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Send a DM with your name, age, pronouns, trigger/limits, muse, plot and safe word.
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RP will begin after a few questions
Choose A Member:
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Mark Lee (2/2)
Huang Renjun (2/2)
Lee Jeno (2/2)
Lee Haechan (2/2)
Na Jamin (2/2)
Zhong Chenle (2/2)
Park Jisung (2/2)
Packages:
Package 1: Vampire Au
He was starving. He had been for days. His body was begging, pleading for something to nourish it but his brain was warning against it. He swore he'd never drain blood from a human being but he had a craving for it. He was in bloodlust and he'd stop at nothing to cure it. That was how you found him hovering over you in the dead of night, seconds away from sinking his teeth into your skin.
Package 2 : Werewolf Au
It was raining outside, pouring in fact, and after a long day, all you wanted to do was rest. Yet as you were driving home from work, you noticed something on the road. Your car came to a grinding halt when you saw what it was - a white wolf. Injured and passed out. Well... you couldn't just leave it there, could you?
Package 3: Teacher Au
He didn't like calling children bad but yours was probably one of the worst he's ever taught. Loud, rowdy and a distraction to the class. These were all notes he wrote to you after giving your child detention for the third time that week. Now, enough was enough and he was going to have to meet with you in person.
Package 4: Hybrid Au
Owning a hybrid was nothing revolutionary. They were seen as less than humans, nothing but mere property. Most people had one whether it be as house pets, sex slaves or mere company. Soobin had been all three and now, he had been tossed to you as a gift from a friend.
Package 5: Serial Killer Au
Everyone knew about his family and the way they treated him. You could often hear him screaming, clawing at the doors in search of some sort of escape. You were always curious about just who had been shouting all these years and you finally found out when you found him passed out on your front porch.
Package 6: Single Dad Au
Work was getting rough. Money was tight and he was running out of ideas. He could barely afford to take care of his son and was in desperate need of someone to take care of him. How lucky he was when you moved into his apartment complex. It took a lot of begging but he finally had a babysitter.
Package 7: Mafia Au
He was born an orphan, never knowing his parents. His mom too young to raise a child, his dad nowhere to be found. Jumping from foster-home to foster-home he never knew what love felt like. When he turned eight-teen he was forced into the world with nowhere to go. He had no choice but to turn to a life of illegal dealings of weapons and false documents, but when he met you his whole life turned upside down. Little did he know, you were the child of his biggest buyer, the boss of a Mafia.
pairing: minho x fem!reader
genre: smut, angst, fluff, friends with benefits!au
word count: 10k
warnings: 18+ mdni. fingering (f. rec), semi-public sex, oral (m. rec), kitchen sex lol, unprotected sex, praise kink, overstimulation, this is my attempt at writing smth NOT laced w humor please bear w me ok... its a hard life trying not to be funny </3
summary: catching feelings for lee minho was inevitable from the start. falling for him is as easy as breathing, but how are you supposed to let him know how you feel when you spend more time fucking him than talking to him? OR, the only thing you're more scared of than losing minho is loving him.
"Minho—" you pant. "We're—mmph—we're going to g-get caught."
"Not if you shut up."
He tightens his grip on your hair, gathering it in a makeshift ponytail at the base of your neck.
"That's not fair," you hiss, but the tail end of your sentence breaks off in a moan as his fingers curl upwards inside you. "—Oh, right there."
"Yeah?" Minho mutters, and the rasp of his voice—calm and collected and outlined with just the tiniest bit of ego—is so hot you can't stop yourself from clenching around his fingers.
"And what's not fair, exactly?"
The answer to that question is so easy it is laughable. The words are on the tip of your tongue, ready to spill over: it's not fair that you are so weak for him. That just one look melts you into a puddle, that just one touch sets you alight.
It's not fair that you can't resist him no matter how hard you try (and oh, have you tried.)
Instead, your response is only one word.
"You."
The single syllable slips from your lips right as Minho lays an open mouthed kiss on your pulse point, tugging your hair to the side and baring your neck to him for better access.
His mouth is wet and hot and he flicks his tongue out against your neck. You bite your lip and inhale but remain silent otherwise.
A moment later, he licks a long stripe down your feverish skin in retaliation.
"Really?" Minho raises a brow, his words vibrating against the curve of your throat. "Should I stop, then?"
Inside of you, his fingers come to a painful halt. The loss of movement is visceral, but you are determined to make sure he doesn't know just how frustrated you are, and so you bite your lip hard to remain silent.
"Doesn't matter to me," you say breathlessly.
If this had been a few weeks ago, you probably would have already been begging him to fuck you however he wanted to. If this had been a few weeks ago, your mind would have been blank and your senses would have been overloaded.
But it's not. By now, you've hooked up with Minho countless times—by now, you are in so deep that you aren't willing to (can't) let him know just how much of an effect he has on you.
And so, resolutely, you remain silent.
Still...
You can just imagine how the two of you look right now. Minho, pressing you against the wall in this dark corridor, his body flush against you, his fingers inside you, his mouth against your neck.
Your hands are clinging to his shoulders, your skirt is flipped up, and your skin is so flushed from pleasure and pain both that you think you might pass out soon if he doesn't hurry up.
It's lewd, the way that the image only makes the whole thing hotter. Especially when you weren't supposed to end up like this in the first place.
Downstairs, you can hear the muffled thump of some awful EDM music from the party below. You are supposed to be down there. Today was supposed to be the day when you—finally—were able to think with your head instead of your pussy and actually, truly, be strong enough to resist Lee Minho.
But then he walked into the party with his mischievous smirk and those sinfully tight vinyl pants that he knows you love, and, well... You were a goner.
You didn't even try to resist when, a few hours later, he grabbed you by the wrist and dragged you up the stairs. Not when he pushed you up against the wall and pressed his lips against yours, and definitely not when he hiked your skirt up and slid two fingers inside of you.
It was pathetic, how easily Minho could get you to fold. His hold over you was rapturous, and frankly, rather worrying, considering that the two of you were nothing more than friends that fucked sometimes.
"Doesn't matter?" Minho asks. The look on his face is a familiar one, and the competitive gleam sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine.
The two fingers inside of you remain frozen, but then he lifts his thumb and without warning, presses hard on your clit.
"Oh."
You are unable to stop the breathy moan that slips past your lips, and the satisfied curve of his mouth lets you know that he definitely heard it.
"Hmmm," he muses, and then his fingers are moving once again. His thumb remains on your clit, rubbing tight and precise circles until you see you stars.
Despite your best efforts, your breathing stutters, coming out faster and deeper as pleasure branches outwards through your body.
"I think it does," Minho breathes in your ear.
"No-oh," you shake your head.
His smirk widens as your eyes begin to droop. You don't even have to know what you look like to know you look absolutely fucked out right now—but the longer he continues his skillful ministrations, the less you find yourself caring about standing your ground.
He is just so good with his hands. He smells perfect and feels perfect and is perfect, and the closer he brings you to your orgasm, the less it seems to matter that you have feelings for the man knuckles deep inside of you.
"Are you gonna cum for me, baby?" He asks, and the goading curve of his voice makes the words sound like a taunt, like a challenge.
Stubbornly, you refuse to submit.
"M-maybe," you breathe out.
By now, you are gripping his forearms for support, and his hand in your hair drops to your waist, pulling you even closer to you while simultaneously supporting some of your weight. Underneath you, his fingers continue to work you open with precision that has your thighs quavering.
"And what if I don't want you to cum?" Minho meets your unwavering gaze with his own, moving his thumb quicker against your clit still.
The words are a cruel suggestion, and yet accompanied with the heated look in his eyes, they send a shot of arousal straight to your core. You clench around his fingers once more, and he inhales sharply.
"I-I'll find someone else t-to help, then," you say, but the words hold no real threat. You and Minho both know that you would never, and yet his gaze still narrows at the thought.
"I don't think so," he coos, his dark eyes an unmistakable juxtaposition to his sweet tone.
And then his lips are on yours, devouring you in a messy kiss that is mostly tongue, but some teeth too. The passion in the kiss takes your breath away, and your brain short circuits as his fingers speed up, hooking upwards just right to brush against your spongy g-spot.
Simultaneously, his mouth trails down from the corner of your lips to the column of your neck, and the sensation overload is too much for you. This time, despite your best efforts, you can't stop the moan that slips past your lips.
