#minho fanfiction
Text
consort vi | minho
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.
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.
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.”
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.
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.
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?”
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.”
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.
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.”
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.
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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IBDIJEUIDJBEYAI
I JUST HAD A BIG BRAIN MOMENT!!
Kitten surprising Min with her old school uniform and a lil role play. His mind is racing from the skirt and the memories and he can like touch her how he always imagined her
-🥝
you're so absolutely right, kiwi. this was a humongous brain moment.
i've had this ask in my inbox since mid-august bc i just had to write something I HAD TO since it stirred something within me. thankfully, i recently figured out how i wanted to go about this, and finally got to writing it💜
Pairing: Werewolf!Minho x Human!F.Reader (one of the main pairings of my WereRoomies series, but you probably don’t really need to read any of the other instalments to understand this one, although it's highly recommended!). | Word Count: ~3k | Themes & Warnings: Supernatural/Fantasy AU · Smut · Fluff · Established Relationship · role-playing as high schoolers (disclaimer: they’re both consenting adults fulfilling fantasies of their past, neither are genuinely attracted to minors in any way) · nipple play · unprotected penetration [piv. no barrier method, but reader is on birth control] · a smidge of a breeding kink · cumshot · barely proof-read as it usually is with these “drabbles”...
minors do not interact.
“Min–Minho…”
Oh, how sweet you sounded when you said his name like that… It was just how he’d dreamt it’d be. He’d heard you before, of course. But not in this situation, in this particular setting…
“My dad could be home anytime now–Oh, shit…” Your words got caught in your throat the second he bit one of your nipples. How could he not, when you were on his lap, with your uniform shirt open, and your bra just down enough for him to play with your chest.
“Shh, it’ll be fine, kitten”, Minho mumbled against the swell of your breast, leaving a love bite that he hoped would be visible when you wore one of your low tops. “If he were to come home, you know he doesn’t bother us when we’re doing our homework…”
You whined as soon as his mouth reattached to your nipple, as he gently rolled the other between his thumb and index finger… Your hands buried in his hair, keeping him close while you rolled your hips to find some friction against his crotch. The pressure had his mouth salivating further, borderline drooling all over your nipple like the dog he’d recently become.
Or, at least, in this fantasy, he had probably been turned a few years prior…
When you and Minho had come to your father’s house today to help him clean up some of your old stuff from your childhood room, Minho certainly hadn’t expected for the afternoon to take him right here. To him sitting on the edge of your bed, dressed in his school uniform, with you sitting on his lap, and dressed in your school uniform.
It had been such an impromptu thing… You found the pieces of clothing at the bottom of your dresser, forgotten from the last time you wore them in your final year. Back then, you always kept a spare change of Minho’s uniform for those nights when he unexpectedly stayed over.
‘Ohhhh, you should put it on. I used to love how the uniform looked on you’, you’d told him as you handed him the dress shirt with the school’s logo on it, and the white vest top he used to wear under it.
‘Alright, but only if you put on yours. The whole thing. I also loved how you looked in that uniform’, he’d told you immediately, because it was the truth. That plaid skirt and the white button-up used to make stellar appearances in his teenage-hormones-driven wet dreams.
He used to feel embarrassed about it. You were his best friend in this world, and the fact that he found himself daydreaming of how it’d look like if he took a peek under your skirt, or how it’d feel if he buried his face in your cleavage, certainly made him feel guilty.
Now, as an adult well into his twenties, after you both shared your affections, he no longer felt as guilty about it. Especially after learning that you yourself had those thoughts about him back then, too.
When you put on that uniform shy of fifteen minutes ago, Minho was reminded of all those thoughts he used to have, of all the sleepless nights and hidden chubs at school… It hit him then that maybe this was exactly why he loved seeing you in skirts so much in present day. A result of his teenage-self’s never fulfilled desires.
Sure, he couldn’t button his shirt since his shoulders and arms had broadened with age, and your skirt was certainly much shorter than it used to be, but that didn’t stop either of you from falling into your roles.
‘Mmm… It’s almost like we have just come back from school and are getting ready to get some work done’, you chuckled as you looked at yourself in the mirror and adjusted your thigh high socks.
That sentence alone lit up the bulb in his head, it sparked a naughty little idea that he knew you’d either entertain or laugh about. Either result was fine by him, so he had no qualms when he walked behind you, and looked at you through the mirror.
Calling your name as he placed his hands on your waist, Minho had asked you to turn around to face him. ‘There’s… there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you for so long… Please don’t be mad…’
Minho feigned nervousness, like he was once again that boy that had seemingly unrequited feelings for his best friend.
‘I really, really like you… Can’t stop thinking about you. How’d it be like to kiss you, to feel you close in ways other than platonic. You’re my best friend, and I cherish that deeply, but I just… I like you so much’, funny thing, how those were pretty much the same words he’d wanted to say to you back then. Words he had practised in front of the mirror a few times, but he was always too much of a coward to actually tell you.
You looked at him in what Minho figured was feigned shock. Oh, how he loved you… You just knew him so well, and knew exactly what he was doing without saying a single word. ‘I… I like you, too. Have liked you for so long, Minho…’
Minho had cupped your cheeks and pulled you in for a kiss. He kissed you as if he’d never done it before, desperately, hungrily, no time for being tender and soft when all he’d wanted was to devour you whole. And you had retaliated, of course. You’d pulled him close by the collar of his shirt and pressed your chest to his, kissing him with fervour.
‘Even if I’m… If I’m now…’ A beast, was what he wanted to say as he spoke between kisses. Minho had maybe fallen a little too well into this role of his younger self. He could still remember how insecure he used to be about his condition, how he looked down on himself after being infected with this goddamn lycanthropy… Those were feelings that no longer existed within him, he had now long since accepted this was part of him. If anything, with time, he’d embraced it.
‘I’d like you even if… Even if you were a worm’, you replied simply, making him giggle, which in turn made you giggle.
Minho scooped you into his arms after that, and he walked the remaining steps to your childhood bed so he could sit on it with you on his lap. In no time, he was groping you over your shirt, under your skirt, and you had started to beg for him to touch you more.
His instincts were stunted, you knew that, he knew that, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have this animal side to him. Sometimes, especially when he was horny, that animalistic side of him took over his logical mind, and, back when he was a teen, he could recall having a harder time with certain feelings and emotions like these. So, he let them cloud his reason a bit as he fulfilled this little fantasy of his…
Minho ripped your shirt open, the buttons flew all over your room, and you gasped when he buried his head between your breasts. The thing was also a bit too tight on you, so he was sure you wouldn’t miss the garment if it got ripped a bit in the process.
You scrambled to take a hold of his hands, bringing them to your chest so he could fondle you over your bra, once again begging him to touch you. To ‘Please, please, Minho, touch me. I need it. I need you…’
And he was sure his cock was about to pop out of his jeans with how hard it got at your desperation.
So here you were, grinding into each other, on your childhood bed while Minho feasted on your tits.
“Fuck, that feels so good, baby. Harder. Do it harder…”
How could he deny you when you sounded so needy? When he’d wanted to do this for so long?
He bit harder, pinched harder, pulling strangled sounds of pleasure out of your lips. The more attention he gave to your chest, the more you rolled your hips against him, effectively pulling sounds of pleasure out of his lips.
His senses were flooded by you. The smell of your arousal on your lavender scent, your weight of him, the taste of your skin on his tongue, all combined had him almost delirious, especially when his free hand found its way under that godforsaken skirt of yours to tightly grope one of your buttocks.
“Baby, I think I’m… I might…”
Fuck, if you came just from him playing with your chest and you grinding your cunt on the tent in his jeans, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to contain himself. Although, he supposed coming in his underwear would’ve been a very accurate representation of what would’ve happened if his teenage self had ever had the opportunity to have you on him like this…
Minho couldn’t help but groan when you tightened your grip on his hair, when you started to roll your hips faster, harder… God, all he wanted right now was for the girl of his dreams to come, he needed to feel you trembling in his hold, to drown in your scent so he could convince himself this was happening.
Seeing you come, holding you tight while you did, was just absolutely delightful. You bit on your fist to keep your moans contained, while your whole body shook with your release.
Minho had to make the conscious effort not to blow right then and there. He was sure that if this had happened back when you were still that young, he would’ve certainly done so. He imagined that this would’ve probably been your first sexual experience together, that you’d laugh about how he soiled his underwear and how needy you’d been, before you laid down and cuddled for a bit…
Maybe you would’ve had sex a different time, on a different day where you were sure your dad wouldn’t come back home… But this wasn’t about being fully realistic, this was about having fun while fulfilling a shared fantasy.
“Fuck, Minho, baby, stop… I’m sore…”
Minho finally pulled himself away from your chest, mumbling a very unconvincing ‘Sorry’ before he attached his lips to the pulse point on your neck, relishing how fast your blood was pumping in your veins.
“You’re so fucking hot, my kitten. I’ve been dreaming of this moment, y’know?” He mumbled in your ear, taking one of your breasts in his hand to fondle the flesh, with special care to not stimulate your nipple too much.
“Me too, baby…” You were still trembling occasionally within his arms, taking deep breaths to get your racing heart to slow down inside your chest. “I’ve wanted this so bad… Even… Even touched myself thinking about it”.
“Mmm, fuck…” Minho started sucking love bites on your neck, following this faint need in his gut to leave his mark on you. “Have you?”
“I have… Sometimes, I did it while we slept in the same room”.
Minho wasn’t sure if this was you playing your fantasy, or if this was a real thing that happened, but, being honest, it didn’t matter. It made his mind disconnect completely as soon as the words came out of your mouth regardless.
Before he could even register it himself, he had stood up and thrown you on the bed, eliciting a shaky, surprised gasp from your lips. In a second, he was on you, kissing you hard, messily, even desperately. Your limbs wrapped around him, your arms around his neck, and your legs around his middle, bringing him further down to lay flush against you in your heated kiss.
He was dizzy, lightheaded, and for a second, he almost believed he was in the past, that he was making out with you on your bed after school, that he was about to lose his virginity to his best friend.
“Fuck, I need to put it in…” Minho barely detached his lips from yours while he spoke, just kept messily kissing you between words as he ground his hips to your core. “Please, please let me put it in… Need you…”
“We–we need a condom, Min”, your hands found their way under his top, where they settled to caress his back, making him shiver. “I don’t have any here”.
“Fuck, I don’t have any, either”, Minho left your lips to instead attach his own to your collarbones, to nibble on the sensitive skin, making you whine. “I’ll pull out. I got quick reflexes, it’ll be fine, please…”
He certainly was playing into this horny-teenage-boy thing all too well. Although, he was sure his younger self wouldn’t have been this stupid to believe just ‘pulling out’ would be an effective contraceptive, and surely neither would you. After all, back then, your dad made sure you both knew about being safe, which Minho was grateful for to this day.
Regardless, the very real implant you had in your arm made it so he could play like this, so you both could play like this.
“Shit, you’ll pull out?” Your hands trembled when they found his backside and squeezed him. “You would, wouldn’t you?”
“Promise, kitten. Cross my heart”.
One of your hands left his bum to move to his crotch, where you cupped and squeezed him and overall felt him over the fabric of his jeans. He couldn’t help but buck his hips to let you feel as much as you could of him. “Fuck, okay. But Min… I’m not sure this will fit…”
“It will. I’m sure it will. It has to. You trust me, no?”
With a deep breath, biting your lip, you nodded. “Trust you with my life”.
When Minho pulled himself away from your hold, he just had to tell you how fucking gorgeous you looked with your hair all messy, your tits out, your ripped shirt, and that fucking skirt… The hem pooled on your belly, exposing your underwear and the mouth-watering wet-patch on them.
God, he wanted a taste… But there wasn’t enough time for that right now.
Minho hastily unbuttoned his jeans, pulling them and his underwear down just enough to free his length. You swore under your breath, taking him into your hand and spreading the pre-cum that had beaded at the tip so you could easily stroke him.
“Baby, please…” You guided him to your core. With your free hand, you pulled your underwear to the side, and dragged the tip of his cock all over your folds. “Need it. Need you, Minho…”
One day you’d be the death of him, he was sure.
Under normal circumstances, Minho would’ve stretched you open with his fingers, he would’ve made sure you were absolutely ready to take that annoyingly big alpha cock of his. But he figured skipping the step would be a bit more… in character.
“Oh, fuck, fuck…” Minho pushed himself into your heat slowly, letting your walls adjust to his length with what he hoped wasn’t much discomfort. He knew that if there had been any, you would’ve said the word that would immediately stop everything you were doing. “That’s so fucking tight…”
You whined, not necessarily in discomfort, but in that way that made him know you were feeling impatient. Wrapping your legs around his hips, you tried to push on his backside to get him to get in already. “Please, I need it all. Now”.
“Shit–!” As soon as Minho bottomed out and had propped himself on his forearms, you took a hold of his hair and pulled him down for a messy kiss.
There was just so much spit. Everything was so sloppy and messy and he was honestly enjoying it way more than he ever thought he would.
“Fuck, you’re so hard… Can’t believe you fit”, you mumbled breathlessly against his lips, releasing his hair to place your hands on his back.
“Didn’t doubt–Shit, if you keep clenching like that I’ll come, kitten… Didn’t doubt I’d fit right in. Isn’t this cunt for me? Hm? Hasn’t it always been?” Minho didn’t even give you time to respond, he just started to thrust, a borderline animalistic pace that had you biting on his shoulder to muffle your moans.
There was nothing but heavy breaths and desperate groans and whines and moans… Nothing but the sound of skin slapping against skin and the headboard hitting the wall and your nails sinking on his clothed back…
Minho vaguely realised he was growling with each thrust. Like an animal. He was making all these sounds like the animal he was. And every time he did, your body just immediately reacted. Either by clawing at his back, or biting harder on his shoulder, or clamping hard around his length…
It was honestly driving him crazy. It reminded him that, ultimately, you accepted him, that you loved him just as he was. What an odd, but pleasant reflexion to make when you both were fucking, and pretending to be your teenage selves at that.
“It–It is”, you meekly mumbled after a while, and Minho, a bit puzzled, pulled himself away from your neck to look you in the eyes. “It’s yours. Has always been. I’ve always been”.
Minho swore loudly, throwing his head back once your words registered properly in his hazy mind. Your cunt was his, you were his. You’ve always been…
That reassurance, coupled with the vice grip of your walls, got him so incredibly close…
“Fuck, kitten, gonna come. Need to–need to pull out”, Minho was panting, drunk on the pleasure he was feeling and the fog clouding his reason.
Your legs tightened around his frame, keeping him as close as you could while he kept thrusting into you. “What if–What if you don’t?”
“Oh, God… Don’t say that…”
“Why? What if I want your puppies? Hm?”
He was going to die. Minho was sure he was seeing the gates of heaven open up right in front of him.
“C–can’t. We can’t…” Shaking his head, Minho tried his best to hold back, a titanic effort with how fucking good you were making him feel, with how fucking in love with you he was.
“Can’t…?” There was a pout on your lips, highlighted by your blown pupils, and Minho, once again, shook his head in response.
Minho just desperately shook his head. “Kitten, baby, please…”
The hold of your legs relented. Minho immediately straightened himself and pulled out of your warmth to take his cock in one of his hands while the other gripped your hip tightly. One, two pumps and he was groaning deeply, coming all over your underwear, over your mound and your now only partially exposed folds.
The sight was nothing short of exquisite. Your wrinkled, open shirt, your tits still falling out of your bra, with your nipples slightly puffy after all the attention Minho had given them, the skirt hunched at your waist, and your underwear drenched in his cum…
Minho felt light, satisfied, and, as he tried to catch his breath, he just took you in.
After a few moments of silence–silence, save for the sound of your heavy breathing and the ringing in his ears–a grin made its way to your face, and, a second after, you broke into laughter. It made him laugh, too. Maybe uncontrollably so.
“Oh, that was awesome”, you chuckled, wiping the tears that had collected in your eyes at your outburst. “So good”.
“Totally agree”, Minho leaned into you to press a brief kiss on your lips before he left the bed to find a face towel from your dresser to clean up the stupid amounts of cum that had come out of his stupid monster cock off of your body.
“‘Suppose it was a good thing that my dad isn’t coming until very late today. It would’ve been seriously awkward to explain what was going on if he found us… Well, like this”, you started shrugging your shirt off as soon as Minho had finished cleaning you up, and proceeded to work the couple of buttons on your skirt.
“I don’t think he would’ve appreciated the sight, to be honest”, Minho chuckled, getting out of his shirt and vest top as well to put his t-shirt back on and do his jeans.
As soon as you two were dressed properly and in clean clothes, you both laid back down, unbothered by the soiled sheets. Minho simply pulled you into his arms, and pressed a brief kiss on your forehead before he hugged you close.
“Kitten…” Minho mumbled against your hair after a while, dragging his hand up and down your back in a gentle caress. “Was that true?”
You absentmindedly traced patterns on his chest, shapes that he could’ve sworn were hearts and stars. “Was what true?”
“Y’know… that thing about… About you touching yourself while I was in the same room…”
You pulled yourself away from his hold a bit so you could look him in the eyes. A smile came to your lips, right before you started opening your mouth to speak.
© therhythmafterthesummer 2023. all rights reserved. do not repost or translate my stories.
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#stray kids supernatural au#stray kids fantasy au#stray kids werewolf au#lee know smut#lee know fluff#lee know fanfiction#lee know fic#lee know x reader#minho x reader#minho smut#minho fanfiction#stray kids smut#stray kids fanfiction#skz x reader#skz fanfic#skz fanfiction#stray kids fanfic#werewolf lee know#werewolf minho#✨🌙✏#kiwi i know you sent another ask suggesting more ideas for this... but brain lizard didn't feel like going in that direction sdfjhskdj#so here this is!
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minho enjoys being dommed i stand by that.
minho was a fucking whore. you’ve tried to convince yourself that it wasn’t true for months, but it didn’t work. you also had to admit you liked it. he was a whore just for you. a needy, whiny, desperate boy, one who was sexually deprived after spending his life inside those walls, one who let you do anything and everything to him; one who was all yours and only wanted you. if he wanted attention from you, he'd get it, one way or another.
he was a sensitive boy. such a big giver, too. loved eating you out, loved making you feel good. he had cum in his pants multiple times, just from eating you out. yes, he truly was sensitive. he needed you, and you knew it. prior to you, he had no sexual experience whatsoever, so when you had started dating and sleeping together, it was something he couldn't get enough of. he loved it when you took care of him, something he had longed for, for years.
the pants and mewls that left his mouth were absolutely sinful. he was close to losing his fucking mind. he promised he’d been good, whining a string of, “please, please! hmnn—i’ve been s’good, please. just let me — fuck! just let me cum, please. you’re being such a–” and you’ll interrupt his sentence every time. squeezing his dick with your slick, moist walls as more cries pass his lips. his hair was sweaty and sticky, heart racing as he whimpered, his cock flushed with heat as you bounced on it, your pace agonizingly slow.
his hands remained at his sides obediently, listening to your orders as per usual, though, his digits couldn’t help but tangle themselves in your hair sometimes, trailing down south to toy with your tits. you frowned, pulling yourself off his cock to tell him, “what did i tell you? keep your hands to yourself or i won’t fuck you.” he couldn't help it, he needed to touch you. he frowned, hands retreating as he relied on his eyes. he watched you, the way your fingers traced his abs and circled his nipples as you bounced on his cock, boobs practically in his face as you used him to get yourself off. he loved it—loved when you used him.
he started losing his voice, weak moans clawing themselves out of his throat, not long before a whimper followed as you began bouncing faster. you kept taking it away from him. he was so close—he feels it, and you knew it. you kept switching paces, slowing down each time you felt he was close to cumming.
“please,” his voice cracked, and you almost felt sorry for him. you leaned forward, pace quickening once more as your hungry pussy clenched around his cock, planting a kiss onto his lips. “p-please, i need'a cum so bad.” he leaned his head back, panting as he tried to regulate his breath, feeling as if he'd pass out at any given second from the overstimulation.
“you've been a good boy, haven't you, minnie?” you purred, hot breath tickling his ear, tip of your tongue tracing his earlobe. he whined, eyes glued to the way your back arched, ass bouncing and slamming into his balls. he nodded, whining desperately, and boy did it make you wet. “i've been so good,” he panted breathlessly, his orgasm creeping up on him. “so good for you 'n only you.”
you didn't respond—there was no need to. he knew, as soon as you began bouncing on his cock, keeping the same fast tempo, that you were gonna give him what he needed.
#tmr#the maze runner#death cure#scorch trials#minho maze runner#minho x reader#minho fanfiction#tmr minho#tmr fanfiction#tmr smut#minho smut#minho x reader smut
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⛽
“Snugglepuss, can I lay on your stomach?”
Minho was cuddled next to you on the couch, safe and sound under the heavy blanket.
“Snugglepuss?”, you asked confused. “The hell is that?”
Minho’s eyes lit up, proud to explain the new nickname he got for you.
“Babe, that’s self-explanatory. Snuggle because we love to cuddle and be close and puss because… you know.”, he smirked naughtily.
“Oh my god!”, you erupted in laughter. “Don’t ever call me that again!”
“What? Why not?!”, he asked offended.
“I don’t know Min, it just sounds wrong.”
“You’ll get used to it, Snugglepuss. So, can I lay on your stomach?”
He looked at you with big, expectant eyes – wanting to claim his favorite body part of yours.
“No, sorry.”
You turned around and faced the TV again, focusing on the drama you were watching.
Minho furrowed his brows, feeling rejected and not understanding why.
“Why though? Let me lay on your stomach, y/n. Please?”
You weren’t one to deny him any requests, after all you were head over heels in love with him. His character, ever so ambivalent, made you fall for him instantly. His dark, ominous side he showed to the world paired with his kind, affectionate side reserved for his special ones lured you in instantly.
“I just don’t feel like it, Min.”
Each word coming out of your pretty mouth confused him even more. He had laid his head on you multiple times – what had changed?
“Don’t you like it anymore, y/n?”
The hurt in his voice pained you, but you couldn’t explain to him what was going on. Minho had spent half of the day in the kitchen, preparing a feast for the both of you. His cooking resembled his fucking – mouth-watering, tasty and exquisite. The two of you had been eating for five, totally immersed in the savory flavors and textures.
“I do. Just not now.”
You shuffled under the blanket, folding your hands over your stomach. Minho dropped the topic, for now. He kept observing you, taking in every detail like a cat.
Your hands on your stomach, like a protective barrier.
The rumbling of your stomach, silent yet detectable.
The unwell look on your face, stealing the peaceful expression he usually saw.
It didn’t take him long to figure out the real reason, much to your discomfort.
“Y/N”, he said sternly.
You turned around and faced him, serious eyes piercing through you.
“You don’t want my head on your tummy because we just ate, is that it?”
Your face turned white.
“Did you not tolerate the food?”
“Min, no. Your food was exceptional, really. It’s just..”
“Tell me. Now.”
You sighed defeated.
“My organs are just working and processing, I guess. I don’t want your head near my stomach as long as it’s not safe.”, you explained embarrassed.
Your boyfriend erupted in laughter, filling the whole room with his maniac laugh.
“You’re afraid of farting in front of me. I can’t believe it.”
You clasped your hands in front of your face, too embarrassed to face him.
“Y/N”, Minho grabbed your hands and freed your face jokingly.
“You know I think it’s cute.”
“What is?”
“You being afraid of farting, babe.”
“Oh my god, can you stop saying that. Min, please.”, you whined.
“Farting baby. Farts. Farty fart. My farting baby. Fart for me?”
“Okay, okay, okay!”, you hastily covered his mouth while he was laughing his ass off.
Minho grabbed your hands again and kissed your knuckles tenderly, looking into your ashamed eyes.
“I don’t want you to be ashamed because of normal bodily functions, y/n. You fart. You poop. That’s how digestion works, baby. I’d be more worried if you didn’t do any of those things.”
You flinched at his words, not really knowing why.
Who had told you to be ashamed of those things?
“And also”, he continued kissing your hands. “You have to overcome this habit because I want us to last. To last forever, actually.”
Your eyes widened in surprise; this was the first time you heard him verbalizing that.
“Were you doing it secretly all this time?”
Minho chuckled as he watched your reddened cheeks, confirming his theory.
“Let me guess, all those stomach aches were also because of this?”
You looked down, feeling ashamed of yourself.
“Oh, sweet baby”, Minho’s thumb glided over your jaw, making you look up at him.
“I don’t want you to hide parts of yourself. Not for me. I want you to be yourself. Always.”
Your hand reached for his, squeezing lightly.
You weren’t the best at verbalizing your emotions, but he always understood you by your body, deciphering you like a book.
“I love you, Min.”
His features softened even more, looking at you fondly.
“Prove it.”, he commanded.
“Ugh, fine”, you sighed annoyed and repositioned yourself on the couch, pointing to your stomach.
“Lay on Snugglepuss’ tummy, then.”
#mykoreanlove#lee know scenarios#lee know imagines#lee know fluff#lee know x reader#lee know soft thoughts#lee know soft hours#lee know x y/n#lee know x you#skz lee know#skz soft thoughts#skz soft hours#skz fluff#minho fluff#minho fic#stray kids lee know#stray kids soft thoughts#stray kids soft hours#stray kids fluff#stray kids x y/n#stray kids x you#minho fanfiction#minho scenarios#minho stray kids#skz scenarios#skz imagines#skz x reader#skz x you#skz minho#lee know oneshot
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Feline Fatale ~ *Lee Minho*
Summary: Everyone knows how much Minho loves his cats. That’s why you’re so anxious to meet them. Hopefully they like you. Minho thinks you have nothing to worry about, but you never know…
Pairing: Lee Minho X Fem!Reader
Genre: Fluffy Oneshot
Word Count: 1149
Warning: Jealousy and cats (said cats might be OOC and misgendered. I apologize to Minho if I offend).
Masterlist
Taglist: @foxwinter @maeleelee @mxnsxngie @kpop-will-kill-me
This was a big deal for Minho. You were the first person he has ever brought back home. He wanted to make sure you were special before he took such a big step. But he knew now was the perfect time. It was the perfect time to finally introduce you to his special friends: his cats.
You’ve heard a great deal about the famous Soonie, Doongie and Dori. You were actually kind of excited to meet them. Every time he mentioned his cats, he would always light up and go on and on and on about them. Honestly, you thought it was pretty endearing how much he loved his cats. It was a sign to you that he was a good person.
However, despite your excitement to meet them, you were a little nervous. Sometimes cats liked you and other times they did not. You hoped they would like you or at least tolerate you. Considering how important they were to him, you wouldn’t be surprised if Minho were to break off the relationship if they didn’t like you. So yes, it wasn’t crazy for you to want them to like you.
“Anything I should know before I meet them?” You asked Minho as you were about to go inside.
He simply chuckled. “Don’t worry. They’re going to love you, I’m sure!”
“Sure, sure.” You nodded, trying to sound more confident than you felt. You hoped they liked him as much as Minho thought they would.
Upon entering the domicile, Soonie was the first to greet you. Giving you a once over, he started to rub himself against your legs. You smiled sweetly and gently pet him after letting him sniff your hand first. Sitting down on the ground, Soonie instantly crawled into your lap to receive more pets. Well, that assuages your anxiety a little bit.
“I’m glad Soonie likes you.” Minho cooed, sitting next to you to stroke his ears.
Dori arrived next and she was less timid than Soonie was. Upon seeing you, she placed her front paws on your thigh and looked you deep in the eyes. It was almost like she was looking into your soul. Sensing there could be trouble, Minho gently picked her up and placed her in his lap. However, she seemed to be begging for pets from you.
“See? Dori likes you too.”
Finally, Doongie arrived. He circled around you slowly and methodically, testing to see if you were worth it. You held out your hand for him to sniff and even Soonie got off your lap to comfort his brother as he took a tentative sniff. All it took was one check and he had taken Soonie’s place in your lap. You couldn’t help but laugh as Soonie cuddled up next to you and Dori tried to climb up your shoulders.
“They seem to really like you.” Minho said flatly. Standing up, he added, “Are you hungry? I can make us some snacks if you’d like.”
You nodded with a chuckle. “Sure, that would be amazing! I’ll be here, covered in cats!”
He gave a weird noise before stalking off into the kitchen. You frowned. If you didn’t know any better, you could have sworn he wasn’t happy. But what was there to be unhappy about? His cats adored you and couldn’t seem to get enough of you! This was a good thing! It meant that not only did Stray Kids like you, but so did the most important thing in his life. So why wasn’t he happy?
Determined to find out, you gently eased Doongie off your lap and pried Dori from your shoulders. Once you had been de-cat-ed, you made your way to the kitchen to see Minho muttering to himself as he stared blankly into the refrigerator. If you weren’t so worried, you would have laughed at the sight in front of you. Instead, you gently touched his shoulder, causing him to jump slightly.
Minho sighed. “Oh, it’s just you.”
“Yep, just me. No cats with me.” You tried to assure him until you heard a rather loud meow coming from beside you. There was Soonie and Dori, and Doongie plodding up behind the two.
“Traitors.” You could just barely hear him mumble under his breath.
This time you did laugh. You couldn’t help it. The whole situation became a whole lot more funny now that you understood. He wasn’t upset with you; he was merely jealous of his cats! It was honestly kind of adorable. You never thought THE Lee Minho would get so jealous of some fluffy felines. If anything, it made you love him more.
“Don’t patronize me.” He whined and didn’t accept, nor reject, your hug.
“I’m sorry,” You choked out between laughs. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t laugh. It’s just, it’s so funny and cute that you’re jealous of your cats.”
“I AM NOT!”
You laughed even harder. “YES YOU SO ARE!”
He growled before backing out of the hug. “Ugh, so what if I am? What does it matter? I mean Dori is always like that since she’s young and curious. But it doesn’t matter that Soonie prefers to cling to me more than anyone else? And it’s not like I’m frustrated because I’m always trying to get Doongie’s attention and yet he has no problem giving it to you! None of it matters so it’s fine if I’m jealous.”
Gently, you cupped his face and gave him a sincere, albeit small, smile. “Minho, my love, you have nothing to be jealous of. Cats are temperamental. You of all people should know that. Besides, I was worried they would hate me, so this is a good thing that they like me. And no matter what, you’ll always have my heart, okay? I’m not saying I can replace them, because heaven knows you love them too much, but I just want you to know that your cats aren’t trying to steal me away and I’m not trying to steal them away from you either.”
Blowing his hair out of his face, he sighed. “I suppose you’re right. I’m just a little annoyed, that’s all. But I’ll get over it, I’m sure.”
You pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. “I know you will. Besides, I can always teach you my cat-whispering ways.”
“Okay now you’re just being mean!”
Giving a guilty giggle, you answered, “Sorry! I had to!”
He picked up Dori, who was closest to him. Holding her protectively to his chest, he pouted, “No more kitty time for you. You’re being mean to me.”
