’s naked chest, and when you kissed, one hand went straight to your bare breast, the other arm hooked around your bare waist.
Logically, you should have felt exposed – but there was very little room for logic here, not when Minho was squeezing you so tightly against him. You felt…enveloped by him. By his warmth.
It was…nice.
And then you finally let go of those last few traces of stubborn pride, and let yourself grind down on his thigh, and it was fucking fantastic.
You moaned, breaking the kiss to press your forehead against his, and rocked your hips faster. His thigh was so solid under you, thick bands of muscle from a lifetime of sports, clenching and unclenching. Heat pooled in your gut, spiking with every rock of your hips, every drag of your clit against him.
You felt Minho’s hand drop from your waist to curl around your hip, gripping tightly, urging you to keep moving. You pulled your face away from his, just in case – headbutting him in the nose, no matter the context, would very probably be a mood-killer – and instead lowered your head to plant kisses on the side of his neck.
Minho tilted his head back, just a little, granting you better access, his breath escaping him in one long, shaking exhale. You were forced to grip onto his shoulder with one hand, just to steady yourself, still grinding down on him.
Tension built between your legs, pulsing with every heartbeat as you continued to grind against him, and your kisses grew clumsier. Open-mouthed, harsher, teeth scraping against sensitive skin in a way that left Minho gasping.
“If I left marks, would it…” your voice was sluggish, raspy, dazed, “would…can I?”
It was a silly question, because the obvious answer was ‘no’, he wasn’t going to want any reminders of this temporary lapse in sanity.
And yet, Minho’s reply was immediate. “Yes. Yeah, you can, if…that’s…”
He broke off, with a noise so low in his throat that you could almost feel his chest vibrate from it, as your mouth latched onto his neck.
Your movements weren’t deliberate, not exactly. You had no strict intentions of marking up Minho’s skin, but it was just whenever it felt good. With every new sudden jolt of sensation shooting through your body, you sucked, leaving a path of your own pleasure scattered intermittently along his neck, the base of his throat, the swells and dips of his collarbone.
Minho reacted to each, and when you thought to look down, you saw his dick straining against his pants, so much so that it was even starting to pull his waistband away from his skin, revealing glimpses of what lay underneath.
You watched his hand lower to his crotch, as he tried to adjust himself, to figure out a way out of his discomfort. Without thinking, you reached down and pushed his hand away, letting your own slide into his paints.
Minho sharply inhaled, as you slid the palm of your hand over the head of him, letting your fingers grow slick, before wrapping your hand around his length.
He was hard, very obviously and very painfully hard.
And all of that was because of you.
Because he wanted you.
You felt your body physically judder at the thought, your thighs clamping around his. Something sparked inside of you. Up until now, you’d been turned on – obviously. You were naked on Minho’s bed and straddling his thigh, of course you’d been turned on, but it had been manageable. Like burning coals, smouldering, blazing hot to the touch, sure, but under control.
This, seeing him like this, was as if someone had jabbed right in the heart of those coals, oxygen rushing in and flames erupting, sparks crackling in the air. No longer under control, but all-consuming and desperate.
The muscles of your core clenched so tightly that it was almost painful, and with a ragged breath, you finally began to ride in earnest.
Minho clutched you with one hand as you moaned, his other snaking down to join yours on his dick. You let him guide your hand, controlling how hard you squeezed him, how slow you pumped him. Honestly, at this point, you didn’t have the concentration for it on your own, not when your legs were starting to shake with every new press of his thigh. You could feel something build, like a wave swelling, the crest just in sight but not quite…
“That’s it,” he murmured, and pressed a kiss to your chest. His eyes were dark when he pulled back, watching the way you bounced. “You’re…God, you’re fucking hot, do you know that?”
His words only drove you further, stoking something within you, and you moaned in response.
“Oh, is that what you like?” Minho asked, eyes lighting at his new discovery. His moved the hand on your waist to settle on your breast, squeezing lightly. “Me telling you how good you look?”
“Minho,” you muttered, half-warning, half-longing.
“With our history, I’d have thought you liked me mean,” he continued, and you should have wondered where that smart mouth of his had been this whole time.
He leaned in, kissing your neck, following upwards, until he reached your ear.
“But that’s not it,” he observed, murmuring into your ear. His hand – the one on yours, the one helping you stroke his dick – quickened, gripping yours just a little tighter, and his breath caught for a second, before continuing. “You want to hear how good you feel. How good you are.”
You whined, your body faltering for a beat, before picking up again.
“That’s it, isn’t it? You like praise,” he said, so very confident. Knowing, almost, like there was something else to it. Something he recognised, intrinsically. “You want me to admit how…fucking perfect I think you are.”
“Minho.”
You felt him twitch under your hands, felt the way he reacted to the way you breathed his name.
“Because you are,” he said, the words falling from his lips, as you grew even more frantic. “You are, you are, you’re good, you’re perfect, you’re…fuck, keep going. I can feel how wet you are, you…”
Fuck, fuck, it was too good. Too good and yet not good enough. There were tears in your eyes and your legs burned from how tightly they were clamped around Minho’s thigh, how desperately you’d ridden him, trying to chase an orgasm you just…you just couldn’t quite…
“Maybe you should fuck me,” you whined, voice hoarse, shaking. You’d spent the last five minutes essentially edging yourself, your brain was fried, and all you could imagine was how easy it would be for Minho to pull you over just a short distance onto his dick, let it fill you, maybe it…
“Don’t. Fuck, don’t say that,” Minho gasped, trying and failing to make it sound insistent, final. You could see the effects of your words. He was tempted, he was sorely fucking tempted. You knew he was picturing the exact same thing that you were. “I’m not taking your virginity at a fucking house party. You…”
He broke off with a moan, letting whatever words that would follow die on his tongue as you squeezed him.
“I need…I need more,” you gasped, through gritted teeth. Your body was starting to betray you, your legs starting to give out before you could reach your climax.
You buried your face in his neck, panting.
“I can’t…fuck,” you moaned, before one little word fell from your lips, the one word he’d asked for so long ago, out on the balcony, “Please.”
With a sudden, sharp breath, Minho hooked his arm around you and rolled you over, pressing you into the mattress. Your hand slipped out of his pants as he moved, hurriedly, down your body.
He paused at the apex of your legs, glancing up. “Are you OK with–”
“Yes,” you hissed, your hand fisting in his hair and pushing him downwards. You were so close, you were so close, and his thigh wasn’t between yours anymore, and you just couldn’t… “Yes, fuck, please.”
You could glimpse the beginnings of a smirk as he followed your hurried pushing, but before you could even register it, you felt him lick one long stripe along you, and your head emptied of all thoughts.
His mouth was hot and wet and almost immediately targeted your clit, leaving you shaking as you ground up into his face without shame, chasing the orgasm that had been just inches away for so fucking long. You could barely breathe from it, each breath wracking your body in almost-sobs, every muscle stiff and coiled in desperation.
You felt Minho hook an arm under your leg, pulling it up so that it could sit on his shoulder, parting you just a little wider.
You arched your back, your head pressing even further into the mattress, eyes squeezing shut. When you spoke, it was barely coherent, a loose string of words. “…H-hands, fingers…please, whatever it…Minho, I’m so close, I’m…ah…”
You felt him slide in a finger – two fingers? More? You didn’t know, you didn’t care, you just knew how close to the edge you were. Your muscles were locking up, body shaking, even as Minho placed his free hand on the curve of your hip, thumb brushing your skin in small, reassuring strokes.
Your grip in his hair tightened, mind going blank, tears in your eyes as you gasped. “Yes, keep – keep…keep–”
You came, and it felt like shattering. Your body’s muscles locked, rigid, shaking, as your own moans rang in your ears. At some point, your thighs had clamped around Minho’s head, your one anchor as you tried to come back down to earth.
It was like every rational thought, anything with even the slightest bit of complexity to it, evaporated. You were left weightless, on your back, dazed. Slowly, sluggishly, your gaze drifted to Minho.
What a sight, you thought. Pretty.
His cheek was pressed into the flesh of your inner thigh, skin flushed so pink, head tilted down so that most of his face was hidden by his rumpled hair. He was kneeling, and you saw that his hand had returned to his dick. It was as if he were trying to be discreet, almost quiet, even as he desperately pumped himself.
Barely even thinking about it, you reached down. His breath caught when you wrapped your own hand around him again, letting him guide your movements once more.
His head lifted, and you caught a glimpse of his dark brown eyes looking up at you. Always so unreadable, even now, even when burning.
Your mouth moved before your thoughts could catch up. “You’re…”
You didn’t know how to finish that. Gorgeous? Annoying? Terrifying?
All of it was true, none of it felt right to say in that moment.
You just watched him, eyes locked, until he choked out a moan, squeezed his eyes shut, and came with a soft, low, “fuck.”
It felt dirty, almost voyeuristic, to watch him cum. But even if you didn’t look, you still would have heard him, you still would have felt it on your hands, your thighs. You still would have felt the way he slumped forward, head dropping to your chest, forehead pressed against the valley between your breasts, his quick, deep breaths against your skin.
You still would have felt the way it all fell quiet – until it was just you, Minho, and the impending repercussions of what just happened.
What you’d done.
What had you done?
Your head dropped back against the mattress, looking up at Minho’s ceiling but not really seeing it, as your senses slowly returned to you.
Shit. Fuck. Every other fucking expletive, they all ran through your head.
What the fuck had you–
Minho cleared his throat, lifting his head up off of you. You could feel the weight of his gaze on your face, and you tried to school your expression into something neutral, pushing down the storm of thoughts in your mind.
You didn’t know why, but you expected him to withdraw from you immediately. Maybe that was doing him a disservice, but it was true.