"Who else can make you feel this good, hmm?" Minho asks, punctuating his words with a particularly vicious thrust of his fingers.
You can tell your high is cresting closer and closer, and the sheer pleasure makes it hard for you to find your words.
His teeth nip at your neck, sucking a deep purple bruise into your skin as the pad of his thumb continues to rub hard and fast against your clit.
"Answer me," Minho says lowly.
You shake your head instead, your teeth digging into your bottom lip as a whine builds in the back of your throat.
"I asked you a question, Y/N." His voice is dangerous, the threat clear when he digs his thumb unforgivingly against you.
"N-No one," you choke out, clenching around his fingers once more. "Only... O-only you."
"That's what I thought."
He is satisfied by your answer, if the movement of his fingers are anything to go off of.
"M-Minho," you pant, your eyelids sliding fully shut. "I-I—"
"Fuck," he groans under his breath, the wet sound of his fingers getting louder and louder.
"I'm s-so close," you whimper.
"I know, baby." His voice sounds strangled, and the thought of how hot he must look right now is the only thing that gives you the strength to open your eyes.
Minho's brow is furrowed in concentration, his face drawn taut as he continues to work his fingers in and out of you. The determination inscribed on his face is even hotter than you imagined it would be. Even outside of the bedroom, it is one of your favorite things about him.
The reminder of it now, however, makes this—a simple quickie at some random party—somehow feel that much more intimate, and it sends a weird pang through your chest.
"Come for me," he whispers then, his voice uncharacteristically soft as he looks up at you with his wide, blown-out brown eyes.
And that—that is what finally sends you over the edge.
"Mmph!" With a muffled whimper, your orgasm hits you, and Minho groans unabashedly at the clenching of your walls around him.
His fingers fuck you through your high, and the entire time, his eyes remain firmly on yours. The desire in his gaze is evident even through the haze of bliss, but there is an undercurrent of something more there, too—something that you don't quite pick up until the after effects of the orgasm have worn off and he is sliding his fingers out of you.
There is something tender about the way he sets you down gently, smoothing your skirt down and patting your hair until it looks less like he finger-fucked you in a dark hallway and more like he was trying to show you where the bathroom is.
But when you look up at him, his face is blank, and you are reminded once again that this isn't special, that he has probably done this countless times before. After all, Minho could have anyone he wanted—in fact, he probably has at some point.
The arrangement between the two of you is just convenient, and there isn't anything more to it. Not for him, anyways. In this equation, you are the sole outlier, the only actual problem.
"Can I..." Your voice trails off, hoarse and slightly awkward in the muffled silence of the hallway.
Your eyes are glued to Minho, watching as he adjusts himself in his pants.
"Can I help you with that?"
You already know the answer before he says it.
"Nah, 'm good," he says easily, a loose smirk on his lips as he runs a hand through his hair. If it wasn't for his blown-out pupils, you would have thought that you didn't affect him at all.
Still, your heart drops to the bottom of your stomach anyways.
His words echo inside your head, and you're sure that he must have figured out the way you feel about him. When you first started sleeping together, Minho had been obsessed with your mouth. Nothing quite got him off the way that you, on your knees in front of him did.
But recently, he has been staunchly rejecting your advances, and you can't think of an answer for why, except one: that he must know that you are in love with him, and he doesn't quite know how to let you down easy.
And, despite how much the thought hurts, you can't quite blame him for it. After all, when you both started this whole thing months ago—on a night with a few too many shots and a scandalously tight dress—the terms had been clear: that this was just sex, nothing more.
You and Minho had never been particularly close; in fact, before you started fucking, you were barely friends. You just happened to run in the same circles, and your best friends somehow ended up also being his best friends.
That is exactly why, after the first time you slept together, the first thing you agreed on was that things would end the moment feelings got involved. Anything that compromised your mutual friendships wasn't worth it, you both concluded.
Except, somehow, feelings got involved for you anyways, and you didn't do anything to stop it.
Which is why, after all this time of shoving down how you feel about Minho, you are left with only one choice.
"Minho," you say quietly after a moment. "I think we should stop doing this."
He pauses where he is straightening out his shirt, his hands frozen in place on the hem of his top. A moment passes. Two.
Then he looks up at you, his expression painfully devoid of any emotion.
Here is the thing: Lee Minho has always been a mystery to you, impossible to read in most circumstances, and difficult to unravel in the rest. But throughout the past few months, you thought you were slowly worming your way past his hard exterior, maybe even learning the puzzle pieces that consist of the real him.
The impassive look on his face, however, tells you otherwise.
And then, finally, he opens his mouth and simply says, "okay."
It is just a single word. One straightforward, lonely word.
And yet, it feels like an arrow through your chest. Your reaction is physical, visceral, as goosebumps trail down your arms and the blood thrums viciously through your ears.
This is what you wanted. This is what you needed—to end things right here, before you could fall any deeper, and for Minho to accept it with no questions at all.
This is what you wanted... So why does it feel like your heart has been cracked in two?
Maybe the third bottle of soju wasn't the brightest idea.
Maybe letting Jisung bully you into coming out tonight, after endless days spent moping alone, wasn't the brightest idea.
Maybe, in fact, fucking Lee Minho and then promptly falling in love with him wasn't the brightest idea.
Then again, you never were one for bright ideas. That is why it is no surprise that, two weeks after you end things with Minho, you find yourself shoved between Felix and Jisung at your favorite barbecue place as you down yet another shot.
The alcohol-induced haze of the night blurs the edges of your vision and your face sports a healthy, fuzzy flush, but no amount of alcohol is enough for you to ignore the elephant in the room with you.
The elephant being, of course, Lee Minho himself.
You had been proud of how diligently you managed to avoid him over the past week. Sure, it is kind of hard to run into a person when you hardly leave your bedroom, but still, the fact stood: you hadn't seen Minho since the party. It had been wishful thinking, hoping that you would be able to avoid him forever.
And yet, you still didn't think it would happen this soon. You hoped beyond all hope that you would be able to avoid seeing him for at least however long it would take for you to sort out your stupid little feelings for him. Then, things could go back to normal. Or, at least as normal as things could be.
The scheme was perfect, too—you and Minho had never been friends anyways, so it wouldn't be suspicious if you two suddenly weren't on speaking terms anymore. And none of your friends knew about the arrangement (aka fucking each others brains out) so it wouldn't make much of a difference to them now that it was over.
Except, in your endless consideration of how to navigate the aftermath, you forgot to take into account one very important factor: Han Jisung.
And perhaps it was stupid of you to think that Minho wouldn't be here tonight. But when Jisung basically dragged you out of your apartment, telling you that the guys were already at the restaurant waiting—well, you missed actual human interaction just enough to forget that wherever Jisung goes, so does Minho.
Which is how you ended up here—sat as far away from Minho as humanly possible, absorbed in some conversation with Felix about his most recent gaming obsession.
"Okay, that's enough of that," Jisung declares drunkenly, his eyes narrowed in on you.
His cheeks sport a warm flush, and his jacket has been abandoned on the back of his chair. The exposed biceps tell you one thing: he's well on his way to full-on drunk mode. If you were a little less absorbed in your own despair, you would have been worried about where he was going to end the night; but you aren't, and so all you can do is raise an eyebrow at him.
"When are you going to tell me what's been going on with you?"
"What do you mean?" You ask, your voice sounding much more level than you feel.
"Something's been off lately," Jisung frowns, "and I was trying to be a good friend, y'know, waiting for you to come to me first and tell me what it is, but it's been weeks!"
"Off?" You laugh awkwardly.
"Off?" Jisung mocks, his face scrunching up as he glares at you. "Yes, off! What the fuck is going on with you?"
"Nothing, Ji," you roll your eyes.
And then, because you can't help it, your eyes drift over to Minho. It is only for a split second, but his attention is focused completely on his food and he doesn't notice.
Not for the first time tonight, your heart clenches.
"I don't believe you," Jisung declares.
"Work's just been a bitch," you sigh. "But seriously, I'm fine. A little tired, but that's all..."
His expression twists in distrust, but there must be something written on your face that even he recognizes, because he decides not to push it any further.
That, or he's reached the point of the night where he starts to lose object permanence and he simply can't see your face anymore.
"Lee Minho, I didn't know you still remembered us," A boisterous voice drags the attention away from you.
