#lee minho friends to lovers

[leriexoxo]

Wait, Aren’t You Gay?

Bestfriend! Leeknow x Reader

“You crossed a line, He burned the rest”

Tags: Smut, groping, Mutual pining, phone sex, oral (f , m receiving), unprotected sex, dirty talk, fingering, begging, praise, soft dom Minho, tension snapping like a wire, domestic fluff, aftercare, post-sex vulnerability, tit play, friends to lovers

Word count: 8k

Summary: You always thought Minho was gay—so you never held back. Tiny tops, unfiltered stories, late-night cuddles… harmless, right?Until he sees you soaked through one day and finally snaps. And suddenly, your best friend isn’t looking at you like a friend anymore. Until one late-night phone call changed everything. Now you’re at his door—no bra, no excuse—buzzing from the sound of his voice and the filthy things he made you do. He opens the door. He sees you. And just like that, it’s over. The line is crossed.

This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

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You’d known Lee Minho since you were barely old enough to walk without holding onto his shirt.

Back then, he was just that loud kid who shared his snacks and shoved you into mud puddles. Now? He was your best friend. Constant. Loyal. Always down to pick you up when you were drunk or kill spiders or fake-boyfriend you out of awkward situations.

And also—totally not into girls.

At least, that’s what you’d always assumed.

He never talked about hookups. Never ogled girls. Never so much as blinked when you pranced around in your tiny shorts or ranted about your latest sex-related disaster. You figured he was either the most respectful man alive—or playing for a different team.

So you got reckless. Comfortable.

And today?

You were about to find out just how wrong you’d been.

It started with the kitchen sink.

You were washing dishes, half-dancing to your playlist, wearing nothing but those soft cotton shorts and an oversized white tank with no bra underneath. Your wet hair clung to your neck, and you were humming through a verse when the faucet burst—literally—spraying a jet of cold water straight at your chest.

“FUCK—shit, fuck—” You stumbled back, grabbing at the handle, slipping on the tile as water drenched you from neck to stomach.

And that’s when Minho walked in.

“Yo, I got the charger you—”

He froze.

You blinked at him, soaked and panting, hair plastered to your cheeks.

Water trickled down the front of your now see-through top. The fabric clung to every inch of your skin. And your nipples? Standing out like full spotlight, front row through the sheer cotton. You had no idea though, no time to even think about it before he had appeared.

“Oh.” You laughed, awkward. “Um—hi. Broken faucet. Don’t mind the wet t-shirt contest.”

He didn’t answer.

Just stood there.

Eyes glued to your chest, jaw clenched, nostrils flaring like he was trying to hold his breath.

Your smile faded.

“Min?”

His gaze finally snapped to your face.

Too late.

You saw it—the tension. The fire.

The unmistakable flicker of hunger.

And suddenly your stomach flipped.

“…Minho?”

He swallowed hard, voice low. Rough.

“Put something on. Now.”

You blinked. “What?”

“I said—” His eyes dropped again before yanking back up. “Go change. Now. Before I do something really fucking stupid.”

Your heart skipped.

Because that? That didn’t sound like your best friend.

You stood there in wet silence, your soaked top clinging to your skin like a second damn layer, Minho couldn’t meet your eyes.

He turned his back to you—turned his back—and gripped the edge of your countertop like he was grounding himself. His shoulders rose with each breath, tense as hell, like someone trying not to explode.

You’d never seen him like this. Not with you.

“I wasn’t—Min, I didn’t mean—” you stammered, brain short-circuiting. “I didn’t know you were coming over yet.”

His voice was clipped. “You knew the faucet was broken.”

“I didn’t know it was gonna blast me in the tits!”

Silence.

A beat.

Then, quietly—so quietly—you heard it:

“Jesus Christ…”

That’s when something finally clicked.

You looked down at yourself—at the sheer fabric sticking to your breasts, nipples hard, outline of your curves totally exposed. And for the first time in all the years of being this careless around him, you suddenly felt self-conscious.

You reached for a dish towel and held it over your chest.

“…Are you mad at me?” you asked, voice small.

“No,” he said quickly. Too quickly.

You stepped closer.

“Then what’s going on?”

He shook his head, still facing away. “You wouldn’t get it.”

“Try me.”

He let out a breath that sounded more like a growl, and when he finally turned around, you caught it again—that look. Raw, unfiltered restraint. His gaze flicked down to the towel you’d pressed to your chest, then back to your face.

You watched him like he was someone else.

Like the Minho you grew up with had peeled off his skin and left something sharper underneath. His jaw was tight, arms folded, eyes still avoiding yours—but you felt it now. That edge. That static charge that had been humming under the surface for who knows how long.

“I’ll fix the faucet later,” he muttered, stepping past you—carefully. Like you were made of glass. Or fire.

You turned as he moved, towel still clutched to your chest.

“You didn’t answer me,” you said.

“About what?”

“Why you told me to change.”

He stopped at the door.

Didn’t turn around.

For a long second, you thought he wouldn’t say anything at all.

Then, quietly, he replied:

“Because if I’d kept looking at you, I don’t think I would’ve kept my mouth shut.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

And when he walked out of the kitchen, just like that, it was like the whole room shifted.

The air changed.

Everything felt warmer. Tighter. Thinner.

You didn’t move for a while. Not until the cold in your soaked top finally made your skin sting.

⸻

The rest of the day passed weirdly.

Minho didn’t leave, of course. He stayed like he always did, lounging on your couch, bickering over what to order for dinner, side-eyeing you every time you grabbed your phone.

But the energy between you?

Completely different.

He didn’t look at you the way he usually did. Didn’t tease you like normal. Didn’t even touch you when he passed you the remote—just tossed it like it might burn him otherwise.

And you couldn’t stop thinking about his voice in the kitchen.

“I don’t think I would’ve kept my mouth shut.”

Kept it shut about what, exactly?

What he was thinking?

What he wanted to do?

You were still thinking about it when you came out of your room later in a sleep shirt that barely skimmed your thighs. No bra. Nothing underneath. The usual you-in-your-element vibe.

Except… this time?

You caught him looking.

Not accidentally.

Not briefly.

He looked—and kept looking.

From your legs to your hips to the faint hint of nipple under the thin fabric, straight to your face.

Your breath caught.

He didn’t apologize.

He didn’t blink.

He just raised a brow—almost like a dare—and said, “Your sink’s still fucked.”

You nodded, slowly.

“So are you gonna fix it?”

He stood up.

And as he passed by, way too close, his hand brushed the curve of your lower back.

Just a touch.

Too casual to be called a grab. Too deliberate to be innocent.

And then he was gone again, heading into the kitchen.

Like it hadn’t just happened at all.

⸻

He always crashed in your bed. That wasn’t new.

Late movie nights, sleepy arguments, limbs tangled and breathing synced—just best friends, just comfort.

Except tonight?

You felt everything.

His warmth at your back. The heaviness of his arm draped around your waist. The intentional silence of him pretending to be asleep, even though you could feel how tense he was.

You’d turned off the lights twenty minutes ago, but your body was still buzzing. Hyperaware of every inch of skin not covered by your flimsy sleep shirt. Every inch of him pressed against you in the dark.