That was why you were so surprised by the kiss he pressed to your temple, strangely gentle, even as his usual sardonic tone crept back into his voice as he spoke. “Let’s clean up first, overthink later.”
“I’m not overthinking,” you argued immediately, because old habits died hard even in a fucking surreal situation like this.
He didn’t laugh, but there was the slightest twitch to the corner of his mouth as he replied. “Sure.”
He sat up, and you caught the way he winced, probably in newfound discomfort over the state of his…current attire. While he attempted to strip out of his ruined pants with anything close to dignity, you pushed yourself up to a seated position, trying to look anywhere but him.
What now? What now? It was all well and good for him not to overthink, but you couldn’t drive away the sudden flood of consequences that threatened to overwhelm you. Of all times, why did it have to be now, when you were forced to interact with Minho so much more? You’d have to work with this man for the next few months, fuck, you had to talk at the U.N. with him. What would people say?
What would Felix say?
Something powder-blue and soft entered your field of vision, smelling of detergent and lavender fabric softener. You blinked, looking up to find Minho offering you a towel, and you wondered how long you must have zoned out, wrapped in your own thoughts. There wasn’t quite a smile on his face – nothing so extreme like that from Minho – but there was something gentle in his eyes.
You took it, swallowing, and cleaned yourself up as best as you could. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Minho pull on a pair of black sweatpants – and when he straightened up to standing, you finally clocked the blooming purple marks littered across his skin.
“Oh, fuck, your neck. I’m so sorry,” you gasped, mortified at the blooming purple marks on Minho.
He glanced towards you, and gave you half a shrug. “It’s fine.”
They were very much not fine. They were prominent, the kind of hickeys you’d be embarrassed to leave on a long-term partner, let alone a…
A…
Well, whatever Minho was.
You swallowed. “It’s not, have you seen them?”
He paused.
“…Yes,” Minho replied, firmly, and there was something about his tone that made you stop, that made you stare at him.
He stared back, face perfectly neutral but refusing to look away. The implications were not lost on you, and your face began to warm.
Clearing your throat, you set the towel by your side and reached for your clothes, having to get up to pick up each item along the shameless trail that ran from the bed to the balcony doors, gathering them in your arms in a small, pink pile. “Please tell me you have your own bathroom.”
Minho laughed a little, nodding towards the door to your right. “Where do you think I got the towel from? Through there.”
You spent a few minutes in the bathroom, trying to compose yourself, trying to clean up properly, slipping your costume back on. The strange feeling in your stomach didn’t ease up, not even once. In the mirror, you looked almost exactly the same as you had when you first stepped into Minho’s room – but how was that possible, when everything had changed?
Fuck, just…you didn’t need to think about it. Deal with it later, deal with all of it later. You just needed to get out and get some space and distance and just…
You drew yourself up as high as you could, squaring your shoulders, and pushed open the bathroom door.
You found Minho standing in the middle of the room, seemingly in mid-step, turning quickly to face you. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was…what? Pacing?
“I can’t stay,” you stated, trying to sound firm. You mostly succeeded, were it not for the slightest hesitation you had, the faintest strain to your voice.
Minho paused, catching it immediately. “…Do you want to?”
You didn’t know how to answer that. It felt like a trap, even now, as if Minho was preparing to pull the rug out from under you. You wished you couldn’t imagine that level of cruelty, and yet you feared it, however irrational it was. “…I don’t want people to talk.”
Minho eyed you for a second, and yet again waited before he spoke, like he was trying to choose his words before they left his mouth. He settled for a very simple, very Minho statement. “Fuck people.”
At any other time, in any other situation, you would have rolled your eyes. You even felt the urge now, tied up in the same desire to go back to normal, to pretend everything was fine. “It’s not as easy as that.”
“It is,” Minho argued, but there was no irritation in his voice. Just quiet. “But I get it.”
“This was very…uh,” you swallowed. “…Impulsive.”
“Yes. It was definitely that,” he replied, and was he even capable of being any more cryptic?
You glanced away, finding it difficult to look him in the eye as you admitted, quietly. “…But, uh, good.”
Minho paused. “…Yep.”
Couldn’t he just say what he was fucking thinking? You needed to know, you needed to know if he was on the same page as you, if he was also thinking that it was too weird to just leave things like this. Silent and awkward and just…dancing around each other like this.
You swallowed, and folded your arms over your chest. You weren’t quite brave enough to look at him again yet, but you spoke up again. “Did you…have a good time too?”
And just when you were expecting another cryptic little non-response, Minho decided to cut straight to the point and catch you off-guard. “I had a great time.”
You blinked, shocked enough that your eyes darted back to him without a second thought. “…Good. That’s, uh…good.”
It was so strange to see him like this. Lee Minho, always so put-together, never a shred of vulnerability – and there he was, hair mussed, shirtless, barefoot, taking a breath as he tried to put together his next words.
“I had a great time,” he repeated. “With you. And…”
He stopped.
“And…?” You asked.
His mouth opened. Closed. And opened again. “…I…you don’t have to go.”
You felt something warm unfurl in your chest. “Minho, do you want me to stay?”
“…Yes.”
You took a step forward, tension melting from your shoulders, replaced with a new curiosity. You couldn’t quite believe this was happening, and yet…
Well, you couldn’t let him off that easily.
“Yes, what?”
He exhaled, making a sound almost akin to a huff. You recognised that sound, you knew it from debating, from arguing, from whenever you caught a weakness in his defence and pressed him on it. “Yes, I want you to stay.”
You took another step. “Why?”
This time, he scoffed, as if it could hide the slow flush of pink making its way up his neck. “You know why.”
“No, I don’t.”
He narrowed his eyes slightly, and wow, this was fun. “Yes, you do. You’re too smart not to.”
You grinned. “Thanks, but no. You’re going to have to say it.”
“You’re infuriating.”
“I am,” you said, without shame, and added. “You’re into that.”
He sighed, and gave in. “Yes, I am.”
“Well done,” you laughed, finally drawing it out of him. “You’re into me.”
Minho eyed you for a second, still just a touch out of reach. Like he’d done it on purpose, kept just enough space to protect himself.
You watched the way he hesitated, and for once, his mask slipped and his face gave away just a peek into what he was thinking. You could see the thoughts warring within his head, the way he hesitated before committing.
“…More than just that,” he said – he confessed – softly.
Just four words, but the meaning behind them was loaded. They hung in the air, obvious, weighty, vivid.
You froze, taking them in. You didn’t know why, you didn’t know how, but despite everything that had occurred tonight, Minho still had the ability to surprise you.
More than just that.
More than just…
Oh.
That was all your brain – your proudest attribute, your big, university-educated, sharp-witted genius brain –  was capable of thinking.
Oh.
“So…” Minho said, before trailing off, watching you, and eventually forcing the smallest of shrugs. “Don’t go.”
You were still reeling. You tried to make it all fit, every piece of information you had. The gentleness he’d held you with, the strange softness he’d had, the look in his dark eyes when you threatened to find someone else to kiss, the way he smiled sometimes when you were trying to piss him off, the way he just…watched you in conversations, in arguments, like he was just as interested seeing you think as he was countering the words that came out of your mouth.
When you laid it out like that, when you visualised it like points in a debate – with so many in the for argument and frighteningly little in the against – it seemed so obvious.
“I…” your words came out hoarse, dazed. “…Yeah, I can…not go.”
Minho’s eyes searched every inch of you, trying to figure out what exactly you were thinking.
“…You look like you’re about to pass out,” he observed, bluntly.
“You just said you like me, can you blame me?” You asked, hysteria close to creeping into your voice.
Minho didn’t reply for a second, still watching you. “Is it such a surprise?”
“Yes,” you blurted out, instinctively, until you took a second to actually think about it. “…No? Yes and no? I don’t…you’re, like, annoyingly hard to read.”
“Am I?” Minho asked, but the corners of his lips were twitching, suggesting he already knew the answer to that. “I’d say the same about you, but honestly, sometimes you’re an open book.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Especially when you stare at my mouth.”
Your eyes snapped up back to his, blinking, caught. There was definitely amusement in his gaze now, a glimpse of relief creeping in.
You scowled, face beginning to heat. “You’re enjoying this.”
He smiled, not a trace of hesitation behind it, a real and genuine smile, and finally stepped towards you. “I absolutely am.”
“Assho–”
You were cut off, as Minho ducked his head down to kiss you, and you couldn’t even pretend to do anything other than respond eagerly.
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The next time the two of you got coffee, on another cold autumn morning when you were ten minutes deep into a squabble over geopolitics that you were determined to win, Seungmin had the grace to at least act surprised when Minho bought you a muffin and slipped his arm around your waist.
“Wow,” he murmured, deadpan, watching the way you relaxed into Minho’s side, even as you unpicked every thread of his argument. “Gee. Who would have guessed?"
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ashesheavenscloud · 2 years
Text
Unsaid || Lee Minho
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Unsaid || Lee Minho
Genre(s): Fluff, teensy bit of angst
Word Count: 2.1K
Warnings: none
a/n: i meant to post this last week but i got so busy with work and my sister’s birthday that it got postponed😭 but it’s here now! and i hope you enjoy :3
and of course, reposts and feedback are always appreciated!🌻
———
You visited Minho’s dorm room enough times for him to recognize even the pattern of your knock- two quick, sharp raps followed by a lighter one. It was one of the sounds he heard the most- what with you being his neighbour and close friend- as you came over quite often, either to study or drag him on an early morning coffee run.