Hyunjin, another one of your mutual friends, stumbles over to where Minho is, a bottle in his hands and a playful pout plastered across his face.
"Sorry, who are you?" Minho grins at him, and it is both the first time you have heard him speak and the first time you have seen him smile in two weeks.
It should be criminal, the way your heart flutters at such a simple act.
"Shut up," Hyunjin flops down in the empty chair next to him. "Feels like I haven't seen you in forever."
You want to look away, but it's the first time that Minho has glanced up all night, and now that Jisung's attention has been captured by Changbin, you find that you simply cannot.
"It's been, like, a week," Minho points out.
"It's been two, actually," Hyunjin complains. "You cancelled dinner with me last Friday, so we haven't seen each other since Chan's party."
Minho is silent for a moment. You wonder if he's thinking about what happened at that party—if he's thinking about the dark hallway, his fingers inside of you. If he's thinking about you at all.
He barely even takes a breath, and you think for a moment that he might finally turn and look at you.
But then, the corner of his mouth turns upwards in a smirk.
"I didn't know you were this obsessed with me, Hwang," he teases. "If you want my attention, all you have to do is ask."
"Shut up," Hyunjin says again. "Stop it, I'm mad at you! You barely even said hi to me that night before you disappeared to God knows where. Where's the love and appreciation for your friends, huh? What do you have to say for yourself?"
"When has Minho ever apologized for ditching you for a girl?" Seungmin interrupts from a few chairs down.
A scandalized gasp escapes Hyunjin's lips and your eyes shoot down to the table immediately, embarrassment searing through you.
Nobody knows that you are the girl Seungmin is talking about, and yet you can't help but feel like he has just turned on a glaring spotlight and shined it directly onto you.
Before you can think twice, you pour yourself another shot and throw it back.
"You abandoned me for sex?" Hyunjin screeches, smacking his arm.
"I did not," Minho denies.
And, well, technically it's true. After all, it wasn't anything more than a little fingering in a dark hallway.
"Yeah," Seungmin snorts. "That's why he didn't come home until the next morning."
Or... is it true?
Just because he didn't have sex with you doesn't mean that he didn't have sex at all...
Maybe, in fact, after you left him high and dry, he decided to try his luck with someone else. It wouldn't have been hard to find someone willing—not when he's Lee fucking Minho.
The thought of him caring so little about you makes your stomach turn violently. You were never exclusive, so he was never obligated to only hook up with you, and yet you find that you can't stomach the idea that he chose someone else anyways. That he didn't even hesitate after you ended things pierces you like a bullet, and your next few breaths come out shallow.
This time, you can't stop yourself from staring at him. You're waiting for him to deny it—waiting for him to tell Seungmin to stop fucking around, for him to say something, anything.
Instead, he remains painfully silent, which is all the answer you need.
"You bitch," Hyunjin says, but his voice fades into the background as you try to process the slew of emotions this revelation brings.
And then, for the first time all night, Minho looks up at you.
It's just for a second, if even that, but it is enough to push you over the edge. His buttery gaze is just as it always is—wide and curious, and you feel like you can't breathe.
Abruptly, you push your chair back and stand up.
"What...?" Jisung slurs through his drunken haze, a confused sort of concern on his face.
"I need some air," you tell him. "Feeling a little stuffy in here."
"Want me to come with?" He offers immediately, but the way he sways in his seat makes you wonder if he's even capable of standing, let alone walking.
"I'm fine," you assure him. "I'll be back in a few."
And then, before someone can stop you, or worse, before you implode, you stride towards the exit of the restaurant.
Despite being the middle of summer, the outside air is surprisingly cool. The low buzz of the city at night normally calms you, yet you find yourself feeling only slightly less suffocated than you had only moments before.
Your mind is as it has been for the past few months: occupied by thoughts of the one person you've been trying so desperately to forget.
God, you wish someone would knock some sense into you.
What's so special about Lee Minho, anyways? It's not fair that just one look at him sends your heart racing and your mind spiraling, that just one look from him makes you wish the ground would swallow you whole...
With a sigh you slide down into a squat, gripping the strap of your purse tightly as you take a deep breath.
You didn't think that you had drank that much, but the sudden movement has your head spinning. Your brain feels squeezed tight, your skull feels stuffed with cotton balls, and when you blink slowly, the world looks a degree warmer than it had before.
"You okay there?"
And of course, you have reached the point of drunkness where the familiar timbre of his voice that has haunted your dreams for the past few weeks is now haunting your every waking moment.
Two and a half soju bottles must be just the correct amount for your brain to conjure up an image of Lee Minho for you.
"Go away," you mutter, annoyed that even your subconscious was unable to let go of him.
"No thank you."
"You're talking too much," you pout. "I don't like it."
"Sorry," fake-Minho responds with a laugh, and you pout even more thinking about how real-Minho would have laughed at you if he could see you too.
"You should be," you say.
You sway where you are squatting, caught off guard by how light you feel. Alcohol has always had a tendency to exacerbate your clumsiness, and, well—let's just say your sense of balance isn't that good to begin with.
"Woah," fake-Minho says, and then a hand is on your back, steadying you.
"Seriously, are you okay? Should I get you water or something?"
"What...?"
It takes a moment for the warmth of his skin to register. Almost belatedly, your gaze snaps upwards to the man towering over you.
Because right there, looking as perfect as he always has, the real Minho stares down at you, concern furrowed between the ridges of his brow.
"O-Oh my god," you scramble backwards.
Embarrassment colors your cheeks even as Minho bends down to your level. He reaches for you, as if to offer assistance, but at the last moment pulls away.
"Y/N," hesitancy drips from his voice, and it kills you just how delicious your name sounds falling from his lips.
"I-I'm fine!" You insist, suddenly feeling more sober than you had only moments ago.
Somehow, in your rush to get away from him, you manage to push yourself up from the ground without his help. Your back feels exceptionally cold and you try to ignore the absence of his touch as you stand up straight.
"Okay," Minho says, his voice level as he pushes himself up too.
A moment of silence passes as you try to calm your racing heart. What, exactly, is the correct way to act when interacting with a former fuck buddy who you just so happen to be hopelessly in love with? You would love to know the answer to that.
"S-So," your voice comes out shrill and you wince. "How have you been?"
"Good," Minho nods. "What about you?"
"Yeah, me too."
A crisp breeze ripples through the night air and your grip on your purse tightens.
You can't look at Minho—even the thought of it is overwhelming, and so your gaze focuses on the street as cars pass by. Inside the restaurant, a round of laughter trickles out to you. You wish you were there with them.
"I—" You begin, your brain desperately scheming for ways to get as far away from Minho as quickly as possible.
"That night," he clears his throat, interrupting you. "After you—left. I didn't... I didn't hook up with anyone else."
Far away, the angry sound of a car horn reaches your ears.
"Right," you nod, not really understanding the words coming out of his mouth. "Um. You don't need to, like, justify yourself."
It's a herculean effort to keep your tone steady, to try and sound uninterested even as your stomach turns violently.
"I just wanted you to know that," Minho says, his dark eyes focused on you.
"Okay."
Why is he telling you this? You want to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. You want to yell at him until he leaves you alone. You want to pull him close and beg him to kiss you.
Instead, you roll your shoulders back and purse your lips.
"Well," you try to make yourself sound more cheery than you feel. "It was nice seeing you. I think I'm going to go home now—woah!"
Your efforts to seem cool and collected are ruined when you take a step forward on wobbly knees that decide now is the perfect time to give out. And of course, in a horrible stroke of luck, Minho somehow manages to anticipate your stumble before it happens.
In only a split second, he's right in front of you, wrapping an arm around your waist to steady you.
"Are you okay?" He asks, concern shining in his eyes.
You waste no time in shoving him off of you, brushing his question off.
"Well, let me take you home at least," Minho says finally.
"No!" You exclaim sharply. "I'll be fine on my own!"
He raises a brow. "Really?"
"Yes," you insist. "Jisung can take me home. You don't have to worry."
"Don't be silly," Minho rolls his eyes. "Jisung is so drunk he can't even stand."
One glance into the restaurant is all the confirmation you need to know he is telling the truth. At the table, Jisung is slumped over and can barely lift his head, even as Changbin continues to badger him.
"Just let me walk you home. Please? If not for your sake, then for mine," Minho implores.