“Aww, I’m sorry!”
“Sorry ain’t going to cut it!” He huffed.
“Well, it’s too bad since Doongie likes me more!” You shot back, picking up said cat.
“NO FAIR! CHEATER!”
You giggled before adding, “I guess it’s up to Soonie on who’s the favorite now.”
Giving you a competitive yet playful glare, he said, “You’re on.”
#Stray Kids#Stray Kids Fanfiction#Stray Kids Oneshot#KPop#KPop Fanfiction#KPop Oneshot#Stay#Lee Minho#Lee Minho X Reader#Lee Minho Fanfiction#Lee Minho Oneshot#Lee Minho Fluff#Minho#Minho X Reader#Minho Fanfiction#Minho Oneshot#Minho Fluff#Soonie#Doongie#Dori#Oneshot#Fluff#Angst
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simply, lino thigh riding
the thigh riding kink itself was made specifically for this man I swear
-anon♾️
oh god LEE FUCKING MINHO AND HIS HUGE ASS MUSCLY THIGH istg i truly believe that thigh riding kink was made for minho.
22 inches😮💨
you know how to move kitten | lee minho | m
pairing- female reader x leeknow
genre- smut, pwp
summary- you loved how your boyfriend looked in thigh chains and corsets and you just couldn’t control yourself.
sexual content warnings- smut, pwp, heavy making out, use of pet name- kitten, thigh riding, dirty talk, praise, body worship.
song recommendation- slow by chase atlantic
taglist- @eastleighsblog @cocainee-queen @dreamescapeswriting
you sloppily kissed minho, not letting him have a moments rest as you hastily pushed him against the door.
“easy easy angel.” he chuckled, not dodging any of your kisses but in fact, responding with enthusiasm. “what’s the rush?”
“need you.” you mumbled out, lips never leaving his as you slipped your hands under his shirt, feeling his taut skin tense up under your touch. “been too long.”
minho hummed in agreement, letting his hands come up to your waist as he pulled you closer. “but i think you’re trying to rush it too much don’t you think? i’d rather-.” he began to pry your hands slowly off him, making you hiss in protest to which he replied with a dry smile. “-take it slow and savour the moment.”
“oh come on minho, there’s no need to-.” you impatiently tugged on his t shirt, trying to ignore the way your gut lit up at his words. he ignored your protests, guiding you to the bed as he sat down on the edge of it, his corset and thigh chain clinking in the process.
your gaze settled on his thick thighs as he spread his legs, letting the cold metal fall on his muscles and you gulped, making minho smirk smugly. “come here kitten.” he motioned you to come to him with a single finger. “i won’t ask again, we both know who’s in charge here right?” and there it was, his dangerously sweet tone that made your stomach crawl and mind waver, that prompted you to fall down to your knees and beg because this man was irresistible.
you nodded meekly, eyes wide like a dear caught in headlights. all your urgent dominance gone as you stated at your boyfriend clad in your favourite accessories on him. “yes minho.” you quietly added, knowing well enough that you had be vocal if you wanted to get anything from him.
he sighed in satisfaction, looking at you with a fond smile that hid his lustful intentions with a soft gaze. you sat around him, straddling his lap as he tucked his your hair behind your ear, patting it down softly with care. “so pretty.”
you gushed at his words, words that always made you feel empowered and in control of your own body. though you were sure that you will be submitting to his cruel mercy through the night.
his lips found yours, nipping away at the pleasure till all you could do was hold his shoulders in breathless wonder, stopping for breaths while his hands roamed your body, setting you alight in pin pricks of desire.
“oh my god minho.” you whimpered, feeling his lips trail down from your jaw to your neck, feeling him play with your skin and his teeth as he hummed, making your skin vibrate with anticipation.
“you’re so beautiful kitten, so beautiful. i could kiss you all day.” he whispered in a hushed tone. coming back up to press a deep kiss to your lips as if to prove a point.
you’d begun grinding against him now, you’d played enough and now you wanted to get on with it but he just didn’t seem to do that.
minho apparently had other plans as he told you to sit down on his thigh. “do you wanna cum angel?” he’d asked as you rolled your body against him for the hundredth time.
“uh huh.” you mumbled and when you felt him squeeze your thighs, he said, “words, kitten. use your words.”
“yes minho.”
“then you ride my fucking thigh.” he rasped, lips near your ear as he pressed a sloppy, wet kiss to your ear, making you shudder in suddenness before he leaned back.
a smug expression on his face, thighs spread open as he waited for you to ride him with an eyebrow raised. “go on, you know what you have to do kitten.” he urged, softly patting your cheek as you settled yourself on his right thigh.
“yes, perfect, that’s it. now start moving”. he instructed, making you move and you almost mewled at the pleasure that hit you at the contact of your bare pussy with jeans.
you continued loving against him as he pressed kisses to your neck, sometimes your face. his lips never stopped whispering praises in your ear as he urged you on, cooing how wonderful you were and when he suddenly made you shift a little so that you were perched on his cold metal chain, you swear to god you saw the stars.
“how does it feel love?” he cooed smugly as he knew well enough about the effect he had on you.
cheeks flushed, you rubbed your bare self against his thigh, hair falling into your face as you chased your pleasure with an urgency.
“you look so pretty like this, my lovely kitten. getting herself off on my thigh. do you like seeing me in chains or do you just like my thighs huh?” he asked, knowing well enough how badly this stirred you towards your orgasm.
“or maybe you just like how my thigh feels around your bare pussy, with these cold metal chains around them that touch you down there with a buzzing glare-.” he was interrupted by your loud whine as you came, curling your back in anticipation as he held you close, not leaving you until the end.
“see kitten, patience pays off.”
—
a/n: THIS PROMPT WAS EVERYTHING. THIS REQUEST WAS EVERYTHING PLEASE THANK YOU SO MUCH ANON ♾ THIS REQUEST GOT ME THROUGH SUCH A TOUGH TIME AND IT TURNED OUT SO WELL PLEASE I HAVE TO MAKE THIS INTO A FULL FIC-
#skz smut#skz x reader#skz x you#minho smut#leeknow smut#stray kids smut#stray kids x you#stray kids x reader#minho scenarios#minho imagines#minho x reader#minho drabbles#minho fanfiction#leeknow smut imagine#leeknow drabbles#leeknow scenarios#leeknowfanfiction#skz leeknow#leeknow imagine#leeknow smut drabble#skz smut drabble#skz smut imagine#skz smut scenario
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[SKZ] Minho
LAST UPDATED ON: Nov 7th, 2023
newly added ✦ || personal faves ✪ || ongoing ✑
ratings:
not rated || general || teen and up || mature || explicit🔞
❧ NOT HERE SHIPS ☙
minho x chan
minho x chan x hyunjin x jisung
minho x chan x jisung
minho x changbin
minho x felix x hyunjin
minho x felix x hyunjin x jisung
minho x felix x reader
minho x hyunjin
minho x hyunjin x jisung
minho x jisung
minho x jisung x seungmin
❧ NO ship ☙
✑ ✪ Moon by Str4y [23,3k words | 2/? ch]
college!au, horror, band!au, monsters, murder, trauma, heavy angst, ambiguous/open ending || explicit🔞
❧ minho x seungmin ☙
✪ makes the heart grow fonder by seasaltgasoline [1,2k words]
coffee shops & cafés!au, long-distance relationship, christmas || teen and up
❧ minho x reader ☙
✦ 00.15 by LettersFromAphrodite [2,5k words]
f!reader, inspired by grease, 1950s!au, greasers!au, fake relationship || explicit🔞
✑ ✪ consort by fizzydrunk698 [42,4k words | 5/? ch]
f!reader, royalty!au, historical, arranged marriage, enemies to lovers || explicit🔞
✦ Cupid's Christmas by ballelino [67,5k words | 5 ch]
f!reader, blind texting, enemies to lovers || explicit🔞
it's high tide, baby. by LettersFromAphrodite [23,2k words]
f!reader, magic!au, pirate!au, enemies to friends to lovers || mature
✦ sharing a bed; lee know by skzdarlings [3,1k words]
f!reader, camping!au, friends to lovers, pwp || explicit🔞
[part of Fuck Those Frat Boys] The Vice President by destiny-fics [4,4k words]
f!reader, college!au, fraternity!au, strangers to lovers || explicit🔞
✪ wedding season by ballelino [83,7k words | 10 ch]
f!reader, weddings, fake relationship, exes to lovers || explicit🔞
❧ otn/multi ☙
✪ day by day by seasaltgasoline [3,8k words]
minho x everyone || open marriage, harem fic || explicit🔞
seven (칠죄종) by bulletbulletbullet [3,9k words]
minho x everyone || magical realism, seven deadly sins, pwp || explicit🔞
#stray kids fanfiction#stray kids fanfic#skz fic recs#skz fanfic#minho fanfiction#minho fanfic#lee know fanfic
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𝐛𝐨𝐥𝐝 - college au american footballers!lee minho & han jisung x cheerleader!fem!reader
wc: 14.3k
cw: some boy x boy action, mc is inexperienced but a secret perv, mc is dumb and forgets what polyamory is, subsequent polyamorous relationship, reader is described to be smaller than minsung, smoking weed, getting drunk, hyunlix are menaces, SMUT MDNI.
synopsis: you’re not too experienced in the world of dating, parties and talking to people, but these two american footballers that you cheer for just seem to get it.
a/n: SORRY :D! as usual, smut warnings under the cut :3
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
sw: making out when drunk, spit kink (a lot of it), cumplay, making out with cum involved, rimming (m rec), boys kissing, anal fingering (m&f rec), oral (m&f rec), threesome, handjob, A LOT OF DIRTY TALK, minho’s mean but affectionate, painplay, degradation, slight? humiliation, breeding kink, pet names: jagi, baby, kitty, gorgeous
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
Throughout high school, and everything that came before it, you were never into sports. You were the girl that got shouted at by the rest of the team in P.E because you’d flinch as soon as the ball came near you. You had a sick note every lesson towards the end of high school. You’d walk the mile instead of run. You just weren’t cut out for physical activity.
It was the same reason you’d been so unpopular in school. Popularity went to the athletes, the girls who were svelte and toned, and although your mother would swear you were beautiful, you never had much luck making friends or getting boyfriends growing up.
Of course, when you came to university, you chose a non-bodily exhausting major. Fine art was a fair bet for you since you’d always been good at drawing, and you decided you could go for something you were skilled at so you could still enjoy the university experience. It was a win win. Then, you’d surprisingly befriended Hyunjin, an ethereal man with the beauty of a model out of a magazine - and then came along Felix, his other best friend who studied computer science. They’d actually helped you lose your virginity with your first - and thus far, only - one night stand. Although the experience was less than enjoyable, more awkward, you were still thankful.
It was a month later that they told you they were both cheerleaders for the American football team. You grinned and said how cool it was. They’d asked you to join. You said no. They were popular, too - always going to parties and events, and you considered that would be your fate if you joined. It was terrifying. This went on for the rest of your first year. The trauma from high school P.E lessons prevented you from even considering it, even while they told you that it wasn’t really that tiring. Cheering was still a sport, and that’s what kept you back from joining.
Until you finally gave in.
“I don’t know, isn’t the skirt a bit… Too short?” You mumbled. You stood in front of the full-length mirror in Hyunjin’s room, letting Felix fiddle with your hair and slide a red and white bow on it. It matched the rest of your uniform, a bright crimson mixed with a more subtle ivory. It was your university’s colours, and the same colours the American football players would wear. Felix was behind you and Hyunjin stood beside you - both in their matching uniforms, skirts and all.
Felix looked like he was about to ascend with the happiness on his face. You felt like you could die from the anxiety.
“It’s meant to be short, darling,” Hyunjin quipped, smoothing down the pleats on your skirt. “You need to look so good for tonight.”
You squeaked. Felix rolled his eyes, glaring at Hyunjin. He’d given away the secret. “What’s tonight?”
Felix sighed. His face appeared next to you in the mirror, half of his hair pulled up with a bow matching yours. His hands stroked down your shoulders with a soft smile, as if he was scared to release this information unto you. You stared at his button nose, covered in freckles, too anxious to look into his eyes. “So… there’s an initiation when you join. Sort of a ritual, it happens every year with the new recruits.”
Hyunjin was now sprawled on his bed, hands fiddling with some rolling papers. A baggie of weed was on his lap, over his pleated skirt. You grimaced at the audacity, despite knowing you were inevitably going to ask for some.
“It’s a party,” Hyunjin said, sprinkling weed into the paper. “It’s nothing terrifying. Just that the new recruits have to all be handcuffed to a member of the football team, and they have to play Truth or Dare to be set free.”
“Well, I just won’t play then,” You decided, nodding your head at the reflection in the mirror. Felix bit his lip, staring at you. Hyunjin’s movements paused. “… What is it?”
“We already nominated you. There’s an uneven number of recruits, too, so… you’re handcuffed to two.”
“Two?! No, you’re both deranged. It’s not happening.” Hyunjin simply raised an eyebrow at your words.
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
It was definitely happening. That much was clear when you all arrived at the party, adequately stoned and just as tipsy from your pregaming at Hyunjin’s. You were fiddling with your skirt, trying to pull it down just a bit lower, but Felix slapped your hand away with a playful glare. Felix pushed the door open and entered as if he owned the place. The location of the party was some massive house on campus, full to the brim of sweaty, gyrating bodies in different sports uniforms. You were out of your depth.
Felix and Hyunjin noticed your awkward demeanour almost immediately and dragged you into the kitchen. Once he’d found a bottle of alcohol, Hyunjin poured all three of you vodka shots each to drink. He was hoping it would get you out of your shell, a wistful smile on his plump lips.
You grimaced as the burn hit your throat, nose scrunched. Felix giggled, and then he spun you around, hands on your waist. “Okay, so. We’re going to steal this bottle of vodka, take it into the living room, then you get handcuffed to your American footballers of choice.”
You blinked. “Choice? Who chose?”
“Jihyo,” Hyunjin replied, appearing on your other side. He handed you a plastic cup full of a strange coloured concoction before pushing his long, dark hair out of his eyes.
You knew Jihyo, actually. She was the captain of the cheerleading team and had been nothing but lovely to you since you joined. She’d even saved you the embarrassment of auditioning in front of the vice captain, letting you just cheer in front of her alone with the routine Felix and Hyunjin drilled into you. You hoped she’d be lenient on who she chose for you tonight.
Letting yourself be dragged into the living room by Hyunjin, you clutched your cup to ensure you didn’t spill it with the jostling. It tasted bad, but you drank it anyway, ignoring the taste. It would cure your anxiety - or at least act like a placebo effect.
The living room was even more crowded than the hallway and the kitchen. It had you on edge, fingers quivering around your cup despite Hyunjin and Felix hanging off of your either arm. These were the exact types of parties you hadn’t been invited to in high school, and now you were there. Honestly? It was kind of underwhelming, despite the amount of people.
“Okay, it’s time to meet your two footballers!” Felix sounded excited, almost bouncing. When you turned to him, Hyunjin was standing on his other side with blushing cheeks and a just as excited smile. You sighed. This was going to be awkward. There was a circle of footballers and cheerleaders sitting around in a circle, an empty bottle being spun around and landing on whoever was going to be asked truth or dare. The other new recruits were already handcuffed - oh, no. Were you late?
“You’re late!” Jihyo shrieked, shooting up from her spot on the floor. That answered your question. Her skirt was just as short as yours, which made you feel better. She wore it as if it was meant for her, though. You knew you just looked weird. She flicked her short, dark red hair out of her face before pointing at two males in the circle. “You’re partnered with Jisung and Minho.”
“Who?” You whispered, before Felix giggled loudly.
“Jihyo, that’s evil. Not those two! Especially not Minho!” Felix yelled, making your jaw drop.
You were suddenly very intimidated. You already were, but now the guy you were forced to be handcuffed to was, well… you’d have to ask. “Oh, no. Is he nasty?”
Jihyo shrugged, a smile playing on her lips. “Ask him yourself.”
All of a sudden, you were being pushed down by Jihyo into the large, uneven circle of people into the gap between the two football players. You could literally feel your hands sweating and just hoped to God that the two boys beside you couldn’t feel it. Felix and Hyunjin had moved to the opposite end of the room, not part of the circle but still monitoring the situation. Jihyo kneeled in front of you, fiddling with two sets of handcuffs until they were successfully attached to both of your wrists.
It was time to bite the bullet. You looked to your left as Jihyo was attaching the other end of your handcuffs to one of the football players. You were met with feline-like eyes, plump lips and broad shoulders appearing even broader with the shoulder pads from his uniform. His eyes flitted to you and he looked to be holding back a grin. Were you that ridiculous? The guy was beautiful. It made you feel slightly insecure even just sitting next to him.
Turning to your right, you saw your other assigned football player. You were met with softer features this time - round, chocolate brown eyes and a doll-like mouth, surrounded by the cutest pouty cheeks. Unlike the first guy, this one raised his spare hand with a little ‘hello!’ and you smiled, waving back. He was cute when he smiled at you, his teeth gleaming in the low light. He seemed friendly, so you introduced yourself.
“Hi! I’m Jisung, that one on your other side is Minho. He’s kinda grumpy, but he means well,” Jisung told you, making you giggle. Minho tried to reach over you to swat Jisung, but the handcuffs prohibited his movements. “Damn! Okay, okay, he’s not grumpy.”
“I’m really nice,” Minho said, smiling softly at you. You took a mental note of his cute bunny teeth. “I’m definitely not grumpy. Not to pretty girls, anyway.”
You could literally feel yourself blushing.
“Um, okay,” You blurted. Jisung choked on a laugh. “So, what’s the rules of this whole thing? How do I get set free?”
“You have to drink every time you refuse to answer a question or do a dare. Once you’ve answered five questions or when you’ve done five dares, we get set free,” When you turned to Jisung upon him speaking, it seemed like his face was closer. You blushed. His hair was long but pushed relatively back, and his red and white uniform looked to be cinched around a very slender waist. He was fucking hot. It had you imagining - would they both fuck you if you asked? At the same time? They seemed to come as a package deal. “It’s super simple. I bet it’ll only take, like, an hour.”
“An hour?!” An hour of being locked up to these two sexy men. You’d die.
“Yep,” Jihyo chirped. When she spun the bottle, sitting on the other end of it to you, it landed on you as if she’d planned it. You groaned. Jisung was pouring extra vodka into your cup. “Okay, truth or dare?”
Truth seemed the safest. “Truth.”
“Do you think anyone in this room is sexy?”
A giggle brought your attention to Hyunjin, legs splayed over another football player. You thought it was Chan, one of the Aussies that Felix was close with. “She obviously thinks I’m hot. I mean, everyone does.”
“Hyunjin, shut up,” Minho said, but he sounded fond. Interesting. So your best friends knew these sexy ass guys, and didn’t introduce you to them. How selfish.
“I’m going to have to drink, unfortunately. I don’t really want to make it awkward..” You mumbled, taking a large gulp from your cup. Unfortunately, Jisung had poured vodka in it and nothing else, so you grimaced as the burn travelled down your throat. Jisung giggled again from beside you. Evil. He was evil. “Jisung!”
Jisung only laughed louder, refilling your drink after the massive amount you’d downed. Minho, however, was still staring at you with an unreadable look.
“Really?” He questioned. “You won’t even admit it?”
You blushed. “I-“
“Leave her alone, Lee Minho! If she wants to drink, she can drink,” Felix shouted to your defence. You gave him a smile, very thankful. You didn’t want to be interrogated by the exact person you found sexy. Well, one of the two.
Unfortunately, the rest of the game went quite similar to the first round. You’d be asked a personal question, or told to do a dare that was definitely too unruly for you, and then you’d drink. Always drinking the straight vodka that Jisung gave you had an impact, too - before you knew it, you were slurring your words and your head was fuzzy with the effects of being tipsy. Jisung was laughing at you, just as drunk, and Minho was looking between you two with an amused expression.
Minho being a tease was another thing you managed to work out. You grumbled at one point, yanking on the handcuffs. “Jihyo, can I be let out now? I’ve drunk more than anyone else and ‘m tipsy, please!”
Minho chuckled, inching closer to you. “You don’t wanna be attached to me anymore? That’s a shame.”
“Never said that,” You mumbled, making your own cheeks blush as you looked at your hands. On your opposite side, Jisung was just as tipsy as you and looked to be giggling at something Felix had said. All of the other recruits were free and had left, but there you were - still looking dumb sat cross legged in your little cheerleader skirt.
“Bestie, should we take you and Hyunnie home? I’m sure you can set her free now, Jihyo,” Your eyes flitted to Felix, and then to Hyunjin, utterly stoned next to him. His eyes were a hue of red and he had a permanent smile on his face. He needed food, and then sleep.
Jihyo nodded hesitantly in response to Felix, and with a swift move, she undid your shackles. You were more than thankful to be free, but - oh. You didn’t want to go. You were kind of having fun drinking with Minho and Jisung. They were easy on the eyes, and all.
“I don’t wanna go!” You whined. “Can I stay? Minho and Jisung will look after me, right?” You knew you were slurring your words, but the way Jisung slung an arm around you made you feel content. Minho even laughed, shaking his head in a fond manner.
“We’ll look after her if she wants to keep drinking, Lixie,” Minho said, his tone hushed. “You know we won’t do anything weird.”
Felix shrugged. “I trust you both. Okay, have her back safe later! I’m gonna carry this lug to get food. Jihyo, you coming?”
When the rest of the room left, you suddenly realised that you were left with Minho and Jisung. You’d only met them that night, and in all honesty - it was kind of awkward now that it was just the three of you. Clearly you were the only one feeling the awkwardness, though. Minho stretched out leisurely like a cat, and Jisung was already in pursuit of a few ciders he found in the corner.
“So, my vote is that me and you wind down with a few ciders, and then Minho rolls us a joint,” Jisung chirped, settling in closer to you. “I’m so buzzed right now, I’m having such a good time. Hey, why have I never seen you around before? You’re friends with Lix and Hyunjin.”
“Ah, parties aren’t really my whole thing. I’m… I’m not very good with lots of people in one place, to be honest,” You felt like you were admitting way too much, too quickly, but Jisung nodded in agreement.
“I’m the same. It’s a bitch, but I’m glad you joined cheerleading. You can knock back vodka like a pro! Even Minho thought so,” Jisung points at Minho. He’d been quiet until now, but the tips of his ears burned a tell-tale crimson.
“It was quite impressive, I have to admit,” Minho nodded. “What made you join cheerleading? Sorry about the twenty-one questions, but you didn’t answer any during the game.”
“Yeah. That’s to do with the whole ‘not good at talking to people’ thing, y’know? But… Now that it’s just the three of us, I think that I’m okay,” You gushed, words slightly slurring together. The two footballers nodded their heads understandingly anyway, Jisung handing you an opened cider. You took the drink gratefully, sipping on the bitter apple taste. “Hyunjin and Felix convinced me to join, to answer your question. I wasn’t a big sports person in school.”
“Same here. I used to do boxing, but never football,” Minho leaned back on his hands, legs stretched out in front of him. Jisung still sat cross-legged, much closer to you than Minho was. “I only really took up football in my senior year of high school, because I knew I wanted to come here and they have a pretty good football team.”
You nodded, humming. “What about you, Jisung?”
“I’ve always played,” He swigged back a large amount of cider. His fingers played with a loose thread on his uniform top nervously, until Minho swatted his hand away. Jisung giggled, then carried on talking. “Me and my elder brother play. It’s kind of a family thing, I suppose. Hey, Minho, what’s the status of that joint?”
Minho groaned, stretching his arms above his head. “My weed’s in our room,” Minho’s eyes flickered between you and Jisung, and then he bit his lip. Bunny teeth dug into plush skin, and you found your eyes settled directly on it. Minho soothed the bite with his tongue, and then he nodded decisively. “Do you wanna come up and get high, watch a movie with us? No funny business, I promise.”
You shrugged. The alcohol had made you considerably less shy. “Why not? I chill with Felix and Hyunjin like this a lot, it’s all good.”
“Yay! You’re actually going to roll one?” Jisung looked elated, grinning at Minho. Minho sighed, standing up.
“Why don’t you just roll one yourself, Ji?” You elbowed Jisung playfully. You had no idea where the nickname came from, but Jisung pouted anyway at your statement.
“I can’t roll. I’m so bad at it. Do you roll?”
You tried to suppress a smile, but it was impossible around these two. “No. Hyunjin rolls for me.”
“God! You’re both like weed princesses. Like pillow princesses, but with weed,” Minho’s fake-insult made you and Jisung fall about in a fit of giggles. “C’mon. I may have something that you can wear, so that you’re more comfortable.”
You and Jisung stumbled up the stairs behind Minho, still giggling when you arrived at their room. It was bigger than you expected, two twin beds pushed apart with one side of the room reasonably clean. You assumed that was Minho’s, because the other side contained an unmade bed and rap artist posters that just screamed Jisung’s energy to you. There was quite a large TV situated in the middle of the room, between the two beds and pushed against the wall.
“Are we pushing the beds together?” Jisung asked, as if this was a normal occurrence. Minho hummed dismissively, starting to dig through one of his drawers. Jisung started moving the beds in front of the TV just as Minho pulled out a decent looking t-shirt and shorts, passing them to you.
“You can change in here, we’ll turn around. I’ve gotta roll us a joint anyway,” You nodded at Minho’s words. You watched as Minho walked over to the desk, back facing you and you wiggled out of your uniform. You had to remember to bring that home the next day - it was the first game tomorrow.
It hit you that you were in the shared room of two boys you’d met for the first time that night. Jisung was laid on the bed solemnly with his eyes shut so he couldn’t see you, and Minho was facing away while he rolled the joint. They were respectful, but nonetheless this was so, so out of character for you - you were even putting one of their t-shirts on while you were having an internal breakdown. Weirdly, you trusted them. They were open, friendly with you from the get go.
“I never do stuff like this,” You admitted, blushing. When you finally turned around, now fully clothed, Jisung was only in pyjama bottoms. You had to avoid the urge to freak out because where was he hiding that body? He was broad but lean, the hint of abdominal muscles on his tummy. He was sexy, and his waist was just as slender as you thought. You shrugged it off anyway, and Minho turned to face you, licking the joint. That almost also caused an internal freak out, because why is he keeping eye contact while he’s licking it like that?
“Like what?” Minho mumbled, staring at his work of art.
“I’m normally first to leave the party. I never stay late and chill with people in their homes. I’m just… not like that.”
“I get it,” Jisung agreed, shifting on the bed sheets. He patted a space next to him and you climbed onto the makeshift double bed obediently, laying down with your hands folded over your tummy. “It’s the people thing, right? But, you’re being bold. We’re about to get high. The most important thing is… are you having fun?”
Were you? God, you were. Two attractive men were about to smoke weed with you, one of your all time favourite pastimes to get rid of your anxiety, and you were going to chill and watch a movie too. That’s your top idea of fun. You found yourself smiling, nodding up at Jisung, to which he smiled back. He understood.
When you finally turned away from Jisung after a second too long, Minho had changed too, into some grey shorts and a t-shirt. You stared at his thighs while he cracked open a window, and then he was on the bed in front of you.
“The guest of honour should light the joint,” He mused, handing it to you. “It’s the rules.”
“Um.. I need an ashtray. Is it really okay to smoke in here, like-“
“Everyone in this house smokes in their rooms,” Jisung comforted you. After that, he was handing you a small transparent dish. “Ash it in here. We’ll deal with it tomorrow.”
The first inhale of the joint was delicious. You much preferred being high and open minded than drunk and open minded - it was more fun that way. You tended to just brush things off with a laugh rather than overthink them. After a few tokes, you passed it to Minho, and he asked the most important question.
“What film should we watch?” Jisung looked at you. You looked at Jisung, and then you were both looking at Minho. Minho sighed, exhaling smoke in your direction. “You’re both going to make me choose.”
“Yup!” Jisung chirped, snatching the joint out of Minho’s hand. Minho grumbled, displeased but still smiling as he reached for the remote. Within a few minutes, he’d clicked on some random comedy film on Netflix. The joint was passed around until the room was sufficiently hazy and all three of you were laying on the bed, you in the middle.
You felt a little trapped, but not in a claustrophobic sense. The boys were so, so close to you, and even though you three were all relaxed and laughing at the film, the secret pervert inside of you couldn’t help but rear its head. You could make out with them right now. You won’t, but you could. It’d be way too bold for you to do that, and-
“We should make out,” Jisung’s voice cut through the giggles. Minho swatted him, still laughing but chiding as if Jisung was a child. You, however, were wide-eyed.
“M-Make out?”
“Making out is better when you’re high,” Minho explained, his cheeks blazing red from the effects of the weed. “He always asks me to make out too.”
You blinked. Your eyes flitted between the two men, Jisung still gazing at you. “You two..?”
“We make out all the time. Sometimes we fuck, no strings attached. It’s fun,” Jisung said, shifting on the bed so that he was closer to you. “You wanna make out?”
Could you? You’d been extremely bold, and that was even further than bold. You couldn’t lie and say you hadn’t been thinking of it all night, though, and if Hyunjin and Felix could see you now, they’d be so proud.
You answered Jisung’s question by grabbing his head, one hand on the back of it and yanking him down to kiss you. He squeaked in surprise, but he was quick to let his tongue press into your mouth, pouty lips wet against yours. He was half-laying on top of you, the position a little awkward but God, he was right. It felt so much better making out with someone when you were high. You let your tongue press against his, the kiss more of a sloppy exchange than a real, precise kiss.
You pulled away with a wet noise, humming. “‘S better, you were right.”
“Yeah?” Jisung asked, his eyes trained on your lips. “Again, then?”
“Yeah.” This time, he was initiating the kiss, his hands going to your waist. His touch was light, but you squirmed to feel more of his hands on top of you. You wanted more, especially when his teeth lightly nipped on your bottom lip and his lips sucked your tongue into his mouth. It was filthy, and it had something burning in your gut in the most delicious way.
“You two look fucking amazing,” Minho. You’d kind of forgotten he was there. When you pulled away again, you turned, staring at him. His eyes were dark and his cute teeth were biting into his bottom lip again, looking pillowy and plush.
“Min,” You murmured, grabbing his hand. Jisung let out a puff of air, amused. “C’mere. I wanna kiss you too.”
“You sure?” Minho asked, but he was already moving from his place on the pillows to where you were, just a bit further down. Jisung moved off of you, obediently letting Minho take his place. Minho’s hand came up to your face, one thumb swiping along your bottom lip. It was still wet from Jisung’s mouth. “I’m not going to fuck you. You’ve had too much to drink, and smoke… But I’ll make out with you, is that okay?”
“Mm, yeah. This is super bold for me,” You giggled. In the same breath, you took Minho’s thumb into your mouth. You sucked on it, just a soft suction, but Minho still sighed deeply, eyes trained on your mouth.