And you knew—you knew—he hadn’t stopped thinking about earlier.

About how you’d looked dripping wet, nipples hard, shirt transparent and clinging to your curves like a second skin.

You should’ve felt awkward.

But instead, your thighs were clenched.

And then—His hand moved.

Just a little.

At first, it was nothing. A small adjustment. His fingers splayed over your stomach like they were stretching in his sleep. But then his palm drifted higher.

Slow.

Barely grazing the underside of your breast through your shirt.

Your breath caught.

His did too.

Like he just realized what his body was doing.

He didn’t pull away.

Not immediately.

His fingers twitched, tips brushing right beneath the curve of your boob—soft, tentative. Still pretending it was nothing. That he was asleep. That this wasn’t completely out of bounds.

Your chest rose and fell faster now.

He still didn’t speak.

But his hand stayed there.

Hovering. Teasing. The edge of a full touch, like he was testing himself. Or punishing himself.

And you?

You didn’t stop him.

You didn’t even breathe.

You just pressed back into him slightly—so slightly—and felt the undeniable shape of him, hard and restrained against the swell of your ass.

He exhaled shakily behind you.

Shit.

You’d never heard him make a sound like that before. Not around you.

Not around anyone.

You didn’t move for a while.

Didn’t even blink. Not when his fingers hovered beneath your breast, not when you felt his cock pressed firm and restrained against the curve of your ass. You just stayed still—heart hammering, skin burning—like your body was listening for his next move.

But when none came…

You shifted.

Just a little. Barely a breath of movement. Just enough to arch your back, push your chest forward, and guide the soft swell of your breast right into his palm.

His fingers twitched again.

But he didn’t pull away.

He didn’t say your name. Didn’t jerk back in shock or guilt. He just stayed there—completely still behind you, breathing shallow and slow like he was holding onto sleep as a defense.

Your nipples were hard beneath the thin cotton, the heat of his palm sinking through the fabric like an electric brand. It was barely a touch—but it felt filthy. Loaded. More intimate than anything you’d done with someone you were actually sleeping with.

And still, you stayed quiet.

Still.

Sleeping.

His thumb brushed the soft curve below your nipple. Just once. Barely there. Like a reflex.

And this time, his hips shifted too.

The press of him against your ass sharpened—more deliberate now. Less restrained. Like his body had stopped asking for permission and started taking what you weren’t stopping.

His hand tightened—slightly.

He was pretending to be asleep, you realized.

Just like you were.

If either of you acknowledged it, the world would crack open.

So you didn’t.

You just let it happen.

Let his hand cup your breast like it was meant to be there. Let his hips roll forward in the slowest, tiniest grind. Let your legs shift apart just enough that your thighs stopped brushing—and instead, welcomed.

He let out another one of those breaths—low, shaky, wrecked.

You smiled into the pillow.

Still not breathing.

Still “asleep.”

And behind you, your best friend since diapers was losing his last scrap of composure.

—

The morning came too fast.

Sunlight crept through your curtains like it knew what happened. Like it saw every second of that not-a-dream moment where his hand cupped your breast and his hips rolled into yours like it wasn’t the first time he’d imagined it.

He was already in the kitchen when you woke up.

Hair messy, hoodie wrinkled, acting like everything was normal. Like he hadn’t spent the night wrapped around you with his cock pressed to your ass and his hand full of your tit.

You padded out barefoot, keeping your face unreadable.

He handed you a mug. “You were out cold.”

Liar.

You took it, fingers brushing his, watching him too closely.

“So were you.”

A flicker—barely there—but his eyes twitched toward you for a split second. Like he was trying to see if you meant something more.

You let him sit with the tension.

You drank your coffee slow.

“You ever think…” you began softly, “maybe I’ve just been really fucking stupid?”

He looked up from his cereal. “Since when?”

You tilted your head. “Since assuming you weren’t into girls.”

He blinked. Slowly. Carefully.

That… got his attention.

He didn’t smile. Didn’t laugh it off. Just sat there—silent—and then brought the spoon to his mouth like nothing had happened.

But his voice, when he finally answered, was low. Controlled.

“What makes you ask that?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. You never dated any. Never flirted. You never reacted when I walked around like—” you gestured vaguely at yourself—“this. So I figured, you know. Must be the reason.”

Another pause.

His eyes dropped to your thighs.

You were wearing the same sleep shirt.

No bra still.

Of course he noticed.

But he didn’t give you that satisfaction. He set the spoon down and leaned back in the chair, stretching lazily like his body hadn’t betrayed him eight hours ago in your bed.

“Maybe I’m just good at not talking about certain things,” he said.

That hit harder than it should have.

You stared at him.

And for the first time in a long time—you didn’t see your best friend.

You saw a man who’d been holding himself back for years.

You’d never stared at his crotch before.

That was the first red flag.

You weren’t even trying to. Just sitting across from him on the couch while he scrolled through his phone, hoodie riding up slightly, grey sweatpants loose and slung criminally low on his hips. You weren’t supposed to notice the shape beneath. The outline. The fact that you recognized the pressure of it against your ass last night because it had left an imprint on your nervous system.

You blinked away quickly.

Jesus.

You sipped your water like it could douse whatever fire had started in your chest—and your thighs.

He didn’t notice.

Of course he didn’t.

Lee Minho was the king of unreadable faces. That man could watch you strip naked and probably wouldn’t flinch. It was part of the reason you’d always felt safe around him. And the same reason you were losing your mind now.

You needed to know.

If you were wrong. If he’d just been hiding in plain sight. If that touch last night had been a fluke. A dream. Or something darker.

So you tested it.

That evening, while he sat on the floor building a shelf you couldn’t be bothered to finish, you leaned in behind him.

Loose tank top. Braless as usual. Intentional bend.

He turned slightly. Saw your chest from the side—too close, too exposed, one nipple practically peeking through the armhole.

His jaw clenched.

But he said nothing.

Strike one.

You tried again.

Pulled your hair up messily, exposing your neck, your back. Made small, breathy sounds when you stretched. Loud enough to hear. Soft enough to pass as innocent.

Still nothing.

Strike two.

You were practically writhing at this point. Trying to piss him off or fluster him, something.

But Lee Minho stayed quiet.

You weren’t sure what exactly you were trying to prove anymore.

That he wasn’t gay? That he wanted you? That you could still control this friendship even when everything was shifting beneath your feet?

Maybe it was all of it.

But you were already halfway in his lap before you had time to second guess it.

“You’re not good at building shit,” you teased, voice sweet as sugar while you hovered close, brushing imaginary dust from his shoulder. “Lucky I’m cute enough to get away with watching instead of helping.”

He grunted—low, disinterested. But his eyes betrayed him. You saw the flicker—straight to your chest, to the deep dip of cleavage you’d made extra sure he’d notice.

Bingo.

You leaned closer. Pretending to inspect a screw on the shelf. Your tits brushed his upper arm.

He went still.

“You okay there, Min?” you asked softly. Coy.

He cleared his throat. “Don’t start.”

“Start what?”

“This,” he said. He didn’t look at you. “Whatever game you’re playing right now.”

“I’m not playing anything.”

“Yes, you are.”