His earnestness is clear, and it is like he knows that you have never been able to say no to him—that, likely, you never will.
"...Fine," you say finally.
Minho's shoulders sag in relief, and the tentative half smile that forms on his face is enough to take your breath away.
You turn quickly, determined not to let yourself spiral any deeper.
The only saving grace of the night is that Jisung, in all his glorious idiocy, actually chose a restaurant close to your apartment. Minho remains quiet the entire seven minute walk back, maintaining a precise pace exactly half a step behind you.
Every time you stumble (more than you care to admit), his hand hovers over your back, ready to catch you, but other than that, it is like he isn't even there.
The alcohol running through your veins makes the journey simultaneously quick and also horribly, painfully long. You can't tell if you have been walking for ten minutes or for ten hours by the time you finally arrive in the lobby of your apartment building.
"Well," you say awkwardly. "Thanks... for walking me home."
"Of course," Minho nods. "Text me when you get up?"
"Right."
That's not going to happen because the first thing you did after you ended things with him was block his number, but you don't tell him that.
The walk towards the elevator is excruciating because of the way his eyes bore holes into your back. All you want to do is turn around, just for one last look at him.
A deep breath leaves you when you remain resolute, and you press the button for the elevator. Except, where it would usually light up, it remains dark.
You press again, and then one more time. Dread rises in your stomach, and when you look up, a big red-lettered "out of service" sign greets you.
"Fuck."
"What's wrong?" Minho asks.
"Elevator's broken," you squeeze out, pinching the bridge of your nose.
A sense of panic swells inside of you—how are you supposed to get home now? You could barely walk here. Climbing the four flights of stairs to your apartment seems the wrong side of possible.
Minho reaches the same conclusion at the same time. His gaze lingers on the elevator and then to you as you chew on your lip, contemplating how long it would take you to sober up like this.
Then he crouches down next to you.
"What—?" You begin, noticing the way he hunches over.
"Get on."
Your jaw drops.
"N-No—"
"Are you going to be difficult again," he sighs, craning his neck to look at you. "Or are you going to listen to me and get on?"
If you were a little less drunk, or if his gaze had been a little less piercing, maybe you would have been able to refuse.
Instead, you purse your lips tightly and you do as he says, wrapping your arms around his neck.
"Good," he says, his tone soft and satisfied.
Even in your drunk haze, the single word sends electricity through your entire being. Trying to ignore it, you rest your cheek against his back and relish the feeling of his warmth.
Minho adjusts his grip on your legs, pulling them closer so they wrap around his hips, and the reminder of just how strong he is doesn't do anything to help your situation.
While keeping your distance from him, you were able to deny the visceral effect Lee Minho has on you. In your lowest moments, you were even able to fool yourself into thinking you never cared about him in the first place.
But with him this close, with the scent of him in your knows and the heat of him underneath you, it's undeniable. The soju in your brain and the man carrying you up the stairs to your apartment are confusing enough to cross the wires in your brain.
The only thing you know clearly enough is that you want to hold on tightly and never let go. Your eyelids slide shut, and you decide to savor this moment—no matter how short it is.
"Y/N," Minho murmurs, coming to a stop. "Where are your keys?"
"Purse..." You mumble, not making any move to grab them.
You feel the sensation of him reaching behind, rummaging through your bag, and then the click of a lock echoes.
Beneath your cheek, the soft sound of his breath is like a lullaby. In, out, in, out.
A door opens and then closes, and the familiar scent of your apartment invades your senses. You burrow further into Minho's neck, clinging onto the fading scent of him.
His breath stutters, but you hardly notice as a hum of contentment bubbles up in your chest.
Another door opens and the sound of bare feet padding across carpet fills the room. Then the soft cushion of your mattress appears beneath your legs as he lowers you onto your bed.
"You've got to let go of me," Minho whispers when you cling onto him.
You shake your head, squinting into the darkness of the room. Only a small lamp illuminates the space, casting a warm glow across his face as he looks down at you.
"C'mon," he coaxes, gently prying your fingers apart.
Too hypnotized by the tenderness of his expression, you let him unwrap your arms from around him and lay you down. Your eyes remain on him as he fluffs your pillow and pushes it under your head, before pulling your blanket over you.
Your hand wraps around the edge of the duvet as he trails out of your room. The sound of him rummaging around in the kitchen echoes, then the sound of the tap, and finally Minho appears again.
Your heartbeat kickstarts again at the sight of him, and you want to kick yourself. You feel light and floaty as exhaustion sets in and your eyelids grow heavier. Still, you keep them open, if only to stare at him for a little bit longer.
"I'm going to leave some water here for you," Minho says. "Make sure to drink it."
"Uh huh."
He looks like an angel as he speaks to you, his voice soft.
"Text me or call me if you need anything."
"Yup." The words go in one ear and out the other as you find yourself enraptured by the curve of his jaw, the swoop of his hair, the swell of his lips.
He lifts his hand, as if reaching towards you, but freezes. The cogs in his brain whir almost loud enough for you to hear, even as he slowly lowers his hand again.
"Well..." Minho says, taking half a step back. "Good night."
He turns around and your heart stops. You hardly think as you reach out, your hand wrapping around his wrist.
"Don't go."
He seizes, as if your word have struck every crevice of his body.
"What?"
"Can't you..." you mumble as a strange ache hollows out your chest. "Can you stay with me?"
"Y/N..."
"I know I'm the one who said we should stop..." You whisper. "But... Just this once."
"You're drunk," he says softly, his back still towards you.
"Please?"
He inhales a deep, shuddering breath that wracks his entire frame.
"I'm not going to fuck you while you're drunk," he says tightly.
The words pierce your heart, send a cold chill through your veins as you process them.
"I—no," your voice cracks. "That's not what I meant."
"What did you mean, then?"
"I'm cold," you whisper instead.
"I'll bring you a blanket."
"Minho..." His name falls from your lips like a plea.
The room freezes for a moment and you can hear his breaths as clearly as if your cheek was still pressed against his back.
Blood thrums through your ears—you shouldn't have asked him that. You shouldn't have said anything, really, but the alcohol...
Well, now you aren't even sure you can blame your actions on that.
The silence swells, a tidal wave just waiting to break, and right as you are about to take your words back, Minho turns around to face you. His face is a watercolor mural of uncertainty and something else you can't quite place.
Still, he takes a deep breath and slowly walks towards the other side of the bed. When he sits down and stretches his legs out, his movements are almost robotic. His body remains stiff and on top of the duvet.
Your breath hitches a moment later when he lays his arm hesitantly over your waist. It barely touches you, as if he is making a conscious effort to hold it up.
"Better?"
You nod.
The duvet is thick enough that if you try hard, you can pretend like this isn't as intimate as it seems. You can pretend that you can't feel his body heat radiating onto your skin, you can pretend that you don't notice the irregular staccato of his breathing, you can pretend that you didn't just ask him to stay with you. You can pretend that he didn't listen.
But as you hear to the light hum of your heater in the corner, you know that you can't pretend that this isn't the most alive you have felt in weeks.
"I missed you," you breathe out.
"You can't say things like that," Minho says, voice barely there.
"I—"
"You're going to get my hopes up," he murmurs. "And that's mean."
"What?"
He sighs.
"Go to sleep."
"Minho..."
He doesn't respond. You wait, your heart stuck in your throat, to see if he will say anything else. But as the minutes pass and his breathing evens out, the room remains quiet. And even though you don't want to listen to him, even though his words play over and over in your head, eventually you can't deny the pull of sleep that drags you under, too.
A pounding headache snatches you from the deep throes of sleep. When you open your eyes, bright rays of sunlight burn the back of your eyelids and you can't quite remember what you did last night to put you in such an abysmal state.
A glance down at your clothes confirms that when you arrived home, you must have been too drunk to change. Which, now that you think about it... How exactly did you get home last night?
Your head swims when you push yourself up, eyes barely open as you shuck off your current attire in favor of your comfy clothes—aka an oversized shirt that you might have stolen from Minho a few weeks ago and your favorite fuzzy socks.
All you can think about is the Tylenol calling your name from the medicine cabinet as you walk out of your room. The only plus side to your current state is that your roommate isn't here to see how horrible you look.
The pounding in your ears is loud enough to drown out the sizzling coming from the kitchen, strong enough for you to not notice the smell of eggs wafting from the stove.