But he wasn’t expecting to hear your particular knock on his door at nearly two in the morning, when you would usually be fast asleep. He lifted his head at the sound, pausing the perusing of his notes with a frown. “What the hell…” 
He was at the door in an instant, swinging it open to find you standing there, dressed in just a tank top and pajama bottoms, arms wound behind your figure as you gazed at the floor, before your eyes jumped to catch his stare.
Something was wrong, was his immediate thought. Your eyes were wide, your hair was a mess, your gaze bleary, and you looked…
Goddamn cute. 
Anxious, he added with a mental smack. That was more important at the moment.
“What’s up?” He asked.
“I- well…” you huffed out a breath. “Gosh, I’m sorry to disturb you so late.”
“Nah, I was up.” He assured you, leaning against the doorframe. “What is it?”
“I, uh,” you swallowed, then sighed again, getting out in one breath: “I had a nightmare? And I tried music and I tried watching something to get my mind off it- but it just didn’t work and I- I guess being alone felt like the worst thing in the world right now-”
A… nightmare?
“I’d usually be fine if- if Sua was there, but she said she’d be out all night and…”
You gestured helplessly, and that’s when Minho noticed the slight tremor in your hand before you tucked it behind your back again.
And he didn’t need to hear a single word more. When it came to you, his heart was feather soft.
He stretched out a hand to gently take your wrist, making your eyes snap up to meet his. Wordlessly, he drew your hand out of your pocket, slipping his fingers between yours and leading you slowly, foot over foot, into his dorm.
The door shut behind you with a gentle click, leaving the room silent, save for the occasional rumble of thunder and the pattering of rain above. Although Minho knew your anxiety wouldn’t be easily soothed, he was relieved to see your tense shoulders relax the faintest bit.
“You can stay here, and I can keep you company, if you’d like.” He offered quietly.
You shot him a glance, shuffling a bit on your feet before nodding slowly.
“Thank you.” You said quietly. “Really, you don’t know how much it means to me.
“Of course.” He replied with a small smile.
I love you, is what he wanted to say. I would go to the ends of the earth for you. 
But you didn’t need that right now, so he kept those words saved in his heart for later, and gripped your hand tighter. He guided you to the couch, letting you sit and find a comfortable spot before he tentatively took his place beside you, heart hammering inside him. It wasn’t uncommon for you to be this close to him, not at all, but he couldn’t stop his breath from escaping him when you turned, facing him, and grabbed his hand again.
Your eyes were so dark in the faded light of the room but he felt that he could read them even clearer now. Their past restlessness, though still glimmering in the irises, had been joined by an undeniable calm.
Relief washed through him once again, and he smiled softly. “Cute pajamas.”
He could almost sense the flush of your cheeks, as you squirmed, glancing at the zebra striped design before shooting him a glare. “Don’t tease.”
He chuckled, the feeling of your hand still resting in his reassuring him. After a second he spoke again. “Do you… want to talk about it?”
“I… not really.”
Minho nodded, understanding where you were coming from. It did break his heart, though, to think the nightmare had been so bad that you didn’t even want to recount it. But it was something else, too… he could tell, by the way you wouldn’t look him in the eye…
“Hey,” he nudged you gently, getting you to meet his eyes. “Nightmares can seem so real. And even when you wake up and realize it’s not, those emotions and fears from your dreams can stay… and those are very real. I don’t know exactly what you dreamed, or, you know-”
He was rambling; he didn’t know why, but the way you were watching him right now, the intense softness of your eyes, compelled him to keep talking. Because if he stopped, all he would be able to focus on would be you and your damn beautiful self, right here, right beside him, knees practically resting over his thighs, completely oblivious to how much Minho suddenly wanted to kiss you at this very moment.
“And- uh,” he frantically searched for more to say, running his free hand through his hair. “I guess all I mean is, it’s okay. And I’m here when- if- you ever need me.”
He’d run out of breath, and words, and you were still staring at him, like you could see right through him. He wanted to shift in his seat, but couldn’t bring himself to move. 
Your hand squeezed his gently, as you whispered, “I know.”
A few seconds passed with your eyes never leaving his before Minho couldn’t stand it anymore. He cleared his throat, and looked away. “Do you need anything?”
“I’m a bit cold.” You admitted, and Minho mentally smacked himself. He was warm blooded, and kept the temperature of his space several degrees cooler than most people would have liked. He should have thought of that- or at least asked the question sooner. 
“Right-” his gaze darted around the room, for blankets, pillows, throws, anything. He didn’t like a cluttered environment, so he didn’t find anything useful. Biting his lip, he stood, peeling the hoodie he was wearing over his head and offering it to you.
“Here. I’ll find blankets or something-”
You took the material, eyes wide. “You sure?”
“You’re cold, aren’t you?”
He grinned when you sighed and took the hoodie, feeling oddly smug when you pulled the sweater over your head, and you practically drowned in the thing.
You were so cute.
“Blankets?”
He blinked, the thought vanishing from his mind at your voice. “Right. I won't be long.”
“Hurry back.” You called as he crossed the threshold and peeked into his bedroom. He had to have an extra blanket somewhere, and if all else failed, he’d bring his own.
Luckily, he was able to locate a fluffy blanket folded in his closet, and quickly took it in his arms. You were curled up into your knees when he’d returned, and when he joined you on the couch again, your hand found his again.
The small action shouldn’t have affected him as much as it did, but he suddenly found his heart pounding in his chest. Because it suddenly struck him that you’d come here because you were scared, and he- he- made you feel safer.
Slowly, carefully, gently, he wrapped the blanket around you both, arms loosely cradling your figure. “Don’t worry.” He said softly, nerves on high alert as he held you, feeling a strange ripple of anxiety run through him as he took in the rise and fall of your body with shaky breaths and the grip of your hand in his. “I won’t leave again.”
You nodded against his shoulder, and Minho couldn’t help but smile at you.
“Wanna watch something? Or are you hungry?” Whatever your nightmares had been, he wanted to help your mind drift as far as possible from the memory of it.
“No, just… let’s just stay here.” You whispered, taking Minho off guard.
“Oh.” He hadn’t expected that, honestly. “If you’d like.”
You nodded again, and the room settled into a comfortable silence. Minho, unsure how else to help you, found his free hand brushing through your hair, soothingly massaging your scalp and humming to himself.
After a bit, however, he felt the need to speak again. Maybe because he thought it might help to distract you, but also because of the overwhelming need for a distraction himself. Your hair smelled like citrus shampoo and it was driving him crazy. “Do you remember that music trip in tenth grade? Your bus came late and you got soaked running to the main hall. Which wouldn’t have been so bad if you’d been wearing a coat or something.
“I gave you my hoodie then, too, but it fit you much better back then.” He laughed softly. “I’ve grown a lot, although I guess we both have.”
He never ceased his movements through your hair, watching your breaths even. After a short pause, he was almost sure that you’d fallen asleep, and he left the story at that. 
But after a few minutes you shifted, lifting your face to look at him, and effectively stealing his breath away.
This silence felt static, and he wet his lips without the faintest clue of what he could say, still staring at you, watching the flicker of your eyes in the dark as they moved across his face. He found himself forgetting to speak and doing the same, drinking in every feature of your face like he could get drunk on your presence, on the scent of you beside him, in the way you looked bundled in his hoodie, at your hand still tightly gripping his.
And then he was closer, inches away- he didn’t know who’d moved, him or you- holding his breath as he tried once again to search for words, and coming up so completely empty.
You were, after all, far beyond words.
The only thing that broke the silence was the pounding of his own heart. Then you released his hand and reached for his face. Your fingers feathered over his cheek and immediately his eyes fluttered shut, every sense tuned to the feeling of your fingertips brushing a few strands of his hair behind his ear. He couldn’t help the shiver that trembled through his body, as his hand found your wrist, pulling you back as his eyes flew open.
You were still, eyes never breaking his stare. Something inside him simmered, embers flickering and awaiting one tiny movement-
And he didn’t have to wait long.
Your mouth found Minho’s softly, making his eyes widen and then shut just as quickly as he responded. Within seconds his hand had slotted back into yours, while the other found the soft threads of your hair, gently running his fingers through them, over the crown of your head and down, feeling you shiver as his fingernails tickled the nape of your neck. His lips moulded against yours as he pressed closer, near delirium searing through his veins and burning along the surface of his skin as the realization hit him- you were kissing him. He was kissing you.
He’d harboured secret feelings for you since high school, damn it, hopeful imaginings of a love with you something he’d always figured impossible. He wasn’t good at confessions, even if he’d had the courage to attempt one. But he’d loved you the whole time, had done silly things to make you smile, had teased you to make you laugh, had given you his shoulder to help you cry, and to help you pick up the pieces.
So maybe, then, he had told you he loved you. In the way he’d been there, in the way he was here tonight.
Maybe some words don’t need to be said to be understood.
But just in case, he pulled back, lips centimeters from yours, and breathed into your mouth, “You mean so much to me. Did you know?”
He could feel you smile. “I know.”
He grinned, and you kissed him again, and he let everything else fall to the back of his mind. All of his unsaid affection he poured out now in the one way he knew how; in his actions, in the way he tilted your chin up to kiss you deeper, and slipped a hand around your waist, and squeezed your hand in his. A thousand silent ‘I love you’s’ that he only now realized he’d been silently saying all the years he’d known you.
And the way you kissed him back let him know that you were saying it, too.
———
Masterlist
703 notes · View notes
candyquokka · 6 months
Text
: ̗̀➛salty | minho
pairing: lee minho/reader
word count: 607
prompt #20
genre: college au, humour, salty!lee know, best friends!lee know and seungmin, kinda cringe idk
summary:
“Minho, stop.”
“What? I can’t say anything?"