You tilted your head. “What are you talking about?”

Silence.

Then, quieter: “I’m warning you.”

Oh, that did something to you.

He sounded like he meant it. Like he was afraid of himself more than you. And maybe he should’ve been—because you were reckless now. Hyped up on the taste of your own power, drunk on the image of him with your tit in his hand last night.

You pulled your tank top aside from the arm hole just a little. No bra. Just the soft swell of skin—more than enough to tempt. His eyes snapped to it instantly.

“Go ahead,” you whispered. “Touch me.”

He swallowed.

Didn’t move.

So you took his hand yourself—slowly, deliberately—and pressed it to your breast.

Flesh to palm.

He exhaled sharp. Visibly flinched. But he didn’t pull away.

You arched into his touch.

“You’ve never been curious?” you asked, voice lower now, almost daring. “Never once wondered what they felt like? You’ve known me your whole life, Minho…”

His thumb twitched. Brushed the underside like he didn’t even know he was doing it.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered under his breath.

“What?”

“You have no idea what you’re doing, do you?”

You smiled faintly.

But then he tightened his grip—just slightly—and your breath caught.

“You think I’ve been ignoring you all these years?” he asked, voice dark now. Steady. Dangerous. “You think I don’t notice when you walk around half naked? You think I don’t see the way your tits bounce when you laugh?”

You froze.

Oh.

Oh shit.

“You think I don’t feel them when you’re sleeping pressed against me?” His thumb brushed up now—barely grazing your nipple. It stiffened instantly. So did you.

“Minho…”

His hand dropped away suddenly, like he was snapping out of it.

“You need to stop,” he said, standing up too fast. “Before you push me too far.”

You stared up at him from the floor, dazed.

For the first time… you realized you might’ve already pushed too far.

—

It was hours later when you finally crawled into bed.

He was already in it—lying on his side, facing away, blanket riding low on his waist and exposing the tight line of muscle up his back.

Your heart was still pounding.

He hadn’t said a single thing after storming out earlier. Not during dinner. Not while you cleaned the mess from the half-finished shelf. Not while you avoided looking at him like he hadn’t cupped your tit like a stress ball.

And now you were lying beside him again, like nothing had changed.

You couldn’t tell if you were relieved or disappointed.

You turned your back to him, the usual position when you shared a bed, but the air felt different tonight. Dense. Stifling.

“Hey,” you whispered in the dark. “Are we… okay?”

His voice came low. Controlled. “You tell me.”

You swallowed. “You seemed… upset earlier.”

“I was,” he said. “I’m not anymore.”

“Oh.”

Silence.

Then, casually:

“You looked at my dick today.”

You choked. “What?! No I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.”

You rolled onto your back, flustered. “You can’t prove that.”

“I don’t need to. I know your face. I’ve known it since you had baby teeth.”

You blinked at the ceiling. Your face was burning.

He shifted then—closer. The bed dipped behind you. His chest met your back.

And something else pressed against your ass.

Hard. Solid. Undeniable.

You gasped.

His lips brushed your ear. Calm. Evil.

“That’s payback,” he said softly, “for putting your tits in my hand.”

You forgot how to breathe.

He didn’t move.

Neither did you.

The air between you was molten now, and his cock—fuck, that was his cock—was still heavy and pulsing against your ass like he was proud of it.

“Minho…”

“You wanted to know,” he said, voice silk and fire. “You’ve been trying to get a reaction out of me all day. So now you’ve got one.”

You felt him smirk.

“What’s wrong?” he murmured. “Too much?”

You couldn’t answer.

Not when your thighs were squeezing together like they had a mind of their own. Not when your heart was a drum and your skin burned where it touched his.

You didn’t say anything at first.

Just stayed frozen in place, his cock pressed thick and solid against the soft curve of your ass, your entire body vibrating with heat.

Your lips moved before your brain could stop them.

“…Can I touch it?”

Silence.

Not even a breath behind you.

Then— “What?”

You swallowed, your voice weirdly calm now. “I just… I wanna feel it. Like—actually feel it. With my hand.”

A sound escaped his throat. Sharp. Choked.

“You’re kidding.”

You turned around slowly, facing him in the dark. His eyes locked on yours—blown, stunned, like you’d slapped him with a brick made of sin.

You didn’t wait for another answer.

Your eyes dropped straight to his crotch.

And your hand followed.

The blanket shifted just enough as you slipped beneath it, and your palm found him right where he’d pressed up against you before—still just as thick, still painfully hard, straining beneath the soft fabric of his sweatpants.

You cupped him gently.

Minho jerked.

“Holy fuck,” he whispered, face twisting. “What the hell are you doing…”

“Just curious,” you murmured, gaze fixed on the shape of him under your hand. “You’re so… big.”

He groaned, head dropping back into the pillow.

Your fingers squeezed lightly. You were sure you felt him twitch.

“You’ve been like this all night?” you asked, eyes wide.

He hissed through his teeth. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Why not?” you teased, still stroking. “It’s not like I’m doing anything serious.”

“That’s the fucking problem,” he gritted out, hips twitching into your hand.

You explored him like you were learning something new, weighing the heft of him through his pants, tracing the long, thick outline up and down.

He was breathing heavier now. Jaw clenched. Eyes shut.

“You can tell me to stop,” you whispered.

He didn’t.

So you slipped your hand inside.

No warning.

Just fingers beneath the waistband, sliding inside until you were wrapping your hand around bare, hot skin.

Minho choked.

“Fuck—fuck—”

You stroked slowly, palm tight around the base, sliding up to the head and back again. He was massive. Velvet over steel. Already leaking a little at the tip.

He bucked into your hand before he could stop himself, hips twitching under the weight of your touch.

“Is this payback too?” you asked, lips barely moving.

His eyes flew open.

“Keep talking and I’ll fuck your throat instead.”

Your hand froze.

Your heart flipped.

Your thighs clenched so hard it hurt.

But then, you looked up at him. Still holding him. Still stroking him.

His cock twitched in your hand, thick and aching, as you slowly dragged your fingers up the shaft and back down, your touch featherlight—teasing.

Minho’s eyes were glassy now, dark and stormy and wild, like he was barely keeping himself together. His jaw clenched. His chest rose and fell in shallow bursts.

You felt powerful. Dangerous.

So you looked up at him—bold, daring—and said, “So? Still want me to stop?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just blinked at you like he was seeing you for the first time. His voice came hoarse and wrecked.

“Are you crazy?”

You tilted your head. “Maybe.”

“This is—” He swallowed. “We’re—”

“Friends?” you offered, sliding your hand again, slower now. “Childhood besties? Practically siblings?”

He winced. “God, don’t say that.”

You smiled.

And then, without another word, you sat up on your knees and tugged your oversized sleep shirt over your head—bare underneath. Just skin and heat and those same soft breasts he’d felt in his hands earlier.

They bounced slightly as you moved, and the room went still.

His breath hitched. His eyes dropped—dragged—to your chest.

It was the second time he’d seen them that night.

“I’m sure,” you said simply.

Something broke in him.

He sat up so fast the mattress shook, one hand grabbing your wrist, the other threading hard into your hair. He yanked you forward, his mouth crashing into yours with so much heat it knocked the breath from your lungs.