Unfortunately, it is not potent enough to erase the man standing with your favorite apron wrapped around his waist as he points a spatula at you.
"Good morning."
A surprised yelp leaves your lips as you make eye contact with Minho.
“W-What?”
“I made breakfast.” He says it like its the most normal thing for him to be standing in your apartment, cooking for you.
“…Why are you here?”
He stares at you. “Do you not remember last night?”
Your brow furrows as you think back on the night before. The last thing you remember was taking a step outside of the restaurant to get a breath of fresh air, and then—
Your mouth falls open as the memories flood back—of Minho walking you home, putting you to bed, and…
“You stayed?”
The words come out small and he shrugs.
“You asked me to.”
Your mouth gapes and your stomach turns as you struggle (and fail) to process his words. “But…”
“Sit.”
Minho takes you by the shoulders and steers you towards the barstool, pushing you down into a seat. You are just disoriented enough to not protest, taking the food of plate he puts in front of you without words.
Your heart flutters when you look down to see he has cooked your eggs just the way you liked them, without even having to ask you.
“What is this?” You ask faintly.
“Breakfast,” Minho says. “Obviously.”
“No, I mean—” you stutter, but he shushes you.
“Eat first,” he tells you firmly. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“I’m not the one who told you drink so much last night,” he tuts.
Your lips press together. The reason you were drinking was because of him, but you aren’t sure that’s the best thing to say right now.
“Eat,” he stresses again. “We’ll talk after.”
“Fine.”
You pick up the fork, torn between threatening him with it or digging into the food he made. In the end, your stomach makes the decision for you when it rumbles loudly. It is slightly uncomfortable the way that he watches you as you eat, but you are so hungry and hungover that the attention eventually fades to the periphery of your awareness as you scarf down the food faster than you probably should.
“Happy?” You ask, setting the fork down.
He nods, taking your plate and putting it in the sink.
“Great. So, about that talk?”
Minho shrugs his shoulder noncommittally, his back facing you as he turns the faucet on and reaches for the dish sponge. He looks so domestic washing your dishes that your stomach clenches.
“Minho,” you push yourself up, walking around the counter to close the distance between you and him.
“Yes?”
“Why are you still here?”
“Is that how you thank someone who just made you breakfast?”
“Stop deflecting,” you say.
“I’m not.”
“Then why are you still here?”
“I already told you.”
You are barely a few feet away from him and he still won’t look at you.
“We aren’t…” you hesitate. “We’re not anything.”
“Believe me, I know,” he mutters.
“Stop acting like this,” you sigh. “Can you answer my question?”
Minho turns off the tap and places the plate on your drying rack.
“What do you want me to say?” He asks finally.
“The truth, maybe?” You let out, annoyed.
“Really?”
“Yes, really!”
“You want me to tell you that even though it’s only been two weeks since I last saw you, it feels like it’s been forever?”
His words hit you like a punch in the stomach.
“W-What?”
Minho turns around, running a hand through his hair. He still refuses to look at you, but now that you can see his face, you can see the way his expression pinches as he continues on.
“Or that waking up next to you this morning was like a breath of fresh air? That I want to cook you breakfast every day and take you on dates all the time, and tell all our friends about us, and even do cringey things like take those stupid overpriced photobooth pictures because I know how much you like them? That I want to be embarrassing and irritating and overly affectionate with you because I really like you and it kills me that you don’t feel the same way?”
Your jaw drops. Blood thrums through your ears, your head pounds for a reason entirely different than your hangover from last night, and you think your heart might jump out of your throat.
Over the course of the past few months, you have seen Minho in countless compromising positions, but never has he looked more vulnerable than he does now. The rawness of his expression floors you.
And then he takes a deep breath, and the look is gone, his face oddly blank.
“Sorry,” he says, his voice level and controlled. “I didn’t mean to…”
He purses his lips, and you notice his fingers turning white as his digs his nails into his palms. When he notices you looking, he quickly hides his hands behind his back.
“I’m sorry,” Minho repeats. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, I meant to keep that to myself—”
“Do you mean it?” You interrupt.
“—What?”
Your words catch him off guard, and for the first time, he turns to look at you. His eyes are wide and confused as they snag on your face.
“Do you mean all that?” You whisper.
He looks at you—really looks at you—and then, candidly, he says, “yes.”
A moment of silence lapses, and then you burst into laughter.
“Oh my god,” you huff. “We’re both so fucking stupid.”
And then, you take a step towards him, wrap your arms around his neck, and pull his lips down to yours.
He doesn’t move, frozen as you press your mouth against him, his hands frozen at his side. And then, a small noise escapes him and he melts into the kiss, his lips working deliciously against yours. His hands press into your waist, pulling you closer to him.
“W-Wait,” he pants, breaking the kiss.
“I—I can’t do this,” Minho says, taking a step away from you. “You said you wanted to end it, I-I don’t want to feel pressured—”
“Minho,” you sigh. “The only reason I ended things is because I liked you too much. I was literally on the verge of confessing any time you even looked at me.”
This time, it’s his turn to look at you with surprise on his face.
“Seriously?”
“Why do you think I was drinking so much last night?” You ask sarcastically.
“…We really are stupid,” he sighs, and then his mouth is on you again.
This time, he kisses you gently, tenderly. His hands lift to cup your jaw and his lips move slowly against you, sensual in the way they suck and lick against your mouth. Underneath you, your legs turn to jelly and a small moan slips through as his tongue works its way into your mouth.
“M-Minho—” you gasp when he nips at your tongue, his teeth grazing your bottom lip in a way that sends arousal flooding your core.
“I missed you,” his words come out muffled against your mouth.
“Mmm,” you hum in agreement against his lips. He presses further into you, crowding you back until the countertop presses against your spine.
The two of you are chest to chest, bodies flush against each other as he devours you, the kiss going from sensual to downright carnal as Minho kisses you as if he needs it to breathe. A moan worms its way out of you when you feel the way his dick, hard through his pants, rubs against your stomach.
“Y-You’re so—” you gasp, pulling back from his mouth. “Already worked up, just from a kiss?”
“I’ve been hard since you walked out here in nothing but my shirt,” he says as you catch your breath.
“Well,” you bat your eyelashes, your fingers playing with the zipper of his pants. “Why don’t you let me help with that?”
“Fuck,” he hisses through his teeth as you slide down to your knees.
His pupils dilate at the visual of you below him, and a positively delicious groan escapes his lips when you nuzzle your face against his bulge.
“Yes, please,” he breathes.
You unzip his pants dangerously slowly, relishing the way that he watches you with such intensity. Your mouth waters at the thought of his cock, and you swear just the visual of it when you pull him out of his pants is enough to soak your panties.
A finger runs against his slit, light touches collecting his precum on your finger, and he hisses at the feeling. Your eyes stay glued to his when you push the finger into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it. The taste of him is familiar and has you moaning against your finger.
“Don’t be such a tease,” he grits out. “Your mouth…”
“You’re the one who has spent the last month rejecting my mouth,” you pout. “And now you want it?”
“God,” he groans. “Because I knew if I had my cock in your mouth, I would have told you in three seconds flat how I feel about you.”
“Hmm…” You feign disinterest, even as your thighs clench together.
His jaw tenses, the muscle tightening, and you decide to put him out of his misery.
You lean forward, placing a kittenish kiss on the head of his cock, and then you suckle him in your mouth, taking inch by torturous inch down your throat until you have him firmly to the hilt. The press of him against the back of your throat is painful and pleasurable in one, and you moan around him just to tease him.
“Fuck.”
His hand laces through your hair, tugging lightly at your scalp.
When you look up at him through hooded eyes, his tight expression has you pulling back off, your tongue running on the underside of his cock as you go.
“So good,” Minho tells you, and you push yourself further down his length.
He gathers your hair in a ponytail, holding it out of your face for you as you build a slow pace, sucking on the head of his cock every time you pull yourself off. Your eyes remain trained on his face, and you take delight in every minute change of his expression—the furrow of his brow, the bite of his lip, the parting of his mouth.
Curiously, you graze your teeth against him lightly. He groans at the feeling, his hips unintentionally jerking forward, and you smile around his cock.
Your hands rise to grip his thighs, and then you speed up, bobbing your head up and down fast and hard, ignoring the burn in your throat when the head of his cock hits the back.