“I think you’re sexy when you’re bold. You’re cute otherwise, too,” Jisung chimed in, making you smile. Before you could answer, Minho was leaning down, his dark hair tickling your forehead as he pressed his tongue into your mouth. He was more calculated than Jisung, his hand that was on your face previously now enveloped in your hair, pulling the strands just a little. It made you whine against his mouth, squirming, and he replied with a bite to your lip. “Is it good? He’s a good kisser, isn’t he?”
You hummed, still pulling Minho in for more. His shoulders were shaking as if he wanted to laugh at how eager you were, but he continued with kissing you filthily instead. When you started to squirm again, he pulled away, his thumb pulling your bottom lip down instead.
“I think you need a little more,” He mused, nose still brushing against yours. His eyes were enrapturing, as if they held a thousand secrets behind them. You wanted to know more about him, and more about the cute Jisung who was just as anxious as you. Could you be greedy and have them both?
“I want more,” You agreed, nodding. Minho hummed, and then he was collecting spit in his mouth. He let it drop into yours, and you heard Jisung whine, before he was shimmying back towards you. He gently pushed Minho out of the way, and you kept Minho’s spit on your tongue as if you knew what Jisung wanted to do.
“Oh my God, ‘s so hot,” You heard Jisung mumble, before he was pressing his lips against yours again. You felt him lick the collected spit out of your mouth, before he was pushing his own onto your tongue. He sucked your tongue again, whining into the kiss. You could feel something moving on the bed, and eventually, you worked out it was Jisung pushing his hips into the mattress impatiently. When he pulled away, his lips went to your neck instantly, sucking a deep red mark into your collarbone.
“Sungie,” Minho mumbled. “You need to calm down. She’s drunk a lot tonight. Maybe another time, yeah?”
Jisung looked at Minho with stars in his eyes. You nodded, hands gripping Jisung’s biceps. His skin was delicate, honey-toned and muscly, showing the effects of the sport he played. He was fucking sexy. You wanted Minho to be shirtless too. “Another time,” You agreed. “I want you both another time. Can I…? Is that too much, I-”
“We want you too,” Jisung turned to you, his forehead pressed against yours. Now that he was closer again, you let your legs spread, welcoming him to press against you. He was hard, solid in his cute pyjama bottoms, and you wanted to whine. “We want to have you. But, tonight isn’t the best idea. You may regret it.”
“I’d never regret it-”
“Gorgeous girl,” Minho cooed at you, soft as he pressed a kiss into your hairline. They were both enveloping you, warm, soft bodies that were just as toned as they were delicate. Your heart rate was so fast you were convinced you could die. “Gorgeous fucking girl. We’ll take you another time, yeah? Not tonight. You can sleep tonight.”
All of a sudden, sleep sounded amazing. You let yourself hum in agreement, and Jisung moved off of you, curling around your side. “‘M actually quite sleepy, yeah.”
“Thought so,” Minho chuckled, sidling up to your other side. He let you wiggle closer, head on his chest, and Jisung followed you, his chest pressed up against your back. It was comfortable, cosy on the two beds pushed together. “Go to sleep, gorgeous. We’ll be here when you wake up, okay?”
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
You woke up delirious. You could feel your head pulsating with the beginning of a hangover, and you were just so confused - where were you?
It only took one look at Jisung, lips parted and soft snores coming from his chest to remind you. Oh, yeah. You looked towards your other side, seeing Minho stretched out and full, heavy breaths reverberating around the room from his deep slumber. You’d made out with them both. You didn’t feel any regret, either. You’d done something that was so unusual for you, and it had worked out brilliantly. You’d had the best time.
You knew you’d be embarrassed when they woke up, though. You managed to detangle yourself from the two boys, wiggling out of the makeshift bed and finding your uniform quite easily. You’d tried to make as little noise as possible, but the sound of sheets rustling from the bed caught your attention.
“You’re leaving?” Minho. You turned around, blinking at him. He looked almost insecure, leaning up on his hands and tilting his head at you in question. “Do you… regret what happened?”
Shaking your head quickly, you moved back to the bed. You let one hand caress his cheek and he leaned into the touch, eyes soft and bleary from sleep. “I don’t regret it at all, Min. I had the best time. I just… I need to get home, and see Hyunnie and Lix, you know? But, um…” You felt awkward, anxious again. One look at Minho convinced you that you didn’t have to be. “I want to see you both again. Is that… a little weird? I just, I really enjoyed, and I-”
“Absolutely,” Minho agreed. He moved to sit closer to you and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you onto his lap. “Give me your phone.”
You blinked. Where was it? Digging through your uniform, you found it tucked into one of the inside pockets of the skirt, and you triumphantly handed it to him. You watched him make two contact names, and send both a quick ‘hi’ text so that they had your number, too. It was still shocking. You couldn’t quite believe it. Could you be greedy, and have both? Jisung was still asleep and snoring, and you found yourself smiling at him. He was bundled up in the blanket like a little burrito.
Minho handed your phone back, kissing your forehead. “Let me know when you get home safe.”
You practically ran out of the house, in all honesty. You were still dressed in Minho’s clothes, and once you’d slid your shoes back on, you started to walk back to your own home. You were pretty sure it wasn’t a long walk, and it wasn’t, all things considered - you were back home within five minutes, and you swung the door open.
Wait. It was unlocked? It was unlocked the whole night, while you’d been out acting like a fucking celebrity, and now someone had probably broken in, and-
You tiptoed into the living room, almost terrified, and then you saw Hyunjin and Felix. Both were eating cup noodles, staring at the TV where some random drama was on. Do hangovers just not exist for those two? Why hadn’t they even text, to see how you were? What the fuck was wrong with them?
“You’re home!” Felix said, cheerful as always. You furrowed your eyebrows, staring between the two. They have their own homes. Why were they there? They were showered, wet hair visible and with fresh clothes on. Your clothes, you noted. The t-shirt was a little too tight on Hyunjin’s shoulders.
“Why aren’t you at your own fucking houses, guys?” You scoffed, sprawling on the sofa. Your head landed on Hyunjin’s lap, and he spoonfed you a serving of noodles. You chewed it happily. You did love them, deep down.
“You’re confident after last night,” He mused. With his spare hand, he yanked down your - no, Minho’s t-shirt, and you were too slow to stop him from seeing it. Bright as day, the mark that Jisung had sucked into your skin was darkening as the time went on, a perfect giveaway of what you’d been up to the night before. “Oh my God. Felix, look!”
Felix leaned over, the three of you intertwined like a pretzel, and then his jaw dropped. “Oh my God. Who- which one was that?!”
You felt almost smug as you sat up, pulling the t-shirt back into place. “That was Jisung.”
Hyunjin gasped. Felix was grinning, wide and blinding. “That leads me to believe you may have had fun with both of them, right?” Hyunjin giggled, poking at your side. You scoffed, kicking him in the leg.
That brought back your anxiety, however. You’d had fun with both of them, made out with both of them, and they were both fucking gorgeous and so, so kind to you. They both seemed interested. They had to be, or why would they both kiss you? “Um… Yeah, I did, but… I want to see them both again. I can’t, though, like… it’s not logical.”
Felix tilted his head to the side. “Why not, sweetie?”
“Because there’s two of them? Like, what kind of a question is that-”
“What kind of a person are you if you’ve never heard of polyamory?” Hyunjin berated you through a mouthful of noodles. Your eyebrows raised in shock. He had a point. That had never even crossed your mind. “I mean, they have their own thing going on. They’re soulmates, everyone knows that.”
“But.. they’re not together. Sungie told me it was just a no-strings-attached type of thing-”
“Sungie?!” Felix squealed. “That’s so- so cute!”
Hyunjin glared at Felix, trying to get him to shut up so he could speak. “They’re soulmates, but they’re not together. It’s like best friend soulmates, except they make out and fuck sometimes. It makes sense for them both wanting to date the same girl is what I’m saying,” Hyunjin shrugged as if you’d thought of this before. You felt dumb. Why hadn’t you thought of that, actually? “The game’s tonight, too. You’ll see them again.”
“So… I should go for it?” You asked, feeling slightly insecure. You’d gone for it last night, and nothing ended badly. Could you do it again, though?
“Absolutely,” They both agreed, literally at the same time. You sighed, before nodding. You could do this. But you’d forgotten to text Minho, so that had to happen first.
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
[11:31am] Minho: Looking forward to seeing your ass in that skirt again tonight.
That text had been running circles in your head all day. Felix and Hyunjin had screamed when you showed them what he’d said. If anyone asked, you’d never admit that you’d put on some nice pink lace underwear underneath your skirt just in case. You felt a blush spread across your face as you reread his text.
A feeling of anticipation spread through you as you waited for the game to start. Cheerleaders were meant to take to the field first, and then the footballers would come on afterwards. It wasn’t a serious game, just one of the preliminary ones against another university team that could be considered as amateur. You could still feel your heart rate picking up as you all flooded onto the field, Felix dragging you along with his arm wrapped around yours comfortingly. The pom poms were literally almost slipping from your hands with how nervous you were, clammy and hot under the stadium lights.
As it wasn’t a serious game, the stands weren’t that full, which made you feel a little more relaxed. Jihyo had chosen this game for you to start for a reason, clearly. You were still yet to get used to having eyes on you, eagerly awaiting a cheer to sprout from your mouth. It was anything but ideal, and you would have rather been anywhere else at that moment.
Thankfully, your cheer routine to introduce the game went without a hitch and Hyunjin high fived you afterwards. When the subsequent clapping and cheers from the stalls died down, you nervously anticipated the footballers’ arrivals. They were like kings in your university, after all, and now you’d found yourself embroiled in something sexy and almost… heartfelt with two of them. You felt a little bit silly. You were definitely reading too much into things too quick.
Then, the captain arrived. Chan was someone you were vaguely familiar with, since he was extremely close with Hyunjin and you’d actually seen him the night before. He didn’t spare any of you a second glance as he bounced onto the field, the cheers starting back up again, but you hadn’t expected anything different. In all honesty, you’d expected Jisung and Minho to ignore you all, too, because it was game time. They needed to have their game faces on, quite literally. Waving at the cheerleaders would distract from that.
You could literally hear Felix and Hyunjin both snickering at you as your two love interests bounded onto the field. You elbowed them both sharply, making Hyunjin groan and attempt to fight back before Felix was yanking him back by his hair.
Surprisingly, Jisung halted on his journey across the field. He was almost directly in front of you. You stared at him with a confused expression while he used his hand to cover the massive lights dotted around the university stadium, spinning around in a circle until he saw you. Your expression quickly morphed into shock as he dropped his helmet on the floor, grabbing Minho by the arm and bounded over to you.
“You left before I woke up,” He pouted, out of breath from running. Minho was just snickering beside him, arms crossed over his chest with his red helmet still in hand. You gaped, jaw dropped.
“I- Jisung, you have a game to play,” You hissed, pom poms now dangerously close to slipping from your sweaty hands. Jisung simply laughed, inching closer to you.
“Don’t care. Can I come over after the game? Minho’s busy with an assignment, he’s such a smarty pants,” Jisung reeled off statements, each one as quick as the last one. Minho just watched him, staring at you both with an amused look. You just stood there, staring at Jisung. Felix and Hyunjin were giggling. You could hear them. Pricks. Everyone on the stalls had started to murmur amongst themselves, wondering why two of the star players were talking to some random cheerleader. “Oh my God, I know I’m being weird but stop staring at me. I promise I’ll shower before I come over.”
“Jisung! Yes, you can come over but people are starting to stare, please go to your team-”
“Alright! See you later,” In the most shocking turn of events to date, in all of history actually, was that Jisung pressed a sweet peck to your lips and skipped back to his team. That was bad enough. What made matters even worse was Minho kissing you, too, just as chaste as Jisung’s kiss. He ruffled your hair and followed Jisung off to the other end of the field.
“Well, that answers our question,” Felix said, resting his head on your shoulder. “You’re all dating.”
Hyunjin swatted Felix, still staring in the direction of Minho and Jisung. “Don’t say that. They need to actually ask her first. She’s not settling for less than that, you know?”
Unsurprisingly, the boys won. Minho and Jisung were grinning at you when the score was official, 22-16 to your university. You watched wordlessly as they bounced towards the locker room, everyone cheering and slapping each other on the backs. You knew what would happen now. Jisung would shower, and then he’d wait for you outside for you to get changed, too.
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
“I got loads of sweets from the vending machine,” Jisung babbled once you reached your front door. You had wondered what the plastic carrier bag in his hand was, slapping off of his jogger-clad leg while you walked home. “I wanted to show you this super cool documentary I found. It’s about this really small cat, but it’s really brave. Minho liked it.”
He was so fucking endearing. He was still going on about the documentary as you just smiled and nodded, leading him to your room. Your room was slightly embarrassing, something you noted as he stepped inside of it. It was very pink, very girly and the double bed had multiple cute pillows scattered all over it. He picked up a heart shaped one anyway, sprawling on the bed with it clutched tightly to his chest.
“So,” you began, throwing yourself onto his bed next to him. You were glad you’d taken comfortable clothes to change in after the game - you still had the nice underwear on, y’know, just in case. “Tell me more about this little cat.”
“Oh my God,” Jisung gushed, thrashing around as if he couldn’t handle how cute the cat was. You giggled, grabbing his arm to stabilise him. “It’s this little cat. He's so tiny, but he’s really brave. He’s all spotty too, like a little leopard. He’s so cute but he’s really daring. It- it kind of-” Jisung trailed off, staring at the wall.
He was getting shy. You rubbed your hand over his arm, smiling softly. “Kind of what, Sungie?”
“Kind of reminded me of you,” Jisung mumbled. His hands clenched around the pillow. “Like, it was really cute, but so brave. I showed it to Minho this morning, and - he agreed. It’s like you. You’re so brave, and cute, and you’re quite small, too. Smaller than us, I mean. You were really brave last night. I could tell you’re kinda shy, but you still spoke to us, and opened up to us. It was nice to see. I’m- I’m interested in you. I like you, I guess, we both do. I know it’s early, but-”
You cut him off with a kiss to his lips. When you pulled back, he was wide-eyed, fingers tight on the pillow. You smiled, nuzzling your nose against his. “I am shy. But I don’t feel that shy around you and Min, because… I guess I like you too. I enjoyed last night way too much to be healthy. It is early, but I’ve decided I don’t care.”
“Yay,” Jisung mumbled, and then he was kissing you again. He threw the pillow to the side, hands enveloping in your hair and pulling you closer. Kissing Jisung was like heaven. It just felt right, and it felt like a reward both times you’d done it. You wanted to do it a lot more. When your thigh shifted to get closer to him, to feel him more, you felt a solid obtrusion in your way. You blinked, forehead against his so you could stare down at his pants.
“You’re hard..?” You questioned, staring at the sizable tent in Jisung’s trousers. He blushed crimson at your statement, and yanked on his trousers to try and cover it.
“Yeah, I’m hard because you’re fucking hot,” He mumbled, looking up at you with dark, round eyes. You tilted your head, confused.
“I’m… hot?”
“You’re even hotter because you don’t know it!” He huffed, finally giving up on hiding it. He sprawled back against your bedsheets, hair fanned around his head. Now that he���d stopped moving, you could really look at it. It was clearly hard, length pressed tightly against his joggers and a spot of precum leaking through onto the grey fabric. “I came over just to talk to you, just to chill and tell you about that cute cat, and now… my dick is fucking hard.” He sounded distraught, and you giggled. Time to bite the bullet, yet again.
“Want me to help?” You asked, shifting so that you were on top of his lap. He jolted, hands coming to grab your hips with wide eyes. He moved so that he was leaning up against your pillows, and his t-shirt rose a little with the movement, exposing that delicious honey toned skin. Your eyes were fixated on it immediately. “I want… I want to fuck you, so bad. I can ride you. If you want.”
Jisung huffed again, blowing hair out of his face with the puff of air. “We can’t. Minho will want to be here the first time all three of us fuck properly.”
“Oh?” That was cute, actually. It was nice knowing that he did like you as much as you liked him, this quick, after just one night of chatting and making out. You were all down bad, all three of you. “I can jerk you off though, right?” You were talking a lot of smack for someone who’d never actually jerked off a guy before.
“Oh God, yes, please,” He whimpered, and you rolled your hips down on top of him teasingly. It made him gasp, before he was pushing you off, yanking his joggers down impatiently. You almost choked on air in shock - no wonder you could see everything, the fucker had gone commando after his post-game shower. He gripped his cock, a tight ring around the base as if to show you just how hard it was. When you looked at him, now positioned on his thighs, his eyes were watery and pleading.
“I… I’ve never done this before, so you’ll have to guide me. Tell me what you like, ‘kay?” You ordered, and Jisung nodded, releasing his cock so you could grab it yourself. The head peeked out from beneath his foreskin, wet with precum and dripping onto the smattering of pitch black hair at his base. It was thick, not overly long but a perfect length, actually. It had you dripping into your nice panties, and you internally grimaced. They’d be ruined after this. You wanted him to see the effect he had on you, and you gripped his shaft tightly, pumping experimentally.
“Oh,” Jisung whined, “tighter around the head. And- and, please, spit on it, make it wet, I-” You obliged, spitting on the head and wrapping your fingers around it just a bit tighter. It was noisy after that, making a slick noise every time you got to the head and pulled a bit more. His hips were kicking up, fucking up into your fist as he let out unabashed whines.
“You sound so pretty,” You admitted, kissing his cheek. He managed to catch you in a kiss, whimpering as your tongue swiped over his. His eyes were even glassier when you pulled back, clear tears adorning the dark chocolate colour. “I want to fuck you so bad, Jisung.”
“Yeah? You do?” Jisung asked, his hands reaching out to grab your wrist firmly. You barely managed to continue pumping past his tight grip, grinning when you saw the head of his cock get wetter. You gasped as you felt his grip on your wrist tighten even more, the pleasure-pain radiating through your body. You felt an electric shock when you felt his breath on your neck, his soft lips leaving a trail of kisses as you continued to pump his erection. You watched his thighs clench, partially obscured by the fabric caught beneath you, and his eyes shut as he let out an incoherent moan. “I’m- gettin’ there. Gonna cum soon, gonna-”
It was sloppy and messy, but you didn’t care. You felt yourself getting wetter the more you pumped, and Jisung moaned in response. His thighs clenched and unclenched as he got closer and closer to orgasm, and you knew he was about to cum. All of a sudden, you had a wanting inside of you to taste his cock, and you shifted down his legs to engulf the head in your mouth. It had a slight salty taste, not unpleasant but unfamiliar. The look on Jisung’s face was worth it. His eyes were wide, jaw dropped as you swirled the tongue over his head.
“Oh, yeah, look at me,” You obliged, looking up with doe eyes as you sucked harshly on his cockhead. You used your hand to continue pumping, and as if it was unexpected, he gasped and let out a loud whine. “So beautiful, what the fuck? I can’t handle it- oh. Oh, I’m cumming-”
The taste flooded your mouth, hot cum hitting your tastebuds. Again, it wasn’t unpleasant, just unfamiliar. You had many plans to get used to the taste. Jisung’s hand clutched your head as he writhed throughout his orgasm, deep sighs and pants coming from his lips. You ran your tongue around him one more time, before pulling off and smiling at him.
“Jeez, that was- what? You swallowed?” You nodded. Were you not meant to? You thought you were. Jisung whined, covering his face with his hands. “That’s so sexy. You’re so sexy. Can I eat you out, please?”
“Is that… will Minho be okay with that?” You replied, but you still let Jisung push you back into your sheets. Jisung nodded, yanking down your trousers. You’d almost forgotten about the underwear. The second delicate, pink lace met Jisung’s eye, his jaw dropped, and he was gasping as if he’d only just finished his match.
“Is it… does it match?” Jisung asked, and you nodded. You hesitantly grabbed your shirt, yanking it up to show the pink balcony bra that matched your thong. Jisung looked like he’d seen God, eyes wide and almost comical with the way his soft cock was pressed against the sheets. He was looking at you like you hung the fucking moon. “I gotta FaceTime Minho. Can I? He’s gonna fucking die if I show him this.”
“Woah-” You jolted as Jisung reached over, grabbing his phone from the joggers at the end of the bed. You got a nice view of his ass as he bent over, peachy and with a cute little hole begging to be teased. Okay. You’d need to address that mentally later. “You can call him, but isn’t he working?”
“Yeah, but he’ll wanna see this,” Jisung mumbled. You watched him flick through contacts until he was phoning the other counterpart to your love triad, and it only took two rings for Minho to answer. “Minho. Look.”
You wanted to hide, exposed with your top pulled up above your tits and your core clenching around nothing. Jisung hadn’t even given Minho a chance to speak, but you could hear Minho’s sharp inhale of breath through the phone.
“You better not have fucked her, Sungie.”
“No, he- we didn’t have sex, Min, promise,” You said, urgently trying to make sure the other man wasn’t angry at you. Jisung flipped the camera around again, nodding solemnly at him. “He- he wants to, um…”
“I wanna eat her out, and I’m going to. You wanna see, hyung?” Jisung was cocky when he said it, waiting for Minho’s reply with a raised eyebrow. You were baffled - you could’ve sworn you’d never heard Jisung address Minho like that. Perhaps it was only a bedroom thing? Minho obviously gave his affirmation to seeing you, because Jisung handed you the phone. You were kind of hazy from the whole conversation, and you looked confusedly at the camera when it showed you and not Jisung settling between your legs.
“Hey, gorgeous. You look tasty,” You giggled at Minho’s words. He had glasses perched on his nose and his hair was pushed back, a casual grey hoodie over his shoulders. He was so fucking cute. “Wanna turn the camera so I can see Sungie eating that pussy?”
“Mm, yeah, okay,” Jisung was nosing over your underwear when you flipped the camera around, and you obediently kept it at an angle where Minho could see your tummy and your lace-covered core. He groaned when his eyes focused on the expanse of your skin, soft under the lighting of your bedroom.
“Sungie’s really good with his tongue, gorgeous,” Minho said, and you hummed. You’d never been eaten out before and you were on edge, thighs shaking. On Jisung’s phone, you could see where the camera had started to shake from your nerves and Minho’s hand had crept into his trousers.
“Min, I wanna see you,” You groaned, head falling back against your pillows. Jisung snickered between your legs, and then he was hooking his thumbs into your underwear, pulling them down. Minho shook his head, groaning at the sight of your swollen clit pressing against Jisung’s lips.
“You can see me another time, I need to see that pussy. Is she wet, Sungie?”
Jisung ran his tongue through your folds and you jolted, legs automatically spreading wider. The sensation was so intimate, so personal and so fucking hot. “She’s fuckin’ soaked, hyung. Tastes amazing,” Jisung murmured. Then, like a man starved, he was diving into your folds. His tongue drew zigzags along your slit, licking up the accumulated slick and letting it lube your clit when he got to it. Pouty lips wrapped around the little button and sucked hard, and you whined, hips bucking into his mouth.
“He’s good, isn’t he?” Minho asked, and you hummed, eyes fixated on the mop of dark hair between your legs. Jisung looked up at you, eyes round and blown with lust, and you felt yourself gush onto his tongue. Minho groaned, clearly feeling the effects of seeing Jisung’s eyes so dark. “Tell me how it feels, jagi. I want to know what he’s doing.”
Jagi? Oh God, you could die. “It’s- he’s licking my, um, hole, and then he’s licking my clit, and it’s- ah, ‘s so good, so good, never had this before, I-“
“No one’s ever eaten that sloppy cunt before?” Minho questioned, and you moaned, letting out a small confirmation. Jisung was ravenous, head bobbing as he let you ride his tongue with the bucks of your hips. “That’s a shame, jagi. You’ve got us now, yeah? Jisung loves eating pussy.”
“I do,” Jisung added, pulling away. Then, two fingers breached your entrance and Jisung was curling them up, rubbing right against your g-spot. You hadn’t even managed to reach this spot when you were alone, let alone with the one guy you’d slept with, and you let out a squeal, almost dropping the phone. Jisung hissed, kitten licking over your clit. “This pussy’s tight, hyung.”
“Yeah?” Minho’s voice was strained all of a sudden, and you watched as he threw his head back against his computer chair. “I can’t wait to fuck you, jagi. I can’t wait to fuck you, and I’m gonna- gonna fuck you raw, and-“
“Oh my God, I’m gonna cum if you keep talking,” You whined, thrashing around on Jisung’s fingers. He didn’t pump his fingers, only rubbing his fingertips against your g-spot and sucking over your clit. It was like he knew your body, playing it like it was an instrument until it made the most beautiful noise.
Minho groaned, and Jisung had the biggest grin on his face as he watched you get closer to your climax. “Yeah? You like the idea of me fucking you raw? Maybe- maybe I’ll fucking breed that cunt, yeah?”
“Oh, fucking- shit, shit, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna- hnng, Ji, Sungie, please don’t stop, I’m gonna-“
“You’re kinda dirty, y’know, about to cum to the idea of hyung breeding you,” Jisung mumbled, but the look on his face signified he knew what he was doing. You clenched on his fingers and let out a stuttered breath, just balancing precariously on the edge of your orgasm. “Maybe I’ll fuck you raw too. Then you can have both of our loads dripping out of this cunt, yeah?”
That did it for you. The idea of them both taking you raw, fucking you until their cum spurts inside of you, both loads of cum - you wailed, sent headfirst into your orgasm. You had stars dancing all over your clenched shut eyes, the arousal leaking over Jisung’s fingers in the most powerful orgasm you’d ever had, including when you’d make yourself cum. Oh, well. You’d just have to come back for more.
When you opened your eyes, Jisung slid his fingers out of you with a wet noise, popping them into his mouth and sucking them clean. Heavy breathing directed your attention to Minho who still sat on the call, but now with his chest heaving and cum splattered on his hoodie. He grimaced, looking down at the fabric.
“Oh, no,” Jisung whined, staring up at you. You raised an eyebrow in question. “I didn’t even get to take your bra off!”
You giggled, kicking him playfully. “Are you a boob guy, Sungie?”
“Yes! Minho likes ass, I like tits. That’s why you need us both.”
You rolled your eyes. “I guess I can’t argue with that reasoning.”
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
Your life was turning out to be a fairytale.
You hadn’t seen the boys for a week at that point, the night of yet another party. You insisted you weren’t going, but of course Hyunjin was Hyunjin and had roped you into the tightest skirt you owned and made you come. It was only made relatively comfortable by the fact you, Minho and Jisung had been texting in your recently made groupchat, and they’d be attending the party too. You could hopefully sneak away from the party with them, since you knew it wasn’t Jisung’s preferred scene either.
You pulled at the hem of the skirt, reminding you of the way you had behaved the night you first met your love interests. Hyunjin swatted your hands away this time, and Felix threw a pair of fishnet tights at your head.
“Put these on,” He commanded you. “Minho will go insane.”
He did, when you’d arrived. Felix and Hyunjin had made a beeline for the kitchen when you got to the massive house - which you now knew was Minho and Jisung’s, along with the rest of the football team. You’d wanted to psych yourself up a bit, get yourself ready to see the boys, but you’d come face to face with them as soon as you’d entered the room.
“Oh,” Jisung blurted, eyes trained directly on your thighs. Minho was engrossed in conversation with Chan, but when Jisung grabbed him by the arm to turn him towards you, his jaw dropped. His eyes scanned down your body, completely bypassing the skirt and fixating on your semi-exposed legs.
It had you staring at him, too. You had Jisung in a sexual context, but you were yet to see what was hidden between Minho’s legs. They were both dressed in tight leather trousers, Jisung pairing his with a sleeveless black blazer and nothing underneath. Minho, however, was in a sleeveless khaki tank top, and you thought your heart had stopped. You needed to take it off. He looked built underneath, now that you weren’t seeing him in his baggy football jersey or a comfy t-shirt.
“Oh,” You returned Jisung’s statement. Minho had tits, built pecs that deserved your teeth sinking into them. You couldn’t believe you were being such a pervert, but when you finally looked up at Minho’s face, he was smirking.
Jisung giggled. “Okay! I think we need to get you two upstairs. Lovely to see you, Hyunjin, Felix,” You watched Jisung nod at the two in greeting. The two bastards you called best friends were grinning, elbowing each other in glee as Jisung linked arms with you and Minho. You let yourself be dragged upstairs, and it took everything in you not to fall over drooling at the sight of Minho’s thighs in those tight trousers. When you arrived at their shared room, Jisung shut the door behind you, before staring at you and Minho with an incriminating look. “Are you two in fucking heat or something? Like, damn- oh. Okay.”
He was cut off by Minho throwing you against the wall, one hand yanking your hair back to force his tongue into your mouth. You whined, letting him dominate your lips with his own, and your hands came up to grip his biceps.
When he pulled away, you chased his lips only for him to reach up with one hand and wrap it around your throat, pinning you back to the wall. “Please tell me you’re going to fuck me,” You huffed, eyes flickering to Jisung. “Both of you. I haven’t drank anything, you stole me before I could.”
“Please don’t tell me you’re a brat,” Minho retorted, his nose nuzzling against yours as if he was about to kiss you again. He didn’t, only a teasing brush of his lips. “I’ve already got one bonafide brat to deal with.”
Jisung gasped. “Hey!”
Minho shrugged. “It’s true,” His eyes turned back to you, blown with lust. You could see his erection pressed against his pants, and you fixated on it, licking your lips. He chuckled. “Alright, gorgeous. I’ll be nice to you today. Get on the bed.”
You blinked, moving over to the makeshift bed. They’d pushed them together again, and you weren’t sure if they’d just left them like that after last time or if they’d done it tonight. Either way, you were pleased at the idea of you all curling up and sleeping together again.
“Sungie, c’mere,” Minho mumbled, and then in a scene that could have only come from your wet dreams, he was kissing Jisung. His hand was on the back of his head, and the other rested on his waist, pulling him close to kiss him deep and hard. It was filthy, and you squirmed against the sheets, pouting. You wanted to kiss Jisung too.
“Me next,” You blurted. Jisung pulled away, giggling, and then he was climbing onto the bed to loom over you.
“Greedy. I told you I like it when you’re bold, ‘s so sexy,” His lips met yours with a wet noise, tongue automatically pushing into your mouth. The way Jisung kissed always enraptured you - dirty, filthy and open mouthed always, whereas Minho was more precise. You liked the way they balanced eachother out.
“Sungie, you can fuck her first. I want to find out what she likes,” Minho commanded, joining the two of you on the bed. He managed to position you so your back was to his chest, and Jisung was in between your legs, crotch pressing against yours in those fucking leather pants. “I’m guessing you like me talking to you, gorgeous.”
“Yeah, ‘s hot,” You replied, shifting so your hips grinded up against Jisung’s bulge. Jisung sighed, moving to join you in the teasing push and pull. His shaft brushed up against your clit, and you could feel everything from his base to his cockhead. Even just dry humping him felt fucking delicious.