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First ever imagine so just gonna throw this out and run away :(
warnings: cringe maybe
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"What happened to you? Lee know asks uninterestedly, distracted by something on his phone. "Is showering with your clothes on some new trend I'm unaware of?"
You wordlessly wring out your shirt out over the chem lab sink. He was just salty that you had gone to a party hosted by the most popular frat group last weekend.
(last week)
Seungmin and I were cackling across the table at Lee know in the busy canteen.
"So that bitch Alice spilled her water all over my paper, and had the never to giggle and wink at me. SHE COULDN"T EVEN-" Lee know's rant was cut off with a dirty stare at the intruder who had slammed a mini carton of chocolate milk in front of me. I followed the arm up, being met with the face of Bangchan, the most sought out bachelor in our college ("But I'm a popular sought out bachelor as well!" Lee know had complained.).
"Hey, I'm Bangchan. So we're having a party this weekend, and I was kinda hoping you'd come? We have limited numbers, so you can let me know soon! My numbers on the milk." I look down at the milk carton, and sure enough there's a post-it stuck to the carton.
Seungmin and Lee know stare awestruck, all comical with their mouths open. I stifle a laugh.
"Sure Bangchan, I'd love to go."
He winks and walks back to his group, which erupted in woops and claps, but also a few loathful stares from some in my direction.
"You're not actually gonna go, are you?" I look at Lee know with a deadpan stare. "The most hottest guy in our year asked me, and I wouldn't go? He gave me chocolate milk, who am I to say no?" I laugh, taking out my phone to text the phone number on the post-it. Lee know gazes sulkily while Seungmin kicks his leg under the table.
(back to present)
Seungmin, sitting across from Lee know and actually working on the extra credit lab assignment, is the first one to see the hint of tears in your eyes. His pencil freezes.
“Minho, stop.”
“What? I can’t say anything? y/n ditched us for her special, better fraternity party. If you aren’t going to hold a grudge, I certainly can for the both of us. I’m double-grudging. Double-grudging hard,” Lee know says, and then he looks up just in time to see the first tear roll down your cheek.
There’s a screech of a lab stool suddenly being pushed back, and Lee know is standing in front of you, gently wiping your tears away. A dark look shadows his face.
“What happened. Who did it.”
You stifle with a scowl, shaking your head as more tears fall. “They-the girls who hated me wanted a viral video. They all know I can’t swim, but they thought it would be funny anyway, to — to push me — ”
“Sweetheart, I need names,” Lee know says sweetly, the dark undertone of their voice sharp and serrated.
“What the hell are you going to do?” You snort. “This is university, not our homebrew DnD campaign.”
Seungmin laughs. “We just want to talk to them.”
“And wreak only a little chaos,” Lee know says soothingly, a dreamy look in his eyes that tells you he's planning something sinister.
"Minho, Seungmin, no." I sigh.
"They can't just push you into a pool just because you're jealous that some guy likes you."
"I can bury the bodies. I know a guy." Seungmin and I stare at Lee know who looks dead serious (ignore the pun) (or don't), and all three of us burst laughing.
12 notes · View notes
hanjisick · 1 month
Text
Orders.
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genre. mafia au. bodyguard!lee know x fem!reader
desc. your father is an elite, high ranking official in a mafia family. after your first kidnapping, a bodyguard was hired to ensure your safety.
warnings. nsfw. fingering & sex. torture. kidnapping. murder. violence.
wc. 10k
✉️ : this is my first writing after a 9 month hiatus. i apologize for the unannounced break and i will be answering and writing again shortly. enjoy! :)
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You sit in a wooden chair, wheezing and thrashing from days of sleep deprivation and torment. Your body aches, wrists bruised and bloody from the ropes, and you almost feel like giving in and spilling Daddy’s secrets— allowing them to kill you and the family.
But you knew better than that. You knew that you'd be saved.
The gunshots and cries for help weren't unexpected from above the dark bunker.
With an ear-piercing creak, the door swings open and the shadow of a man emerges through the doorstep, shoes squeaking with fresh blood underneath.
He doesn’t let out a single word as he kneels to grab your face and examine it. Your attention follows the ring on his finger. An insignia that he is part of the family. You can depend on him.
But still, you wince, sharply inhaling as his fingers aggravate your wounds.
“Don’t get their blood in my wounds, I don’t know what kind of freaks they are,” You grumble, voice husky from days of screaming.
You let him turn your head, retaining eye contact with the floor as you grit your teeth.
“Relax,” he mumbles, “I don’t bite.”
He leans closer to examine your wounds. “You took a lot of hits. How many people are here?”
He draws back as you reply, “Can’t tell you exactly.”
“About four of them grabbed me while I was leaving the house— stupid on their part, no wonder you were here so shortly,” You trail off before catching yourself back on topic.
“But I’ve only seen three different men since I’ve been here. Only to beat me and interrogate me. Don’t worry, I didn’t say anything to put Daddy at risk.”
“I heard two other unrecognizable voices. That would make nine people in the building that I know of. Of course, there could always be more. How many did you shoot?”
“Six,” he responds before looking down at your scrapes and wounds again.
You feel him caress your cheek once more, his cold skin sending shivers down your spine.
“You’re in bad shape.”
“If there’s more here, we need to get out as soon as possible. We can worry about my wounds as soon as these people aren’t on our ass.”
You struggle in your bounds, the ropes burning your already bloody wrists, “Could you untie me, first?”
“Don’t move.”
You obey his command, halting as he unties the ropes, uncovering the painful burn marks and blisters.
“That fucking hurt,” you rotate your wrists, “I could’ve gotten out without your help eventually, though.” Your voice is rough, breath coming out in harsh, sharp drags.
“Sure, you would’ve.”
You stumble to your feet as he pulls you into him for safety. He reeks of gunpowder and high-dollar cologne— presumably something that Daddy has made sure that he has the money for.
“Stay close to me, when we get to the front, you go out first and then I’ll leave right after.”
You follow the unfamiliar man out of the maze, almost slipping on the floor blanketed in blood.
You adjust to the bright sunlight— and it feels gentle against your damaged skin. It seems like time has stood still while you were captured. “Did Daddy order you a car?”
“Yes,” he answers, “Some men are waiting out front to take us to the closest hospital— which isn’t too far.”
“I’m being hospitalized?” You follow him into the backseat, finally slacking for a moment ontop of the fresh leather.
“It’s not my choice to have you taken to the hospital, it’s the orders.”
“Do I have a statement to tell the nurse?” You look at him in concern.
“Am I supposed to say, ‘Oh, I was kidnapped by Daddy’s enemies! By the way, he’s in the mafia! Who wants to arrest Daddy?’”
“Tell them you fell down the stairs.” His flat tone contrasts your own, remaining unfazed.
“How would that cover up my wrists' burn marks?” You hold up the bloody and bruised dents, “Nobody gets these from falling down the stairs. There's way too much blood— and some of it isn’t even mine.”
He raises an eyebrow, looking over to the burn marks on your wrist and then back to you.
“Then tell them you accidentally burnt yourself while cooking.”
“Are you even listening to me? Are you stupid?”
He doesn’t respond for a moment, not seeming to care about the situation.
“It’s not hard to pay them to be silent.”
“How about I tell them that I was heavily bullied at school and a couple of classmates did this to me? I think that could work.”
You two arrive at the front entrance of the emergency room, he follows behind you, strolling through the automatic door.
“I’m fine, really, I was just beaten by classmates,” You lie through your teeth to the front desk, “My boyfriend took me here to get it checked out.”
He raises an eyebrow.
You comply with the nurses as they check your weight and interview you.
“I don’t have any stab wounds, at least I don’t think so— I don’t remember what they did to me. I was held captive for a few,” Your voice trails off as you wince at a sudden pang.
You glance down at your bleeding side and are unexpectedly whacked with all of the distress that you had been repressing at once.
Your vision starts to fade, face pale as a ghost.
The man rushes over as they carry you to a bed, and he kneels beside you to review your condition. Your body is pale and cold, breathing jagged and rapid.
You hear the whispers of the staff panicking. One nurse checks your pulse, and another elevates your legs.
“I need my blood sugar up,” the first words that come out of your mouth sound weak and painful.
You look over at the man beside you.
You need to lie. But you don’t even know his name.
“Boyfriend,” you determine, “please get me a sugary drink from the vending machine.”
A subtle smirk forms upon his lips, but it vanishes as soon as it appears.
“Fine,” he rises to his feet.
You hiss as the nurses sterilize your wounds, shrieking and thrashing on the mattress at the sting. You try to stay still, but the pain is intolerable.
Footsteps echo and you find the man returning with a chocolate bar, which he holds out to you. He brings it close to your lips and holds the chocolate against your mouth for you to take a bite, “Slowly.”
“I told you to get me a drink,” You disregard his command, biting the chocolate quickly, almost aggressively.
His lips turn up, amused by your action.
The nurses finish stitching up your deep gashes and bandaging your wounds, recommending that you stay the night.
“Pay for the bill with Daddy’s cash and let’s get out of here,” you state coldly, “I need to shower and get all of this blood out of my hair. I don’t want to stay here.”
“As long as you can walk by yourself, we can leave right away.” He replies. The man takes out a wad of bills quickly counts the money and pays for the bill.
You stay speechless until entering the car.
“Who are you?”
“I’m your bodyguard. Your father hired me to look out for you after the kidnapping.”
You nod in acknowledgment. “Will you be staying at the estate with me? Or is it a ‘only when I leave the house’ kind of deal?”
“My primary duty is to protect you from anyone or anything that could harm you, whether that be outside or inside the house. I could go wherever you wish me to follow you, and I will be there.”
“You won’t sleep in bed with me though, right?”
He stays silent for a moment.