You gasped into the kiss, and he devoured it—biting, claiming, groaning into your mouth like he’d been starving for years.

“This what you wanted?” he growled, lips trailing down your neck, teeth dragging over your collarbone. “You really wanted to see what I’d do?”

You whimpered, nodding, fingers already clawing at the waistband of his sweats.

“Too late to take it back now,” he muttered against your skin, before ducking down and wrapping his lips around your nipple—hard.

Your back arched. His tongue flicked, sucked, bit.

“Minho—”

“I’ve dreamed about these,” he groaned, switching to the other breast, kneading the first one in his palm like he was worshiping it. “You don’t know what the fuck you’ve done to me.”

Your whole body was trembling, his hands now everywhere—gripping your waist, sliding down your back, yanking you flush against his chest as he rutted up into you, his cock still trapped in his sweats, still throbbing.

“Need to feel you,” he rasped. “Need to have you.”

“Then take me,” you breathed. Without even thinking about it.

And for a second, Minho froze.

Not because he didn’t want to—his hands were already sliding lower, gripping your hips with bruising force—but because the way you’d said it… so open, so needy, so real… it shook him.

“Don’t say that unless you mean it,” he whispered, forehead pressing against yours, his voice raw, trembling. “Because if I start, I won’t stop this time.”

Your chest heaved against his, nipples dragging over his skin, and his self-control nearly snapped again right there. You could feel him under you, thick and hot through the fabric of his sweats, the tip pressed right against your soaked panties. One shift of your hips and—

“I’m not asking you to stop,” you whispered back.

He groaned, low and guttural, like the sound had been buried in his chest for years. You kissed him again—slow, deep, your tongues tangling like this wasn’t the first time. Like your bodies already knew the steps.

And maybe they did.

His hand slid between your thighs, pressing the heel of his palm right where you were aching most. Your hips jerked.

“Already soaked,” he rasped, biting down on your lip. “Fuck—have you always been like this around me?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. His fingers dipped beneath your waistband, brushing over your soaked folds through your underwear—just enough to make you moan.

“You’re playing with fire,” he warned, mouth now at your ear, voice shaking. “You keep tempting me like this, and I swear—”

“Then burn me,” you whispered, grinding down on his hand.

He snapped again—grabbing your ass and flipping you onto your back like he’d been holding back all his life. The sudden dominance in his movements made your breath hitch.

Minho hovered over you, both of you half-naked now, tangled in sweatpants and damp underwear and a thousand repressed thoughts.

His hand moved with purpose now, cupping your mound, rubbing slow circles over your clit, lips pressed to your neck.

You whimpered, bucked.

“Don’t tease,” you begged.

He chuckled darkly. “Says the one who’s been waving her tits in my face for years.”

You gasped—half embarrassed, half turned on—and he pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes.

“Tell me to stop,” he said softly. “Or I’m going to ruin your sleep.”

You stared at him, panting. You wanted him. Needed him. But something inside you whispered—not yet. Not like this. Not while everything was still unraveling too fast.

“Not tonight,” you murmured, heart racing.

His expression shifted, softening in a way that made your chest ache.

He nodded slowly. “Okay.”

But his fingers didn’t move right away. He gave you one last teasing brush, slow and aching.

“For the record,” he added, voice like gravel, “this is me trying to behave.”

You giggled, breathless.

“I can tell.”

And then he pulled you into his chest, kissed your forehead, and let the fire between you simmer.

You didn’t have sex that night.

But neither of you slept much, either.

⸻

It had only been three days.

Three days since Minho had slipped out with nothing but a cryptic, “I’ll see you later,” and a soft kiss to your temple. Two days since you’d almost let your best friend finger you into oblivion under the safety of your shared covers. And now he was gone.

Well, not gone-gone. Just back at his apartment. Just out of reach. Just far enough to not risk really doing what your bodies had been begging for.

He hadn’t ghosted. Not exactly. Just a little space, a few texts. “Sorry, been busy.” “Work’s a lot this week.” “I’ll come by soon.”

But soon wasn’t now. And now… was when you were sprawled out on your bed, fingers between your thighs, a familiar silicone toy buzzing softly inside you—desperate to chase that same friction you almost got from him.

It wasn’t the same. Nothing could be. But the thoughts in your head? Those were filthy enough to get the job done.

Your mind kept flashing back to the night before he left: his voice in your ear, his thick cock pressed to your core, the way he’d looked at you like he’d been starving. You whined as your hips rolled, tightening your grip on the toy buried inside you.

Then your phone lit up.

Minho calling.

You froze, heart skipping. Fuck.

You hesitated just long enough for it to ring again—and then answered, trying to level your breath.

“Hey,” you managed, voice just a bit too airy.

“Hey,” he said, voice casual, low. “Were you sleeping?”

“Nope.” You exhaled hard through your nose, the vibrator still inside you, pulsing away like it knew your secrets. “Just… relaxing.”

“Mmm.” His voice dropped, curious. “You sound out of breath.”

You swallowed. Hard. “Tired day. I was just—y’know. Lying down.”

The vibrator kicked up just a notch, and your thighs jerked. He kept talking.

“Sorry I’ve been MIA. Been thinking about you, though.” His voice was warm, familiar. God, his voice. “A lot, actually.”

A sharp breath escaped you. You hoped it sounded natural. It didn’t.

“…You okay?” he asked, his tone shifting just slightly. “You sound—off.”

You could barely think anymore. Your head was buzzing. Your thighs were trembling. And you didn’t dare stop.

���I’m fine,” you rasped.

But then you whimpered. Barely. Just a little hitch in your throat.

He paused. “Wait. Are you—are you doing something?”

Your whole body froze.

“No,” you lied, voice high.

He went quiet. Too quiet.

“…Are you touching yourself right now?” His voice came low, dangerous. “While on the phone with me?”

Silence.

Then, another breathy whimper.

He growled. “Fuck. You are.”

You felt heat shoot up your spine.

“Keep going,” he said, voice gravel now. “Don’t stop. You started this.”

Your hips rolled again—slower this time, more deliberate—as you listened to him breathe, listened to the weight behind his words.

“Tell me what you’re thinking about,” he demanded. “While you fuck yourself to my voice.”

You bit down on your lower lip, squeezing your eyes shut as his words settled under your skin like molten honey.

“Tell me,” he said again, voice a touch lower, rougher now. “What were you thinking about?”

You whimpered. “You.”

He chuckled. Dark. Breathless.

“Yeah? What about me?”

You hesitated, hips twitching as your toy nudged just right inside you. “The way you felt that night,” you gasped. “The way you pressed into me from behind… the way your cock felt against me, even through the sheets—”

“Fuck.”

His reaction was sharp and immediate, a barely controlled groan through clenched teeth. You knew his hand was probably fisting the sheets or his thigh right now, trying to stop himself from touching the one thing he couldn’t have—yet.

“Are you still touching yourself?” he asked, voice thick.

“…Yes.”

“Good. Faster.”

The single command shot straight to your gut. Your fingers moved in rhythm with the toy now, chasing the heat blooming deep in your belly. You didn’t even care if he heard your wetness or the whines building in your throat anymore.