“She likes the idea of being filled up with cum,” Jisung contributed, his lips moving to suck marks into your skin again. He seemed to love doing that.
“My question is, do you like it rough? Would you want me to slap you around a bit, hurt you?” Minho said. His lips were brushing against your earlobe and you whined, bucking up into Jisung sharply.
“I dunno- I dunno, I’ve never tried it,” You admitted, and Minho hummed. Then, with a swift move, his hand was coming down to smack sharply onto your thigh through your fishnets. You gasped, and a gush of wetness flooded your panties. “Oh.”
“She liked that, I fucking felt it,” Jisung mumbled, hair floppy over his eyes. His lips were wet, and you grabbed his head and traced the pouty flesh with your tongue. His hands went up to your top, pushing it up and exposing your bra to both of the boys. Minho was helpful in unclasping it and dropping it from your shoulders. You felt like a doll, lying there surrounded by them both while they touched you all over. It was worth it for the look on Jisung’s face when he saw your tits, and then he was sucking one of your nipples into his mouth.
You were so on edge it didn’t take long for you to babble. “Oh, fucking God- Ji, Sungie, harder, suck harder, bite them-“
“Bite them?” Minho scoffed. “You do like pain, huh?”
Jisung’s teeth nipped at your bud teasingly, and you squealed, chest arching to meet his mouth. He pulled away, grabbing both tits in his hand and burying his face in between them. “These are magnificent.”
“I’m really happy for you that you like them, Sungie, but I think she might die if she doesn’t get anything inside that cunt soon,” Minho sighed, and you wanted to kiss him in gratitude. You really were about to die.
Jisung nodded obediently, and then he was giving Minho another chaste kiss before inching your skirt up your legs. He struggled with the tight material of it, before he finally got it situated at your waist, and then he couldn’t get the fishnets down. He was struggling, you could see that, and Minho reached over with a sigh and positively ripped the fishnets open.
“Jesus, Minho! They were Felix’s!” Minho shrugged, and then he took the extra, most annoying step and ripped the lace of your panties open, too. Jisung sat there slack jawed, palming his erection over his tight trousers when your pussy was revealed to him, glistening wet in the light.
“You’re soaking, my baby,” Jisung murmured, eyes fixated on your folds. You wiggled eagerly, making Minho pin your hips down. “Do you want my cock?”
“Yes! Wan’ it, wanted it since I saw it,” You whimpered, and Jisung grinned. You watched as he yanked his blazer off, revealing that tiny waist, and then you moaned when he pulled his trousers down and his cock sprang out. It was leaking for you once again, hard as a rock and he pumped it twice, moaning. “Stop teasing, Jisung.”
Minho leaned over, running two fingers through your slit before humming. “Jisung, fuck her. She doesn’t need any prep.”
“You sure, hyung?” Jisung looked at him with wide eyes. “I don’t want to hurt her.”
The way they were talking about you like you weren’t even there had more arousal burning in your gut. Minho just grinned, pinching your thigh again just to hear you squeak. “I’m pretty sure the pain will only make it better for her.”
Jisung nodded, and then he was positioning his cockhead at your entrance. You were wet, embarrassingly so, and he teasingly rubbed his cock against your slit a few times. “You still want it raw?”
“Please, oh my God,” You simpered, whining as his tip breached your hole. It was a stretch, but you loved the feeling of it, the large vein on his cock providing the best friction you’d ever felt. The hair on his pubic mound grazed your clit once you’d bottomed out and you gripped Minho’s forearms from where he sat behind you.
Jisung immediately started thrusting feverishly, his hair hanging over his eyes as he felt your drippy hole clench around him. You could feel yourself gushing, covering his pubic hair and his shaft with an embarrassing amount of wetness. You whined when Minho pinched your nipples, his chuckle shaking his chest where it pressed against you.
“Look at my greedy kitties, huh?” Minho cooed. Jisung whined in response, leaning down to suck more marks into your neck. You arched your back, trying to get more friction on your tits. “Fucking each other so desperately like that. It’s so fucking cute. Should I play with these?” He brushed his fingers over your nipples again, and you nodded eagerly, jolting when his fingers pinched the buds meanly.
“Hyung, ‘s so wet, oh my fucking God,” Jisung’s voice was high pitched, his eyes rolling back into his head. “You’re gonna fucking die when you get inside, I can’t- can’t handle it, I-“
“I think you’ve driven him pussy drunk, kitty,” Minho mumbled in your ear, making you giggle. “Is it good for you?”
“Hnng, yeah, he feels so thick,” You were sure you had a permanent, blissed smile on your face while you let yourself get fucked up into Minho. Minho grinned back at you, kissing your hairline. Jisung was drooling into your neck now, thrusts uneven but still feeling so, so good inside of you. “Mm, I want it deeper, please, Ji.”
“D-Deeper? Yeah, yeah, I’ve got you baby,” He nodded, pushing your legs up against your chest. “Hyung, hold ‘em. Please.” The ‘please’ seemed like it was added as an afterthought, but Minho chuckled and held your legs up anyway. You felt a bit disappointed his hands weren’t on your tits anymore, but when Jisung began to thrust again, it hit your g-spot incessantly with his quick pace. You whined, throwing your head back against Minho. The jolt of ecstasy that you’d felt when Minho slapped you was something you were absolutely desperate to feel again, however.
“I- I wanna be slapped again, please, Min-“
“My hands are busy, filthy girl,” Minho hummed. “Jisung. Slap her across the face.”
“The- the face?! Hyung, oh my God-“ Jisung looked wide eyed between you and Minho, but you didn’t miss the way his hands tightened on the bed sheets next to you.
“Slap me, Sungie, please. C’mon, I know you’ve got it in you, I know you want to-“ You were cut off with Jisung’s hand raising and slapping you clean across the cheek, and then you were cumming. You gushed around Jisung’s cock, wondering why it felt so, so wet all of a sudden, and Jisung let out a deep moan.
“You are a fucking menace. Greedy, filthy, oh my God, squirted all over my cock, like what the fuck?” Jisung whined, and you lifted your head up, looking down. You had, actually, and you’d had no idea. “I’m going to cum. ‘S too wet now, hyung, I’m gonna cum.”
“Cum then,” Minho sighed. “But you better be eating that cum straight out of her pussy and letting her taste.”
You whined, nodding, and then Jisung was cumming. His hips stalled as he came, one long, drawn out moan falling from his pouty lips. You felt the warmth fill you up, and you looked up at Jisung with doe eyes. He pulled out, his cock softening, and you expected Minho to let go of your legs - he held you further up, instead, baring your gushing hole to Jisung’s mouth when he shifted down to stare at it.
Then, his tongue was licking through your hole with intensity, scooping up his own cum and holding it in his mouth. He leaned over you, and you let your tongue loll out of your mouth to accept the mixed flavours of you and him. It was so fucking dirty, but you could feel your pussy getting wet all over again. Just when you thought you were meant to swallow, Minho was pulling you back by your jaw and kissing you filthily, swallowing the taste of yours and Jisung’s cum. You moaned, shifting to move onto Minho’s lap and straddle those beautiful fucking thighs.
“Need you, now,” You murmured against his lips, licking along the seam of them. Minho smirked, before he was pulling your head back by your hair.
“I think I decide what you fucking need, don’t I?” He replied, eyes dark and staring into yours. Jisung snickered from next to you, sprawled leisurely and with a now-hard cock again. What the fuck? Did his refractory period not exist, or?
“You’re in for it,” Jisung chirped, and you blinked hazily.
“Are you going to be mean to me, Min? Haven’t even seen your cock yet,” You pouted, and Minho laughed, shoulders shaking. That answered your question.
“Why don’t you take it out then? Have a look at it, kitty,” He laid back, and you nodded. You felt a little silly, fishnets ripped all over, tits out and your skirt in a strip of fabric around your waist, but you didn’t care. Minho was looking at you like you were the best meal he’d ever seen. You shifted backwards, undoing his trousers and trying to yank them down his thick thighs.
Woah. That was the first thing you thought, looking down at the massive bulge in plain black boxers with a small amount of precum leaking through. Fucking big. Thick. You wanted to make grabby hands and throw a tantrum, but you held onto the last bit of dignity you had and pulled his length out of his underwear. Fuck. His shaft was flushed, long and thick, with a perfectly shaped mushroom head leaking small pearlescent drops all the way down onto the shaft. The dark, coarse hair was perfectly trimmed above his length as if he'd planned this. How could his cock be pretty too? No wonder he walked with such an air of confidence.
“I’m g’na sit on it,” You blurted, staring at his length. Jisung chuckled, and when you turned to him, he was pumping his cock again. Seriously, what the fuck?
“You’re going to do what I fucking tell you to do, kitty. Face down, ass up. Put your head by Jisung, c’mon,” Minho commanded you. When you moved to get up, you watched him rip the rest of his trousers off and pull his vest top off, exposing the expanse of his body. He was ethereal - dusky pink nipples on built pecs, and his arms were so fucking big when paired with the rest of his slight frame.
You flipped over nonetheless, trying to calm the panting breaths flooding from your lungs. Jisung spread his legs and let you rest your head on his thigh, only a few inches from his cock. Oh. That’s why Minho wanted you like this. Jisung grinned down at you, and when you tried to get his cock in your mouth, you were alarmed by the sensation of Minho’s cock pressed against your hole.
“Ready for me, kitty? Are you ready for me to breed this slutty fucking hole? I am going to be a little mean to you, you know,” Minho said, his tone low. You nodded, nuzzling against Jisung’s thigh affectionately. He returned it with a soft scratch to your scalp, one hand still pumping his cock. You watched the muscles of his tummy clench as he did so, humming in appreciation. They were both so sexy.
“Give it to me, Min, I can take it,” You murmured, and then he was bottoming out. He was longer than Jisung, hitting your g-spot with minimum effort from the position you were in, and you whined out, legs thrashing.
“I thought you could take it,” Minho scoffed. “You’re talking big for someone with such a tiny little fucking hole, huh?”
“I can take it-“
“Occupy your mouth with something else instead,” He interrupted you, and then he pointed at Jisung. “I don’t want to hear you whining, either. Legs up.”
Jisung’s eyes went wide. “Hyung-?”
“Do you want to make your Sungie feel good, kitty? It’s not fair he has to jerk off while watching his two loves fuck, right?” Minho cooed. His hips were slapping against your ass, making you gush and moan around him. You hated the way he sounded so unaffected while you were struggling to put sentences together. “There is something he really likes.”
“Yeah, y-yeah, I wanna make him feel good-“
Minho rewarded you with a slap to your ass, before yanking your head up by your hair. “Jisung. Legs up.”
Jisung obliged, pulling his legs up and apart. From this angle, you could see his hole, fluttering around nothing. It was as if he realised what Minho was planning the same second you did. “Oh, a-are you gonna lick me there, baby?”
“Mm, I want to,” You moaned, trying to escape Minho’s firm grip on your hair. “Min, can I?”
“Good kitty for asking,” He dropped your hair, moving his hand underneath you to rub your clit in precise circles. It heightened the pleasure tenfold, and you gasped, pushing your hips back against him. “That’s it. Fuck your hips back on my cock and lick his hole, fucking slut. Our slut, yeah?”
“Your slut, both of you,” You confirmed, nodding, before your head was delving between Jisung’s legs. He squealed as soon as you licked over his hole, something you’d wanted to do since you saw him grab his phone in your room. You let your ass bounce on Minho’s cock, his hand slapping your flesh every now and again and the other massaging your clit.
You realised very soon that you were going to cum for the second time, and you broke away from Jisung’s ass to look at Minho with pleading eyes. “Please, please, Min, m’close, need it…”
“What do you need, kitty? Do you need more?” Minho asked. You nodded, laving your tongue over Jisung’s balls and making him whine. You felt his hand move from your asscheek to trace his thumb around your second hole, making you jolt, until you were closing your eyes in anticipation. Minho chuckled. “Oh. You want this?”
“I- I’ve never…”
“It’s fuckin’ amazing. Hyung, finger her ass. She’ll love it,” Jisung contributed, and when you looked at him, his hand was pumping his cock again. You let your head delve down to lick over his asshole once more, with renewed fervour this time, and you giggled when Jisung moaned loudly. You were glad the party was still going on, music drowning out any noises that could fizzle from the room.
Minho slid his thumb into your ass, and you felt your legs tremble. Being filled like this was insane, his cock still bullying into your pussy and you couldn’t help but imagine it being the both of them - Jisung in your pussy, Minho in your ass, or vice versa.
“God, we’ll have to both fuck your holes at some point,” Minho grunted. The noises from your pussy were erotic, slapping wet noises and keens coming from your mouth, too. “That ass looks so fucking tight. Would you like that?”
You nodded, whining. “I want you both to cum in both holes, fill me up- oh, oh my God, I’m gonna cum, Min!”
“Ah, really? You want one of us in each hole? That’s fucking dirty, kitty,” Minho’s hand slapped your clit, one, two, three times, making you gasp and lean upwards to suck on Jisung’s cock. It made him jolt, and he pushed it into your mouth, groaning with a tight grip on your hair. “C’mon, then. I think you deserve to cum. You’ve been such a good girl, taking my cock like this, huh?”
You let yourself pop off of Jisung’s length, drooling on the tip. “T-Thank you! Thank you, Min, I’m gonna cum so hard, for you, for you both-” The orgasm exploded in a more full-body sensation than your last one, but you could feel your wetness leaking all down Minho’s shaft. It still pistoned in and out of you, lengthening your orgasm and making you squeal in delight. It felt like you’d been coming for about ten minutes straight, until Minho was leaning over you, pressing his chest to your back. Jisung was pushing your hair out of your face and still pumping his cock steadily, staring into your eyes.
“I’m gonna breed this fucking hole. Such a slut, letting me go raw,” Minho mumbled, almost to himself, hips making you shift up the bed. You took Jisung’s cockhead into your mouth again, sucking hard, and then he was jolting. “Cum in her mouth, Sungie. I’m going to fill up this fucking pussy, so perfect for me, molded to my fucking cock…”
You moaned when you realised you’d be taking two loads that night - probably even more from them both when the party was over - and then Minho was bottoming out, filling you up. It dripped out around his cock with the sheer amount of it, and when you caught sight of him over your shoulder, his ears were flushed a crimson red and his lips were parted, letting out a deep sigh. He looked gorgeous.
Unshockingly, Minho wasn’t at all talkative after he came, and he collapsed on you with an ‘oomph’, cock still inside you. He watched you jerk Jisung’s cock, and chuckled when Jisung whined and his toes curled.
“Need’a cum again,” Jisung moaned, his chest dewy with sweat. “Fuckin’ need it, hyung, baby, shit, please help me, I need more-“
In another brief moment of confidence, you kept pumping Jisung’s cock and sucked one finger into your mouth, slipping it into his hole beneath heavy balls. It only took one, two thrusts of your finger before he was gasping, and cum spurted out like a fountain over your fist. After you kept pumping steadily, he pushed your hands away with a whine from the overstimulation.
“That was…” Jisung spoke, chest heaving. “Jesus. So good.”
“I loved it,” You cooed, running your hand through Minho’s hair where his head leaned on your shoulder. “Minho, your mouth is fucking dirty, you know that?”
“I wish I could talk like that in bed. I get too shy, I just blabber,” Jisung admitted, and when you looked at Minho, his cheeks were burning the same shade as his ears. His eyes were flickering between you, and then he bit your shoulder softly, playfully.
“You’ll both learn!” He chirped, pulling out of you and walking over to get some towels from the shared wardrobe.
“C’mere. Cuddle time,” Jisung chirped, and you giggled, sidling up to his side with your head on his chest. He still had cum on the bottom of his tummy, and you still had cum dripping out of your pussy onto the bed, but you didn’t care. You didn’t even care you were still in most of your clothes. Minho did, however, and he groaned in exasperation with a white towel in hand when he turned around and saw you two.
Minho crept onto the bed, wiping your folds and then Jisung’s tummy. You both giggled when he kissed both your foreheads before tossing the towel onto the floor, cuddling in behind you. You were in the middle again - just the way you liked it. Minho ripped your fishnets the rest of the way off and somehow managed to get the skirt detangled, leaving you in just your top, now rolled down. You shifted onto your back, letting them both cuddle into your chest.
“I get too shy too. I just beg, apparently,” You murmured. “I wish I was better at talking. Inside the bedroom and outside.”
“Do you ever wish… that someone could fix you? Like, fix what’s wrong with you?” Jisung asked, eyes staring at the ceiling. “I always wished someone could fix the way I am. How awkward and shy I can get, and stuff.”
“I don’t want someone who’s going to fix me,” You said, head falling onto Minho’s shoulder. Jisung stared at you attentively, eyes wide. “I just want someone who’s going to hold my hand while I try to fix myself.”
Jisung looked at Minho. It was like two seconds of unspoken conversation, then he spoke up. “How about two people?”
Right, that’s what you’d wanted to ask.
“Guys, I wanted to ask… are we… dating, like all three of us?” You mumbled, twiddling your fingers.
“I thought we were, yeah,” Jisung responded quickly, kissing your cheek. Minho scoffed.
“I want to ask you both properly. God knows neither of you are going to ask me,” Minho pulled you both into him, and you turned over and sidled up to him obediently. His chest was still flushed, a blotchy rash on his skin from the intense bedroom activities.
Jisung, however, tries to push him away, resuming his position behind you. “Hey! I totally would have asked.”
“No you wouldn’t, and that’s okay,” He kisses Jisung’s forehead, and then yours. “I like both of my shy babies.”
#juno’s fics ♡#stray kids smut#skz smut#lee minho smut#lee know smut#lee know fic#lee know fanfic#lee know fanfiction#stray kids fic#stray kids fanfic#stray kids imagines#stray kids x reader#stray kids scenarios#stray kids fanfiction#minsung x reader#minsung smut#han jisung smut#han jisung fic#han jisung imagines#han jisung x you#han jisung x reader#han jisung scenarios#han jisung fanfic#han jisung fanfiction#lee know x reader#lee know x you#stray kids x you#fics: bold
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Orders.
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! :)
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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hyunga’s sleeping | l.mh
-> pairing. idol!minho x non-idol!reader (f)
-> genre. Established relationship, domestic fluff.
-> rating. 13+
-> w/c. 1101
-> warnings. None!
-> a/n. This was fueled by pure, unadulterated Minho & Soon-Doong-Dori (SDD) brainrot.
-> skz drabble, oneshot & series m.list
-> started. Feb. 23rd, 2024 @ 16:51
-> fin. Fri., Mar. 1st, 2024 @ 19:40
-> edited. Sat. Mar. 2nd, 2024 @ 15:40
-> divider credit. @plum98
“Eomoni!”
“Y/N, darling, come in!”
Minho’s mom wraps her arms around your shoulders, pulling you inside with a big smile on her face. She waves you off as you slip out of your shoes and into a pair of bright pink Hello Kitty slippers Minho bought for you as a joke years ago, forcefully prying the bag of goodies you bought on your way here from your fingers.
“I hope I’m not intruding—?”
“Hush!” Mrs. Lee chides with a smile, “Stop worrying so much.” Her hand hovers by the small of your back, guiding you up the last step into the living room.
“Is Minho here? He said he was coming home today…”
“Yes, he’s here. He’s in his room.” Minho’s mom sets the plastic bag on the counter, and you naturally go to help her unpack what you bought, shelving things like you live here.
“I—hello, abeonim.” You bow at Mr. Lee, closing your eyes contentedly when he comes around the counter to give you a fatherly side-hug that squishes you against him.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, ruffling your hair as he lets you go in favor of helping his wife unpack.
You shrug, walking around to the other side of the counter. “Thought I’d pop in to say hi. I missed the kittens very much.”
Mr. Lee laughs, shaking his head at you. “Of course, the kittens.” He wiggles his eyebrows teasingly.
You can’t help the grin tugging at your mouth, clearing your throat to speak. “Speaking of, where are the babies? I haven’t seen any of them since I got here.”
“Last time I checked they were all with Minho in his room,” his mom says, putting away the bottle of red wine you bought for dinner later tonight.
“Great! I can kill two birds with one stone.” You wiggle your eyebrows.
She snickers at you, shooing you away with a fond smile. “Go say hi and then come sit with us—we found a documentary we thought you’d like.”
“Okay, eomoni.” You smile at her and hope your pure love and adoration for her isn’t written too clearly on your face, afraid she might tease you. You walk with light steps in the direction of Minho’s room, unable to wipe the smile off your face.
“Minho-ssi,” you sing-song, rounding the corner with a light and airy step-a-step you’re pretty sure you saw somewhere in Thunderous’s choreography.
Mreow?
“Doong-Doong-ah?” Your lips jut out in a surprised pout, looking down at the talkative orange tabby with a tiny furrow in your brow. Following the lump of white sheets behind him, you finally make out Minho’s all-black clad body hidden under all the fluff.
You smile.
“Is hyunga sleeping?” you whisper, walking over on the tips of your toes before crouching in front of Doongie, scratching behind his ears with a soft smile. He mrews, his eyes fluttering closed as he leans his head into your hand. To your right, Dori hugs what you think is a bottle of lotion between his white socked-paws, his tail flicking with each nibble he delivers to the hard plastic.
You let your hand wander over Dori’s side and chide him with a half-hearted hiss when he clamps his teeth around your knuckles, shaking it off with a smile when he pauses a second before giving your hand a couple of licks.
You give his side one last pat before walking around Minho’s feet, only noticing Soonie as he’s cuddling into your boyfriend’s duveted stomach.
You can’t stop the smile tugging at your lips, crouching next to the sleeping cats to card your fingers through Soonie’s fur, feeling a familiar sense of pride swell in your chest at his appreciative purr.
And then you’re looking up at Lee Minho, your body tingling all over at the serenity on your sleeping beauty’s face, unable to help but reach out and let your hand run over his hair; a little frizzy at the ends but otherwise straight; he must not have been sleeping for very long.
You drag your hand over Minho’s head with an inexplicable softness constricting your throat, wishing you could lean down and kiss him without running the risk of waking him up.
You jump a little when Minho lets out an adorable grunt as he slowly pries his eyes open.
“Jagi?” he mumbles.
“Did I wake you?” you coo, combing your fingers through his fringe.
“Mmm.”
You chuckle, letting the pads of your fingers brush over his forehead, over his eyelids. “Ever the truthman.”
“Truthman?” he grumbles, bringing a hand up to loosely hold your wrist between his fingers.
“When did you get home?” You let your hand wander over his cheek.
“A few hours ago…”
“From practice?”
He guides the palm of your hand against his lips. “Mmm...”
He kisses your hand, turning onto his back (much to Soonie’s dismay) and throwing the duvet around his hips before tugging on your arm with surprising strength.
You yelp, practically falling on top of him. He lets out a back-of-the-throat kind of giggle that sends tingles down your arms, using his hands on your hips to shift you higher up his abdomen.
Minho lets out a satisfied hum-sigh against the top of your head, his fingers massaging the skin at your waist before hooking his fingers under the waistband of your trousers, letting the elastic keep his hands in place.
“Baby,” you say, softly—knowing his parents are waiting for you downstairs but feeling so tempted to sink into his warmth and stay there until the end of days.
“No,” he huffs, nuzzling your temple. “Lay with me for a bit.”
You can’t help but laugh, subtly shaking your head. Of course he knows. “Okay, but only for a minute. Your mom invited me downstairs to watch a—“
“Shh, jagi, I’m trying to sleep.”
———
“Y/N, sweetheart, we’re—“
Mrs. Lee stops in her tracks, right outside Minho’s room. The sight she comes across brings an immediate smile to her face, and she can’t help but take her phone out and snap a picture to give to her son later:
Minho, his arms wrapped around you as you lay on top of him, legs intertwined. And surrounding you, Soonie, Doongie and Dori; the youngest of the trio laying by his hyung’s head. Doongie lays by your feet, and Soonie sleeps just off to the side, his legs stretched out in front of him.
As she sits back down with her husband, Mrs. Lee can’t help but think: she can’t wait for the day Minho asks for her mother’s ring.
#skz x reader#skz imagines#skz fic#skz scenarios#skz fluff#lee minho x reader#lee minho fluff#lee minho scenarios#lee minho fic#lee minho imagines#lee know x reader#lee know scenarios#lee know fluff#lee know imagines#ao3#archive of our own#kpop fic#kpop fanfiction#kpop fanfic#kpop fluff#skz smut#lee know smut#lee minho smut
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PIECE BY PIECE | minho
first date series. friends to lovers.
pairing: minho x fem!reader
word count: 6.2k
genre: college au, mutual pining, fluff, angst
warnings: drinking, referenced injury (very minor)
summary: minho, on a drunken whim, asks you out on a date.
chan | minho | changbin | hyunjin | jisung | felix | seungmin | jeongin
· · · ♡ series masterlist · · · ♡ taglist · · · ♡
a/n: finally!! the minho part!! i’ve been sooo excited about this one since i first got the idea. i hope you guys enjoy! once again any and all feedback is appreciated, happy reading <3
“Dude, I think it’s clean.”
Minho looks up from where he’s scrubbing the counter, eyes narrowed. So what if it’s his third time going over every surface in the kitchen?
“Are you going to help me or are you just gonna sit there and make more crumbs?”
Jeongin’s eyebrows shoot into his hairline. He holds up his hands in surrender, the bag of chips in his lap crinkling. “I’m just saying. You’re acting like she’s never seen the place before.”
That’s the problem. You’ve seen his place. Minho has to stop the shudder that threatens to overtake his body at the thought.
“So you’re not helping? Great. Get out.”
“I live here!” Jeongin whines. “Why do I have to get out? You can’t banish me like this.”
“I can and I will. Now leave. I have two hours to make sure everything is ready and I am not going to vacuum for a fourth time.”
“Yes mom,” Jeongin rolls his eyes as he unfolds his legs from underneath him.
He stops just short of the kitchen counter, points an accusatory finger at Minho’s disheveled figure still hunched over an imaginary stain.
“For the record, Chan hyung would never do this to me. He loves my crumbs.”
Minho throws the scrub daddy at him.
🏠
The night it happens, all it takes is approximately three shots and a pep talk from Hyunjin for Minho to finally find the nerve to ask you out.
“You’ve got this,” the younger boy says, words slurred, his hands steady on both Minho’s shoulders. The bass thumps loud in the other room, drowned out by the walls of the kitchen until it’s nothing but garbled nonsense going in one of his ears and out the other, vibrations low in his chest.
“I’ve got this.” Minho repeats, the thrum of alcohol already spreading to his fingertips. He feels warm, light on his feet. His limbs are starting to loosen up and his insides are turning to jelly. He might even be floating.
“You look hot.”
“I look hot.”
“She’s gonna say yes.”
“She’s gonna say yes.”
“You’re gonna venmo me twenty dollars.”
“I’m gonna venmo you twenty dollars.” Minho parrots before he can even process what he’s saying. Changbin, who’d been watching the entire thing unfold from where he stands with his back pressed against the sink, snorts.
“Wait, what the f—”
“Go get her!” Hyunjin screams, pushing him through the door of the kitchen with one last pat on the back, “And send me my money!”
Minho stumbles over himself, just barely able to stop in time before he goes crashing into a group of people. The living room is crowded: there’s furniture pushed up against the walls, bodies pressed front to back in the middle of the floor, a makeshift DJ stand in the corner where Chan is controlling the music from his laptop, drink in hand. Minho catches his eye from across the room, the glow of the LEDs reflecting off the toothy grin he shoots his way, dimples on full display.
“Hey!” Minho feels someone grab his arm, and he turns to find you staring up at him. “Where’d you go? You said you were gonna get a drink.”
Minho follows your eyes down to where you’re staring at his empty hands. “I—uh, well. I ran into Hyunjin and we took a few shots.”
The pout you give him does nothing but spur on the fluttering of his chest, his brain still hyper aware of the way your hand was resting on his elbow. “Shots? I want shots!” you whine, and Minho has to avert his gaze from staring at your lips when your pout only worsens.
“How much have you had?” he tries to ask over the music. There’s a shitty pop song playing, high pitched and wonky. If he remembers in the morning, he’ll make sure he berates Chan about his DJ-ing abilities.
“What?” you scream back, tiptoeing to bring your mouth closer to his ear.
Minho is only a man. A man who's been in love with you since the moment you accidentally spilled your coffee all over Hyunjin in the quad during freshman year. He remembers that day well, remembers the way your eyes went wide and your lips parted. He also remembers the way he wished it was him with the large wet stain on his shirt, that way it was him that was offered to have his lunch bought as an apology.
He’d never admit it, but sometimes really late at night, when the moon is high in the sky and he’s feeling oddly sentimental, he counts his lucky stars that Hyunjin had been in a relationship at the time. Minho doesn’t know what he would’ve done had he been forced to watch the two of you hit it off—some form of arson, presumably. Anything to take the edge off. But because of the fact that Hyunjin was not trying to have his head cut off by said girlfriend at the time, he invited Minho along as some sort of collateral damage. That’s when the two of you became friends. Kind of perfect if you ask him.
With the jumbled mess of butterflies in his stomach that he gets whenever you’re near him, and the threat of the alcohol slowly seeping through his skin, his brain short circuits the minute your breath grazes the shell of his ear. When your hand follows not long after, fingers gripping the nape of his neck to hold him in place, he almost passes out.
“Min? What’d you say?”
Minho is rendered completely useless by you. Absolutely ruined. Your existence has thrown his entire plan to woo you off course and now his mouth is opening and closing like a badly programmed robot. Pathetic. Nuts and bolts for brains.
By the grace of God (or some other higher being that Minho’s never bothered to believe in until this very moment) he finds his voice, but not before you’re pulling back with a confused look on your face.
“I asked how much you’ve had to drink,” he says, straining against the music.
A saccharine sweet grin that has him seeing stars spreads across your face, “Not enough!”
Minho is not an enabler. Never has been, never will be. There was one time, back in that fateful freshman year that also introduced the two of you, that he let Hyunjin get blackout drunk. A terrible decision on his end, if the earful he got from Chan the next morning was anything to go by. And as if that wasn’t enough, he was finding remnants of the resulting hacking session for the following week. So yeah, never again.
But while Minho isn’t an enabler, he is smitten, and the way your hand feels wrapped around his wrist as you drag him into the kitchen has his soul threatening to leave his body. He thinks that maybe he could do anything as long as you asked. He also hopes you can’t feel the way his pulse is rabbiting beneath his skin, right under the press of your thumb.
“There’s, like, nothing here.” you say as you rummage through the cupboard near the window, nose scrunched and a frown on your face.
Minho laughs, rounds the kitchen island to crouch down and open the cabinet under the sink. “That’s because you don’t know where to look,” he smirks, pulling out a fresh bottle of tequila. “Also, Chan hyung is greedy. He knows people like you will go scavenging his supply if he isn’t careful.”