“Fuck, oh my god,” he moans, his hand tightening in your hair.
And then, he pulls you off completely, panting as you wipe the spit from the side of your mouth.
“Why’d you do that?” You ask, your voice hoarse.
“You were having a little too much fun,” he says, the words coming out more breathy than he probably intends them to.
“I was,” you agree.
“Well, it’s my turn,” Minho says, and then he pulls you up from the ground, lifting you to place you on the countertop behind you.
“Gotta take care of you too, baby, hmm?”
Your legs part so that he has enough room to stand in between them, and you nod slowly.
“Yeah…”
“Are you gonna let me?” He asks. “Or are you going to stubborn, like last time?”
Your mind flashes back to the party, to the hallway, to his fingers, to the way that you were trying so hard not to slip up and let him know how obsessed you are with him.
“Take care of me,” you mumble, tugging on the hem of his shirt.
“Of course, baby,” he smiles sweetly at you, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.
It is a stark juxtaposition to the way that he hooks both of your legs onto his elbows, spreading you further so that your covered cunt is visible to him.
“Hmmm, so wet already?” He teases, running a finger over your soaked panties. You whimper at the feeling of his feather-like touch, leaning back on your elbows to support your weight.
“I missed you,” you whisper as he continues to feel you over your underwear.
“I couldn’t tell,” Minho smirks, his thumb rubbing your clothed clit in a way that has you squirming underneath him.
Your hips lift off of the counter in an attempt to get closer to him, and Minho takes the opportunity to pull your panties off completely. The air against your exposed cunt is cool and sets you on edge, making you starkly aware of how turned on you are.
His thumb comes down on your clit once again, and the feeling is ten times more intense than before. Your hips cant towards him and you moan as he rubs slowly, leisurely, drinking up your reactions.
“I love when you make those noises for me,” Minho says. “Knew you could do it, hmm? Why’d you hide them from me before?”
“C-Couldn’t,” you pant. “Couldn’t let y-you know how much I like you.”
He clicks his tongue.
“You better not hold back right now, baby,” he says, and then his fingers leave you, wrapping around the base of his cock.
You whine when he rubs it against you, his length hot and hard against your wet folds.
“Ready?”
You nod quickly, a content sigh leaving your lips at the familiar stretch when he pushes into you.
His pace is torturously slow and has you gasping before he even bottoms out. When his length is fully sheathed inside of you, he remains there, staring at your face with wide eyes that have cheeks warming.
“What?” You ask, self-conscious.
“You look so pretty like this,” Minho murmurs, a hand lifting up to smooth down your hair before trailing down to cup your jaw.
The praise has you clenching down on his cock, which in turn has him inhaling sharply.
“You like it when I say nice things to you?” He asks.
You bite your lip and look up at him but don’t answer.
“You’re always so pretty, baby,” he coos, pulling out slightly only to push back in.
Your mouth falls open at the feeling of him inside of you, every line and ridge so easily identifiable because of how slow he moves.
“I like everything about you, hmm,” Minho says, his breathing getting heavier as he repeats the motion until he is rocking into you, his dick brushing against the sensitive bundle of nerves inside of you. “Your voice, your personality, your pussy, you…”
You whine as he presses closer to you so that his face is only inches away from yours. His eyes bore into you as he reaches down and crooks your right leg over his shoulder, spreading you wider. The angle has him hitting deeper than before, and your insides burn with arousal. The slick sound of him inside of you in combination with your whines and his heavy breathing only make it all the more erotic.
“After this,” he pants, his breath fanning out against your face, “will you let me take you out?”
You nod quickly. “Yes, yes, oh.”
His hips snap against you, moving faster in a way that has your eyes rolling back in your head.
“You feel so hot, so good, yeah?” Minho grunts. “Silly girl, thinking that I don’t like you.”
You whimper at his words, rolling your hip upwards to meet his precise thrusts.
“I’m obsessed with you,” he says, kissing your neck. “It’s kind of a problem, actually, fuck.”
You clench down again, a string of breathy moans accompanying the visceral reaction his words have on you.
“You really like that, huh?” He groans, his hips stuttering at the feeling.
“Mhm, I-I really like you,” you whimper.
“Look at me like that,” he grits out, “and you’re going to make me come.”
“Please,” your eyes glaze over at the idea of the feeling of his cum, warm and wet inside of you, and you roll your hips against him again.
“Fuck, forgot what a cumslut my baby is,” Minho gasps.
“Min, please,” you whine.
“Only been a few weeks and you’re still so desperate,” he taunts. “Is this not enough for you?”
“A-Almost—” you moan. “Almost there.”
“Yeah?” He asks. “Gonna come for me?”
You nod.
“You’re so pretty when you come, god, I love when you come on my cock,” he groans.
Your orgasm is so close you can taste it, and the way that Minho continues to thrust into you hard and deep only eggs it further along. Your toes are tingling, you can barely keep your eyes open, and your core is clenching down so hard on him that you can see stars.
“Come for me baby, hmm?” He coos. “Show me how much you like me.”
All it takes is him leaning down to capture your lips in a searing kiss to push you over the edge. His mouth muffles the drawn out whine that you let out as your walls spasm around him. You aren’t sure how long your orgasm lasts—it feels like it could be minutes or hours, but he continues to fuck you through it, his mouth moving to your ear to mumble praises of how good you’re doing and how amazing you feel until you all but collapse on the counter beneath you, feeling boneless.
“You did so well, baby,” Minho murmurs, his hands gripping your hips as he continues to rock in and out of you slowly.
He is still hard, painfully so, and you can feel him throbbing in your oversensitive cunt.
“M-Min—” you cringe away from him, but his hold on you is firm.
“Think you can take a little bit more, hmm?” He pants.
You whine at the feeling of him inside of you.
“Thought you wanted my cum, baby,” Minho says. You nod your head deliriously, still basking in the afterglow of your orgasm.
“You can give me one more,” he tells you, “it’ll feel good, hm? Being good for me?”
His thumb drifts down to your swollen clit, and your back arches at the pain and pleasure of the direct contact.
“Minho,” you moan, “Oh, please—”
You aren’t sure if you are begging for him to stop or for him to keep going, and the smirk on his face tells you that he knows that. His thumb rubs tight circles on your clit, and you clench down hard on him, feeling another orgasm cresting dangerously close.
“So good,” he sighs, his hips stuttering. “Doing so good for me, baby.”
“Come, please,” you gasp. “Please, please, please.”
Minho’s thrust become sloppier the harder you clench down on him, his breaths coming out in rough pants—yet his thumb remains firmly where it is, rubbing and rubbing until he, dangerously quickly, brings you to your second orgasm.
You cry out as you come again, your hands gripping his wrists tightly as you writhe underneath him.
“Fuck,” he groans, thrusting jerkily into you twice more before pulling out, warm ropes of cum landing on your thighs.
You watch in blissful satisfaction as he jerks himself off through his orgasm, the veins in his forearm very visible.
He slumps against you, his forehead pressing against yours, and you smirk at him.
“You missed me that much, huh?”
“Yes,” he sighs.
“Well, lucky for you, I also missed you a lot.” You press a kiss against his cheek, giggling at the feeling of his hair tickling your face.
“So about that date…” Minho begins. “How long do you think it will take you to get ready?”
You jaw drops. “You wanted to go now?”
He grins. “No time like the present, right?”
if you enjoyed, please don't forget to reblog and leave your feedback/opinions <3 tysm for reading!!!
San liked coming to this bar. It’s one of the few places he could not be bothered. Sitting at the end of the bar he swirled the amber liquid in this cup. He never noticed the man who took the stool next to him.
“Man, look at that one over there,” the stranger said. “I can’t believe they're here alone.”
He looked up from his glass to the stranger, and then to the woman she talked about. His breath caught and his heart dropped. It was you. He hadn’t seen you in three months, not since you broke up with him.
“I think I’ll buy them a drink. What do you think, something sweet or strong?” the stranger asked.
Pointing to the bottle of whiskey he smiled to himself,” No man, someone like that drinks whiskey.” The stranger called the bartender over and ordered a drink to bring to you. ‘Poor guy’ San thought, it was over before he walked up to your table.
Deep down he knew it was wrong, but the thought of another man with you made him sick. There was no way the stranger knew what whiskey did… simply put, it made you miss him. Every sip, every shot was just serving as a reminder that you couldn’t leave the memory of his love.