“Wish I could see you,” he breathed. “Wish I could have my hand over your mouth. You’re too loud, babe. You’d wake the whole damn building if I fucked you right now.”

“Minho—”

“Not yet,” he cut in. “You’ll come when I say so. Not a second sooner.”

You squeezed around the toy, aching, desperate, toes curling.

“Keep going. Just like that.” His voice was pure sin now, molten and slow. “You’ll come with my voice in your ear and my name on your lips, just like you should’ve that night.”

You whimpered.

“Say it,” he demanded. “Say my name.”

“Minho—”

“Louder.”

“Minho.”

“Good girl,” he rasped. “Now come.”

You shattered.

Your back arched off the bed, thighs quaking, moan spilling raw and unfiltered from your lips as your body pulsed around the toy. You didn’t even try to hold it in anymore—he needed to hear it. He deserved to.

Silence stretched on the line after, only your wrecked breathing and the distant rasp of his own breath filling the space between you.

When he finally spoke again, it was with the voice of a man barely holding back his hunger.

“I’m going to ruin you,” he said softly, deadly. “Next time I get my hands on you… I’m not stopping until you forget anyone else ever made you come.”

The call ended.

You blinked at the screen, dazed, thighs still trembling.

But you didn’t sleep.

You changed into the first half-decent outfit you could find, tugged your hoodie over your head, and grabbed your keys with your heart hammering in your throat.

If he wasn’t going to come to you?

You’d damn well go to him.

—

You almost turned around three times. Once at the stoplight. Again when you parked in front of his building. And one last time while standing at his door, staring at the stupid number you’d memorized when you were ten.

You shouldn’t have been here.

But your body didn’t care. Not when it was still buzzing, still throbbing from the orgasm he commanded out of you through the phone not ten minutes ago. Your thighs were sticky, your bottom lip sore from how hard you’d been biting it in the car, nerves coiling in your belly like a wire about to snap.

Showing up like this—unannounced, in shorts that barely passed as clothing, no bra under your thin hoodie—wasn’t just reckless. It was deliberate. Dangerous.

You raised your hand and knocked before you could talk yourself out of it.

Footsteps came quickly. Heavy. The door flew open seconds later, and there he was.

Minho.

Still shirtless.

Sweatpants slung low on his hips. Hair a mess like he’d been pacing. His jaw was tense, chest rising like he hadn’t calmed down since the call ended. His eyes found yours and locked in like he could see through you.

He didn’t say a word.

Just looked at you.

Slow. Hungry. His gaze dragged from your flushed face to the zipper of your hoodie and lower—lingering on your bare thighs.

You shifted, suddenly feeling way too exposed.

“Say something,” you whispered.

His voice came out hoarse.

“You’re insane.”

“I know.”

Another pause. The air between you tightened.

He stepped forward. Just one step—and you backed up, your breath hitching.

“No bra?” he muttered like it hurt him. “You show up like this after what just happened—fuck—”

“I didn’t know what else to do.” You bit your lip, heat crawling up your neck. “I didn’t want to wait.”

That was it.

He snapped.

You didn’t even see him move—just felt the door slam shut behind you as he pushed you up against it, one arm shooting out to lock it without looking. His hands came to either side of your head, bracing himself like he was seconds away from self-destruction.

His breath hit your lips.

Every muscle in his body was coiled tight, like he was holding back something feral.

“Last chance,” he growled. “If you tell me right now you’re not sure, I’ll let you go. I’ll jerk off in the shower until my knees give out and pretend you never begged to come in my ear.”

Your throat tightened.

“I’m sure.”

That was all it took.

His mouth crashed into yours. Hungry. Deep. Unapologetic. It hit you like a wave—his tongue sliding in, his grip tightening, his body pressing flush against yours with an intensity that made your knees buckle.

One hand tangled in your hair, tilting your head, while the other found your waist and gripped—like he was claiming territory.

A moan escaped into his mouth as you clung to his shoulders, pulling him closer, anchoring yourself to the storm that was him.

Minho’s mouth was still glistening with you when he picked you up—one arm under your thighs, the other around your back. He didn’t even blink. Just carried you down the hall like it was nothing, your head pressed to his neck, body boneless from how hard he’d made you come.

His bed was unmade.

Sheets tossed. Pillows scattered. And you were in them seconds later, back hitting the mattress with a bounce.

Minho stood at the edge of the bed and looked at you.

Like he’d waited years for this moment. Like you were a fantasy come to life and he was deciding whether to kneel at your feet or tear you apart.

“You still want this?” he asked, voice low—gravel and smoke.

You didn’t answer. You showed him—legs spreading wider, hips tilting, your hand sliding down to part your slick folds. His eyes darkened.

“Fuck, okay,” he breathed, like he was short-circuiting. “Okay, baby.”

He crawled over you like a shadow, slow and heavy, his mouth finding your jaw first—then your neck, then your collarbone, biting as he went.

“You’ve been mine since we were kids,” he murmured into your skin, tongue flicking over a mark he’d just left. “You just didn’t know it.”

You gasped when his hips rolled against yours, his cock rubbing through your soaked folds, huge and leaking and so hot against your cunt.

“You feel that?” he asked, dragging it up and down—your body arching, chasing it. “You’ve had me like this for years. All those skirts. All that attitude.”

He gripped your jaw, making you look at him.

“You think I didn’t notice the way you got careless around me?”

Your lips parted, but no sound came out—just a broken breath as he lined up, pressing just the tip in.

Your nails dug into his arms.

“Minho—”

“Shh,” he whispered. “I know, baby. I know.”

Then he pushed in.

Slow. Deep. Relentless.

And holy fuck.

Your eyes slammed shut, jaw dropping in a silent scream as he stretched you open. He didn’t stop until he was fully inside—until his hips were flush with yours and your cunt was full.

“Jesus Christ,” he groaned into your neck. “So fucking tight.”

You could barely breathe. Could barely think.

He pulled back just enough to drive back in—and again—again—building a rhythm that knocked the sanity right out of your head.

Minho fucked like he was carving his name into your body.

He was everywhere—teeth on your throat, hands on your tits, hips snapping hard and deep like he needed to ruin you.

And he was talking, too. Filthy. Possessive. All in that growly voice that made your toes curl.

“You gonna let me fill you up, baby?”

“Gonna fuck you so full you feel me for days.”

“You were made for this. For me. For my cock.”

You cried out when he grabbed your thigh and folded you in half, slamming deeper, finding that spot that made your entire body lock up.

“Right there?” he growled, eyes glued to your face. “That’s it, isn’t it? That’s your spot.”

You were sobbing now—wet, broken sounds as your second orgasm raced up your spine.

“Minho, please—I’m—fuck—I’m gonna—”

“Come for me,” he snapped. “Right now. All over my cock. Let me feel it.”

And you did. Harder than before—louder, messier, more intense.

You clenched around him like a vice, and he lost it—groaning loud as he slammed in one final time and spilled inside you, hips jerking, body trembling above yours.

He stayed like that—deep and twitching inside you, sweat dripping down his temple, lips ghosting over yours as you both tried to come down.