“I resent that.” you frown, taking the bottle from him. “Besides, people like me deserve to have fun too.”
“Mhm, sure.” Minho says, grabbing a solo cup. He holds his hand out for the bottle, pours just the right amount before sliding it over and following it up with a can of coke.
“A man after my heart.” you joke, holding your cup up to him in a mock toast before downing it in one go. Minho watches with so much focus, fighting against the way his head spins. He doesn’t even know if it’s the alcohol anymore, it might just be the effect you have on him. Dizzying—you flip his entire world on its axis in the best way possible.
Minho’s gonna be seeing your exposed neck in his dreams later, he’s sure of it—it’s branded into his memory.
“That…is so fucking bad.” you giggle, holding your cup out. “Another one.”
Minho clicks his tongue. “I don’t know…”
“Pleaseeee Min,” the lilt in your voice sounds oddly familiar. Minho holds his breath just in case you—yup. There it is. There goes that pout again.
It’d be so easy for him to lean down and kiss it right off your lips. He could blame it on the alcohol, maybe, but then that takes away from how he actually means it.
He sighs instead. “It’s gonna cost you.”
“An arm and a leg?”
“What? No—I meant some water.”
“Oh. Okay.”
Three shots and a full bottle of water later, Minho knows you’ve hit your limit. Cheeks flushed pink, a dopey grin on your face, pupils blown wide. Even in this state, Minho is certain that you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
“Anotherrrr,” you slur, waving your cup in his face.
Minho shakes his head. “No can do. You’re cut off.”
“Please,” you whine, placing both hands on his shoulders, “I’ll do anything.”
Minho, completely taken back by the sudden closeness of your body to his, freezes.
“Anything?” he asks before he can stop himself.
This is stupid. You’re drunk. There’s no way you’re going to remember anything in the morning, much less within the next thirty minutes. He’s pretty sure that you’ll lose control of all your senses soon, which is why he’s already texted your roommate Jiwoo to unlock the door so he can carry you inside. Nothing he hasn’t done before.
“Anything,” you repeat, eyes going cross-eyed where they’re fixing on the mole he has at the tip of his nose.
This is stupid. But then again, so is Minho. A big, stupid fool that blames everything on the fact that he’s so in love with you it hurts. This might be the only chance he gets to shoot his shot.
Minho takes a deep breath, says something similar to a little prayer that’s more like Hey, if anyone’s listening, help a guy out, and hopes that the twenty bucks he sent Hyunjin works.
“Go on a date with me.” he says slowly, wincing when your eyes snap up to meet his gaze.
Well, there’s really no going back from that. The only thing that could possibly grant him redemption now is banking on the fact that you don’t remember anything in the morning.
Minho waits with bated breaths, watches as your eyes search his for a long while. He waits for the anger, the disgust, the visible repulsion that he starts to think might happen the longer the silence continues.
He’s about to backtrack, quickly conjuring up an excuse about how Oh, haha, gotcha! when your hands suddenly drop from his shoulders. You grab the cup, your chin tipped upwards, and hold it out for him to fill.
“Okay.”
“O…kay?”
“Yeah. Okay. Pour me another one.”
The next morning, when Minho all but drags himself into the kitchen in search of water and something to soothe the throbbing in his head, he nearly spits a mouthful at Jeongin, the poor guy too busy eating his cereal to realize he’s gotten a front row seat in the splash zone.
Y/N [10:34am]
so
when do you want to do that date?
🏠
Are candles too much?
Minho has options: clean linen, lavender breeze, ocean mist, warm vanilla. He really just needs something to get rid of the smell of cleaning spray.
He thought that having a night in for a first date would be ideal—less pressure, no unwanted attention, a bathroom that he can run into when he starts to hyperventilate if you smile at him for too long. But now that it’s happening, he’s convinced that every surface of his and Jeongin’s shared apartment will scare you away if anything so much as looks off-putting.
Minho is, to put it simply, freaking out. All the other times you’ve been over to his place were on a completely platonic level. Movie nights with all the other guys in tow, dropping off food that you felt generous enough to buy every once in a while, one time because you’d accidentally worn Minho’s jacket home from a party and needed to return it to him.
But this is different. This is a date. Minho’s not dreaming—he already pinched himself a dozen times in the bathroom mirror, tiny red marks on the inside of his forearm to prove it. He’s going to open the door, invite you in, cook for you, and then proceed to resist the urge to tell you how beautiful you are for however long the night continues on after that. He can practically hear Jeongin’s laugh in the back of his head, sneering at how pathetic his inner monologue sounds right now.
He needs to find another stain to scrub.
By the time you’re knocking on his door, Minho has changed his outfit seven times. Sweats were too casual, a button up was too fancy. Should he not have done his hair? No, that’s just lazy, the way his fringe is swept up and out of his forehead adds a nice touch that doesn’t scream Hey! I’m trying to woo you! You’ve never been the type to be impressed by grand gestures and shows of confidence anyways, he knows that well.
One time, when a guy from one of the frat houses hired the campus quartet to sing a song for you in the quad as he stood there with big beady eyes and a bouquet of roses in his hand, you’d all but ran from the scene, Minho following close behind as you called out to him over your shoulder. It’s one of his fondest memories. As soon as the two of you made it around the back of the science building, you’d doubled over in laughter, the both of you in disbelief at what had happened. Minho has had that information tucked into the deepest parts of his brain ever since, saved just in case he needed it.
(Later that night, in the safety of his own bed, he’d laughed maniacally at the situation. Something about watching you reject another guy filled him with a sense of joy he couldn’t explain. He just hoped he was never going to be on the receiving end of it.)
He does a quick once over of the kitchen: double checks that all the ingredients are out, blows a speck of dust off the glass stovetop, spins the tiny floral arrangement he bought so that it’s sitting at just the right angle. When the doorbell rings, the chime bouncing off the walls of the apartment, he visibly pales.
He has to reel it in, to remember that it’s just you. You might not even be here with any intentions other than to fulfill your end of the deal; one date in exchange for the extra three shots he poured you the other night. Minho takes a deep breath, grips the doorknob with conviction, and decides that he’s determined to show you the way you deserve to be treated. The opportunity is there, and he’s gonna take it.
As soon as the door swings open, every nerve that had somehow crept its way into his brain disappears, the sight of you standing on the other side immediately sending the anxiety scrambling and replacing it with fondness instead.
“Hi,” you smile, and Minho sees images of you coming home to his apartment flash across his mind. After class, after work, in the winter when it’s cold and your nose is tinted pink, on rainy days where the ends of your hair are damp and you have a wet umbrella in tow. He could get used to it. He’s so in love that it hurts.
“Hey,” he breathes out, stepping aside to make way for you, “Come in. Are you hungry?”
“Starving, actually. Been saving myself all day since I don’t always get to have your cooking.” You hop on to one of the stools, your attention momentarily stolen by the flower arrangement. One point for Minho.
I’d cook for you every day, he wants to say. But that’s weird, right? So instead, “Well then I guess today is your lucky day.”
“Yeah, I guess it is.” You say softly.
Minho can’t see you with the way his back is turned, hands moving to grab out the knife and cutting board, but if he could he’d see the way your eyes are staring softly at his back, the ghost of a smile on your lips.
Conversation flows easily after that, despite Minho’s original worries about it being awkward. You’re not necessarily treating it as a date, and he isn’t really either. It feels more like a glorified hangout, just the two of you spending time together with the added glances and smiles that normally wouldn’t be there.
Minho finds it easy to get lost in you. He finds himself craving to know more about your day, about the things that’ve been on your mind lately and the hobbies you’ve picked up. Most of the conversation is a continuation of stuff that’s fallen through the cracks during the times you see each other, but he doesn’t miss the way you ask about him too, your eyes shining with genuine interest. It makes his heart slam against his ribcage.
“How are your cats doing?”
Minho looks up from the cutting board, follows your gaze to where it’s fixed on the scattered pictures that litter his fridge. “They’re good,” he says, smiling down at a head of garlic, “My mom sends pictures all the time. She says they claw at the door to my room when they miss me.” He smashes the garlic under the knife’s blade by hitting it with the heel of his palm. “It’s cute.”
“You’re cute.”
Minho, in a very flashy demonstration of what it means to be cool, calm, and collected, slices his thumb mid-chop.
“Shit.” he mutters, dropping the knife.
It’s not that bad, just a little nick, the surprise was mostly what scared him. He probably doesn’t even need a bandaid. But despite how small it is, nothing stops you from hurriedly walking up to him and taking his hand in yours, his thumb held closely to your face for inspection.
“Are you okay?” You turn his hand over between your fingers, the soft pads of them against his calloused ones. Minho is dumbfounded, struggling to find the words to say.
“Yeah—um, it’s fine. My fault. I was distracted.” He stammers out, pulling his hand back and holding it up. He wiggles his fingers, making a show of bending and twisting his thumb that, at most, has just a small cut on the side. “See? Perfect.”
Your face relaxes, and then you’re laughing. Why are you laughing? Either Minho looks like a complete idiot or he’s suddenly the funniest person in the world for being clumsy and reckless and almost ruining the night by losing a finger. Whichever one it is, he doesn’t care, as long as he gets to hear that sound again.
“Let me help cook, please? I know you said you would do it all but clearly you’re a threat to the integrity of this meal.” You say, bumping your hip against his to move him away from the cutting board.
Minho scoffs. “I wouldn’t have done that if you didn’t catch me off guard.”
“So what? You admit that I make you flustered?”
Oh.
Minho wasn’t prepared for this. He wasn’t prepared for the—the flirting that’s clearly happening. You’re flirting with him, right? Why else would you have called him cute or given him that suspicious side eye after you asked that question?
You and Minho have joked around like this before, but it was always empty with no real feelings attached—as far as he could tell. You’re a naturally friendly person, getting along with others comes easy to you. He’s seen the way you talk to the other guys and has always just assumed he was no different in your eyes than they were. Sure, there were moments where maybe your hand lingered on his arm for a little while after he made you laugh, or the two of you would steal glances across the room. Sometimes when Hyunjin said something stupid you’d both catch the other’s eye and make a face, just another funny way of proving that you were both on the same wavelength most of the time. It’s kind of why Minho is so taken with you—he’s never met anyone that gets him the same way.
Reluctantly, Minho puts his pride aside and allows you to help. And as it turns out, you’re actually really good at cooking. Minho doesn’t have to instruct you much, and before he knows it you’re both working like a well-oiled machine, scooting past one another as you switch places between the stove and the sink, reading each other’s minds without even having to ask.
“Taste this.” You say, holding the spoon up to his mouth. Minho leans forward, front teeth poking out, and brings the spoon into his mouth. You cup your hand under his chin to catch any droppings, watching in anticipation as he smacks his lips together.
His eyes light up, big and brown and twinkling under the light of the kitchen. “Perfect.” He smiles.
“Oh you have—uh,” you stop him with a hand on his forearm just as he’s about to turn back to the sink, your other hand hovering next to his face hesitantly, “It’s just, um, your—here.”
Minho’s eyes go wide when your thumb swipes against the corner of his mouth, your touch feather light. It’s so intimate, the only sound being the music playing low from the speaker on the counter. He’s half convinced that you’re able to hear his heartbeat, blood pumping loud in his ears.
“You had some sauce…on your face.” You say shyly, your palm still pressed to his cheek.
“…Oh.”
Minho’s never really looked into your eyes from this close up before. He’s always known they were beautiful, the shape of them soft, full of nothing but the world. He can see himself in them from here, and, selfishly, he hopes you can see yourself in his, too.
He might be imagining it when your gaze flicks down to his lips for just a fraction of a second, but there’s no time to unpack any of that when the sauce starts bubbling over the edge of the pot, spilling on to the burner as loud sizzling and smoke fills the kitchen.
It’s chaos. The bottom of the pot is burnt and there’s only so much of it that’s salvageable. He only bought the exact amount of ingredients too, because this is a self-proclaimed no-food-waste household (as explicitly stated in the napkin contract he has with Jeongin, much to his dismay). So, hooray for conscious consumption of goods!
At the end of it all, there’s no one to blame. You’re both guilty of…whatever that was.
Minho tries to reassure you that it’s okay as he dials the number for the pizza place just down the street, simultaneously shutting down all your attempts to pay as an apology. It doesn’t matter to him, he’d do anything as long as it means he gets to spend time with you. At the end of the day, it’s another memory that he’ll hold close to his heart.
“Listen,” you say, swallowing down a mouthful of pizza, the both of you seated on his couch with a half-eaten box of pizza open on the coffee table, “I know you wanted to cook and all—which, by the way, I’m still sorry—but this is so good. However I’m sure whatever you made would’ve been better.”
Minho chuckles. “Stop lying,” he wipes his hands on a napkin, “I can guarantee you that whatever I cooked wouldn’t be as good as this anyways.”
“Stop selling yourself short, Min. You’re good at everything you do.”
The words fall from your lips so easily, like it’s something you’ve convinced yourself of long ago. Minho’s never been the type to bounce around from one thing to another, always choosing to stick with it until he has it down to a science. Cooking is one of them. Jeongin can attest to all the times Minho has berated him with tasting his latest dishes, chasing him around the apartment with a spoon. The words tighten themselves around his heart.
“I’m not,” he rolls his eyes, “But nine times out of ten, grease and mozzarella cheese are gonna win. I know that for a fact.”
You laugh, and the conversation gradually diverts into a debate about the top ten best greasy foods in existence. You’re heated, half kneeling on the couch with a finger pointed at him as you plead your case for onion rings, when your eyes go past Minho’s head and settle on the shelf of games in the hallway.
“You have games?” you ask, suddenly giddy with excitement as you hurry over to inspect the selection.
Minho watches with fond eyes, collects the plates and napkins to throw away. “Yeah, most of them are Innie’s. We don’t really use them. Sometimes when we’re drunk, other times when we’re bored and decide to wager money for fun.”
You hum, not really paying attention. Monopoly, Chutes and Ladders, some decks of cards, Uno—you scan the shelf until your eyes light up at what you find hidden at the bottom.
“Min! Can we play Jenga?”
“Jenga?” Minho asks, re-entering the living room. The coffee table is clear now, and he sits between it and the couch, his back against the cushion. “Isn’t that kind of boring? We have other stuff there.”
“It’s only boring if you play it the way it’s supposed to be played.” You roll your eyes. Minho turns to you when you situate yourself on the floor beside him and only momentarily contemplates running to the bathroom when your knee knocks against his. He’s been holding it together pretty well so far, however The Sauce Incident had him ready to book it if anything had gone further.
“Well how else are we supposed to play it?” He frowns.
“We make up our own rules.”
The pieces scatter across the wood of the coffee table, clacking as you diligently begin putting them together. “This is a date, right?” You ask, stopping for a moment to turn and assess his response.
Minho stills. He genuinely forgot the grounds on which tonight had even happened in the first place. Spending time with you makes him forget everything else. And, despite his fears in the beginning, being on a date with you has felt so natural that it almost seems like you’ve done it a thousand times before.
Your eyes meet. For a moment, Minho lets himself wonder what it’d be like if he went for it right then and there. “Yeah,” he says slowly, unblinking, hoping you can see the sincerity on his face, “A date. One of the best ones I’ve ever been on, actually.”
He almost cries out in victory when your face flushes pink. “Now who’s a liar?” You ask quietly, going back to piecing together the game.
Minho has learned something new tonight: he really likes seeing you flustered.
“Why do you ask?” he decides to cut you the slack, “Or what does this being a date have to do with Jenga rules?”
He waits as you finish the stack, your tongue sticking out in concentration. You’re so cute. Minho mentally pockets that image for safe keeping.
“Sorry, okay, it’s done. But basically, if we pull out a block, we get to ask the other person a question.”
“And if the tower falls…?”
“Hmm,” you think for a moment, chewing on your bottom lip, “Oh! I know. If you lose you have to tell me why you asked me on a date.”
Minho’s stomach flips. “Okay. If you lose you have to tell me why you accepted the date.”
Something unreadable passes over your face, but it’s gone in an instant. You hold your hand out for a shake, and Minho wraps his fingers around it gently.
“Deal.”
“Why are you taking all of the middle pieces?” Minho pouts.
The two of you have gone through a couple turns by now, throwing out random questions for the better half of fifteen minutes. Favorite colors, childhood foods you wouldn’t eat, the best memory you have from high school. Minho’s learned a lot, has fallen for you a lot more. But that was always a given. It’s impossible not to when he can feel the warmth from your body where you’re seated next to him, your presence overtaking all of his senses.
“Because I’m trying to win,” you laugh, putting your freshly pulled piece at the top. Just a little crooked, too. To piss him off. “Favorite movie?”
“Ponyo. Easy. My turn.”
“Seriously? Why Ponyo?”
“One question at a time, princess.”
He means it as a joke, really. He doesn’t even realize what he’s said until after the fact, the nickname making your heart skip a beat. Minho notices, the corners of his lips tugging downwards as he suppresses a smile. He manages to flick one of the side pieces until it gives way.
“What’s one thing you regret?”
“Ooh, getting deep I see.” You laugh, taking a sip of your soda. There’s a long pause, and then, “I regret spilling my coffee on Hyunjin that day.”
Minho’s brow furrows. You…regret it? He runs through all the possible reasons in his head. Surely it can’t be because you regret becoming friends with them, friends with him, right?
“Why?” He chances.
“One question at a time, princess.” You echo, laughing at his shocked expression.
You remove the last middle piece. “On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate our first date?”
Minho’s brain is going a thousand miles a minute. “A ten. Wouldn’t trade it for the world.” He says it fast, wastes no time in moving forward to remove his own piece. He doesn’t even notice that your cheeks have gone pink again, too busy itching to ask his next question.
“Why do you regret spilling your coffee on Hyunjin?”
Minho watches you, lets his mind wander to the worst possible thing you could say in this situation, and mentally prepares to book it to the bathroom.
You take a deep breath, “I regret it because I wasn’t supposed to spill it on him. I was supposed to spill it on you.”
Wait, what?
Minho blinks. “What are you talking about?”
This is humiliating for you. A terrible thing to have to admit. Up until this moment, you’d thought that this information would follow you to your grave. You press the heel of your palms to your eyes, “This is so embarrassing,” you groan.
Minho pulls one hand away. He’s not really sure what to say, mostly because he’s confused, but, “You can tell me.”
“I had…” you start, looking up at him slowly, “A plan. With Jiwoo.” Minho nods for you to continue. “I’d seen you and Hyunjin walking through the quad a few times, and I thought that you were cute, but I didn't know how to approach you. So I did something stupid and decided that I would literally just crash into you. But I fucked it up.”
I thought that you were cute. The words echo in Minho’s ears like a bell. All this time, all those stolen glances and lingering touches, all the ways you would make hope spike in his chest that maybe you felt the same—they were real.
“So you, wait—” Minho shakes his head, “So you’re telling me that all this time…”
You roll your eyes. “Yes, Min, really. All this time.”
Minho’s never been skydiving, but he imagines that this is what it feels like. Free falling—his soul hurtling towards earth at a horrifying speed, slamming back into his body right here in his living room with a force so strong it would knock him off his feet if he wasn’t already sitting on the floor. You were interested in him first.
Wordlessly, you lean forward, pulling out a piece with practiced ease. Minho waits with bated breaths.
“Can I kiss you?”
Minho feels like he might pass out. “Am I dreaming right now?”
“You didn’t pull out a piece.”
He scrambles forward, clumsily nudging a piece on the side that ends up sending the entire tower toppling over. You smile at him, soft and sweet. “Looks like you have to pay up with an answer. You know, since you lost.”
Minho doesn’t care. “Because I like you,” he breathes out, “I asked you on a date because I like you. I like you so much, ever since I saw you that day. And, funnily enough, I’ve always wished you’d spilled that coffee on me instead, too.��
The confession feels like a weight lifted off his shoulders. He’s spent so long pining after you, laying awake at night thinking about how this would go down if he ever got the chance. He never expected for it to happen like this, much less for you to possibly feel the same.
Panic slowly starts to rise in his chest when you don’t respond. He watches as you reach an arm over, build a small tower out of a few pieces, and then knock it over. You turn to him with a small smile, “Oops, I lost too.”
Minho is so in love with you that it hurts.
“I accepted the date because I like you, Minho. I’ve just been waiting for you to ask.”
He doesn’t think twice before he’s surging forward, cupping your face with one hand and kissing you with a tenderness that has you melting into his touch.
There’s no fireworks behind his eyes, no big bang or grand display of whatever it is that happens in the movies. But there’s a warmth, it starts out small in the center of his chest and spreads throughout his entire body, lights his skin aflame and travels all the way to his fingertips. You’re like that. A gentle presence, someone who worms their way into the very essence of his being and burrows into the deepest parts of him, like it was never his to begin with. Kissing you is slow, and deep, and right. He wouldn’t want it any other way. Minho doesn’t ever want to stop.
He lets his other hand fall to your waist, pulls you closer until you’re practically straddling him with his back against the couch, your knees on either side of his hips. Minho lets out a long, drawn out groan when you tilt his head back farther, his lips parting and allowing you to lick inside of his mouth. It’s so good. So good. He can’t believe he ever lived without knowing what this felt like; lived without ever having you this close before.
After a while, Minho reluctantly pulls back, holding you by the shoulders. When he looks up, your eyes are half-lidded. You look utterly debauched, cheeks pink and lips swollen from how hard they’d been pressed against his own. “We should probably slow down.” He tries hard to convince himself, too. “Talk about it all, you know? I don’t—this isn’t a one time thing for me. I don’t want it to be. I like you. I want you to know that.” He says softly, reaching up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear.
You lean into his hand, smiling when he flattens his palm to let your head rest there. “You’re like, so perfect that I want to kiss you until you forget your own name.”
Minho’s ears go red, his head falling forward until it rests against your collarbone. The feeling of his breath against your skin makes you laugh and run a hand through his hair, rubbing at the back of his neck fondly.
“This is gonna be so bad now that you say stuff like that.”
“Bad? No, I think it’s cute. You’re cute.”
“Shut up,” he whines, but there’s no bite to it. Not when he can look up and press a kiss to your lips. A dream come true. The entire world in his hands, exactly where it was always meant to be.
🏠
In the morning, when Jeongin comes back home, one hand covering his eyes just in case, he calls out,
“Everyone better be dressed! Or else I’m ripping up that napkin and making a new one with No fornicating on the furniture added into the fine print.”
When he doesn’t get a response, he rounds the corner, and finds the two of you nestled into the couch. Minho’s back is pressed into the cushions, his arms wrapped tightly around you as you nuzzle your face into his neck.
Jeongin huffs out a laugh, sends a quick text to Hyunjin that reads: Negative. Clothes are still on. But they’re so cute it’s almost sickening.
He snaps a picture to send to the group chat, grabs a piece of cold pizza, and retreats to his room.
Yang Jeongin Fanclub
jeongin: [Attachment: 1 image]
chan: AWWWWWWW
jiwoo: i’m gonna cry
changbin: dude is that the good pizza from down the street?
hyunjin: FINALLY
hyunjin: wait
hyunjin: does this mean i have to send back his $20?
[tags: @palindrome969 @summergirlsmj @n1staytiny @strwbrrychannie ]
© all rights reserved. godslino 2024. please do not steal, translate, or re-upload.
#lee know x reader#first date series : minho#lee know fluff#lee know angst#skz x reader#lee know fanfic#skz fanfic#lee know fic#skz fic#lee know fanfiction#skz fanfiction#stray kids x reader#stray kids fanfic#stray kids fic#stray kids fanfiction#lee know#godslino#first date series
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Invisible thread- one
pairing : minho x reader
genre : university au, academic rivals to lovers (rivals not enemies because they respect each other), slow burn, fluff, angst.
warnings : reader has a very bad relationship with her mother, insecurities, talk about murder but as a joke, mention of alcohol, reader has she/her pronouns.
summary : Your studies were your lifeline for as long as you can remember. What happens when Minho comes into your life and rips it away from you?
word count : 20k
Author's note : I've been working on this fic on and off for the past two months, so if you do enjoy reading, please let me know. asks, comments, reblogs i read them all and they truly make me the happiest <3 (also i based this off my own college experience, where we study two terms and there is one person on top of the class every semester)
part two
You have always been first in your class.
Not because you particularly enjoyed studying. You simply felt that your worth was solely tied to the marks on your papers.
You never wanted to crumble under the pressure of studies, to hole yourself up in your room for an assignment you won’t remember in a month. But achieving good grades was the only way for you to feel seen; to make someone stop in their tracks and acknowledge you.
A simple “good job” that you preserved inside your mind, as a reminder that you did exist to other people. Considering that the majority of your life was spent in silence.
Your mom put a roof above your head and food on your table, but she never asked about your day, nor did she seem to care. You felt as though you were no more important to her than the tapestry hanging on your wall.
At times, you imagined that if you stood close enough to that tapestry, you could merge with it as one. The intricate embroidery would wrap around you and draw you in. And your mother wouldn’t notice. She would regard you with the same indifference she showed towards that textile- a mere decoration, at times a nuisance when she had to dust it.
You always ate your dinner alone. When you scraped your knee, you tended to the wound by yourself. No one attended your childhood musicals, and you patted your back when you cracked an egg without dropping a shell into the bowl.
You’ve come to learn since your young age that all your milestones, both small and significant, would be celebrated alone.
On the rare times your mother would acknowledge your presence, she’d unleash a flurry of criticism your way as if she was eagerly awaiting the opportunity to strike you down. She'd toss crude comments over her shoulder as easily as a casual hello, leaving you feeling battered and bruised in her wake.
You felt as if you were shoreline rocks, and your mother was the ocean. You never knew if she would be like a gentle tide, barely brushing against you, or an enraged storm, mercilessly crashing down on your being. And you weren't sure which one was worse: to be invisible or to be seen and despised.
That’s why you grew up plagued with self-doubt. You made friends throughout your school years but you never allowed them to get close enough to really see you -you feared that they might glimpse the very thing your mother seemed to despise in you.
Throughout your childhood, you were like soft clay in your mother's hands- pliable, and easy to mold. And she indented you, everywhere, carved in edges and dips where they should not have been ones. Handled you roughly when you should have been treated with care. And as the years went by, you hardened- much like clay, but her touch remained imprinted upon you. It was difficult at times to discern who you were and who she made you to be.
You tried to start anew when you went away to university; to rewire your brain into believing that you were enough- you exist and you shouldn't prove to anyone that you deserved to be alive. But her words haunted you, they were like skeletons in your closet- but the closet was you. You could never part from them.
So, you fell back into the same pattern of seeking good grades and congratulatory words from your professors. Every A+ you got infused you with a momentary sense of worthiness.
But unlike in high school, you weren't always the best. Your competition came in the form of a single man named Minho, who seemed to excel in every class you shared.
Minho was mostly quiet, but whenever he spoke, you found that his words carried weight. Your professors consistently agreed with his points, and you envied the confidence he exuded. You wondered what it must feel like to be so sure of oneself.
It wasn't until a month into the year that you had your first interaction with Minho. You were in your Constitutional Law class when your professor Kim brought up the notion of ‘Separation of Powers’. You were arguing that judges shouldn’t be included in the writings of law when you heard a scoff from the row behind you. You turned around, raising a brow at the culprit, "Is there something you’d like to say?" you asked.
And in response, Minho smiled lazily, an air of smugness surrounding him, "I just don’t agree." The professor urged him to explain himself, so he leaned back into his chair, eyeing you. "Judges are the ones who practice the law every day, and sometimes they find that none of the written texts fit their case. If they get involved in lawmaking, they can help address those gaps or uncertainties."
"Who's to say that those judges aren’t biased or politically motivated? They’ll end up writing laws to fit their own preferences," you pointed out, raising an eyebrow at him. "We elect judges to interpret and apply laws, not make them. If they start writing laws too, we'll be violating the separation of powers between the legislative and judicial branches. That's what keeps our entire system from crumbling."
Minho rested his chin on his hand, tapping his cheek thoughtfully with his index finger. "Aren’t legislators prone to biases too? Your point doesn’t stand then," he challenged, tilting his head to the side, "and judges can participate without going overboard. They can provide input on proposed laws without actually drafting them. That way, we ensure that the laws are crafted with a clear understanding of how they'll be put into practice."
"If your main concern is to ensure that the laws are impartial, we have people who work as consulting experts whose job is exactly that," you flashed him an innocent smile, firing back. "Also, wouldn’t these overstepping branches put the judges in a position to be perceived in a bad light? Is that what you want?"
Before Minho could respond, Mr. Kim intervened, putting an end to your debate, "Let's save this energy for your essays and see who can convince me more."
You gave a quick nod, swiveling in your seat without a backward glance. However, you could sense Minho’s gaze penetrating through your back- as if he was trying to read your most intimate thoughts.
That was the first thing you noticed about Minho when he walked over to you. His eyes were brown, not a special color by any means. But they held a certain depth to them that seemed to draw you in like a black hole. You weren't sure what you would find on the other side, nor did you have any desire to find out.
He outstretched his hands towards you, stopping you in your tracks. "Minho," he introduced and your hand met his in a firm grip. The second thing you noticed about him was the coldness of his hand, as it wrapped tightly around your palm.
Suddenly you were taken back to when you built a snowman for the first and last time. You were just seven and the ice was freezing, numbing your fingers as you worked. Your mother never told you that you should’ve worn mittens, or a thick jacket to fight off the cold when she saw you walking out of the house. The memory of your cold hands and the horrible illness that followed still left a bitter taste in your mouth, like an unripe fruit. With a jolt you dropped his hand, forcefully pulling yourself away from that memory.
"Yn," you said back, and he smiled to himself, repeating your name slowly, each syllable dripping from his tongue.
"We'll see who'll write the best essay, right?" he asked, clearly challenging you. There was a gleam of excitement in his eyes that reminded you of a child gazing up at cotton candy.
That was the third thing you noticed about Minho; how expressive his eyes were. They moved with his every word, punctuating them.
He was infuriating but also amusing. You've never had a clear competitor in your life. Or maybe you had, but you didn't notice them. You were always so reclined on yourself, trying to survive the day, you didn't pay enough attention to your surroundings.
"You want to compete with me?" You asked, and he smirked, leaning against the door, arms crossed in front of his chest. "What? Scared you’d lose?"
"Please." You rolled your eyes at his taunting, "Don’t come crying when I win."
"We’ll see about that!" He shouted after you as you walked ahead, leaving him behind.
This essay was insignificant. A simple way for your professor to assess your knowledge and work approach. And yet, you found yourself staying up all night to complete it. There was no way you were going to let Minho take this one thing from you.
Who were you if not the best in your studies? You were deathly afraid to find out.
Later on that week, the professor handed you your grade back, 98%. You turned around to show Minho your mark, and so did he. You surpassed him, only by mere percents. "I told you so," you smiled cheekily and he pouted, holding a hand to his heart as if your grade wounded him.