“You are correct, I am here to protect, nothing more. I will not sleep next to you. I am merely your bodyguard and take your orders.”
“Good boy,” you grin, “I bet Daddy will pay you very nicely. Why else would you take this job? How much does he give you? Either way, I’m sure you have enough to buy a mansion.”
The bodyguard holds back an eye roll. “I will have more than enough money. Not only that but he also provides me with a home.” He adds with a smirk.
“Good.” You reply.
You fall silent, allowing him to drive, taking in the past few days.
You were never worried about surviving, You understood that Daddy would handle it. But you didn’t expect to be as hurt as you were.
He could’ve saved you sooner.
“When we get home, order the chef to make me something sweet, I deserve a treat,” you state, “I’m going to shower and you are not allowed to enter my bathroom under any circumstance. Even if I’m dying.”
“You would die before letting me enter your bathroom? I get it.” He retorts.
Once you both arrive at the estate, you stumble out of the car. You don’t linger for him.
You’re welcomed by a handful of workers as you enter the home, but ignore them as you make a beeline up the stairs and towards the bedroom.
The door locks behind you and the room is silent. You feel the weariness creep on as your wounds sting. You lean against the door, sliding down.
After a moment of peace, you head towards the shower to comb the dried blood out of your hair.
You scrub your face carefully, avoiding the stitches above your eyebrows.
You wash your body entirely, removing the blood stains with soap, water, and a wash rag. Then you comb out the dried blood.
Once you finish, you dry yourself off and dress in a plain, silk nightdress.
Leaving your bedroom, you turn to look for your guard. He is at the doorway of your room when you walk out. His eyes roam around your body for a brief moment, examining the nightgown.
“Do you require assistance?”
“Did you place an order for something sweet, like I asked?” You peer at his suit, moving in to adjust his tie.
He follows your hand as it moves, eyeing you for a few moments before he utters, “I did, the chef will be bringing it to your room once it’s prepared.”
“Good boy.”
You look up at his face once you are pleased with the positioning. You grimace at his sharp, cold face. The blood was dried, brown, and unpleasing. The man’s hand relaxes on the gun holstered on his hip.
“I order you to come into my bedroom.”
His eyebrows crease. He understands his role as your bodyguard— nonetheless, he doesn’t get a kick out of being ordered around in this tone.
He takes a deep breath. “Your wish is my command.”
The room is massive, a silk-covered canopy bed sits in the center of it. He pays no mind to looking around, concentrating on the job at hand.
“Sit down on my bed,” you demand, steering towards the bathroom and pushing open the double doors.
He obeys your orders without question, crossing his legs, and keeping his hand resting beside his gun.
The bodyguard keeps a close, attentive eye on the doors, supervising the way that you soak a washrag with warm water, squeezing out the excess.
You sit beside him, grabbing his chin and leaning into his face. He tenses.
“Relax, I don’t bite,” you smirk, reiterating his first words from the moment he met you back to him, massaging the dried blood off of his face, “No guard of mine will have a messy appearance.”
You can tell that he feels uneasy, but he can’t reject you. If you wish for him to relax, he will make an effort to relax.
You can’t help but notice his complexion when he isn’t scowling. The apathy melts away as you wipe the dried blood, giving you a new perspective on his appearance.
“You’re handsome,” you state bluntly, “Especially without blood covering your face.”
You toss the rag into the laundry basket carelessly, waiting for a maid to take care of it.
“Thank you.”
“What is your name? You never told me.”
His eyebrows arch slightly at the question.“It’s Minho.”
“I am Y/N,” You reply, holding out your hand to shake his own. His grip is firm and warm.
He keeps a stoic face as he glances at your face and back at your hand, as if he is searching for an ulterior motive behind this handshake.
The food.
The bell rings and the sound of it shatters the stillness of the room. Minho’s head jolts towards the door, hand back on his gun.
He rises instantly, opening it to reveal the maid with a tray of sweet snacks.
He takes it from her. “I will bring it in.”
“What a good boy, Minho,” you praise, clapping your hands together as he sets the tray on your lap.
“I don’t take you for a man who enjoys sweet food much. Do you like sweets?”
“Sometimes.”
You unwrap a piece of high-dollar chocolate, “I command you to open your mouth.”
Minho can’t deny you, it would be disobeying your orders.
He opens his mouth as the chocolate is positioned between his lips.
You relish in the chocolates with Minho and once finished, you set the tray on the floor for a maid to pick up at sunrise.
“I don’t think I mind you being around all that much, Daddy makes good decisions.” You lay down on the mattress.
“Your father does make good decisions.”
His gaze wavered on your face until you drifted off to sleep. Only then did they slowly trail down to your body.
The way your body was built captivated him. Minho was glued to your sleeping form.
He stayed in the room, taking a seat on a chair in the corner to watch you.
He didn’t know how long it had been since you had dozed off, but by the way that the room was now pitch black and noiseless aside from your figure rising and falling, he would imagine that it had been a couple of hours.
“How long are you going to sit there?” Your sleep-filled voice questions him, causing him to snap out of his daze, hand reaching for his gun out of instinct.
“Do you sleep? Are you allowed to sleep?”
“I will only remain in the room as long as you order me to. I do sleep,” He replies, “Now is there anything else you need my assistance with? Or can I return to my duties?”
“So you’re only staying in the room because I ordered you two hours ago?” There’s a tinge of dismay in your voice, but it was masked by sleep, “You can leave if you want, I don’t mind.”
Minho felt a sudden pit in his stomach. You sounded disappointed by his statement.
Your words are perplexing him, and he can’t conclude what you want from him. To stay or to go?
“Should I stay for a bit longer?”
You were already asleep again once he had responded.
You and Minho both wake to a maid opening the blinds and ringing a bell. You groan, stretching your body.
“Miss, let’s get you dressed for today.”
She pulls your nightgown up above your head as Minho’s eyes wander toward your laced underwear.
“What’s on my schedule for today?”
He quickly forces his gaze to look away and stares back at the maid.
“We want you to heal from your injuries, miss,” she answers, “we will start with a nutritious breakfast to encourage recovery, and attend to your injuries, and then you will speak with Daddy about your incident.”
The maid buttons your fitted dress, glancing in Minho’s direction, “Your bodyguard will need to be there for your conversation with Daddy.”
“He will?”
“He needs to tell Daddy what he witnessed from the facility.”
You nod, following her lead down the stairs and towards the breakfast table.
Minho follows suit, remaining at your side the entire time and he watches you eat, staying observant and cautious.
“Are you hungry?”
This question catches Minho off guard.
“No.” He adds in a dull tone— but in actuality, he is starving. He was entrusted to watch over you. He shouldn’t eat on the clock.
“Maid, go order,” You look Minho up and down, “A side of crepes. Blueberry crepes. And two cups of coffee.”
The maid hurries to the kitchen to place the order, and it is brought out a couple of minutes later.
He stares at the crepes being placed on the table, and his belly grumbles. “Thank you.”
The maid carries the mugs of coffee to the table. But it doesn’t take Minho long to catch sight of her cunning smile and the perplexing liquid that the maid slipped into the mugs of coffee.
He stares quietly, calculating his next action.
“Don’t drink it.”
“Why not?”
Minho’s sight narrows as you bring the cup of coffee to your lips.
This time, his tone is warning and direct. “It’s better that you don’t.”
You halt your sip at his harsh command.
The maid pulls out a handgun swiftly after realizing that she has been caught, aiming it at you.
A switch swiftly flips inside of him.
He lunges forward, grabbing the woman’s wrist and twisting the gun to the right, snapping a couple of fingers in the process.
It’s a rapid movement, and he had little time to think before shooting her in the head, watching the life leave her body. His face is apathetic and almost casual.
The maid’s blood spilled onto the floor as the others ran to clean it up.
“He passed the test, we can keep him. A promising guard so far,” Daddy compliments from behind you, “Urgently acting to protect. He knew that she was mindless and weak. He comprehends crises well.”
The older man slips a wad of cash into the breast pocket of Minho’s suit. “Good on protecting her. That was a setup with a stupid maid who was just aching to betray us. You will have the same fate if you are wavered by another team.”
“I think he’s a good boy. He won’t betray me.”
“Y/N, meet me at my office. Guard, follow her.” He swiftly turns away to lead the two of you as you eye Minho.
“You can relax now. No more tests.”
He nods in understanding, heeding silently towards the office.
“Tell me about what you saw at the facility.”
You nod. “Four men had taken me from our garden entrance and used Chloroform to knock me unconscious. I woke up in their van, where my hands and legs were tied. I heard them talking about what they planned to get out of me. They had intentions of murdering me if they got to a week of no answers.”
Minho listens to your explanation with hawk-like eyes, paying close attention to all the details and descriptions.
You clear your throat, running your fingers across your bruised wrist, “I was tied to a chair in their questioning room, and they used forms of torture for me to open up.”
“I was deprived of sleep and beaten if they caught me closing my eyes— trying to get my lack of sleep to cause me to open up about your activities.”
Daddy nodded solemnly, leaning into his chair.
“Waterboarding was their favorite method, but they enjoyed beating me. I assume that was mainly for fun.”
You continued, “Minho appeared and killed a couple of them and saved me, but most are still alive.”
“Still alive? You didn’t find and kill them, bodyguard, why?” Daddy’s intense eyes moved toward Minho, who appeared unbothered.
The fact that he missed a few guys is enough to drive him crazy.
“I had to get her to safety as soon as possible.”
Daddy merely nods. “I will send my men after them. Y/N, did you get any names?”
“They wouldn’t tell me anything about themselves, but I saw a couple of signs of their rival gang.”
“Guard,” he veered towards Minho, “Describe the faces that you saw. I need as much information as possible.”