The man walked back to the bar and ordered another round of drinks. It was no doubt someone like you would catch a man’s eye, and you weren’t new to the game. You would entertain them, but with each drink, it was a guarantee you would be going home alone.
He just sat back and watched you. He knew it was something he did, or didn’t do, that caused you to be there. It was easy to see you were drowning in your pain. It drove him crazy thinking about how he hurt you. Downing the rest of his drink he tossed money on the bar, grabbed his jacket, and slipped out of the bar, careful to not be seen.
He was halfway home when his phone rang. Glancing at the screen his heart sped up.
“Babe?” he asked with a shaky voice. His question was answered with silence. Panic began to set in, “Baby, are you ok?”
“No,” you sniffled. His heart stopped. You had been drinking late at night with some man ogling you. “Talk to me baby,” he begged,” what’s wrong? Where are you?”
➟ warnings: sad baby Yunho. Sometimes it hurts to realize that the best for someone isn't you.
A walk was all he needed to clear his head. Most days were easier now that you were gone but days like today were somehow worse. Everything about his apartment reminded him of you and after recording and deleting the fifth message he just needed a break.
It had been months since you moved out and even longer that you both knew your relationship was over yet he still found himself picking up the phone to call and ask about your day. It was just a habit he would never break. After his last call, Yunho figured it was best to stop calling. What if you did actually answer? What would he do? Ask about your day and beg you to leave about the parts about him?
Stopping at a bench along the edge of the park, he looked at his phone again but this time scrolling through social media. He smiled and watched your photos tell a story of a trip to the beach, making him wish he was there with you. He always promised you would go but work somehow work always got in the way.
His phone nearly dropped to the cobbled stone when your name flashed an incoming call. He knew he shouldn't answer but he needed to hear from you again.
"Hello?" he tried to stay collected, not wanting to seem desperate.
"Yunho, are you ok? I have at least seven missed calls from you," you asked with genuine concern. Even if you weren't together anymore, you would always love him.
I miss the way the sun reflected in your eyes
Without you I'm nothing
I wish you never left
"No, don't worry. I'm fine," he lied. You seemed so happy he didn't want to upset you. All he ever was for you to be happy. "I guess I just kept bumping the contact." Another Lie. "I'm sorry." Truth.
You laughed on the other end of the phone and made a joke about him being clumsy. You wanted to ask more about his day but your boyfriend called your name and was looking for you.
"I should go," Yunho said quickly, cutting you off before you could say goodbye. "Take care, ok? I really wish you the best things in life. See you around."
Mr. Tough Guy: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7
Thinking about making this a little series... Thoughts?
You sat at the bar and tried to drown this night away, alone. Sadly, the man next to you was trying to change your mind. For the third time you removed his hand from your thigh, each time it found itself higher on your person.
"It seems that your hand keeps getting lost on my thigh," you sneer at the stranger, "I suggest you remedy that." He snickered and ordered another drink from the bartender. Politely, you waved the bartender away, declining the drink. There was no way in hell you would be in debt to the creep.
You looked around the bar for a quick exit, no need to make a scene. Your friend was long gone with some stranger, leaving you to figure it out. Locking eyes with a man sitting at a table across the bar, you smiled. He was very handsome, his dark hair covered his forehead, but you could see his thin V-shaped face. He returned the smile and nodded his head in your direction.
Swirling the amber liquid in your glass, you let the ice clink the sides. Maybe if you did this enough it would drown out the sound of the man next to you. He was rambling about his job, maybe his car, hell, he could have been his cat and you wouldn't have cared less. Despite the look of disinterest, the stranger would not take the hint. You were physically repulsed when he touched you again.
"Ok," you said firmly, "That's enough." You took your drink and found a new seat at the opposite end of the bar. "Wow, you don't know how to take a hint."
"You can stop playing hard to get," the stranger said close to your ear. Having followed you, he leaned on the bar next to you.
"Please stop," you begged. Holding your hands up to make a point. The man at the table now eyed you with furrowed brows, and a scowl replacing his smile. Narrowing his eyes on you.
"How about I buy you another drink," the creep proposed.
"How about you back to fuck off," you said raising your voice, fists clenched at your side. This time you had enough. Suddenly, two men appeared at your side. One stepped between you and the stranger at the bar, the other bowed to you.
"Mr. Seo is requesting that you join him for a drink," the one closest to you said. Looking in the direction the man pointed, the man at the table lifted his glass to you. Nodding, you stood and reached for your purse and jacket, only to see one of the men already held it.
"Thank you," you said softly to the two men that escorted you to the table. Glancing back only once to see the seething man left alone at the bar.
"Sit, please," Mr. Seo said to you, as one of his partners pulled a chair out for you. "What's your name, beautiful?" You were taken aback by his warm and rich voice. You could feel the chills run down your spine.
"Y/N," you said softly. Mr. Seo leaned forward on the table and grinned.
"You'll need to speak up, beautiful," he said, "It's loud in here."
"Y/N. My name is Y/N Y/L/N, Mr. Seo," you said a little louder, meeting his eyes. His smile grew wider as he leaned back into his seat.
"ChangBin," he said. Your mouth formed a silent 'O', and you blinked a few times at him. Where had you heard that name before? "You can call me ChangBin, you don't need to be so formal with me." You dipped your head to hide the blush creeping up your cheeks. He tutted you and lifted your head with a finger under your chin. "Don't hide that beautiful face."
You looked around the table and noticed 4, no 5 men surrounding the table and another two on either side of ChangBin. In all-black suits and ties, they stood guard. Vigilant of their surrounding.
"Felix," ChangBin said. The man to the left of him with blonde hair and freckles leaned in and nodded his head, leaving the table. Shortly after, he returned to the table with a drink, sliding it in front of you.
"Thank you," you said sweetly to Felix, earning a quick smile. Bowing your head to ChangBin, you thanked him as well. ChangBin smiled at you and leaned towards you again, placing his hand on your free one.
"Tell me about yourself, Miss Y/L/N," he asked. It sounded like a question but felt like a demand. His deep brown eyes searched your face. Under his scrutiny, you blushed again. "So cute." He brushed his thumb across your cheek.
"Look here you ungrateful cock tease," the strange man from the bar yelled at you, attempting to grab you. Before you could react, two of ChangBin's men had this man bent over the table with his arms restrained behind his back and head pressed to the table.
Before you, the handsome man disappeared. Lowering himself to eye level, ChangBin pressed his hand against the man's head, applying excessive pressure. "I think you owe this woman an apology," he said through gritted teeth. "Don't you?" The man was only able to nod his head slightly. Lifting his head by the hair, ChangBin lifted it and slammed it back in your direction. "Go on."
"Sorry," the man choked out. Another loud slam sounded as his head hit the table again. ChangBin was in the man's ear demanding a proper apology be given. "I'm sorry for the way I acted towards you. I should not have treated you with such disrespect. I hope you can forgive me." Tears flowed from his eyes as he sought your face for any response.
"Is that ok, beautiful? Do you accept that apology?" ChangBin asked you. You looked from the man on the table, to the men around you and then finally to ChangBin.
"Yes, thank you," you said to him. He lifted the man's head from the table and made him face you.
"Now, thank the beautiful woman for letting you live," ChangBin ordered. "Next time you decide to speak to a woman, remember to have care." The man thanked you hurriedly and bowed the best he could with the grip on his scalp. ChangBin pushed him towards his men and told them to make sure he got home ok. Your eyes never left ChangBin's face. Once again, the handsome man sat and smiled at you.
"I'm a finance major, at the local school. My dad is in... finance," you told him. ChangBin met your eyes with curiosity. "I'm focusing on photography in my spare time. Architectural photography to be more specific." He pursed his lips and looked at you, questions in his eyes still. "What? You asked about me. Did something change?" He chuckled and crossed his arms.
"You tell me," he said nodding in the direction the man was carried off in. "You're not scared of me? Of what you saw?" He patiently waited for your response. After giving it some thought, you shook your head. "Really? Even if I had bashed his head in?"
"Would you? Have bashed it in?" you asked, genuinely curious. He took a deep breath.
"Yes. If you asked me to," he confessed.