"I'll beat you next time", he mouthed and you chuckled, "Whatever helps you sleep at night."
✹✹✹
The first time you studied with Minho was in a cat café near campus, called Limbo, about two weeks after your initial interaction. You stumbled upon it serendipitously while strolling through your university town. You couldn’t study at home, since you were easily distracted in there, and the eerie silence of libraries often left you unsettled.
Limbo, however, offered the perfect middle-ground: it was calm, not overly crowded, and the buzzing of the coffee machine blended harmoniously with the occasional mewls of cats, which helped you concentrate better.
You were sitting in a secluded corner table at the café's back, a sleeping black cat comfortably nestled in your lap when you sensed a shadow loom over you. You glanced up quickly to find Minho. He was clad in a grey hoodie sporting a bunny holding up its middle finger. You had to bite your cheek to suppress a grin at his clothing attire.
"What are you doing here?" He asked.
"You know for someone smart you sure ask stupid questions," you remarked, already looking down at the papers scattered in front of you.
He huffed, taking a seat at the table right next to yours, "I can’t believe that of all places you’ve found this café to study in."
"My apologies, am I disturbing you, your highness?" You asked sarcastically, and in retort, Minho mimicked your words in a high-pitched tone. You threw the pillow right next to you at his head, and Minho swiftly ducked, easily avoiding it. He chuckled loudly while you glared at his laughing figure. That was the end of your conversation that day.
From that moment forward, it became a routine for the two of you to study at Limbo, every Saturday, without fault. You didn’t explicitly plan on it, but it seemed that both of you found it comforting to work there. And you could also tell that, unlike you, it wasn’t Minho’s first time coming to Limbo. He was friends with the owner, a sweet middle-aged man who offered you pastries whenever you stayed there until closing. The cats seemed to know him too, they mewled at his feet whenever he entered and he always greeted them with a soft smile on his face.
You didn’t talk much in those unofficial study sessions, the both of you were consumed by your own work. But you’d steal quick glances at him every now and then, the sight of him so concentrated only fueled you to work harder.
Admittedly, your competition left you feeling anxious for days on end at first. Each time Minho came out on top, you’d found yourself losing your grip. Your studies have been the one anchor keeping you afloat your entire life, and now, Minho was ripping it carelessly away from you. So, you resented him- you were human after all.
But then, you realized that Minho’s taunting wasn’t malicious. He wasn’t competing with you to hurt you, he was doing it for amusement only.
You've slowly started to learn that despite his relentless teasing, Minho had a gentle aura surrounding him. Glimpses of which occasionally emerged like rays of sunshine piercing through a thick cloud cover.
True, he chuckled when you accidentally bumped your head on the table while retrieving a fallen pen. Yet, you also noticed how he began to cover the table's corners with his hand whenever you bent down. He swiftly retracted his hand, seemingly believing you didn't notice, but you did.
During class presentations, he deliberately prepared challenging questions for you, urging you to study twice as hard to ensure no stone was left unturned. Yet, whenever the professor praised your performance, Minho offered a subtle thumbs-up as a gesture of support. He winked at you each time he got the right answer and you didn’t. However, when he noticed you struggling with a particular subject, he scooted closer and patiently explained it to you. He got up before you could thank him, swatting his arm in the air as if he didn’t do anything of significance.
To show your appreciation, you bought him a drink that day he helped you—a simple gesture that sparked an ongoing game of "win a bet, get free food". You bet on who would receive the first mark on an assignment or who would finish an essay first- anything to further deepen the competition between you.
That's how you came to know that he loved puddings, among other things.
Curiously, as the months went by, your mind began to retain these little details about him. How his eyelashes fluttered like butterfly wings when he blinked repeatedly during your conversations. How he glanced at the ceiling when lost in deep thought as if he was waiting for the answers to descend from the sky. Or how his lips take on the shape of an "o" while thinking of his response during one of your many debates. But you supposed that it was natural to take notice of such things when you spend countless Saturday afternoons with the same person.
You were still studying for someone else, in the sense that each time you stayed up working, it was solely to prove your worth to Minho. But at least unlike your mother, Minho's words never haunted you at night.
✹✹✹
Just like that, four months have gone by since you joined your university as a law major. It was nearing finals week and you were preparing it at Limbo. Minho was naturally present too, at his usual table right next to yours.
On the last weekend before the beginning of your finals, you were head-deep into your Criminal Law documents when Minho abruptly got up from his seat and settled in the chair in front of you.
"Yn," he whispers and you glance at him, "What?"
"I have an idea."
"Keep it to yourself," you grin sarcastically, only for him to pick up your spoon and move it around in a threatening manner.
"Are you trying to scare me with a spoon?" you chuckle in disbelief.
"Anything can be a weapon if you use enough force."
"Okay… that was creepy. What do you want?"
"The end of the first term is coming up. So, to celebrate our little rivalry-"
"It's not a rivalry if I’m always winning," you cut him off.
"Yeah, that’s why I have a fridge full of pudding."
"But-"
"Anyways, how about the top of the class takes the other out for dinner? A fancy one." He suggests, his gaze fixed on you.
"No, thank you. I already see you enough in classes."
"Didn’t think you wouldn’t up for a bet. Guess I was wrong," he remarks, a cheeky smile drawn on his lips. He knows you couldn’t possibly say no now.
"Fine," you roll your eyes at his proud expression. "Prepare your wallet."
"Mm, sure," he responds, before rising from his seat once more.
That day, you both lost track of time as you studied in Limbo until it closed down. When you finally stepped outside, stretching your tired limbs, you were met with the sight of falling snowflakes.
"Nooo, go away. I don't want to watch the first snow with you," Minho whines, referring to the superstition that watching the first snowfall with someone could spark love between the two of you.
"As if I could ever love you," you laugh at the ridiculous idea, "that’d just be signing a death warrant."
You resume walking towards your apartment when suddenly something freezing and hard hits your back with enough force to make you stagger. Turning around slowly, you find Minho erupting in laughter, his body filled with uncontainable joy. He’s jumping and clapping excitedly, and for a fleeting moment, you can’t decide if your shock was from the impact or from how beautiful happiness looks on him.
Snapping out of your daze, you swiftly retaliate by scooping up a handful of snow and hurling it at him. "Now you are cold too!" you shout, while he’s still laughing uncontrollably.
Thus begins an impromptu snowball fight between the two of you. Unsurprisingly, you’re being competitive in this too, trying your best to strike each other before the other could recover. But Minho draws nearer to you, and in your desperation to win, you fall to the ground when he throws a snowball at your chest, gasping as if you’re in pain.
"Shit, did I hurt you?" Minho quickly kneels in front of you, concern evident in his voice. It surprises you for a moment- how worried he seems at the prospect of causing you pain.
But you shake that thought off and push him down to the ground, a proud smile on your face. In his fall, Minho instinctively reaches for you to steady himself, which ends up with you landing on top of him. Your faces are mere inches apart, and a soft gasp escapes your mouth at your sudden proximity.
Minho has a mole on his nose. You’ve never noticed that before.
You quickly push yourself off of him, not enjoying being this close to somebody. "Why did you drag me down with you?" you grumble, shaking off the snow from your hair.
"Play stupid games, win stupid prizes," he cheekily stuck out his tongue, and you respond with the same childlike gesture before the both of you burst into loud laughter. The sound reverberates through your entire being, and it echoes in your mind long after the two of you go your separate ways.
As you lay in bed that night, ready to drift off to sleep, a quiet realization dawns on you. This was the first time you've touched snow in since your childhood incident.
That unpleasant memory didn't cross your mind once. Instead, all you thought about was Minho’s infectious laughter, and the surprising warmth it stirred within you.
✹✹✹
You came first in your grade this semester.
True to his words, Minho texted you the name of the restaurant where you’d both meet to celebrate your win. As you got ready for your outing, you couldn’t help the nerves creeping up on you. Studying in silence next to Minho was something, going to a friendly dinner with him was another. You feared it would be too awkward and Minho would regret ever proposing such a thing.
So, as you sit in the refined BBQ restaurant waiting for him, you fidget with your hands, counting down to three in your head in an attempt to steady your breathing.
You were clearly not accustomed to existing with Minho outside of the confines of your studies.
"Did you wait long?" Minho asks as he finally pulls the chair in front of you and you shake your head no.
"Are you nervous?" he chuckles at your lack of words, and you frown, suddenly feeling defensive. "Why would I be nervous? This isn't a date."
"Who said anything about a date?" he smirks and you grab your fork threateningly, pointing it at him, "Don't say anything stupid or I will walk out."
"And stand me up on our first date? That's too mean.” He pouts, a hand on his heart and you can’t help but giggle at his antics. You were ridiculous for being nervous. This was Minho, the one person you’ve talked to the most since the start of this year.
"What will you have?" he asks and you smile mischievously.
"Most expensive thing on the menu."
"So you are only here for the food."
"Well, it's certainly not for your company," you wink and he chuckles, his bunny teeth on full display.
"And here I thought we were going to be civil with each other."
"When are we ever not?" you gasp dramatically and Minho swats your hand with the menu. "Just order whatever," you finally answer," I trust your food judgment."
"I could poison you, you know?" He smiles proudly and you roll your eyes at him, "Can’t you be normal, for once?"
Minho calls over the waiter and places your orders. The food is quick to arrive and Minho starts to grill up the meat, while you cut the Kimchi into smaller pieces.
"Here," he puts the perfectly cooked rib onto your plate first and you smile at him, "Thank you."
"Eat up, don’t wait for me," he tells you and you nod, tasting the flavorful meat.
"Wow this is really good," you compliment and he smirks proudly at your words, "I know."
Minho places four other ribs for you, without eating one himself. You start to feel bad, so you grab his chopsticks, pick up the meat, and move it toward his mouth, "Open up."
"What?" He asks confused and you wave the food in front of his face, "Come on, you haven’t eaten anything."
Minho parts his lips slowly, and you feed the tender meat to him, before eating one yourself. You notice how his cheeks are slightly tinted pink now, and you account it to the intense heat of the grill.
"Oh, let's not talk about studies, my brain can't take another debate with you," you tell Minho in between bites and he grins at you, a gleam of excitement in his eyes. "If you were to dispose of a body, how would you do it?"
"I think our next celebration will be in an asylum." you smile too sweetly at him and he stares at you pointedly, "Please, I know you've already thought about it."
"Fine. Probably in a deserted land. What about you?"
"I'd cut their bodies and then bury each part in a different forest. In a different city."
His answer came too quickly, and you pause in your tracks, "Should I be worried?"
"You are too cute to kill." His tone is sarcastic and you make a show of gushing at his compliment, clasping both of your hands in front of your heart, "Growing soft on me, Minho?"
"Yeah, I’m basically sooo in love with you," he replies with a smirk and you roll your eyes at him, an amused smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.
"What's your favorite color?" you finally ask, changing the subject.
"Purple."
"I'll keep that in mind."
"You'll buy me purple flowers?" He coos at you and you shake your head as you grab the utensil from his hand, to grill the meat your turn.
"No. I'll paint your tombstone purple," you grin and he laughs loudly, eyes squinted close, and you can't find it in you to care that the people next to you are staring.
"What's yours?" he asks when he calms down and you shrug, "Navy blue, I think."
"You do remind me of navy blue."
"And why is that?"
"When you look at it, at first glance, it looks like black. But the more you stare at it, the more layers you uncover. Just like you. There’s more to you than what meets the eye."
You grab your glass of water, gulping it down to hide the way your eyes just glossed over. You suddenly felt bare in front of Minho. How did he know?
You clear your throat, racking your brain for a way to move on from that question. "If you were to describe colors to a blind person, how would you do it?"
"Mm," he looks up at the ceiling as he mulls over your question, "I’d say that yellow is the feeling of eating ice cream on a sunny day, in an amusement park. Your fingers are sticky but your cheeks ache from how much you smiled that day."
"Yellow is carefree and happy."
"Exact. Now your turn, red."
"I’d say that... Red is the thrill that rushes through your veins when you do something you are passionate about, you know? It’s what makes our blood boil and our heart race. The very essence of our humanity."
Minho smiles softly at your words, seemingly agreeing with your description. "Don’t you think it would be easier if we simply asked, what color are you feeling today, instead of a 'How are you'?" He questions and you tilt your head to the side, "What do you mean?"
"Well, you could say, I feel like that moss green that no one seems to pay attention to. Or, I feel bright yellow as if the world's energy is stored inside me."
"And right now, how do you feel?"
"I feel orange, not the ugly orange." He precises and you chuckle, "the orange that paints the sky when the sun is about to dip into the ocean."
"A bittersweet orange, an ending that instantly strings along a new beginning. And you don't have time to rest."
Minho places his chin on his palm, eyeing you curiously, "Is that what you want? To rest?"
"Yeah." You admit quietly, "Don't you sometimes wish that the world would just stop, for a few seconds? Just like in a song, right before the beat drops. That silence, I wish I could live inside of it."
"I do too."
You both hold each other’s gaze for a while after that. You felt as if he was keeping you captive with his brown eyes, and he was slowly peeling each of your layers, in silence, as you were peeling his. For the first time, you think that you and he are similar, more than on a studies level. There was a part of his soul that understood yours perfectly. And it felt good, to be understood, for once.
"If you lived in this silence, what would you be doing?" he asks, breaking the serene quiet that surrounded you.
"I’d open a café that had books. And there'd be a little space, where people could paint. Or do pottery. And I’d have cats in there too." You reply excitedly, hands moving around in the air, you end up missing the way Minho gazes fondly at you before his smile morphs into a smirk.
"Please tell me you won't be cooking."
"Shut up. What about you?"
"I’d be a dancer."
"You dance?!" you whisper-shout and he frowns at the surprised look on your face.
"Yeah. Why are you looking at me like this?"
"I just never expected it. Can I-"
"No." he cuts you off immediately and you pout.
"I didn't even finish."
"I knew what you were going to say."
"Please, I won't make a sound I’d just watch. Pinky promise.” He grabs your now outstretched pinky with the tip of his index and thumb, lowering it down.
"I’d only grant you this wish when you’re on your deathbed."
"Bold of you to assume you'd still be around."
"Death might be around the corner."
"Stop it."
"Close your door tonight."
"You are deranged."
Minho chuckles at the crestfallen look on your face, "I’ll think about it."
Just like that, three hours of talking have gone by, the conversation flowing easily between the two of you. And when you finally leave the restaurant, Minho grabs you a cab and you wave him off with a smile. You couldn't lie to yourself, you had a really good time with him. You liked to think that Minho was no longer just a rival, but a possible friend.
But now that you were laying in your bed, you couldn’t help but curse Minho in your brain. His repetitive talk about murder made you paranoid, and now every creak in your apartment made you feel as if death was really right around the corner.
You decide to text him, figuring that if you couldn’t sleep because of him, you could at least disturb him for a bit.
Yn : I hate you I'm paranoid from your murder talk
Minho : Poor baby
Yn : Is that you at my door?
Suddenly your phone rings, the shrill sound echoing around your apartment. It was a Facetime call from Minho. You panic for a few seconds, before remembering that you just spent your entire night with him. A call can’t be more daunting than a real-life meeting.
"See, I’m in my home," he tells you as soon as you pick up and you laugh.
"It's pitch black, I can't see."
"Just say you miss my face." You can’t see him but you can clearly hear the proud grin in his voice.
"What's there to miss?"
"Are you actually scared?" Minho asks gently and you clear your throat, feeling ridiculous all of the sudden.
"There is a tree right outside my window and it keeps rustling from the wind," you grumble and Minho laughs at you.
"Trees can't hurt you."
"No shit Sherlock."
"Close your eyes.” He instructs and you frown at his words.
"Why?"
"I’ll tell you a story."
"Fine.” You close your eyes tentatively. It’s quiet for a few seconds and you feel yourself relax slightly.
"So, I bought a sous-vide machine and-"
"Is your bedtime story going to be about meat?"
"Yes?” He replies as if it’s an evidence, “Now be quiet." You pretend to zip your mouth and Minho faintly giggles, before resuming his story. "So, I was saying. I bought one and I wanted to experience different kinds of meats. So, I bought a 30-day aged one and a 58-day aged one and I cooked them both."
"What did you use?" you ask quietly.
"Just garlic, and thyme, I didn't want to overpower the taste of meat. Anyways I cooked them, but I didn't have plastic bags so I had to go out and buy them."
"Mm," you hum in acknowledgment. You could feel your nerves slowly dissipate with Minho's every word. His story might be ridiculous but his honey-coated voice compensated for it, wrapping around you like a protective cocoon.
"And I found pudding there so I had to buy it."
"Obviously," you whisper. Sleep was knocking on your door, but paradoxically you tried to fight it off. You wanted to hear the rest of Minho’s story.
"And I went back home and I cooked it, then I plated it nicely with vegetables that I sauteed with butter and garlic. Just mushrooms and potatoes, nothing too fancy. Again, my main focus was the meat. But there wasn't a difference between the two. They tasted the same for me, for some reason. And I didn't like this because the aged one was very expensive. Maybe I was scammed. Honestly, that butcher looked kind of suspicio..."
Your quiet snores make Minho pause in his tracks, and he laughs quietly. You did end up falling asleep. He can't see your face clearly, but he can see its outline and he stares at you for a while. You look peaceful.
He goes to hang up but his finger hovers over the 'end call' button. You aren't talking, but your hums are quiet enough that they fill up the space around him. It calms him down, and he lets his head fall on the pillow, his phone lying beside him.
He closes his eyes, thinking that maybe he just found the silence you talked about earlier on.
You just made his world stop.
✹✹✹
The second semester had just started and with it the return of frat parties. You were excited at the prospect of going to one with your new friend Mina. You met her in the library when you both went to grab the same book. You quickly apologized but she waved you off, handing you the book with a huge smile on her face. She was bubbly, like a human serotonin boost, and she started gushing about how much she loved the author. You saw her again in the campus cafeteria, and she skipped towards you as if you've both known each other your entire life. That was the start of your friendship.
You walk into the frat house, both your arms encircling each other. The flashing lights of the party blind you for a moment, and it takes you a while to adjust to the loud music bouncing off of the walls. But you like it, it was like a shield from the outside world and its problems.
You feel yourself letting loose in the crowd, swaying your hips to the music. Mina spins you around and you laugh, dancing with no care in the world. It was just the both of you in that instant.
Mina spots Jeongin in the crowd, a friend of hers that she had an immense crush on. You couldn’t blame her- he was very attractive; his easy smirk and his blonde tousled hair earned him lots of appreciative looks from the people around him. But when his eyes locked with Mina’s, you found that his face morphed into a beautiful smile, that made his dimples look on full display, as if it was only reserved for her.
“Go get your man!” You shout in her ears, so she’d be able to hear you.
“What are you talking about?” She yells back, but you could see the nervous smile on her face.
“He likes you! Go talk to him!”
“I don’t want to leave you alone. We came together!” She clasps your hand in hers and you smile touched by her kind spirit.
“I’ll be fine. I’ll go to the kitchen to get some drinks. Go have fun!”
“You are sure?” She asks, her eyes darting between you and Jeongin, who was still looking at her, and her only.
“Yes! Go!” You say, gently pushing her away. Mina jogs up to Jeongin who greets her with a side hug. He quickly glances at you and you shoot him a thumbs-up, to which he grins. You loved playing Cupid.
With that, you decide to head to the kitchen to grab a drink. You pick a beer from the fridge, double-checking if the can is closed before opening it.
You lean on the countertop, sipping on your drink while you watch the crowd, humming along each time a song you knew played. You enjoyed watching people dance freely from afar, with no apparent care in the world.
You feel someone stand next to you and you brace yourself, getting ready to tell the person off if they decide to bother you. You didn’t have the energy for mindless flirting. But then, you smell the cologne that has lingered around you for the past term- Minho. You haven't seen him since your dinner. That was a month ago.
"Fancy seeing you here," he greets as he leans on the counter right next to you, his eyes fixated on the mingling bodies.
You turn around to face him, faking an outraged gasp, "Are you following me?"
"Mmm. You look nice", he compliments and you smile cheekily, "I know."
"Won't tell me I look nice too?" he smirks, leaning closer to your face. "Someone didn’t get enough compliments tonight?" You pout, placing a hand on your heart in mock concern.
"I did, but I want to hear it from you. You’re the only sensible person in this room."
"You look nice. Now leave me alone."
"Come on, I know you can do better than that", he jokes and you roll your eyes, muttering “You’re annoying”, under your breath.
Still, you comply, placing your arms on top of the counter and leaning your head on them to get a better look at him. He does the same, smiling, and you both stare at each other for a while after that.
The strobing lights dance on Minho’s face, casting enticing shadows on him. You've always known he was a beautiful man; you've looked into his eyes far too many times in your heated conversations. But this time was different, there was no cheeky smirk on his face nor a furrow in his eyebrows. He was simply looking at you, and it made a pool of warmth huddle in your belly. You feel yourself relax under his gaze, everything around you seemingly melts away.
You weren’t wrong when you thought that his eyes were like a black hole, pulling you in. But this time, you realize that you didn’t mind knowing what was on the other side. On the contrary, you longed for it.
"I like your eyes right now. They remind me of the night sky. Black, with tiny little stars littered in them," you finally say.
Minho is taken aback by your words, he wasn't expecting you to compliment him, let alone to tell him something so special. He can feel his cheeks burn red at your words, feel his heart hammering in his chest. He's afraid you can hear it too.
He doesn't know what to say, so instead he clears his throat, plastering a smirk on his face, "I heard better." He hasn't. This is the first genuine compliment he's ever gotten.
"Oh, fuck off," you laugh and he joins you. The music was loud and yet the only sound his ear seemed to pick up was your laugh.
"Are you here alone?" He asks, and you shake your head no, "Came with my friend Mina."
"Did she leave you by yourself?" He frowns and you feel yourself warm up at his worried tone. "I told her to go talk to Jeongin."
"Next time, don’t stay alone."
“Fine, Dad.” You chastise and he stares pointedly at you, "I’m serious, yn."
You take another swing of the beer before turning your body fully towards Minho. After a few beats of silence, you finally ask a question that has been on your mind for a while. "Why do you say my name this way?"
"What way?" He questions and you shrug, "Slowly. People used to always rush it but you don’t."
"Well, it’s a pretty name. It deserves to be pronounced as a whole."
You beam at his words; you smile so brightly it makes his heart skip a beat. This is the first time you’ve grinned this widely at him, no hand in front of your mouth as if to hide it. He did notice how you were a reserved person outside of class, as if you were afraid of taking up too much place. But he could tell you were slowly unraveling, growing bolder with each passing month. He wanted to tell you that if people like you spoke more, the world would be a far better place.
But he couldn't bring himself to say all of this, so he forced those bubbling words down his throat. "I’m hungry," he whines instead and you laugh at his pout. "I'm kind of craving a greasy pizza."
"Should we go buy it? You can tell Mina to come so we can walk her back."
"I’ll ask her."
You shoot Mina a text, asking her where she was and telling her about your plan. She replies that she’s with Jeongin who just offered to take her home, so you could leave without her.
"We can go." You tell him and he nods. Minho shrugs his leather jacket off, gently placing it on your shoulders. His warmth engulfs you and you sink further into it. His arm hovers around your shoulder not touching you as he leads you out of the party. He has never touched your body, you note, it's like he was everywhere and nowhere at once.
You both walk to an open parlor near the frat house, and you order a Margarita pizza to share. You sit down on a nearby bench to eat it- the night breeze too liberating to pass up on.
As you both finish eating, a cat with white and orange stripes all over her body approaches the both of you cautiously, and you pat her head softly. "Aren't you the cutest thing ever?" you coo and Minho chuckles as he scratches the cat’s chin. She purrs at his touch appreciatively, and you smile at the soft look on his face.
"Never knew you to be this gentle", you giggle and Minho shushes you, "Let's not do this in front of the cat."
"Why are you acting as if we are a divorced couple and she’s our child."
"Easy, yn. You make it sound as if you want me to marry you."
"Now you're just projecting," you chastise and he laughs, eliciting giggles from you. He had a melodic laugh, you noticed, and you always felt a surge of pride whenever you made him close his eyes and tip his head from laughter. You felt as if it's a sight only you can see.
"I have three cats", he says softly and you gasp, "Really? We spent all of our Sundays in a cat café and this is when you tell me?"
"I only tell my friends."
"So we're friends now?" You gush and he rolls his eyes at you, "I take it back."
"What’s their names?" You ask curiously and his eyes soften at your question- you could easily tell he loved them dearly.
"Soongie, Doongie, and Dori. They are rescues."
"That’s very sweet of you Minho."
"Most of my scars come from them though," he chuckles but you sober up at his words, quietly scratching the cat's ears.
"What’s on your mind?" He asks and you glance at him. It was scary how well he’s starting to know you. But it was also nice; to be known is to exist, after all.
"I just... Sometimes I wish that memories would leave physical scars on you. Because at least then, you could treat them, put a band-aid on, and watch them fade away day by day. Because when the scars are emotional, you can’t treat them, you know? And someday someone brings up a name or a place, or you smell a certain scent, and suddenly they reopen as if no time has gone by at all.”
Minho stays silent for a while, mulling over your words. You don't mind, you weren't expecting him to comfort you. You just needed to free those words from the mental prison you've held them in for so long.
"Do you know Kintsugi?" he finally asks and you shake your head no.
"It's a Japanese art. They put back together broken vases with molten gold. It represents strength despite our flaws."
"That sounds nice," you sigh wistfully and he nods.
"It is. When you look at that vase, you know that it was once broken, but it doesn't take away from its beauty, on the contrary, it adds to it. Scars, whether they are emotional or physical are there for a reason. They remind us of how we pushed through whatever life threw at us."
"Am I supposed to be grateful I survived this?" You chuckle lowly, as your hand scratches the cat’s ear. Your fingers brush against Minho’s and you hesitate for a few seconds before moving them away.
"I wouldn't say grateful for what you went through," he speaks once again, "but grateful to yourself. At the end of the day, the reason why you're still here is you. You put yourself back together," he then bumps his elbow into your side softly, "and hey, even if your scars reopen there will come a time when they wouldn’t anymore. Sometimes, it takes a while to be okay again."
This was Minho’s way of telling you that someday it wouldn’t hurt anymore. That someday you’d be okay. And you needed to hear that. You needed to hear someone else other than yourself tell you that.
"Thank you, Minho, I needed that", you smile at him and he grins back at you before his smile turns to a smirk. "I charge 15 dollars for the hour by the way."
"Oh, come on! You didn't even say something revolutionary." You are lying. Minho's words will echo in your mind long after this night- a beacon of light to hold onto.
"Oh, so now it’s no longer ‘I needed that’. Tsk," he jokes a smirk still plastered on his face.
"Okay, Mr. Therapist. I’ll pay for your coffee tomorrow, sounds good?"
"I should have you as my client more often," he winks and you laugh, head tipped back. You were grateful more than ever for his teasing, loving how it wasn’t awkward between you after your discussion.
"You are a good listener." You tell him as you stand up, dusting your pants.
"I’m good at everything," he grins cheekily at you and you roll your eyes playfully, "And here I thought we were having a moment."
You both start walking side by side toward your home when Minho speaks again. His tone is quiet as if he wasn’t sure he wanted you to hear him. "About earlier, your compliment, I mean. I suppose I didn't thank you. So, thank you," he scratches the tip of his ears and you shrug nonchalantly. "It's the truth. You might get on my ass but that doesn't change the fact you are a pretty man."
He doesn’t respond and you tug at the sleeve of his shirt playfully, "You won't tell me I’m pretty too?"
"But then I’d be lying."
"Asshole."
"Pretty," he replies without missing a beat.
You laugh loudly, hand tightly clutching your stomach and he joins you. There is a newfound lightness in your steps now. Unbeknownst to him, Minho just managed to lift a small weight off your shoulders, allowing you a brief moment of respite.
"This is me," you say when you arrive in front of your apartment block, "Thank you for walking me home."
"Of course. Don't dream of me."
"Idiot," you laugh waving him off and he does the same. "Oh, and text me when you get home safely!" you shout before heading inside.
For the second time this night, Minho is blushing profusely at your words. He sighs to himself, waiting patiently until a light turns on in your place to leave.
✹✹✹
It’s been two months since the start of the new term. You still went to Limbo, every Saturday with Minho- even when you didn’t need to study.
Sometimes you’d just grab a book and you’d both read, a cat lazily lounging at your feet. You started sitting at the same table too; you figured it was easier since one of you always pays for the other. When you have a bet, but also randomly, when you notice that the other person is feeling down and you want to cheer them up without saying anything.
That's why you bought three bubble teas for Minho in a row. He was quieter these days, you noticed. He didn’t talk to you nor did he retort back in class. It was the first time you’ve seen him this way. As if he was a simple shell of the person he usually is.
You were walking out of your Communications Strategies class, which Minho weirdly didn’t come to when you realized that it was pouring rain. You smile lightly to yourself, grateful since you thought about picking up an umbrella this morning.
As you walk through campus, everyone around you running to take shelter, you spot someone sitting on a bench, completely drenched from the rain. Their head is hung low and you frown to yourself. They would surely get a cold if they stay there.
But then the person raises their head and you quickly realize it's Minho. You jog up to him instinctively, standing in front of him and shielding him from the rain with your umbrella.
He looks up at you and you feel your heart clench. His eyes are void of emotion and he stares blankly at you. "Are you okay?" you ask and he blinks at your words, as if his brain hadn't yet registered that you were there.
"Yeah."
"You don't look like it", you tilt your head to the side and he looks down again. You have to strain to hear his next words, muffled by the rain and his mumbling, "I don't want to talk, yn."
You decide to put away your umbrella and sit down next to him on the bench. The rain falls rapidly on both of you, and you feel yourself grow cold from it.
"What are you doing?" He questions, turning to the side to look at you.
"Enjoying the rain. It is kind of stupid that we have umbrellas, right?"
"You'll catch a cold."
"I mean we always complain about the drought and then when it rains, we hide from it. But it's really beautiful."
"Stop, I don't want you to get sick."
"Well, neither do I. Let's go eat some soup. My treat."
"Yn, I don’t-"
"I thought you were smart enough to know I won't take no for an answer."
"But I-" you cut him off again. "Also, I’m doing this for me because when you order for two, they give you a lot of side dishes. Now come on."
You stand up and he looks doubtfully at you, before following suit. You open up the umbrella again and hold it over both of your heads. He has to huddle close to you, and your shoulders brush against each other. Once, twice. Not that you're keeping count. But your body is always hyper-aware of Minho’s proximity. You also notice how he silently moves from your right to your left, this way he's the one walking right next to the speeding cars. Your hold on the umbrella tightens. You were still not used to those small attentions of his.
You arrive in front of your apartment block and he hesitates. "Come up, I won't murder you I promise." You joke and he smiles lightly back at your words. Progress.