“They look to be between the ages of 20 to 30, their faces covered in scars. One man had dark skin, and his facial scars were faded. His most notable feature was a slit across his brow. He wore a dark suit. I left him alive but with a bullet in his arm. The other man had a lighter skin tone and his scars were similar to knife wounds. He had gotten away.”
The boss nods.
“Good. I can work with that. Never let my little girl get into trouble like that again, alright?”
The second the words ‘my little girl’ leave his mouth, Minho can’t help but gaze at you. He observes your reactions and motions.
His heart beats by hearing his boss call you that, and his attention is now focused on every single twitch that you make.
“The nurses will be waiting in her bedroom shortly. Be good and do as they say.” He adds, snapping Minho back to him.
“Guard, do not let her go against any of the nurses' rules. She can be convincing. Do not give into it.”
“Yes Sir.”
You roll your eyes, turning away to leave the room.
“Stay safe.” That is the last utterance of the boss before you drag Minho out of the room and towards the bedroom.
“Sit on the bed,” a nurse commands you, and you quickly obey.
She dabs at your abdomen stitches with antiseptic soap and your eyebrows furrow.
“You can’t move around much, got it? No exercising for three weeks until we get these stitches out.”
You agree as she moves on to your wrists, rubbing cream into them, “You’re going to visit us twice a day for six days until the healing is almost complete.”
She yanks a bandage off of your face, causing you to groan in pain. She rubs another ointment on it before substituting it with fresh dressing.
Minho supervises each step that the nurse takes, noticing how she takes care of your body as if it’s her most precious gift.
She turns to Minho, “I need you to make sure that she’s well rested, drinking enough water, and not doing many straining activities. Take her back here once again in the evening, and then we will see her again this time tomorrow morning, got it?”
“Yes, I will take care of her.”
“What about him, nurse?” You eye the small cuts across his face and hands.
She smiles and leans over to you. “He is well trained. Trust me, he’ll survive a few scratches.”
Your eyes narrow. “I order you to treat his wounds to the best of your abilities.”
She sighs. “Yes ma’am.”
She moves towards Minho and checks his wounds, patching the ones that were newly caused. She brushes his face softly with an ointment.
“I don’t like it when my guards don’t keep up a good appearance,” you try to explain away your worry for him, “and being injured will only slow you down when protecting me.”
The man stares straight ahead, listening carefully. “I’m fine. I’ll recover just fine. I don’t need much care as you do.”
“Let her rest now,” the nurse tells Minho, “order the maids to bring her a glass of water and have her sip on it until lunchtime.”
Once she leaves, Minho turns towards you, “I’ll make sure the maids bring you water. You need to stay hydrated”
Once water is on your table, your gaze returns to Minho
“Now, I order you to sit down on my bed with me.”
He examines you with a neutral expression and waits for you to say what you mean, not wishing to assume or take anything wrongly.
“Sit down with me,” you demand again, patting the spot beside you, waiting for him to follow suit.
As soon as you ask him to, Minho does not waver. He sits down beside you, body brushing your own.
You turn to meet his cold expression with intensity. “Do you like your job so far?
Minho is taken off guard by your switch of topic. He stays where he is sitting, but turns his body as well and faces you.
“I enjoy my duties.”
“Good. Because I’m fond of you. You’re handsome, and you are good at your job.”
He stares at you with slight surprise. “Thank you.”
Your hands grab for his, playing with the ring on his finger.
Then, you reach your hands higher, tugging his sleeve up to reveal a cluster of scars littered across his forearm.
“How long have you been in the business?”
“Since I was fourteen. I was trained from a very young age.”
“Have you always been in Daddy’s family?”
“I was loyal to your Daddy from the moment I knew what this life was like. I haven’t had a moment of doubt.”
“Good. That means you won’t leave us, right?”
“I will serve your family until my last breath. You have nothing to fear about that.”
“What a good boy,” you reach to ruffle his hair, landing a swift kiss on his sliced cheek. “That’s exactly what I like to hear.”
Minho stiffens.
“I order you to take off your jacket. I want to see your body. To see if you’re strong enough to be a good guard.”
Your words are sharp as a knife and they cut deep through his defense system. His jaw clamps and his breathing accelerates.
Minho swallows his breath, nodding his head. His movements are rigid, starting to cautiously peel off his jacket. It takes him a moment to unbutton it, but once his jacket is off, he stays there, waiting.
You slide his jacket to the floor, touching the muscles of his bicep through his button-down. “You’re fit. That’s good.”
Minho yearns for you to keep feeling him. To keep praising him. He swallows. Your words sound like a honey trap to him, and it’s working as intended.
“I order you to take off your tie.”
“Yes.”
That is all that he says, slowly slipping his tie from underneath his collar and tossing it aside.
Unexpectedly, you’re climbing on top of his body. “Take off your button-down.”
He unbuttons his shirt as your eyes sear into his chest. He is now only wearing a black undershirt.
“So many clothes,” you sigh out, groping his bare arms. You run your hands across his biceps, listening to him shudder underneath the touch.
“Take off your undershirt now. I want to see your chest.”
You can feel the heat radiating off him as he shivers. His body is now sensitive, and your hands are making it worse for him.
Your orders are evident, and he hastily lifts off his undershirt, waiting for what is next.
You can see his whole chest with all of its blemishes, with every muscle covered in sweat, exposed for you.
Your hands travel down his chest and abdomen, feeling each ragged scar with your bruised fingers. The delicate contact causes his breath to catch and a soft groan leaves him, fighting to not show that he relishes in your touch.
“Let me kiss you.”
He stares at you for a moment before his eyebrows slightly shift— his way of showing you that he approves of that request.
Minho leans in slightly and closes his eyes, gently placing a timid kiss on your lips.
You smirk against him, pushing him to lie against the bed frame and deepening the kiss. Your hands reach for his dark hair, clasping a handful in your grip.
He kisses you deeply and wraps his arms around you to pull you in closer, offering full control to you. His breath speeds up.
You pull away after a moment, lips brushing against his as you catch your breath, but only for an instant before moving towards his jaw, sucking marks onto his skin.
Minho quivers at your touch, his breathing speeding up once more as you leave red and purple blemishes on his skin. He bites his lip to stop himself from groaning.
Your mouth moves from his jaw to his neck, leaving kisses and hickeys all across him, making sure that he is covered in them.
Your hips grind against him, breathing heavily with anticipation as you make your way to his chest.
Your hands and mouth are touching all of him, and each sensation triggers a reaction that he tries to conceal.
Your lips hover back to his lips, staring at him longingly. “Do I have to command you for you to do anything to me? You don’t have to ask. You have my permission. Do whatever you want.”
You can see his gaze shifting from your eyes to your mouth, to your neck, and then towards your chest.
You swiftly lift yourself off of him to let him remove your dress, leaving your body as bare as his own.
You grasp onto his neck, bringing him in for another deep kiss. Minho remains silent as he kisses you, allowing you to leave him as many marks as you desire.
“What are you thinking, Minho? Speak to me.”
He takes a moment, letting out an unstable breath. “I’m thinking of what you are doing to me. I,” he stammers, “I want to make you feel good.”
“Then do it. Please.”
“I don’t want to harm you,” he breathes out, “you’re injured.”
“The nurses said to not do,” Minho presses his eyes shut as you bring your hips up to meet his, “fuck, anything straining.”
“Remember what Daddy said? I can be convincing.” You sneer as your bodyguard fails to keep his cool composure, but the aching cock pressing into you is giving his true desires away.
You eye his internal struggle between following your orders and his cravings, or the nurse and his boss.
“I don’t want to hurt you. I can go relieve myself in the bathroom.”
“I like being hurt.”
You notice his lip twitch at the comment, and you decide to provoke him further, grinding into him, and set a steady rhythm with your hips.
He groans as his head drops back, tugging onto your hair and trying desperately to control his breath, “Please, Y/N, I just want to take care of you.”
“You can take care of me in another way.”
“I need to follow orders.”
“Then I order you to fuck me.”
His eyes pinch shut as he tries to clear his head and reason with himself.
Perhaps if he were gentle, it would be alright.
But how long could he remain gentle when you were splayed out in front of him, willing to take anything that he gave to you?
He made his decision, gripping your shoulders gently and flipping you, pinning you to the bed, and surveying your face for any discomfort.
When he finds none, he impatiently unclasps his belt, throwing it to the floor along with his dress pants, leaving him in just his boxers.
You hold yourself up by your elbows, thighs pressed together and mouth watering at the man in front of you.
His hands were delicate, although they could easily snap you in half, as he unclasped your bra, leaving your top half bare.
Minho stopped to take in the view for a moment before grabbing at one of your breasts, his mouth attaching to the other.
Your whines were like music to him— something that he wanted to hear more of.
Your back arched in pleasure as he moved one hand down to your thigh, caressing it for a moment before slowly slipping his hand into your panties.
“Try to stay quiet, darling, I don’t want any staff checking on us,” He hushed you with his lips attaching to your own once again, feeling your wetness all over his calloused hands.
His thumb brushed against your clit and you whimpered into his mouth, clenching around nothing.
Minho then plunged two fingers deep inside of you and curled them. He was becoming lost in pleasing you, overlooking his own ache between his legs.
Your thighs shook beneath him, feeling him brush against your g-spot brutally. “Minho please, please just fuck me. I want you inside of me so bad.”
At your request, he slipped his fingers out, feeling your cries against his lips from the loss of friction.
“Yes ma’am.” He pulled away from your lips, replacing them with his now dripping fingers, lapping it up with his tongue.
Next, your ruined panties were yanked off of you, with his boxers soon to come after.