You didn’t know how long you laid there—legs trembling, his cum leaking out of you, your fingers tangled in the sheets like you were afraid of floating away.

Minho hadn’t moved much either.

He was still inside you, chest to chest, your noses brushing each time he inhaled. His hand cupped your cheek, thumb stroking softly along your jaw as he watched you with those warm, sleepy eyes—eyes that held none of the fury or possessiveness from before.

Just softness. Almost guilt.

“You okay?” he asked, voice husky but gentler now.

You nodded, but your throat was tight. And when you blinked up at him, he leaned down to kiss the corner of your mouth. Then your nose. Then your temple.

“Did I go too far?” he murmured.

“No,” you whispered, your voice small. “I liked it. I liked all of it.”

That made his lips twitch.

“Yeah?” he said, brushing his knuckles across your tits—lingering when your breath caught. “Even when I told you to shut up and take it?”

You swallowed hard. “Especially then.”

He chuckled under his breath and finally pulled out, making both of you hiss. You whined at the emptiness—at how sore and stretched you felt—and Minho’s gaze immediately dropped between your legs.

“Shit,” he muttered, almost reverent. “Look at that mess.”

You flushed, shifting your legs, but he pressed a hand to your thigh to stop you.

“Don’t hide,” he murmured. “You look so good like this. All ruined because of me.”

Then, to your surprise, he slid down the bed and kissed your inner thigh. Just once. Then again. Then right next to your sensitive center.

You flinched. “Minho—too much—”

He smiled and looked up at you from between your legs.

“Alright, baby,” he said. “I’ll be good.”

And he was.

For about two minutes.

Then he kissed his way up your body—lingering on your nipples, dragging his tongue across them until they stiffened again. You whimpered as he sucked softly, then bit gently—making your hips buck.

“I just wanna taste them,” he murmured. “You kept arching for me earlier like they needed attention.”

“They still do,” you whispered before you could stop yourself.

He smirked. “Then don’t move.”

He licked and sucked until your chest was wet with his spit and your thighs pressed together again—need building back up in the pit of your stomach like a slow flame.

“Fuck,” you mumbled. “You’re gonna break me.”

He pulled back to look at you.

“Not yet,” he said, voice low. “But you did say you liked sucking cock, didn’t you?”

You blinked. “I—yeah—why—?”

He rolled off you and onto his back, cock already hard again—thick and flushed, still glistening from earlier.

“Then get over here.”

You didn’t need to be told twice.

You crawled down the bed and straddled his thighs, eyes locked on the way he stroked himself, slow and heavy.

He tapped the tip against your lips. “Open up, baby.”

You did.

And he groaned the moment you took him in—just the head at first, tongue swirling around it, your lips tight and wet. He filled your mouth so easily, and you loved the way he shuddered when you gagged on him.

“That’s it,” he breathed, hand sliding into your hair. “So fucking pretty when you’re drooling on my cock.”

You moaned around him, and he twitched.

“You gonna swallow it all?” he asked, voice breaking a little. “You want me to come in your mouth this time?”

You sucked harder, nodding with tears in your eyes, and that was it.

He cursed—hips jerking, cock thickening—and seconds later he was spilling down your throat, one hand on your head as his other clutched the sheets.

You swallowed everything.

Every drop.

When you finally pulled off, eyes glassy and lips swollen, Minho reached for you and pulled you into his chest, kissing your forehead like he hadn’t just fucked your mouth like a man possessed.

“Now,” he whispered, pulling the blanket over both of you, “lets get some sleep.”

⸻

The morning light slipped in through the blinds in soft gold stripes, painting lazy patterns across the room.

You blinked awake slowly, body aching in the most indulgent way, wrapped in the scent of skin and sweat and fabric softener. The hoodie you had worn here last night was still crumpled somewhere on the floor—probably next to your shorts, your underwear, your dignity.

Minho’s arm was heavy around your waist. His chest was warm against your back. His breath ghosted over your shoulder in quiet puffs, slow and steady.

It didn’t feel real. It felt like one of those fantasies you used to jerk yourself off to in the dark, flushed and breathless, thinking about what it would feel like to fall asleep tangled up in him like this—after.

You stayed still as long as you could, just… absorbing it.

And then, of course, he ruined it by murmuring against your neck, voice still thick with sleep.

“Your thighs are twitching.”

You groaned. “Maybe because you almost broke them last night.”

He chuckled, low and pleased, then slid his hand over your hip and gave your inner thigh a light squeeze. “You came here cause you wanted me to do exactly that.”

Your cheeks flushed instantly. “Don’t remind me.”

“Why not? It’s my favorite memory now.”

You rolled over to face him, hair a mess, eyes still sleep-fogged. He looked unfairly gorgeous in the morning. Hair tousled. Eyes soft. The roughness from last night completely gone, replaced by something almost too gentle to be him.

He looked at you like he was thinking way too hard.

“What?” you asked quietly.

He reached up, brushed some hair from your face, fingers lingering at your jaw.

“You know this isn’t just sex for me, right?”

Your breath caught.

“I mean…” he licked his lips, eyes searching yours. “It can be, if that’s what you want. But I don’t think I can go back to just being your best friend. Not after this.”

You didn’t answer right away. Just stared at him, trying to collect your heart off the floor where it had just dropped.

Finally, you whispered, “I don’t want to go back either.”

Minho exhaled slowly, like he’d been holding that breath all night.

Then he leaned in and kissed you—soft and slow and sweet, like the question was already answered.

You melted into it. Into him. Into the shift.

Later, you’d get up. He’d make coffee. You’d steal one of his shirts. He’d tease you about the bite marks on your thighs. And you’d both pretend not to notice how domestic it already felt.

But for now, you stayed in bed—best friends turned something more—with his arms around you and your future somewhere in the spaces between his kisses.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Authors note: hi guys! Ok so the poll results from the Leeknow angry boy fic came out and it was a really close one. So instead of changing whats already written i decided to upload this to make it up to you guys! This is not an angst story or the angry boy replacement but this is a story for my romantics ❤️ Thanks alot for all your feedback really love you guys!

Taglist: @tsunderelino @innieandsungielover @inlovewithstraykids s @reignessance @jeonismm @sttnficrecs @herejusttemporary @krssliu @kenia4 @miilquetoast @thackery-blinks @leeminho-hall @suga-is-bae @butterflydemons @inejghafawifesblog @malunar28replies @minchanlimbo @mal-lunar-28 @breakmeofftbr @itvenorica124 @slut4junho @deepblueocean97 @thequibbie @yaorzu-blog @imagine-all-the-imagines @just-bria @mischievousleeknow @universeyuto @ifyxu @melanctton @thelostprincessofasgard @binniebb @sillylittlecat1 @darkwitchoferie @m-325 @headfirstfortoro @imseungminsgf @ihrtlix @vernorica123 @hwangjoanna @swordswallower2000 @niki007 @yxna-bliss @firelordtsuki

[iknow-youknow-hyunho]

feels so good (minsung x afab!reader)

Rating: Explicit (minors DO NOT INTERACT!)