He enters your dorm and you can see him eying his surroundings. You know that if it was another time, he would have teased you about something- anything. But he stays quiet, and you find yourself missing the sound of his voice.
"Would you like to shower?" You offer and he nods, "Please."
You lead him to your bathroom and show him where the washing machine is. "Put your clothes in there for a quick wash and dry. You can shower meanwhile."
He nods again as you hand him a towel. "I'll be outside."
You quickly leave the bathroom to place the soup orders, and Minho discards his wet clothes, walking into your shower. The water is piping hot, and he leans his forehead on the cold tiles. He doesn’t move for the first ten minutes, too tired at the prospect of lifting his limbs.
Nothing particular happened. But he’d go through days when he’d quiet down because everything around him was too much. The feel of his clothes against his skin, and the sun streaming through his curtains. But it always passes. Minho was a realistic man and he knew that his emotions would regulate themselves. That’s why he didn’t like appearing vulnerable in front of other people.
But for some reason, he didn’t mind lowering his guard with you. He knew you wouldn’t judge.
He sighs, grabbing your cherry-scented shampoo and pouring it into his hands. He can clearly smell you now. The scent of your hair that always tickles his nose, whenever you are sitting close to him. Your body wash is next and he wonders if this is how your skin smells, like vanilla and jasmine, and something entirely you.
Forty minutes later, Minho finally steps out of the shower. His clothes are clean and he quickly puts them on. He dries his hair with the towel as he walks out of your bathroom towards the living room.
He finds you sitting on the ground, in front of a heater that looks close to giving up. He makes a mental note of giving you the one he has since he doesn't really use it. You changed out of your clothes too, and you are now wearing a pair of pajamas with little bunnies sewn into it. The sight almost manages to make him smile.
"Still cold?" you question when you notice him standing behind you, unmoving, and he shakes his head no.
"Good, the soup is here." You say cheerfully, pointing at the steaming bowls sitting on your table. Minho hums in reply and you stand up, grabbing the towel from his hands to place it on the drying rack.
You come back, a soft green blanket in your hands. You sit on the couch and pat the spot beside you. Minho sits next to you, and you lay the blanket on both of your laps, before handing him his soup.
You start the show you’ve been last watching, as you both eat in silence, your legs crisscrossed. You make some comments throughout the episodes. You figured that it was a safe territory, to talk about something as mundane as this. He didn't reply but you didn't mind. You weren't here to have a conversation with him. You just wanted to distract him.
You realize at that moment that Minho always looked so put together to you. But he had problems of his own too. That much was obvious. It made you feel closer to him, in a sense. You were both just trying to make it through the day.
Two hours later, you get up to grab a book, handing Minho the remote to put on a show of his own. You curl in a ball in the corner, reading where you left off last night.
"Can you... Can you read out loud?" Minho speaks for the first time in a while and you look at him. His eyes are closed, his head resting against your couch.
"Sure."
You start to read, and Minho further sinks into the couch. He feels at home here. Because the blanket is soft and the light is dim enough to not hurt his eyes. Or it could be that he smells like you, a scent so comforting he wants to bury himself in it. Or maybe it's your voice that floats through the air, slowly clouding Minho’s every sense. He feels as if he could see the words you were pronouncing dancing in front of his eyes. You enunciated each syllable clearly, making sure that no sound was forgotten.
As Minho gently drifted to sleep, he felt as if he was part of the words you read out loud. He felt as if you were treating him with the same care, making sure that he knew he wasn't invisible. At least not to you.
When you wake up the next morning, Minho is gone. And his place beside you on the couch is empty. He made you breakfast, scrambled eggs, and freshly pressed orange juice. And right next to it you find a note, "Thank you for reading to me."
✹✹✹
Minho didn't believe in having a lot of friends. He was content with the two people he had, Chan and Changbin. The latter was his high school friend, he skipped a year and ended up being in the same class as Minho. They didn't talk at first until the day Changbin dropped a book on Minho's foot. The brooding man started apologizing profusely, and that was the start of their friendship. They've kept in touch since.
Chan was his roommate at university. It's not that he particularly wanted to befriend him, but Chan was a social butterfly and he quickly managed to pull Minho into his friendly trap. He annoys Minho the most, but in an endearing way. And although Chan is older, Minho still strangely developed a soft spot for him.
And he supposes he has you too now. At first, you weren’t friends, rivals at most. He enjoyed reeling you up and having you frown at his words in your heated debates. He also liked talking to you, because your ideas were interesting and you always gave him a new fresh perceptive to see things.
That’s how he strictly saw you as, an intelligent human who he liked to debate with.
But then he started to look forward to meeting up with you at Limbo. He no longer minded the fact that you took his self-assigned table, from his high school days. And he laughed more freely with you, enjoying how you always had a witty retort sitting at the tip of your tongue.
That’s how he started to notice things that friends most definitely notice. How you have a charm bracelet you always fidget with whenever you are nervous. How you stray away from physical touch. How you scratch your eyebrow when you are deep in thought.
But also, how you seem to have an obsession with cherries. Your cherry pendant, your cherry-scented shampoo, and your cherry-tainted lips. A friend would most certainly think that your lips are like red wine-stained glass.
He remembers one of the many times when you were at Limbo, and he saw you reapply your lip tint, or so you called it. You caught him looking and he swiftly averted his gaze, but it wasn't quick enough. Suddenly you were in front of him, a tiny red bottle in hand.
"Let me apply it to you," you smiled and he pushed your head away with his pointer finger. "No."
"Please," you pouted and he couldn't help but find you adorable. You sometimes reminded him of a small kitten. But he didn’t dare to call you by that nickname.
"Never."
"If I score more than you in our environmental assignment then I will do it."
"Fine." he huffed so that you'd leave him alone.
Minho didn't study for that assignment. He blamed it on a headache, not that it's ever stopped him before. And two weeks later you were in front of him, eyebrows scrunched in concentration. You applied the lip tint gently on his plump lips, carefully tracing over his cupid bow.
Your face was mere inches away from his and he noticed how you were wearing a gloss today, for change. It was shimmering under the lights and he usually didn't like glittery things, but he couldn't take his eyes off your lips.
"All done!" you clapped excitedly, snapping him out of his haze. You then shove your phone camera into his face so he'd look at the results.
"You should be a model. Your face is perfectly sculpted," you comment nonchalantly, before sitting back in your seat.
“I know.” He replies confidently, but his hand kept fiddling with the tip of his now pink ears. He couldn't concentrate for the rest of the night.
You were his friend because he always worried if you were eating enough. That’s why he urged you to grab a bite in the convenience store near Limbo, whenever you finished up your studying late.
This was one of the many times you sat on the minuscule table outside, hot ramen bowls in front of the both of you. Minho huffed in annoyance between each bite, his bangs were getting longer, disturbing him when he leaned down to slurp his noodles.
“Here,” you stand up from your place, a hair tie in your hands.
“What are you doing?” He questions as you stand behind him. You don’t reply, silently grabbing his hair and putting it up in a tiny ponytail, this way it wouldn’t get in his eyes anymore.
“Voila,” you sit back down, resuming your eating. Minho was grateful for the dimly lit street because his entire face was burning up. Your fingers in his hair were gentle and he wondered how it would feel if you ran your fingers through it.
This was something friends think about, right?
"I’ll cut my hair tomorrow," he clears his throat. He didn't know why he told you. You certainly weren't interested in his hair endeavors.
"What?!" you yell, "Don't. Your hair is beautiful why would you cut it?"
"Because it's getting longer."
"But it suits you."
Minho also noticed how you always threw compliments his way. Not in a flirtatious way, but in a genuine one. He couldn't help but wonder what made you this way. Did you so freely give love to others because you knew how it felt to not receive it?
"I’ll still cut it."
Minho returned home; his hair still clipped back in a ponytail. Chan eyed him weirdly but he shut him off with a glare. The elastic remained at his bedside since.
He didn't cut his hair.
The moment Minho started to consider you a close friend, was when you invited him over to watch your show. You didn’t force him to open up that night, and he appreciated it, more than he let on.
That's how a week later, he finds himself walking towards your dorm again. The thoughts in his head got too much, and Chan was immersed in his makeshift studio, which meant he won't be free for the next four hours, minimum.
He didn't plan on going to you. It was late at night and you were probably asleep, but his feet naturally led him to the direction of your place.
He knocks softly on your door. He wasn't even sure if he wanted you to open. What would you think of him showing up at eleven pm? He should have thought this thro-
"Minho?" you call out, and he startles a bit, his feet already inching away from the door.
"This was a bad idea, I'm sorry," he starts to retract back but you grab the hem of his jacket to stop him. "Do you... Do you want to watch my show with me?" you ask, a soft smile on your face and he nods tentatively.
"Okay, come in," you open the door wider and Minho follows you inside. The look in his eyes reminds you of the day you found him sitting under the rain. You didn't like it, you wanted him to find his spark back, his usual demeanor. He wasn't deserving of anything but happiness.
"I’ve started a new show, this one's a bit more romantic, so don't go around imagining me as the main character," you tease and he scoffs at your words, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
He doesn't reply, but you don't mind. There was this secret agreement between the two of you, you would talk and he would listen. He needed the distraction, and you needed the company. Sometimes the line between alone and lonely blurs, and on days like these, Minho’s presence fills the void inside.
You comment on the scenes and Minho hums in reply, you watch three episodes in a row, and your eyes are getting drowsy, so you close them.
"Minho," you call out gently and he turns his head towards you.
"Yeah?"
"What color are you feeling tonight?" You ask, referencing to what he told you on your dinner celebration. That felt like an eternity ago.
"Black." You stay silent and Minho fidgets with his hands before speaking once again. "I feel a lot at the same time, too much of every color. That's why- that's why I said black."
"How can I help you feel yellow?"
"You already do." His admission came softly and it made your breath hitch in your throat. You wanted to open your eyes and look at him, but you figured it will only make him close off even more.
“Okay. Will you stay for breakfast?”, you whisper. You were very sleepy, the soft chatter of the TV and your hushed conversation were like a lullaby to you.
"You want me to?" he asks, and he sounds so vulnerable you can't find it in you to say anything but the truth.
"I do," you admit, and that's the last thing you remember before sleeping.
Your head falls near Minho’s lap on the couch, your hair tickling his exposed thigh. Minho shouldn’t feel this way, he thinks. He’s sitting on the leather couch and his feet are touching the cold floor and yet all he can feel is three strands of your hair tickling him.
He glances at you, at your now parted lips and your relaxed eyebrows. His hand hovers over your hair, but then he curls it into a tight fist. What is he doing? He thinks to himself as he drags an angry hand through his face. He sighs, before standing up and grabbing the blanket you had on the opposing chair. He gently lays it on your body before sitting next to you once again.
You told him to stay for breakfast. He’ll stay.
✹✹✹
2 months later
"Yn!" Minho shouts in your ear as he plops down next to you. You startle, dropping the book you were reading.
"I hate you," you grumble, picking up your book and he smiles cheekily at you, "No you don't."
You were laying on the grass of your campus garden, in between two classes, trying to kill the time. It was April so the weather was perfect for lying under the warm sunrays. You loved spring, it always held within it the promise of a better time.
"What are you doing?"
"I was reading before you got here and started to annoy me."
"Don't mind me. Do your thing."
"And what are you doing?"
"Enjoying the sun."
"You couldn't find any other place to do so?"
"Nope."
"You're annoying" You try to sound mad but the smile on your face betrays you. You started looking forward to any moment Minho randomly shows up throughout your day. Sometimes it's late at night when he's suddenly craving sushi and he drags you with him because if he's not studying then you shouldn't be too.
Sometimes it's during the day, when he takes you to a new garden where he found the quote "cutest cats in existence". Not as cute as his cats, of course.
Sometimes it's late afternoon when he just knocks on your door, and he's there with Chan-his roommate who sometimes joins your study sessions- snacks in their hands. You've learned that what Minho doesn't say in words, he compensates by spending time with you. And you didn't tell him but waiting for these moments has been the joy of your life for the past few weeks.
It made you feel excited- like a child waiting up for Christmas morning to discover what gifts they are receiving.
So, you resume reading, as Minho is lying next to you. You could smell his pinewood cologne and you wished you could pour his essence into a bottle and carry it with you everywhere.
You notice how the sun is hitting Minho’s eyes directly, and how his eyebrows are scrunched up at the aggression. So, you grab your book with your left hand, and hover your right one over his eyes, shielding him from the sun. Minho's breath tickles your hand and you can feel goosebumps rising through your skin.
It's as if every physical proximity with Minho made you feel hyperaware of every part of your body, and how he can lighten it with a simple breath from his part. It made you wonder what it would feel to have his hands on your skin.
As if Minho heard your thoughts, he gently wraps his thumb and index finger around your wrist, steadying your hand in place so it wouldn't strain your arm. You suddenly don't know what page you are in, too overwhelmed by the feeling of his hands on you.
His touch is very featherlight and you are afraid to move, to break the bubble you are suddenly pulled into.
"Read to me," he tells you and you gulp. You never understood why Minho enjoyed it when you read to him.
"Like my voice that much?" you tease, in an attempt to hide how affected you are. You were so close to him; it would be easy to slide down and lay your head on his chest. You wondered how his heartbeat would sound. Was it steady, or racing just like your own?
"Yeah, it's calming," he replies sincerely, catching you off guard. You didn't expect him to compliment you, and now you are racking your brain for a retort, anything to make you breathe again.
"Growing soft on me Minho?" you say, the same question you asked on your first dinner out. The first time you truly saw him, the first time you felt as if you were two pieces of the same puzzle, just waiting for someone to connect the both of you.
He doesn't reply. And you sit there, patiently waiting. His first answer came so easily, so naturally, because he was being sarcastic, "I’m basically in love with you", he told you back then. So why can't he say it again?
"Yes, I am." He finally replies and you feel your breath catch in your throat. You try to account it for your brain misguiding you. It wasn't Minho speaking, it was the rustling of the leaves and the singing of the birds that you just heard. But it was him, and now his eyes are open and he's looking at you. Your hand is still shielding his eyes and his fingers are still wrapped around your wrist. And you are suddenly feeling. You are feeling too much. You don't know what to do with those feelings cursing through your veins and you can't face them. Because they are scaring you.
"I'll just... Yeah, I’ll just read," you say quietly, too flustered by his intense gaze. You were already on the other side, you realize. His eyes pulled you in and you were stuck in there, swimming in a pool of honey.
"Out loud," he says and you chuckle, "Fine, Min." The nickname slips out of your tongue naturally and you quickly snap your head towards Minho to see if he noticed.
His eyes are closed, and there is a slight smile on his face, and you can swear that he just repeated the nickname to himself softly.
✹✹✹
You've been so sick these past days, you barely managed to go to class. Your head throbbed with pain and your entire body felt as if someone thoroughly boxed it.
You were grateful that Minho reeled down his teasing because you had no energy to retort back. He may have noticed how sick you felt and truthfully it would be hard not to. You stayed silent throughout the day, and you looked so pale, you avoided looking at the mirror altogether.
Though Minho didn't talk to you, he still silently placed water bottles and some of your favorite snacks on your desk. You'd down the water, grateful for the relief it brought your sore throat. And when you didn't touch the food, he'd immediately text you 'Eat up', followed by a simple 'Please'. Having someone else care for your well-being felt weird, but it warmed your heart beyond what words could describe.
You only came today to pass your Criminal Law mid-term, but your head hurt so badly that you weren't even sure what you wrote on your paper. The words blurred in front of your eyes and you almost slept in the middle of your exam, exhaustion threatening to take over your body.
You fucked up, badly. You haven't screwed up this much in years.
You thought that you were slowly getting better since Minho surpassing you no longer sparked an unworthy feeling within you. But apparently, you were wrong to believe so. Self-doubt crept up within you once again, and the ugly feelings it stirred slowly clawed at your throat, making it hard for you to breathe.
It was one test, and yet it reeled you back ages ago.
Tears threaten to spill out of your eyes as you hurriedly walk out of your class. You make a beeline for the library, figuring that it will be mostly empty by now.
You pull out a chair and sit on it, lowering your head down so no one will see you. Your tears are falling rapidly and you hit your thigh repeatedly. You hated how weak you felt in that instant.
"Yn?", someone calls out and you curse internally. You don't have to look up to see who it is, Minho's voice has become a part of you- you could easily recognize it between a thousand mingling sounds.
You don't want him to see you, especially not like this, weak and vulnerable and on the verge of breaking down. So you quickly slip a pair of sunglasses on your eyes, before raising your head to look at him. "Hm?"
"Are you okay?" he asks, his tone so soft it makes you want to cry ten times fold. You hated it, hated how attentive he was to you. You didn't deserve it.
"Yeah, yeah. I'm just here to pick a book," you lie, abruptly standing up and heading toward the rows behind you. You desperately needed to get away from him.
You pause in front of a random shelf and then you feel Minho standing behind you. You grab a random book and he peeks above your shoulder to see it, "Economics? You hate this subject."
"Why are you following me?" you turn around attempting your best to sound mad. When in reality, your heart was brimming with hurt. You wished you could get away from your body and seep into someone's soul to feel what it's like to love yourself.
"You aren't okay," he asserts and you hate it. You hate that he sounds so sure of himself. Was it that noticeable? Were you not fooling anyone?
"I am," your voice is shaking but you are adamant about contradicting him. You couldn't let him see you. What if he runs?
"Then..." he steps forward and you take a step back until your back is against the shelf. His left arm cages your body, but his right one stays by his side. He is leaving you an opening, you realize, an outing in case you feel uncomfortable. Against all odds, you don't.
"Why are you hiding from me?" he asks, gently taking your sunglasses off your face, and placing them on the top of your head.
You don't look up at him, and he hooks his finger underneath your chin, gently raising your head. When your tear-stained eyes meet his, he frowns deeply, "Why are you crying?"
"it's nothing."
"Yn..."
"I fucked up, okay?! That was the worst test I’ve ever given in years." The tears start to flow at your words and you wipe them away aggressively. You despised crying in front of people.
Minho raises his hand to wipe the tears away for you but he quickly retracts it- you probably wouldn't want him to touch your face. It was enough that he had grabbed your wrist a couple of weeks before this. He quickly racks his brain for something to do, because the sight of your tears is making his heart ache in a way he hasn't felt before. It's as if he's feeling your emotions deep within him.
In desperation, Minho pinches your arm and you yelp, startled. "What was that for?" you whisper-shout and he raises his hands in defense, "I didn't know what else to do."
"So, you thought about pinching me?" you chuckle in bewilderment and he scratches the top of his hair sheepishly.
"I mean, it worked. Look, you stopped crying," he points out raising his brows at you proudly and you shake your head at him.
"Remind me to never cry in front of you again."
Minho grins at you before his face turns serious once again. "Look, you are the smartest person I know," he pauses, adding with a cheeky smirk, "After me of course." Which makes you giggle against your will.
"Shut up", you lightly punch his chest and he smiles. "One test doesn't define you. You always work very hard. I wouldn't lie to you."
"Mm," you hum and he frowns at your lack of enthusiasm, but still, he doesn't comment.
"No more crying," he wiggles his finger in front of your face and you roll your eyes, wiping the rest of your tears away. "Fine. Pretend as if this never happened."
"What are you talking about?" he asks as if confused, and you can't help the smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. It's as if Minho knows exactly what to say to cheer you up.
"Come with me," he tells you, gently pulling you by the sleeve of your hoodie.
"Where to?"
"I’m craving ice cream."
"And why do you need me?"
"You're craving ice cream too," he says in a matter-of-a-fact tone.
"Only if you're paying," you add with a giggle and he whines loudly, "I feel so so used around you."
True to his words, Minho takes you to the nearest ice cream parlor. It's a 20 minutes walk away and you are grateful for the distance because it helps you clear your head a bit.
Minho lets you pick whatever flavors you want, and when you hesitate between two of them, he tells the cashier to put them both into your cup. This is how you end up with a container of 5 scoops of ice cream. You insisted you'd share, and Minho begrudgingly agreed when you threatened to walk out and leave him.
You then walk to a deserted alley and sit on the sidewalk. You didn't want to be around people right now, and thankfully, Minho understood without you having to say a word.
You munch silently on your ice cream and Minho does the same, the both of you lost in your thoughts. You naturally take turns holding the freezing container, so it wouldn't numb the fingers of one of you.
When you're done, Minho stands up to throw it away in a nearby trashcan before sitting back again next to you.
Suddenly you feel him gently tapping your hand. You look down to find that you've curled your fingers into a tight fist, so much that there are crescent indents visible on your palm now.
"Let's play thumb war," he tells you and you giggle at his words. You never knew what to expect from him.
Still, as your fingers hold each other, and your thumb circles one another, you feel yourself calm down slightly. You play a couple of rounds, and you know he's going easy on you, allowing you to quickly trap his thumb down.
No one has gone to such lengths to cheer you up, and you suddenly feel so grateful for Minho’s presence in your life. You didn't care in what shape he was in, you just needed him to be in it. Which in turn makes you think how bad it'd hurt if he ever leaves.
You don't want Minho to leave. You've gotten so attached to him that the thought of not talking to him again makes your heart race in panic.
Minho notices the change in your expression, suddenly melancholic once again. Your hand has gone limp in his, the thumb war long forgotten by you.
He curses under his breath, before looking at you. "If I dance for you, will you quit being so sad?"
"Dance for me?" you repeat incredulously and he nods, "Yes. I’ll show you an upcoming choreography just... Please smile?"
"Okay," you giggle, plastering a wide grin on your face.
"Not like that you look scary."
"Get to dancing!" you clap excitedly and he rolls his eyes, standing up and looking through his phone for a particular music.
"Oh and no comment!" he looks pointedly at you, and you nod, pretending to zip your mouth and throwing away the key.
'Finesse' by Bruno Mars starts playing and you are left mesmerized by the way Minho dances. It's short but it leaves you yearning to see more. His body moves smoothly, hitting each beat effortlessly. He made it look as if dancing was second nature to him, that it came as easily to him as breathing.
You were speechless, rightfully so. You wished you could build a world where all Minho did was dance.
"That was-" you start when he stops the music but he cuts you off instantly, "I said no comment."
"But--" Minho places his finger on your mouth to silence you, seemingly not thinking too much of it. But the feel of his finger on your lips makes you dizzy. Minho quickly takes off his hand, a blush evidently creeping up his neck.
"Let's just go home," he sighs in defeat and you laugh despite the intense feelings cursing through you.
You don't know if you are imagining it but you swear that your pinkies brush against each other on your walk back. As if there was this magnetic force pulling them together. You wondered what would happen if you just linked your pinky with his. Would he grab you by the hand or will he let go of you entirely?
You were too much of a coward to find out. You were scared of messing up anything with him. So, you'd settle for this. Stolen glances and random outings. You just need him in your life.
"Thank you for today," you tell Minho once you arrive and he shrugs, as what he did wasn't a big deal.
"No, I mean it. Thank you," you repeat, trying your best to convey how sincere you were being. You take in a deep breath, before grabbing his hand and squeezing it, for a fleeting second, before dropping it again.
Minho is sure that your hand will now be imprinted into his, that the lines tracing over your palm will merge with his as one. Your touch was barely there but it had electrocuted him. He wondered to himself if his body would be able to handle more from you. But he'd gladly burn in your fires for the sake of holding you. And he'd wait, unwaveringly, as time stretches alongside the two of you. He'd wait as long as it takes for you.
"Yn, I..." he stammers, taking a step closer to you. His scent engulfs you and you shamefully close your eyes, inhaling it. When you open them again, you find Minho glancing down at your lips. You gulp, dazzled by his proximity.
"You have a mole on your nose," you suddenly speak up and his eyes snap back to yours, an adorable confusion drawn on his features.
"I like that mole," you continue and you wish you could dig yourself a hole and bury yourself in it.
"Thank you," he chuckles and you nod vigorously, "You're welcome."
"Can I ask you something?" he says and your breath hitches in your throat. "Sure."
"You don't like it when people touch you, right?"
"Yeah."
"Can I ask why?"
You want to confide in him, to tell him that it’s because you long for it, you crave it so badly. That this need has woven itself into the very fabric of your being. An ache so raw that it scares you at times. You’ve never known what it feels like to be held- it was uncharted territory to you.
"Isn't everyone scared of the unknown?" you settle on saying, and he nods in understanding. Of course, he understood. No one knows you as well as him.
"It's okay. I just wanted to know if I ever overstepped my boundaries."
"You didn't," you reply instantly.
"Good. You'll tell me if I ever do, right?"
"I will."
"Okay."
"Um. I'll get going," you point behind you and Minho smiles at you, waving you off.
You walk for a few steps before coming back again quickly. You then grab Minho’s hand, gently squeezing it like before, "You are an amazing dancer."
And then you drop it, running back towards your apartment block without waiting for a reply.
Minho stays frozen in his place. You think he's an amazing dancer. And you held his hand for five seconds.
That's four seconds more than the first time.
Progress.
✹✹✹
You haven't gotten out of your house for the past three days.
Everything crashed around you rapidly, it made you realize that the ground you once stood on was only an illusion, elusive and fleeting.
You were doing well; you were getting better. But then Monday came and you went out for a walk in the park near you. As you sat there, you saw a little girl playing on the swings, delightful joy dancing across her features. But then she fell to the ground and you instinctively stood up to help her, only to notice her mother running to her.
The world stilled around you as you clearly saw it- how the little girl clung to her mother's embrace, her embodiment of hope and love. You never had that. You don’t even know what perfume your mother used because she never allowed you to get that close to her.
You stood up abruptly, quickly heading back to your apartment block. As you ran up the stairs, you ended up bumping into one of your neighbors. You were quick to apologize but they ignored you, and the feeling of being invisible came back to haunt you ten times fold.
You knew you shouldn’t have done it, you knew you should have deleted your mother’s number when she sent you away to university without a backward glance, relieved at the thought of you getting a full-ride scholarship and not needing her anymore. But you didn’t, you kept her number in the hopes that she’d call. On your birthday, on holidays, on a random Thursday to tell you that she did remember who you are.
With trembling hands, tears welling in your eyes, you dialed your mother’s number for the first time in a year. You didn’t know what you were expecting. Maybe she regrets it. Maybe she misses you. Maybe she didn’t find the courage to mend her wrongdoings and that's why she never called.
"Hello?" her voice rang through your apartment. Goosebumps erupted on your arms and your hold on the phone tightened. Her voice took you back to memories you thought you had buried. How you spent countless nights yearning to hear the sound of her voice, how you regretted it once she spoke to attack you.
You hate her. You miss her. You want to hang up. You need to ask if she's doing okay.
“Who is this?” Her voice was devoid of recognition, freezing you in your tracks. You felt as if a bucket of ice was thrown over your head, dousing the flame of hope that flickered in your heart.
She deleted your number.
You quickly hung up, placing your phone down on the table. The tears refused to fall. It was as if your body had long anticipated this outcome, leaving only your wounded soul to bear the pain.
Healing isn't linear, you've read about it in books and heard it in shows and movies. One step back doesn't mean that your entire progress is gone. You know this, you've memorized those sentences. So why do you not believe them? Why does it feel as if you can never be free from the past? Why does it feel as if you’ll always seek something out of her?
Those questions roamed your mind for the past three days, making you too tired at the prospect of lifting your limbs, let alone leaving your apartment. You sent your two friends a text, telling them that you're sick so they wouldn't worry. Not that you believed they would. Nothing made sense to you anymore.
You laid on your bed in utter silence- a tense quiet that was disrupted on the third day by someone knocking on your door. You didn't know who was there; you just hoped that they'd leave you alone.
To your surprise, you open the door to find Minho, some notes in his right hand and a coffee in his left. He sends an easy smile your way. You don't smile back.
"What do you want?" your voice is cold, but Minho doesn't bristle. A cheeky smile settles on his lips as he leans on your doorway.
"You didn't come to class for the past three days, so I brought you the notes. So, you wouldn't think our competition is unfair."
"Competition," you chuckle coldly, heading inside your apartment, and he follows suit. You start to pace around furiously, and Minho looks at you worriedly. "Competition?" you repeat, the word dripping off your tongue like venom. You turn around, marching towards Minho and standing a few inches from him. "You know what? Fuck you and your competition!"
"Yn-"
"Did it ever occur to you that I never wanted a part in this competition? That all I wanted was to be left alone?" you say, growing louder as you jab your finger into his chest repeatedly. "I never wanted any of this! Do you understand? I never wanted to be this way," you shout angrily in his face.
The worried look in Minho’s eyes snaps you out of your haze. You realize that you are being utterly ridiculous lashing out at Minho, when the one person you are mad at is yourself.
Your anger quickly deflates, leaving in its trail an agonizing sadness. It's so sudden that it knocks the breath out of you, and you clutch your chest as if it could soothe the burn in your heart. Suddenly you are twelve years old again, crying in your room because you feel like no one has ever loved you.
But this time you aren't alone. Minho is in front of you, and his eyebrows are so furrowed you want to lean forward to ease the tension between them. His eyebrows, you liked his eyebrows, they were arched, and they framed his eyes nicely, and his eyes are brown and so big, and they always look at you softly and why is it getting so hard to breathe-
"Did I do something to you? Whatever it is I’m sorry," Minho panics, cutting off your frantic train of thought. But now, the weight of guilt adds to your overwhelming emotions. You shouldn't have lashed out at him, he brought you coffee and you yelled at him. Maybe your mom was right after all.
You shake your head left and right furiously, your words coming out in hiccups. Since when did you start crying? "It isn't- it isn't you."
"Then let me help you-", he steps forward, hand outstretched, but you take three hurried steps back and wrap your hands around yourself protectively. "Don’t. Please, don't."
"Why are you pushing me away?" his tone isn't accusatory. You've learned time and time again that Minho wouldn't do anything that made you feel uncomfortable.
"You won't understand."
"Then make me."
"Because I’m afraid!" the words slip out of your mouth before you can stop them. "I’m afraid if you ever hug me, I wouldn't be able to go back to hugging myself. I'd need you and I can't afford to need someone else."
You regret the words as soon as they fleet away from your mouth. He would look at you differently, he would find you pathetic and then he’d leave. And you wanted him to leave. But you also wanted him to stay. It was all so confusing.
You felt as if your being was torn between two great forces, each one of them trying to win the war raging inside you. You wished someone else would make the decisions in your place, for once.
Minho places the coffee and notes on the ground before approaching you, his palms facing up in a gesture of surrender. "I won't leave you," he says softly. "I’ll be by your side for as long as you'll have me."
"Minho..." your voice catches in your throat as you utter his name- like a broken prayer. He stands before you, his eyes shimmering like the reflection of a river on a sunny day.
"Please, let me make it better."