One hand gently relaxes on your hips, cautious to avoid aggravating your injuries as he uses the other to guide himself inside of you, a deep groan followed by your whines.
He gives you a moment to handle the stretch, but you hardly need it, already begging for him to move.
Minho cautiously thrusts, taking in a deep breath and furrowing his eyebrows in concentration. 
This is the ultimate test of patience for him. He needs to be as gentle as possible with you.
Ultimately, he sets a slow pace, hands locating themselves on either side of you, letting out uneven breaths as he tries to control himself from how good you feel around him.
“You really do care, don’t you?” Your hand reaches to cup his face, gazing into his eyes that are hazy with pleasure.
He keeps his response short, too concentrated on the waves of bliss through each thrust, “I do care.”
“Is it because you’re my bodyguard or something more?”
You study him, watching his adam’s apple move as he swallows deeply, inhaling sharply. He halts his thrusts for a brief instant.
“Both, maybe. I can’t tell.”
That was enough for you to continue, grabbing another handful of his hair and bringing him in for another hungry, deep kiss.
With each deep thrust, Minho’s mind got hazier and hazier, losing himself to pleasure bit by bit. You could feel it by the way his rhythm became rough and desperate, and his pace picked up.
One of his hands left your side, creeping towards your throbbing clit, causing you to let out sobs, all of which he ate up with his mouth against your own.
“Are you gonna cum for me?” He coos, knowing that you’re too lost in bliss to respond.
He takes your whines as a ‘yes’, his thumb rubbing circles faster, coaxing your orgasm out of you.
Your walls fluttered around him, squeezing your eyes closed and letting out a lengthy, drawn-out moan as his pace picked up even further.
“Just like that. You’re so good for me, so, so good, fuck,” he talked you through your orgasm between his thrusts, chasing his own high.
His brows crease, hips stuttering at how good it felt to have you gripping so tightly onto his cock. Finally, he let go, his load spilling inside of you and seeping out.
Both of you took an instant to catch your breath, coming down from your highs.
His hands slowly traced your curves in contentment, paying attention to the way your chest rose and fell.
Finally, he has a justification to gape at your body up close.
From your jawline to your hickey-covered chest, down to your bruised sides and stitches near your abdomen, and— Oh fuck.
Your wounds.
Minho slowly pulls away, feeling a sense of post-nut clarity and fright.
His hand slides away from your body, staring at you with concern.
“What’s wrong?” You ask, your own anxiety suddenly displayed on your face, “Do you regret it?”
“No! No,” He panics, “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?“
Back in reality now, your wounds ache and your head pounds with exhaustion and overexertion.
His mind calculates the solutions to the situation— ways to explain to the nurses, to fix you, to help you feel better.
It was his shortcoming, after all. He let his urges get to him.
“Let’s run you a bath.” He pulls himself up, tugging on his boxers and heading towards the bathroom.
You hear the tap turn on, lying in bed trying to catch your breath. Your breath is harsh from both adrenaline and pain, but you can’t help but feel as though the latter is more of the cause.
You had slept with a small handful of men, primarily Daddy’s men, but none of them were quite like Minho.
He was tough but breakable. He was still kindhearted at his core— something that wasn’t all that common in the business.
You could tell from the way that he ran the bath, bare muscles glistening from sweat, running his hand through the water to make sure that it was the ideal temperature. How concerned he was about your protection, even through his pleasure.
Not many other men that you’ve met throughout your life have been the same way.
You’re quite fond of the man that you have just met.
You hear the water shut off and footsteps coming towards the room. He holds a faint smile as his steps come towards the bed. Your gaze slowly wanders to his physique.
“It’s ready for you.” He says in a slight whisper.
“I order you to pick me up and bring me to the bath.”
He nods at your order, hooking his arms underneath your thighs and back, his strong grip securing you.
You inhale the powerful stench of gunpowder stuck to his skin, finding comfort in your bodyguard’s presence.
“Will you wash my hair?”
Studying his expression, it’s hard to read, but you let him carry you and place you into the water.
‘I do care,’ you recall his words.
‘Is it because you’re my bodyguard or something more?’ ‘Both, maybe. I can’t tell.’
Perhaps you had feelings for the man, especially while he massaged shampoo into your scalp with tough hands, making sure to rub your temples.
“Have you ever been a bodyguard before?”
When Minho hears your question, he hums while he proceeds to wash you, working on scrubbing the areas where he touched you earlier. “No, you’re the first one I’ve been a bodyguard for.”
“I did things for your father before this. Not as a bodyguard, a more, I guess, dangerous role,” he dismisses the question.
“Is that so?” You fall to silence as he continues to wash you, taking his time and guaranteeing that he gets every part. He hesitates when he washes around your injuries— every stroke and movement of his hands is smooth and temperate.
“Let me relax for a minute alone,” you murmur, “You should put your clothes back on, the maids should be here any moment to take my order for lunch. They won’t find it suspicious that I’m bathing, but they will question why you’re with me.”
Minho nods and pulls away from your body.
He stands up and his feet splash on the wet floor. He takes a double take at your closed eyes.
The way your body floats in the bath is something that catches his attention. You look very pleasing in such a vulnerable position.
He leaves the room, cracking the door to make sure that you are safe.
Minho buttons up his wrinkled shirt, pulling the jacket over it and smoothing it out to ensure that nobody suspects anything.
Minho’s eyes turn to the maid who enters the room with the ring of a bell.
His demeanor is unfazed, a hand on the gun in his pocket once more. He holds eye contact, his stare intense.
He would make sure that there wasn’t another incident.
“Where is Miss Y/N?”
“She is bathing at the moment.”
She nods, walking towards the bathroom and knocking on the door.
You hum, allowing her to enter.
“What would you like for lunch, ma’am?”
“I don’t know, surprise me.”
A few seconds go by as you immerse yourself entirely in the water before rising back to the surface.
“Minho,” you call out, “What would you like?”
You hear the faint sigh that Minho gives as a response back to your question.
“I’ll just have a sandwich or something, whatever you have is fine.” He replies to both you and the maid as she exits the bathroom, fulfilling her duty of reporting your lunch choice.
The bedroom door shuts behind her.
“Minho!” You call out once again, “I order you to take me out of the bath.”
A few seconds pass before you hear Minho’s footsteps come near the bathroom once again. He grabs a towel as you stand, body bare and dripping with water.
His eyes have an intense focus as he reaches out his hand.
Minho pulls you up from the bath wraps the towel around you, making sure to cover all of you, and begins to dry off your hair.
“Minho,” you begin, “Daddy can’t know about what happened. He’d shoot you dead on the spot.”
Minho pauses for a moment, his eyes darting across the floor.
He is silent for a moment. “I won’t reveal anything to him.”
“Good boy,” you cling to the towel covering your body, “Go fetch a maid to dress me. While she does so, I want you to change out of that suit and shower before lunch.”
“Then I’ll go shower now. I’ll be back.”
You hum in agreement, stepping towards your bedroom as a maid rings the bell.
You drop your towel, letting her sift through your drawers to find decent clothing.
She eyes a hickey on your breast, along with the other injuries across your body from the kidnapping.
“Your injuries look agitated, Miss Y/N, are you sure that a bath was the best idea for you?”
“Don’t question me,” you grumble, “I took a bath because I wanted to.”
“Yes, miss.” She pulls the dress above your head smoothes it out, and clasps a necklace behind your neck.
“You’re all set for lunch.”
The moment that you come out of your room, you can feel his presence. He is leaning against the front door of the room with an unreadable expression.
He has another suit on, a fresh one. Minho’s previously muskier, dark scent has been replaced by a new, sweeter fragrance.
“First shower at the estate?” You question, “Our soaps are quite lovely and mild on the skin. You smell wonderful.”
Minho’s lips curl at the compliment, looking you up and down, “Seems that we both are putting our best foot forward.”
You look around to see if anyone is watching before leaning to ruffle his damp hair and leave a kiss on his cheek, taking the man by complete surprise. He makes an effort to regain his composure, but you can see that his cheeks are blushed from the touch.
As soon as you lean in to lock arms, you feel him lean over to you to whisper something.
“I would love to do that with you again.”
You froze in your spot, heat rushing to your thighs.
You must regain your composure, caught off guard by his blunt words, something unlike the ordinary nature of Minho.
He takes a seat across from you, watching every move that the maid makes to be sure that she doesn’t try anything— he has learned his lesson.
“Pressed Italian Picnic Sandwiches and tea,” The maid states, setting the plates on the table.
You scrunch my nose up. “What’s in it?”
“Artisanal prosciutto, aged provolone, and sun-dried tomatoes inside of a crusty ciabatta,” She doesn’t hesitate to list the ingredients, “and a fragrant blend of rare loose-leaf teas with fresh cream and sugar cubes.”
She sets the teapot and cups out, along with a carton of cream and a bowl of sugar cubes.
Minho’s hand rests on his gun, waiting for her to leave before taking a sip of tea.
You follow his action, dumping a couple of cubes into your tea and bringing it to your lips.
I finish my lunch with Minho.
“Let’s go back to my room now. I'm exhausted.”
Minho nods his head and you both finish up the meals quickly.
You both leave the dining area and stroll back to your bedroom.
As soon as you get back into the room, you feel Minho close the door behind you.
You don’t hesitate to climb into bed and lie down.
The guard looks over at you, observing the way that your chest rises and falls as you breathe. He notices every movement that your body is making.
“I command you to lay down with me.” You lean back against the bed, your body still and eyes focused on his unmoving body.
He slips off his shoes silently, slipping into the canopy bed.
You grin, curling at his side, pressing against his body.
His breathing is deep and steady as he struggles to get into a more comfortable position.