"Well Mr. Seo," you cleared your throat, "That man there was not an honorable person. You, sir, I feel are cut from a different cloth. My father has always told me you can judge a man by the way he treats his family, friends, and most importantly, a stranger. You've been kind to me when you didn't need to. So no, I'm not afraid of you." He smiled at the way you spoke to him.
"Finance, huh?" he mused. You smiled and moved to the empty chair at his side. His men looked at each other and exchanged glances. The man with curly, bright red hair nodded at the rest slowly. "Smart and pretty."
"After this semester, I plan on traveling. I want to see the world before settling into life," you said dreamily. ChangBin leaned in closer to you, his cologne surrounding you. "I need to see all of the wonders this world has to offer." He reached up and cupped your cheek. Despite having a man's head pinned to a table a few moments ago, his interactions with you were gentle. It was like he was scared to break something delicate.
"Can I take you home?" he asked. "To make sure you're safe." He clarified, not wanting you to get the wrong idea.
"Yes, thank you," you said softly, turning your head and kissing his palm. His breath hitched at the simple gesture.
You were escorted to a black SUV with black windows and rims. The man with the red hair opened the door and ChangBin assisted you into the back seat, sliding in next to you. "Thank you, Chan," ChangBin said to him. With Felix driving, Chan took the free seat in the front of the SUV. Giving them your address, you relaxed next to ChangBin.
Once in front of your apartment, Chan opened the door for you and ChangBin to exit. Placing his hand on your lower back, ChangBin guided you towards the entrance of your building. Inside you reached for his hand, interlacing your fingers. Opening your apartment door, you stepped inside, still holding his hand. You smiled and stepped closer to him.
"Thank you for tonight," you said stepping closer still. Smiling down at you, he brushed your hair back from your face.
"No need to thank me. I'm happy I was there," he told you. "Give me your phone," he instructed. You did as he told you. Quickly, he typed in something and a chime sounded from his pocket. With a quick wink, he handed you the phone back. He kissed your forehead and backed away. Grabbing his arms you pulled him closer again.
"Wait," you begged, "Don't leave. Kiss me, please." You pouted your lips at him. He looked at you softly, almost as if you hurt his feelings. Gently grabbing your face with his hands, he pressed his forehead to yours.
"Don't make that face, beautiful," he scolded you. "You never have to beg me for anything. I can give you the world." He brushed his lips against yours and closed his eyes as you leaned into the kiss. He nipped your bottom lip before pulling away. After another quick kiss, he made sure you were locked inside before leaving you for the night.
You turned on your television just to have some noise to distract you. Whatever the newswoman was reporting caught your attention when you heard a familiar name.
"Last month we reported the death of gang leader Seo BonHwa. Now weeks later we have heard from a reliable source that there are talks of his son, Seo ChangBin taking over."
You quickly looked at the television to see a candid photo of ChangBin speaking to Chan and Felix being flashed on the screen. You mentally kicked yourself. His name had sounded so familiar.
"Well that explains a lot," you said to yourself with a dry chuckle. Your phone chimed, signaling a text message.
P: Jungkook x male reader | G: timestamp, smut | Inc: tattooist!Jungkook, sub!Jungkook, dom!reader, petnames, teasing, orgasm denial, Jk's hands being restricted, implied multiple orgasms, filth tbh, I took 'every second, every minute, every hour' and ran with it lmao | Wc: 223 | W: slight D/s dynamic, restriction, orgasm denial,, desc. of pleasure almost being painful (consensually ofc) | R: 18+
Min’s notes: I blame a mf named Jeon Jungkook singing Seven for this ^-^
Sweat drips down Jungkook’s forehead, his head thrown back as he tries to ground himself on y/n’s bed. His head is spinning – how long have the two of them been at this? How long did y/n want to keep this up? All manner of moans and whines slip out of his mouth, only encouraging y/n to keep up his loving torture on Jungkook’s cock. There’s not much Jungkook can do to make it stop; his hands restricted above his head and leaving him exposed and entirely at y/n’s mercy.
“F— fuck, y/n, baby…” The tattooist cries, unable to stop squirming the longer y/n refuses to stop. He’s so close but anymore and Jungkook might just lose his mind. He’s going to start coming dry at this rate. Y/n simply blinks, looking to his boyfriend as his hands just…stop. Jungkook panics, bucking his hips into the younger man’s now still hand, desperately seeking the pleasure that’s keeping him on the edge of pain and holding him there.
“What is it bunny? Do you want me to stop? It is too much for you?” Y/n taunts, tracing circles onto the writhing man’s tip. He huffs, “and here I thought you had stamina~. What was it you said? Every second? Every minute? Every hour?”
It had been a long week and this interview was circling the drain quickly. The people on the other side of the cameras were rude and unprepared. Bit by bit Bang Chan grew angrier. His stiff body and stone face should have signaled the room, but only his bandmates noticed.
Just arriving at the office, your friend let you know Stray Kids was down the hall in studio 2, probably finishing their interview. Kicking yourself for almost missing them, you jogged down the hall. Making sure you didn't look like you just ran down the hall, you slipped into the room to hear your coworker thank the guys for their time.
Stepping forward you offered your hand to Bang Chan, the leader of Stray Kids. "Hi, I'm Y/N. Thank you for letting us-" Chan cut you off aggressively.
"Thanks? Seriously? This had to be the worst interview, ever." He was glaring at you while he continued to rant, and you were intimidated. What could have happened to cause this seemingly kind and interesting man to unleash this fury? "And another thing, next time, if there is a next time, try not to make the guests do half the work." Trying to blink the tears away you apologized and bowed deeply to Chan before rushing out of the room, seeing the others couldn't look you in the eyes.
Ducking into your office you tried to steady your breath. You settled behind your desk and let your mind wander. What caused that outburst? Luckily all the videos were stored on the building server, and you would find what you needed.
In the studio, 7 men turned on Chan and began to raise their voices. They scolded him for the way he spoke to you. Heck, you had just walked in and probably had no idea what happened. Chan hung his head and kicked himself.
You paused the video halfway and checked the details. Ah, you knew the names and they were luckily, or unluckily for them, in your team. "Come in," you called to the person knocking on your door. Writing down the names of the troublesome employees, you looked up at the visitor. Dread instantly filled your stomach. Han Jisung stood in your office. Had Bang Chan sent him to finish the job of humiliating you?
"Hi," he said nervously. "I came to apologize on behalf of Bang Chan Hyung. I'm sorry. We're all sorry for how he spoke to you." Offering a small smile he gestured to the door. "Normally he wouldn't have-"
"Please. Stop. I understand," you pointed to the computer at your desk, "And they will be dealt with. I appreciate the apology." Sighing deeply you reached under your desk for the half-eaten candy bar. "Want one?" you asked waving the candy at the cute man across your desk. He quickly nodded with a boyish smile.
Catching the candy from the air, he smiled bigger. "My favorite," he announced, tearing the paper open. Taking a bite he stuffed his cheeks.
"Thank you again," you said softly, "For stopping by." Nodding, he wandered around your office, taking in your photos and awards on the wall. You watched him closely and couldn't help but find his puffy cheeks and the way his smile lit up his eyes endearing.
"Thanks for the chocolate," he said turning his attention back to you. "After a day like this with Chan Hyung, I needed it." Laughing at the cheap shot he took at his friend, you agreed.
"Yeah, me too," you giggled. The phone on your desk lit up with a call. The receptionist informed you that Bang Chan was waiting for you, and would like to see you. Han smiled at you and sat on the edge of your desk.
"Ah, my fearless leader has pulled his head from his butt," he laughed, "I bet he's on the way to apologize." Chewing the inside of his mouth he shrugged a little. "Maybe you can just accept mine… and not see him…" he trailed off.
"Oh? Why is that?" you asked, intrigued by his sudden nervousness.
"He just fills a room with his," he waved his arms around, "Bang Chan-yness." He rolled his eyes at the way it sounded.
"Well I have a lot of Han Jisung-yness in this office today," you mused. "I don't know if there is any room for anything else. Maybe we should make him wait." That smile lit up his eyes again, making you laugh. Standing from your desk you walked across the room and took his hand. "Come on. If we go out the back, he'll never see us."
Raising his brows in surprise, he let you pull him down the hall. As you reached the door, he stopped and pulled your arm, causing you to stumble back into his arms.
"Hurry now! Let's go as fast as we can," he whispered.
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