You nod tentatively and Minho comes even closer to you. He was treating you like one would with a wounded animal, giving you a chance to ultimately back out. But for once, you listen to what your heart has been yearning for. Your bones are aching to be held, to feel the warmth of a body against your own, to feel safe and secure.
Minho embraces you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and bringing you to him. You slowly bring your arms up and lace them around his waist. You are afraid, deathly afraid. His grip is loose, and you almost can't feel him around you, but when you lay your head on his chest, he tightens his hold on you and you instinctively let out a sob.
He's hugging adult you, the woman whose heart was once again broken by her mom. But he's also hugging little you, the girl who was craving affection from everyone around her. In that instant, Minho is hugging every single version of you that ever needed a hug.
You were right to be scared because you don't want to let go, you want to stay in his arms because they feel safe, like a shield protecting you. You can't go back to not hugging Minho.
The sensation is overwhelming and your knees buckle underneath you. But instead of holding you up, Minho falls to the ground with you, as if you are two inseparable pieces of one puzzle. He isn’t here to fix you, he’s here to break down with you and help you pick up the scattered pieces.
You think back to that night in the park when Minho told you about Japanese vases. At this moment, it dawns on you that Minho has found a way to become a part of you. He was the molten gold binding your broken parts together. He was the invisible thread stitching your wounds back together.
Who were you fooling? It was him; it was him all along.
Minho rocks you gently as you cry and cry and cry. His hand finds your hair and he plays with it as you sob. He tells you you'll be okay, you'll feel better and you try to believe him, his words wrap around your bruises like a healing balm.
"There, there, love. You are okay", he murmurs, tenderly patting your head. A fresh set of tears wells up in your eyes. Love.
"I’m sorry. I'm so sorry," you apologize as you pull away from his embrace.
"Why are you apologizing? Is it because you wet my shirt? I don't mind," he reassures you with a smile and you shake your head.
"I was mean to you and you didn’t deserve it," you explain through hiccups.
"It's okay, you weren't mad at me, were you?" he asks, wiping your tears away so gently with his thumbs, careful not to irritate the sensitive skin.
"No. Still, it isn't okay and I’m sorry. I'm so sorry."
"Shh, don't apologize. It's okay." you look at him doubtfully and he rolls his eyes playfully, "Here I’ll even do your silly pinky promise, okay?" he laces his pinky with yours, but then he suddenly leans forward and places a chaste kiss on your thumb pad. "There, sealed forever."
You giggle faintly as a blush dusts your cheeks, "That's not how it works."
"I know."
Your giggle was far different from the ones Minho was accustomed to. It was small, and it didn't brighten up your face like usual. But he was grateful for it nonetheless. He realized how much he missed your laugh, and how all the other sounds in the world pale in comparison to it.
In that moment Minho thinks to himself that he'd do anything to make you smile again. He'd make a fool out of himself if it meant making you happy. He'd settle for a simple tug at the corners of your mouth, anything but the sadness that seemed etched in your face, as if it was blended into the colors that drew you.
You tentatively move around, before laying your head on his lap. Minho's hand instinctively finds your hair and he starts to gently play with it. It feels as if you've done this a million times before, when in fact it was the first.
There was something wildly intimate about laying on the floor with the man who just comforted you. It made you want to spill all your secrets to him, one by one, and have him hug you through them.
"Did you mean it? When you said you'll stay?" you felt so vulnerable in his hold, as if he could twist you whoever he liked. But you trusted him. You trusted yourself with Minho.
"I did. Your walls are always up. It's hard to peek behind them. But I don't want to tear them down. I want you to slowly unbuild them. I want you to do it for yourself."
To do it for yourself, it's hard to even know who you are anymore.
"I want to tell you."
"You don't need to."
"I know, but I want to."
"Okay. Take your time, kitten." he pats your head gently, and you try to sync your breathing to the rhythm of his touch. You were grateful that you were lying on his lap since you couldn't see his face. It made talking feel a little less daunting.
"On my 9th birthday... I was very excited. I'd been on my best behavior that month, trying to please my mom in the hope that, for once, we'd celebrate my birthday. Like a normal little family," you smile sadly, you were so hopeful back then.
"My birthday came, I woke up, excited. My mom was still asleep, nothing out of the ordinary. So, I made my breakfast and walked to my school. I wore my prettiest dress and put on pigtails with hair clips. It was my birthday after all," Minho smiles softly at your words, his hand now resting on your own.
"I got back home and waited for my mom to come back. She remembered my birthday, I thought. And then, she came but she didn't talk to me. So, I thought, oh a surprise party!" you chuckle, but this time the smile on Minho’s face is gone.
"It was then 11 pm, and the hope had slowly died in me. So, in my stupid innocent self, I went to my mom, and asked her "Did you forget my birthday?". And I remember... I remember the way she laughed. Cruelly. Like I had told her the funniest joke in the world. And then. Then she looked me dead in the eye and said 'I hate the fact that you are born. Why would I celebrate that?'"
Minho sucks in a deep breath at your words, and you exhale one right out. It felt comforting, to have someone else stomach the hurt for you. To take the weight off your shoulders, allowing you a few moments to breathe.
"I confronted her about it one day, but she said she doesn't remember saying that. It's funny how it was a random Thursday for her, but for me, it shaped my life." you smile bitterly, "I remember how jealous I was of the way the other kids talked about their mothers. They said the word so lightly. It must have reminded them of sunshine and ice cream and rainbows. But for me, it held an uncharacteristic heaviness to it. I grew to hate the word."
"I drove myself crazy, Min", you whisper and he brings you closer to his body, "was it me or was it her? When did it start? Was it because I was too loud as a child or maybe too quiet? Did I not cater to her fantasies of a kid? I wanted to remember every single thing that happened throughout my childhood, thread through every single memory. I tried to pinpoint the exact moment my mom stopped loving me."
Minho squeezes your hand tightly in his, and you feel as if he was pulling you away from the memory that had long trapped you. You were now watching it unfold from outside of the window, your hand in his, safe from the hurt it had inflicted on you.
"It's not you. It could never be you. Some people are simply not fit to be parents. It's never their kid's fault."
Minho tries his best to keep his touch soothing, to make his voice sound as soft as possible. But he was angry, he was so angry at the world for not taking care of you when you were younger. His heart broke, thinking of 9-year-old you being told such cruel words.
He wanted to turn back time and tell you that you were enough. He wanted to make the pain that seemed so anchored in you float back to the surface, and dissipate like sea foam meeting the shore.
But he couldn't do that. All he could do is comfort present you.
Minho gently pulls you up from his lap, making you sit upright. He crisscrosses his legs and you do the same. Your knees brush against each other and you feel a shiver run down your spine. You didn't know that even knees could emanate such warmth.
"Yn, look at me. The world wouldn't be the same without you in it," he cradles your face between his hands, "You hear me yn? I’m so thankful you exist."
His doe brown eyes are sincere, and it made you want to believe him badly. That's a good start, right?
"I’ll be back," he tells you, letting go of your face and standing up.
You hear Minho rummaging through the kitchen and you take the time to calm yourself down. Sharing those parts of you with Minho felt therapeutic. As if you were healing parts of your inner child. You have never talked about this with anyone before, maybe this is why it still hurt as badly.
Minho comes back five minutes later, his hands behind his back. You raise a brow at him inquisitively and he just smiles secretly at you. "Close your eyes," he tells you and you giggle, doing as he says. He crouches in front of you, and you hear him shuffle in his place for a bit.
Then, "Open your eyes yn," and you find him, in front of you, a cupcake you had stored in your fridge in his hands, and a makeshift candle lit up. "Happy 9th birthday, love. You did well."
You stare at him in utter bewilderment. You couldn't believe your eyes. How could this man be so thoughtful? He was wishing you a belated birthday, to compensate for the 9th birthday you didn't celebrate.
You panic, at the look in his eyes. You've never seen it, never dared to dream of it, of someone caring for you unconditionally. So, you try to scare him, to push him away. You didn't want him to regret knowing you.
"There are things I need you to know um", you chuckle nervously, "When I... When I throw up, I hold my hair, and when I’m sick I nurse myself back to health, and when I have a nightmare I- I hold my hand in the dark. It will be hard for me to hold yours instead."
"We'll start a finger at a time, yeah?"
"It will take time."
"I have time," he speaks easily, as if loving you was effortless and not a strenuous task. You couldn't fathom it.
"You are too busy-", he cuts you off instantly, "Not for you."
"The world doesn't stop because we need it to." Your voice is quiet; this is your very last try. You are tired of fighting. You are putting down your armor and waving a white flag.
"We'll make it stop. Here, the two of us. On this floor. We'll take as long as we need to."
"I never deemed you as an optimist", you smile a little, a hint of teasing in your tone.
"I’m not," he pauses, gazing down at the cupcake between his hands and then at you. "But I feel that we deserve a bit of happiness together, don't we?"
"We do."
"Then make a wish."
You close your eyes for a few seconds, before blowing on the candle.
"What did you wish for?" he asks a fond smile on his face.
The answer came naturally to you, you didn't even need to think about it. "I wished for you."
Minho's lips come crashing down on yours, and you imagine that this is what it feels like to see colors for the first time. To discover a new world beyond the one you've always known.
The kiss isn't urgent nor feverish, it is one of comfort. Your lips spilling the words you have not yet said to each other. "I love you," he kisses you, "I love you too," you kiss him back. "I need you to stay," you swipe your tongue across his bottom lip, "I’m never leaving you," he opens his mouth allowing you entrance.
As you kiss him, you remember a fact you once learned in high school. The human body possesses seven trillion nerves. And for the first time in your life, you feel as if each of these nerves is alive. You feel that even the smallest atom is electrocuted with Minho’s love and it’s all you know within you.
You feel as if the pain, the hurt, and the ache you've been through are slowly unraveled, and in their place, a timid happiness is starting to bloom. You imagine that when Minho’s lips met your own, the seven trillion nerves inside you exhaled in relief 'We've made it', they said, 'we'll finally be okay.'
Epilogue
You've always thought that epilogues were useless. How can you resume the rest of your life in one sentence, boil down the rest of your existence in mere pages? Because life doesn't stop at the epilogue, and a new book can start once again, right where you left it off.
But with Minho, you didn't mind an epilogue. On the contrary, you longed for a soft one. You wanted to rest on this last page, you wanted to lay your worries on the words and tuck them into the syllables. And you wanted to wake up anew.
And this wasn't the end of your story with Minho. A lot happened after it. But it didn't worry you, because epilogues are about the one thing that doesn't change throughout the long march of time. And luckily for you, that constant was Minho’s love for you. From that day he held you, he has never let go.
It took time, for his warmth to seep through your bones. It took time, for your heart to forget the cold. But you wanted to do it. With him. You wanted to love and be loved.
The sound of cats mewling fills your apartment, pudding can always be found in your fridge and you haven't felt invisible in years.
#stray kids x reader#skz x reader#stray kids fluff#skz fluff#stray kids imagine#stray kids imagines#skz imagines#skz fanfic#stray kids fanfiction#stray kids fanfic#skz angst#stray kids angst#skz oneshots#skz recs#skz reactions#lee know x reader#lee know fluff#lee know angst#lee minho x reader#minho x reader#minho fluff#minho fanfic#minho angst#skz au#skz x you#skz scenarios#stray kids scenarios#lee know scenarios#stray kids fic#skz soft hours
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Imagine Ji teaching kitten how to make a proper nest
this has been sitting in my ask box for a while.... and i'm glad i held onto it because..... me??? writing for a pair that isn't chris x his girl???? unheard of. but not impossible.
Pairing: Werewolf!Minho x Human!F.Reader (one of the main pairings of my WereRoomies series, but you probably don’t really need to read any other instalments to understand/enjoy this one). | Word Count: ~2k | Themes & Warnings: Supernatural/Fantasy AU · Smut · Fluff · Established Relationship · unprotected penetration [piv. no barrier method, but reader is presumed to be on birth control] · breeding kink · creampie
minors do not interact.
For someone with a condition like his, Minho was a very logical man. Sure, he had his moments of randomness and silliness, but in the grand scheme of things, your boyfriend was level headed, rational, and he’d hardly ever let his wolf instincts interfere with his human thoughts.
Which was why you hadn’t expected something as seemingly innocuous as a pile of clothes on his bed to get him like this.
Not like you were going to complain, though. Not when the feel of his thickness filling you up time and time again was this good. Not when the way he had you on your knees, bent over like a dog, deliciously ramming into you, was this addictive.
“Minho…” You weren’t really sure what you were going to tell him, you just whined when you started to feel his lips on your shoulder, when he started to kiss and nibble your skin.
“Hm?” His deep strokes had you seeing stars, and the feel of him hitting the most sensitive areas within your walls was steadily fogging up your brain.
You swallowed, blindly reaching for one of the cushions that surrounded you, holding it tightly to somehow keep yourself grounded to reality. “Love–Love you”.
“Love you, too… Missed you, kitten. So much”, his pace increased, his panting grew a bit louder next to your ear, sending shivers down your spine, feeding that pool of arousal in your belly that was just ready to spill over at any moment now.
You’d missed him, too, of course. Every week, you looked forward to the weekend simply because you’ll be able to see him. You were tired of the distance, but you supposed it was something you’d had to bear for a while.
“Need to–Shit, fuck…” Minho nuzzled your shoulder, reattaching his lips to the skin there, grunting when you started to push back harder to match his thrusts, making him move faster in response.
Before Minho came back from work, when Jisung had come to Minho’s flat to hang out and kill time after you arrived today, you didn’t exactly expect the afternoon to take the turn it did.
‘Wait, so you’re not making a nest to fuck in? Not even during his rut?!’ Jisung looked genuinely shocked, and you had simply shrugged in response because ‘Was I supposed to? I don’t even know how’.
Admittedly, you did know about nests, but only as a concept. Throughout your friendship, Jisung had made sure to give you every single detail when it came to omega reproduction–because why would you keep anything private when you could word vomit at any given time, about any given topic, right?–and just omega behaviours in general.
Making a nest was, essentially, creating a safe, soft, warm space for yourself. Although it could be done just to be comfortable while trying to wind down, it was most commonly done with reproduction in mind, meaning, to be shared between wolves. So, upon finding out you’d never done one yourself, Jisung decided to take matters into his own hands.
‘See, you’ve got to pick up items that make you feel safe. Soft items, preferably. Most commonly you’d use blankets, throws, cushions, but you could also add plushies, clothes… If you’ve got a partner, it’s usually preferable to use items that smell like them. And it’s always a nice touch to add items that smell like you, so your partner can also feel comforted by your nest’, Jisung encouraged you to try it, right then and there.
He suggested doing it on Minho’s bed, since that was his sleeping space, and a place you both spent a lot of time together in. Minho’s sleeping clothes, his fluffy blankets, the throw and cushions from the sofa out in the living room, the bathrobe you’d used not too long ago, the pyjamas you kept in his closet, the pillows that were already on his bed… Jisung and you put these items together, creating this fluffy mess on his bed that certainly looked like a nest.
‘See? So you can do one of two things… If you’re doing it on your own, you can cover yourself as much as you can, essentially making yourself a warm little cocoon… But if you’re gonna share it, then you just lay in the middle. I, uh… I know I’m incredibly biassed, but I think this is probably one of the most romantic places to have sex in’, he said it with a completely straight face, so you really believed him.
Jisung did comment on how Minho could potentially react to a nest, considering it was something he hadn’t experienced in a romantic setting. ‘You know I build nests often when I’m anxious, so he sometimes joins me to help me calm down, but it’s all platonic… A nest built by you… I’m curious as to how it’d make him feel. If it makes him feel anything at all’.
That piqued your interest.
Exploring Minho’s animal instincts was always something you enjoyed doing. It made you curious, mostly because he hardly had any, and the ones he did have he couldn’t even understand very well.
As if on cue, the obnoxious beeps of the front door resonated in the flat. You heard it even in the bedroom, where you had been standing next to your nest with Jisung, just giggling and joking about it.
After Minho went into the flat, and the customary Tired Groan left his mouth, you heard his languid steps as he made his way to the bedroom. “Who gave you two stray cats permission to come into my home?”
His perfectly crafted tone of annoyance held no real meaning to it. You knew it, he knew it, and even Jisung knew it. So you just smiled and answered. “With yours, dummy. You wouldn’t have given us the code otherwise”.
As soon as he was at the door, his poised scowl turned into a look of surprise when his eyebrows rose high on his forehead. His eyes jumped from the nest on the bed, to you, to Jisung, and back to the nest. “Are you feeling well, Jisung?”
Of course. Based on Jisung’s earlier explanation, it made sense that your boyfriend had reached the conclusion that this was Jisung’s nest. That he was probably anxious and built it because of it.
“Yeap. I’m doing great. I was just showing our dear kitten how to build herself a nest”, Jisung usually gave the impression to people that he was dumb and silly. But in reality, he was very smart. And at that moment, in just a few seconds, he was able to choose the most suitable words to get his point across.
This wasn’t his nest.
It was yours.
Built by you with your own two hands.
“Huh…” Minho stared at the bed, and you could’ve sworn the bit of skin you could see under the collar of his shirt was slowly growing redder the longer he stood there.
You cleared your throat to get his attention, and you smiled brightly at him when his head snapped back in your direction. “No kiss?”
Minho blinked a bit, but then he was scoffing. He made his way towards you so he could cup your cheeks and pull you in for a kiss. You hadn’t seen him in a whole week, and that was way too long, in your humble opinion, so that kiss was more than necessary.
The dramatic sigh next to you made you break the kiss, and you turned to see a pouty Jisung staring at you two.
“No kiss for me?”
Of course. This was Jisung’s thing. He took any opportunity he could to beg for kisses.
Your boyfriend simply sighed, just as dramatically as Jisung had, and he quickly moved to stand in front of Jisung. Cradling the back of his head, Minho pulled Jisung to him, planting his lips on one of Jisung’s round cheeks to press a loud, moist kiss on his skin.
“Ew, why is it wet! Stop!”
They jostled for a bit, all while Minho chuckled, until he finally pulled away from Jisung and ruffled his hair. “Didn’t you want a kiss? There’s your fucking kiss”.
“A peck was enough, jeez”, Jisung wiped his cheek with the back of his hand, fake gagging.
The three of you broke into laughs and giggles for a bit, bantering back and forth on the ‘essential omega needs’ Jisung had, until Minho excused himself to go take a shower, leaving you and Jisung back on your own in his room.
“Alright, listen to me, dear kitten”, Jisung held you by the shoulders, trying to get your undivided attention. “Get as scantily clothed as possible, or, even better, get naked, lay in the centre of that nest, and wait for your boyfriend to come out of the shower. You can thank me in the morning”.
“Do you really think something like this would do anything to Minho? You know how he is, he doesn’t have these alpha urges”.
“I guess you’ll have to wait and see”, Jisung cradled your face in his hands, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead before he wished you good night.
He knocked on the bathroom door on his way out, wishing Minho good night as well, then he was gone.
So you did just as he told you.
You figured that putting one of Minho’s t-shirts on and nothing else would do the trick, and it certainly did, if the look Minho gave you once he was out of the shower was anything to go by.
Minho really wasn’t that in touch with his animal needs, not unless he was close to his rut or maybe during a full moon night, but it seemed like the sight of you, dressed in nothing but his clothes and laying on your comfy little nest did things to him.
Before you knew it you were fully naked, with his head between your legs and his fingers in your cunt, giving you a mind-numbing orgasm only to flip you on your stomach and push his cock within your walls almost immediately after.
That was how you ended up here, relishing his sounds of pleasure in your ear, and the feel of him fucking you open. He was mumbling, things you couldn’t quite make out, not when his fingers found their way between your legs to rub tight circles on your clit.
“C’mon, baby…” Minho groaned, snapping his hips harder. “Give it to me, kitten, love… Want to–Fuck…”
“You–you want what, baby?” You kept meeting his thrusts, spurring him on. You were certainly almost over the edge, but you needed just a bit more… A bit more of him. “Want to stuff me full? Want that, too. Want your–your pups, baby…”
“Fuck! Fuck, fuck, shit, I’ll give them to you, kitten. All of them… Make sure I, fuck, I pump you full–”
Those were the last coherent words your boyfriend told you before you felt his warmth fill you up, before his name left your mouth in a breathless moan as your own orgasm raked through your body. He kept fucking your through it all, until you whined in oversensitivity.
When Minho peeled himself away from your back, your body slumped, and the sudden lack of his warmth almost gave you whiplash.
In an instant, his hands were on your buttocks, spreading you open just as his cum started to trickle out of your centre, and when you turned your head a little you almost giggled at the sight of him.
His chest was flushed, his cheeks as well, and he was staring at your core so intently it was almost like you could see and feel the phantom of his tail wagging in excitement.
Before you could comment on it, he was leaning down and pressing a lingering kiss on one of your buttcheeks. “Stay right here, kitten”.
Minho left the comfort of your nest and made his way out of his room. He wasn’t gone for long, only a minute or two before he was back with a soaked washcloth to clean you up.
When he was done, he left the soiled fabric on his bedside table and dropped on his back next to you, staring at the ceiling. You just looked at him, resisting the urge to bring your fingers to his face so you could trace his features. Resisting only because he seemed to be deep in thought and you didn’t want to disturb him.
Eventually, he turned to his side, propping his head on his hand and looking at you. “That was…certainly something”.
You chuckled. “It was”.
“Kitten…” Minho scooted closer to you, draping an arm over your waist. “Do I…have a breeding kink?”
You couldn’t help but laugh at that. Loudly. “Oh, babe. Don’t all alphas do?”
“But I didn’t, though!” Minho was pouting and everything, which only prolonged your chuckles. “Not when I’m not, you know, going through my rut. But seeing you here, like this… Shit. It’s essentially just a pile of clothes and blankets and cushions, but I think it’s altering my brain chemistry for real”.
“Mmm…” You pushed on his chest a bit so he could be on his back again and you could lay on top of him. Minho wrapped his arms around your waist, keeping you close as you pressed a kiss on his lips. “It’s okay, baby. I can always build more nests so you can enjoy coming inside me. I enjoy it”.
“Eager, are we? What am I gonna do with you, kitten?” Minho chuckled, pressing quick pecks on your lips, waking the butterflies in your stomach, as if they hadn’t been wreaking havoc inside you a handful of minutes ago.
“Hopefully fuck me again, if I can have a say in what you decide to do”.
You clearly didn’t need to say anything else, just like he didn’t. The mischievous smile on his lips told you all you needed to know.
It was definitely going to be a fun night. All thanks to that pile of miscellaneous pieces of fabric.
© therhythmafterthesummer 2023. all rights reserved. do not repost or translate my stories.
figured i’d tag anyone that wants to be tagged in my wereroomies instalments. if you don’t want to be tagged in little ask responses like these let me know ! If you want to be added to the tag list, you can fill in this form. be aware that you must have an indication that you’re an adult in your blog if you want me to tag you in my works
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#stray kids supernatural au#stray kids fantasy au#stray kids werewolf au#lee know smut#lee know fluff#lee know fanfiction#lee know fic#lee know x reader#minho x reader#minho smut#minho fanfiction#stray kids smut#stray kids fanfiction#skz x reader#skz fanfic#skz fanfiction#stray kids fanfic#werewolf lee know#werewolf minho#✨🌙✏
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Texting Skz “Happy Anniversary” (Hyung Line)
//gn!reader x Skz//
Synopsis: You try and wish your boyfriend a happy anniversary for Skz Day
Genre: crack, fluff
Warnings: none
A/N: HAPPY SKZ DAYYYYYYYYY. Wanted to put a little something out for the kids’ 6th year 🫶🏾
~Maknae Line~
~~~~|~~~~
#skz bang chan#skz changbin#skz felix#skz han#skz hyunjin#skz jeongin#skz lee know#skz seungmin#skz x reader#skz minho#skz#stray kids fanfiction#stray kids#stray kids scenarios#stray kids reactions#stray kids imagine#skz angst#skz fake texts#skz fanfic#skz imagines#skz poly x reader#skz scenarios#stray kids angst#stray kids fake texts#stray kids fanfic#stray kids smau#stray kids texts#stray kids x reader#skz stay#skz fluff
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Roman Holiday 🇮🇹
Minho would be the type of guy to confess his feelings in a grand yet down to earth manner.
He’d take you to Italy, a lifelong dream of his.
He’d be so giddy to spend the time overseas with you, his best friend and confidante.
He had it all planned out - walking tours amongst the sights, plenty of gelato and fake pretend fights at the coliseum.
He’d be learning a couple of words in Italian, hoping to impress you when he’d be ordering delicious pasta for the both of you.
Walking around with Minho would mean a lot of stares, mostly by females, which would go unnoticed by him. Amongst all those historical monuments and sights his eyes were set on the only art that mattered - you.
He’d rent out a Vespa and be your chauffeur on hot days, getting matching helmets for the two of you.
He’d be joking about being a gladiator, fighting and protecting you if hell broke loose.
Minho would have a blast with you, overflowing with happiness and gratitude, shoving his nervousness into the back of his mind.
On the last day, at night per se, he would take you to the trevi fountain with a bag of loose coins in his linen summer coat, ready to shoot his shot.
„You go first“, he would encourage you as he placed the dime in your soft, delicate hands.
You turned around and closed your eyes, focusing on your wish as you threw the silver metal into the fountain.
„Hey, good job!“, Minho congratulated you.
You jumped up and down and ushered him to turn around, watching him from the sidelines.
Minho brought the dime to his lips and kissed it, whispering his wish into the material. With eyes closed he threw it behind him, right into the heart of the fountain.
„Woah, you’re so good at this.“
Minho walked back to you and took your hand into his, guiding you to sit down in front of the dimly lit fountain.
„What did you wish for, y/n?“
„Isn’t it bad luck telling you?“, you shook your head repelled.
„Not if you wished strong enough“, he mused happily.
„Okay, fine.“, you gave in.
„I wished that this trip would never end.“
A serene smile formed on his lips.
„What did you wish for, Min?“
Minho‘s heart was beating out of his chest. This was the moment he had anticipated for months.
„I“, he cleared his throat.
„I wished for you, y/n.“
Your eyes widened in surprise.
„For me? What do you mean?“
Minho slightly adjusted his position, facing you directly now.
„I’m in love with you, y/n. Have been for quite a while now, actually. And if there’s anything that’s missing in my world then it’s you by my side. Only you, y/n.“
You watched him attentively, his eyes were giving away his sincerity.
„What do you say? Will you grant me my wish, y/n?“
#mykoreanlove#choi minho x reader#choi minho#shinee minho#shinee reactions#shinee imagines#shinee scenarios#shinee fic#shinee fluff#shinee x reader#minho fluff#minho x reader#minho x you#minho imagines#minho drabble#minho shinee#minho x y/n#minho scenarios#minho fic#minho fanfiction#shinee masterlist#shinee fanfic#shinee requests#kpop fanfic#kpop fluff#kpop x y/n#kpop x you#kpop x reader#kpop imagines#kpop writers
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Stay ~ *Lee Minho*
Summary: It’s Sunday morning. And you know what makes Sunday mornings so great? Soft, lazy Sunday mornings with your boyfriend.
Pairing: Lee Minho X Fem!Reader
Genre: Fluffy Drabble
Word Count: 704
Warning: N/A
Masterlist
Taglist: @foxwinter @maeleelee @mxnsxngie @kpop-will-kill-me
The sunlight streamed through the curtains, causing you to stir and wake. As your eyes fluttered open, a smile tugged at your lips, feeling good about today. It was lazy Sunday mornings like this which made everything in life worth it. Not only that, but it was even better when you get to spend them in bed with someone you loved.
Smiling to yourself, you looked over at Minho, sleeping peacefully beside you. He looked just like an angel when he was sleeping. Now worry collected in the furrow of his brows and sweat beading down his face. He looked so serene in this moment. If only you could bottle this moment and keep it with you for the rest of your life as more than a precious memory. His lashes lay delicately on his soft cheek and his hair was disheveled enough to make him look rugged. Not only that, but his cheeks were also perfectly kissable, leading you to press a soft peck to each one.
This effectively woke him up, making him sigh and stretch, mumbling, “Good morning, angel.”
“Good morning to you too.” You answered him, giggling. “Although, you look more like an angel than I do.”
“Is that so?” He lightly teased, making the both of you laugh.
As you pecked his nose, you sighed. “It is a good morning now that you’re awake.”
He chuckled. “What time is it?”
Checking your phone, you replied with, “Around 8:30 in the morning.”
Minho stopped stretching to stare at you. Just as you were about to ask what was wrong, he exclaimed. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”
You looked at him like he was crazy. “I just told you, silly!”
Flopping back on the bed, he groaned. “Why’d you have to wake me up so early? I haven’t gotten to sleep in so, so, so long! The one day I have time off and you wake me up so early. You’re so mean to me!”
Chuckling, you shook your head and laid back down next to him, cuddling him close. After pressing a kiss to his temple, you mumbled, “Sorry baby, I didn’t mean to wake you so early.”
He snickered before pecking your chin. “It’s fine, angel. Don’t worry about it. If anything, this just means I get to spend more time with you which is always a plus.”
You could feel your heart melting at his words, which prompted you to connect your lips with his finally for that morning. It was a sweet kiss, full of love and laziness. It made you want to keep this moment forever frozen as well, and far away from the tricky hands of time.
However, apparently breathing is an essential function of life, meaning you both had to pull away to continue said function of life. You rested your chin on top of his shoulder before saying, “How does this sound: I go make breakfast and we have breakfast in bed together. Sounds like a plan?”
“Hmm.” He hummed, and glancing at him, you could see his eyes have already closed again.
Laughing to yourself, you slowly unwind yourself from his arms and legs, careful not to disturb him too much. Taking a few breaths to psych yourself to get up, you eventually had your feet planted on the ground. You took a few steps, and was right at the door frame, before you heard Minho whining for you. Looking over your shoulder, you saw him, still curled in the fetal position with his eyes closed, making grabby hands towards you. Honestly, he was like an overgrown baby sometimes. Not that you didn’t think it was adorable.
“Don’t leave me, my angel.” He whined. “Stay.”
“Stay?”
He nodded. “Just a few more minutes please? Then we’ll both make breakfast in bed.”
Pretending to ponder the idea, you smiled before crawling back into bed with him. Again, Minho hummed in contentment, snuggling himself back into your side. You chuckled, kissing his forehead softly. “I suppose I can stay for a little while longer.”
“Good.” He muttered, his voice thick with sleepiness. The two of you both slipped back into sleep together, nestled in a warm and loving embrace.
#Stray Kids#Stray Kids Fanfiction#Stray Kids Drabble#KPop#KPop Fanfiction#KPop Drabble#Stay#Lee Minho#Lee Minho X Reader#Lee Minho Fanfiction#Lee Minho Drabble#Lee Minho Fluff#Minho#Minho X Reader#Minho Fanfiction#Minho Drabble#Minho Fluff#Drabble#Fluff
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