Pairing: Lee Minho x Han Jisung x Reader – reader is AFAB, I used they/them pronouns when pronouns were unavoidable + there is no description of the reader’s appearance or body (except for naming body parts, referred to as “pussy” and “breasts”)

Word count: ~14,5k

Summary: You go to a party at the SKZ dorms, play some party games, and things take a somewhat unexpected twist at the end of the night.

Content warnings: alcohol + drinking games (but no one is particularly drunk), explicit language, handjobs, fingering, oral sex (f & m receiving), P in V sex, scratching, light spanking, use of pet names (“baby”, “kitten”)

Author’s note: this is my first SKZ fic, I hope you enjoy <3 would appreciate any and all feedback! Use protection and don’t forget to pee after sex if u have a vagina xoxo.

It was party night with Stray Kids. You were looking forward to this, but you were also quite nervous. You hadn’t been a part of their close circle for very long yet and you’d only partied with them a couple of times before in that time period. Their schedules didn’t often allow for very much time off, especially with all eight of them being free on the same evening and the next day as well. This was one of those rare instances in which they all had an entire weekend off, so you knew what that meant.

Yes, the boys were all in their twenties, but they still often acted like a group of rowdy teenagers, and if you were honest, this was one of the things you loved most about them. You liked that they didn’t take things too seriously, that they enjoyed games and having fun and doing whatever it was they felt like without worrying about what anyone else thought. They were pretty accustomed to acting silly on camera already, but especially in the privacy of their own homes, they really didn’t hold back. You enjoyed being around that kind of energy because you had always struggled to fully let out your crazy, playful side. But simply by being around them for a couple of months at this point, you were slowly starting to loosen up. And so tonight would be good. You just hoped that you could leave your worries behind and let yourself fully enjoy the chaos.

Of course it didn’t help that you had a massive crush on Minho, of all people, and were mortified of him finding out. He was so hard to read and it was definitely taking him the longest out of everyone to really thaw to you, although you did get along fairly well by now. But it just hadn’t quite reached that place of effortless ease yet that you’d gotten to naturally with most of the others – some more so than the rest. You got along particularly well with Jisung and Hyunjin and had become very comfortable being your true self around them. The rest of the group even joked around that you were Minho’s unofficial Paboracha replacement member when he wasn’t around, which happened occasionally. He was fond of quiet alone time just as much as he loved hanging out with the rest of the gang, which was something you could relate to and yet another reason you felt drawn to him. But you were very afraid of being laughed at should he find out how you felt. You knew him well enough to be pretty sure he would never be so cruel, even if he didn’t reciprocate your feelings, but your stupid anxiety-riddled brain still loved to present you with worst-case scenarios that you couldn’t quite disregard.

On top of that, you genuinely weren’t sure if there was something romantic going on between him and Jisung and did not want to cause problems if there was. Stray Kids were all fairly open with each other in terms of physical and emotional closeness – and had, at least partially, begun to include you in that, which you loved. They were like this even more so when the cameras were off, but you still didn’t know if there were any relationship boundaries that you weren’t aware of and did not want to unintentionally step on anyone’s toes. So needless to say, you felt there was a lot at stake.

You didn’t think it was completely unrealistic that your crush would come out at some point tonight, even though you hadn’t explicitly confessed it to anybody yet. The group was very used to teasing each other, didn’t seem to have many secrets between them, and was extremely good at reading each other – not surprising, given the sheer amount of time everyone spent together. Add alcohol and party games to the mix and the chances became exponentially higher of your secret seeing the light of day. You knew that none of the boys would ever cross any boundaries if you seriously set them and told them you didn’t want to talk about something, but you were afraid your behavior would give you away regardless. Still, you were excited for a night of fun and craziness with your eight favorite people, and you didn’t want to let your worries take that away from you.

As you were making your way over to the dorms, specifically Felix and Seungmin’s, which had been decided on as the location for tonight’s party, your phone buzzed. Minho had just texted the group chat that he would be running late, as he was still taking care of a few things. At first, disappointment washed over you. You were very much looking forward to seeing him – even if the interactions between you two didn’t always flow as easily as you wanted, just being around him made you happy. But when you thought about it a little longer, you realized this could be a good thing. It could give you a chance to loosen up and get used to the atmosphere enough to hopefully get out of your head and into the moment as much as possible by the time he got there. With that slight bit of relief in mind, you quickened your pace as you got off the subway and soon arrived at the SKZ dorms, where Felix buzzed you in once you texted him that you were downstairs. He was waiting to greet you at the door of his dorm with an enormous grin on his face and you felt your heart warm instantly at the sight.

---

It was a couple of drinks, some chatting and a few quick games into the night. The atmosphere was light-hearted, everyone was loose and laughing, and you could tell the general consensus was to spice things up a little bit. And so you weren’t particularly surprised when Felix suggested playing Truth or Dare. It was a game that combined everything he loved: seeing his best friends be silly as well as bonding over shared secrets and anecdotes. Jisung, a lover of chaos, shouted his agreement quickly once Felix brought up the suggestion. Jeongin and Chan pretended like they didn’t want to play at first, but you knew from experience that once the game started, Chan could never hide his genuine laugh at the antics, while Jeongin’s appalled face in situations like these was always put on and he was, in fact, enjoying himself. The two of them alone couldn’t override the rest of the group’s wishes regardless. Even if they’d truly wanted to – one look at Felix’s pleading pout would turn anyone weak.

And so Seungmin began smirking while Changbin rubbed his hands together in glee as you all settled in a circle. Some of you sat on the floor, some on the sofas and armchairs that stood around where the coffee table usually was; it had been moved to the side for tonight. Hyunjin plopped down onto a big armchair, pulling you with him. He casually rested his arms on top of your legs as you draped them across his. Once everyone had settled you made eye contact with Felix, whose eyes glinted from the other side of the circle, before he shifted them to look at the man sitting with you.

“Hyunjin, truth or dare?”

“Dare,” Hyunjin smirked, radiating confidence, his facial expression basically begging Felix to do his worst. But it was Felix, and Felix was an angel who took every opportunity to see his friends be cute with each other, so he started the game off by daring Hyunjin to kiss anyone of his choosing on the cheek. You groaned in mock annoyance as Hyunjin shifted your legs off of him in order to fulfill his dare, but just before he could, Felix told him to wait and ran out of the room quickly. When he returned he was carrying red lipstick, which he handed to his friend. The latter took it from him reluctantly and Felix grinned in delight.

While Hyunjin was applying the lipstick, Changbin couldn’t stop himself from shouting out how beautiful he looked and proceeding to offer himself repeatedly and quite enthusiastically as the “kiss victim”. This earned him a light punch on the arm from Jisung, who was next to him on the ground. Hyunjin threw his head back, laughing out loud, and shot Changbin a grin before kneeling down next to Jeongin instead. Changbin crossed his arms and sent a mock-offended pout Hyunjin’s way, but he couldn’t hold his giggle back for long at the scene that was unfolding.

Jeongin was protesting vehemently and wailing as Hyunjin got closer and closer to him, straining his neck to move his head as far away as possible. But he couldn’t prevent the inevitable, and when Hyunjin gave him a big smacker on the cheek, leaving a bright red mark, the smile on his face spoke for itself – as did the overjoyed expressions on everyone else’s. Chan reached over to pinch a fake-pouty Jeongin’s other cheek, delighted. You found yourself grinning as well as a red-lipped Hyunjin returned to the armchair and you made space for him to get back into his earlier position, draping your legs back over his body and reaching up to run your hand over his hair affectionately as you did.