Your mind began racing with questions about the mysterious man that you were slowly falling for, burying yourself further into the sheets.
“Minho,” you start slowly, “How did you become tangled with our family?”
Minho stays silent for a few moments and you feel his body shift a little against yours.
“I didn’t have a lot of money or family growing up,” he kept his answer short and simply, “the moment that this job came my way, I took it. The people connected to this business have always stayed on the down low, so this is an easy job to keep."
“Daddy seems to like you,” you grit your teeth.
Minho turns to you on the bed and sits up a little. He looks at you from top to bottom, reading the worry on your face with ease.
“You don’t have to worry about me.”
“He will kill you on the spot if he finds out. He’s done that to almost every man who has flirted or slept with me.”
You pause for a moment. “God forbid the one he hired as my bodyguard.”
“I am not so easily killed.” The words leave his mouth with a tinge of arrogance.
“I trust you.”
“Good.”
There is stillness between you both for a time, but he breaks it by grabbing your chin and leaning in to kiss you. You soothe into his touch, smiling against his lips briefly before he pulls away.
“I order you to stay here. Like this.”
It’s not difficult for you to drift off to sleep beside him, and as always, Minho pursues your request, keeping a close eye on you. You relax, your breathing slow, and he notes all of the occasional twitches and movements that you make in your sleep.
A couple of hours later, the door is knocked on by a maid.
“Dinner order?”
Minho jolts awake from the knock on the door, a hand swiftly placed on your shoulder to protect you from any threats before turning his head towards the noise.
His voice is full of sleep. “Repeat that?”
As she opens the door, there is a look of inquiry on her face, one that she won’t ask to ensure her job and health.
“Is she asleep?” She questions instead, glancing over at your peaceful figure.
He turns his head towards you to double-check, observing your napping body.
“Yes.”
“Alright. I’ll advise the chef to prepare her dinner later tonight.”
She gives a sharp nod to the guard and scurries out of the room, quietly shutting the door to not disturb the girl.
Minho’s eyes rest on the door for a moment, fully alert now with a hand resting on his gun.
Eventually, he turns over to you. He has his eyes on you for a few seconds before leaning down to kiss you on the forehead, letting out a small sigh.
You stir at the warm touch, scrunching your face up and stretching your body.
“What time is it?” You ask groggily before burying your head into his neck.
“Dinner is in about half an hour. You hungry?”
“Not really,” you pull yourself up and rub your sleep-filled eyes.
He notices your body shiver as you pull yourself up. Minho lets out a short exhale.
“Did you sleep?”
“A bit.” He doesn’t look away or turn his head as he admires the way you stand and stretch your body, smoothing your dress of its wrinkles.
You walk towards your vanity mirror, plopping down in the chair to readjust your necklace to the center. A few marks on your collarbone catch your eye.
“The nurses will be in shortly.” You grit your teeth. “I hope they don’t notice.”
“They won’t notice.”
His figure can be seen from behind you in the reflection of the mirror. His lips are turned upwards as he watches you fix your appearance.
You pull out a couple of foundations and concealers, working on concealing the marks left from earlier.
“The maids wouldn’t, but the nurses will tell the difference between a hickey and a bruise. Especially since these are fresh.”
Even though you are busy with your makeup and covering up the bruises, Minho’s eyes are never off of you. It is a feeling that you will have to get used to— always having a watchful eye on you.
Once you were satisfied with the coverage, you rose from your seat quickly.
“Get up, we’re going to dinner.”
“So bossy.” He retorts. “What will you have?”
“I want to go out, let’s go somewhere fancy. Daddy will pay.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You want to go out when you have had a beating just two days ago?”
He asks it like he thinks it’s an absurd idea, almost condescendingly, yet his tone of voice is soft and full of concern for you, causing your stomach to flip inside out.
“I’m tired of staying inside already. This estate is suffocating,” you pull on your slip-on shoes.
“That’s how I got myself into this mess in the first place. I left the house and got kidnapped. That won’t happen with you here.”
“I guess you’re right. We’ll go somewhere nice.”
“Good. I’ll go tell Daddy.” You leave the door open for Minho to come after but don’t wait for him, yet you can tell that he follows behind silently, attending to the way your body moves in the dress as you make your way down the halls.
The door is slightly ajar, so when you knock, it pushes open with a creak, revealing your father inside.
Minho stands behind you like a shadow, his lips pressed into a straight line, gaze locked on your father, keeping his distance from the both of you.
“Come inside,” the older man invites both of them with a welcoming grin, “sit.”
You can sense that your father has something on his mind, which is never a good sign.
“I was going to call you to my office shortly, anyway.” Instantly you assume the worst.
You sit down, taking a seat in front of him. Minho is still standing in the back, his priority on you and your father.
The man looks over at Minho. Their eyes lock for a moment. “Guard, go lock the door. There is a conversation that needs to be had.”
Minho nods and he turns his head, locking the door behind him.
He turns his attention back to you, who is frozen in your seat, breath hitching.
The elite man fiddles with a pen at his desk, clicking it to drown out the tense silence.
The silence in the room seems so heavy that you wonder how neither you nor Minho is feeling sick. Judging by the thick atmosphere between the three of you, it is easy to tell that he isn’t pleased right now.
He fidgets with the pen and you wait for him to finally speak.
“Do you find my daughter to be precious, Guard?” He addresses Minho with a stern voice, finally setting the pen down at his wooden desk with a smack.
“Yes sir,” Minho replies flatly.
“Are you willing to protect her at all costs, even at your life?”
After moments of silence, he answers back confidently. “Yes sir. I am.”
A hand comes to rest at his side, toying loudly with a handgun, which he eventually pulls out of his pocket.
Tears begin to well up in your eyes, yet Minho stays concentrated. There isn’t a single sign of fear on his face. He is unshaken, calm, and collected as if he had been foreseeing this exact scenario.
“Do you know why you were assigned to guard my daughter, Minho?”
“I know the reasons.”
“There was a leak to the rivals from a previous staff member that I had a precious daughter in my life,” He turns towards you, “the one that I had climbed to the top of my career to protect and assure her safety and security.”
He cleared his throat before darting back to Minho, “It took less than a day for her to be taken from my hands and placed in the hands of one of my greatest enemies.”
Minho pays attention to every word that he speaks and clears his throat, waiting for your father to continue.
“I care for my daughter more than anything in the world. Which is why I had appointed the most valuable, honest, and competent man in the family to ensure her protection.”
Minho nods.
“Please don’t kill him, Daddy.”
The boss meets you with cold eyes, disregarding your words to proceed with his lecture. “You are my most prized possession. I would hurt anyone or anything to make sure that not a single person touches you. The men who kidnapped you are all taken care of, wiped out by my command.”
He continues. “I know everything that goes on in your life. Every meal, every kiss, every injury, the staff must report every minor thing that occurs in your day. I have eyes on you at all times, and you’re more than aware of that.”
Your shoulders stiffen. He knew.
“Minho,” his stare is burning into the other man, “I’ll get to the point. Did you sleep with my daughter?”
He doesn’t blink. His body tenses up and his voice remains neutral.
“Yes.”
The boss turns the safety off of his firearm and you dig your head into your hands, unable to observe the scene that is about to unfold.
The gunshot is fired, but the man deliberately aims to the left of Minho, grazing his cheek with the bullet before standing up instantly from his seat. The guard doesn’t react with more than a blink as the blood pools at the cut.
“I trust you, Minho. You are a good man. If there is a single person who I would choose to give my daughter to, it would be you.”
Finally, Minho takes this as a sign to let his guard down for a moment as his shoulders drop, lip quivering slightly. It was evident that there was more emotion that the guard was holding back, especially when he took a moment to look away.
“You have my approval.”
Your eyes widen.
“Take care of my daughter. If you break her heart, I’ll feed your own heart to her for supper.”
“Understood.”
“Take her to dinner,” a wad of cash is pulled out from one of the drawers, “buy her flowers and anything else that she asks for.”
“Yes sir.” He responds, “I’ll make sure that she gets the treatment that she deserves.”
You run to embrace your father, to which he places an arm around you, rubbing your back before pulling away.
“Get yourself dressed more sufficiently, I will have a car ready for you soon.”
Minho follows you out of his office, letting out a breath that he had been holding in once the door was closed.
“Did you hear that?” Do you know what this means?” You beam at the man before grabbing at his cheeks and pulling him in for a kiss.
He lets out a surprised noise, hesitantly wrapping his arms around your waist and kissing back.
When you break the kiss, he stares back at you with the first big smile that you’ve seen from him displayed on his face.
“Let’s get you ready.”
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staywithsy · 4 months
Text
gijae
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mains: idol!lee know x gf!reader
summary: lee know collapses onto the floor the moment he goes home
genre: fluff to the max
warnings: ...??? uhh fluff???
wc: 173 words
a/n: i need to take a break from all the angst in scars 😭 fluffy minho is so cute and i just realised i suck at titles
~general m.list~
"honey, i'm home!" you hear minho shout from the door. you were in the kitchen, just finishing cooking tonight's dinner: jigae. after all, minho just came back from touring, so he must be missing some korean food. just as you were about to call minho to come eat, you heard a thud. worried, you rush out of the kitchen to check the situation. to your relief, minho was seated on the floor like a baby, staring into blank space. you giggled, saying, "jagiya, i made jigae, come eat!" "but im so tired~" whined minho, flailing his knees on the ground. you walked over and put your arms akimbo, raising an eyebrow at him. minho, knowing it was really time to eat, reached his arm out, requesting, "only if you pull me up," with that, you smiled at him and pulled him up. you didnt have to use much strength as minho jumped up himself and planted a soft and longing kiss on your lips before hauling you up bridal style into the kitchen.
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