Hyunjin proceeded to dare Changbin to freestyle a sexy dance, which he gladly did, quickly hijacking the playlist in order to play one of his favorite girl group songs. Then he strutted into the center of the group, half-drunk beer in hand, and gave it his all, finishing his little dance off with a hip thrust and wink in Hyunjin’s direction. The latter couldn’t stop laughing in delight the entire time – you could feel his entire body vibrating from it and it made you giggle uncontrollably as well.

You took a moment to appreciate the pure positive energy in this room. Jeongin was still shielding his eyes from when Changbin had shaken his butt in his direction; Felix was grinning from ear to ear; Jisung was doubled over in tears from laughter. You felt so warm and fuzzy inside, surrounded by your favorite people. Only Minho was missing to complete this moment. But he would be here soon, and for now everything was going as you had hoped: you were feeling quite relaxed.

Despite that, you had still decided to stick to dares for now in order to avoid any potentially awkward questions, so when Changbin picked you to go next, he ended up daring you to sing a part of one of SKZ’s songs. You groaned and smacked your hand against your forehead, knowing full well you were about to embarrass yourself. But then again – these boys embarrassed themselves all the time. And you loved them for it. Time to steer into the chaos, then. You cleared your throat exaggeratedly, then proceeded to rap Felix’s part in “Maze of Memories”, complete with a fake deep voice and terrible Australian accent, dancing around on your armchair with Hyunjin while everyone else cheered and pumped their fists.

Next you dared Jisung to close his eyes and let Seungmin feed him something without knowing what it would be. This earned you a smile from Seungmin that could only be described as pure evil before he went and got a slice of lemon to stick in Jisung’s mouth. The latter’s expression was priceless as he bit into it.

As the game wore on, your cheeks began to almost hurt from laughter. More truths and dares were flung around the group, among them: Chan eating a spoonful of hot sauce, which made him turn as red as a tomato; Felix shamefully revealing his most recent League of Legends stats; Seungmin reading out his most recent Google searches (some of which were very questionable); Jeongin letting Chan do his hair full of sparkly ribbons and little butterfly clips (no one questioning why Felix had all of these just laying around); Changbin recalling an embarrassing story about a time he’d mistakenly thought someone wanted his autograph, but they’d really just needed his signature on a receipt; Jisung revealing the weirdest place he’d ever had sex, and Hyunjin drawing a silly, purposely bad picture of one of the others and letting everyone guess who it was supposed to be. Eventually you were asked again.

You picked dare, and when Hyunjin dared you to kiss somebody on the lips with a smirk on his face, you ooh-ed right along with the rest of the group, in too good of a mood to overthink anything right now. You glanced around the room at all the boys, but you wanted this to be as comfortable as possible, so you were really only considering your two closest friends for it. And since you didn’t feel like getting lipstick on you right now, you quickly got up off of Hyunjin’s lap and crossed the circle to kneel in front of Jisung. His cheeks turned a light shade of pink as he giggled along with you. You made sure to ask if he was okay with this, and when he nodded you could hear Changbin cackling to one side of you and were well aware of Chan grinning on the other. Then, before you knew it, your lips were on Jisung’s and your hands had found their way into his hair.

Maybe it was the alcohol you’d had – you weren’t really drunk, but definitely tipsy. Or maybe it was a momentary lapse in reason, who knew. But all of a sudden you felt like you were experiencing that cliché shit that’s always described in romance novels or seen in cheesy movies. Like… you genuinely could have sworn that time stopped and the world around you melted away for a second. That was how good it was, and you had not been prepared to feel that way. Jisung’s hair was so fluffy, his lips were so soft, he tasted so sweet, and you wanted to deepen the kiss so badly… but it was over before you knew it, because as soon as his fingers found their way onto the small of your back and you felt his tongue lightly brush your lips, it hit you that you were currently being watched by six other pairs of eyes.

And just like that, the world came back into focus and Changbin’s signature high-pitched giggle penetrated your ears. You pulled away from Jisung and looked at him sheepishly – his mouth was still open, cheeks still flushed. Then you made your way back to the other side of the room. You settled on the floor below the armchair this time, between Hyunjin’s legs, wrapping an arm around one of them as if to ground yourself with it. The rest of the group was laughing and wolf-whistling. You made eye contact with a wide-eyed Han Jisung once more before quickly averting your gaze and clearing your throat when Seungmin reminded you that it was your turn.

“Right,” you laughed, trying desperately to play it cool, and quickly asked Seungmin, who picked dare. You dared him to make what he thought Chan’s orgasm face would look like, earning hysterical laughter and cries of outrage (ahem, Jeongin). Chan himself seemed too stunned to react at all. And just like that your mood began to lighten up once more, though you would have been lying if you’d said you weren’t still thinking about the feel of Jisung’s lips on yours and that little ghost of a touch of his hands on your back. It wasn’t like he’d never touched you before – he did it all the time. But this had been different. Now was not the time though, so you willed yourself to focus on the game. Seungmin had just dared Jeongin to greet Minho like one of his cats once said man arrived. And oh. Right. Minho. There was still Minho to think about. Mysterious, sexy Minho, who you had been unable to keep your mind off of for months. Mysterious, sexy Minho, who you had forgotten about for a moment there. 

And as if he had known, just then the second oldest of the boys walked through the door. Your stomach did that somersault thing it always did when you saw him. He made eye contact with you as he entered the dorm with an extra six-pack of beers in one hand. Your heart leapt into your throat as you gave him a small wave… and then he was looking down in confusion at a red-faced Jeongin with a kiss mark on his cheek as well as ribbons and clips all over his hair. The maknae was rubbing against Minho’s legs on all fours, eventually even meowing once after the rest of the group begged him to do so. Minho’s confused expression turned into an amused smirk and he bent down to pat the youngest on the head gently. Jeongin blushed and quickly made his way back to his spot on the floor, where he buried his head in his knees. Chan reached over to ruffle his hair and the group’s giggles that seemingly hadn’t stopped all night grew even louder, reverberating around the room.

The game naturally ceased as regular conversation returned. The group caught Minho up to speed on some of what he had missed while he cracked open a beer – though for some reason no one brought up your kiss with Jisung. You certainly weren’t going to. Minho explained that he’d been intending to arrive earlier, but had had a few things to deal with that had been stressing him out. He then declared that he just wanted to relax and catch up on the drinking a little bit, and that was when Felix got that little glimmer in his eyes once more that told you he wanted to play another game – and sure enough, he suggested Never Have I Ever next.

“Come on, we haven’t played this one in ages!” he exclaimed excitedly, looking around the room for approval. Seungmin nodded his agreement as he sat back down on the floor cross-legged; he had just returned from the kitchen with a couple of bowls of chips he placed in the middle for everyone. You quickly grabbed one of them for you and Hyunjin to share. A few of the others agreed enthusiastically as well while reaching for the snacks themselves. You noticed Minho hadn’t reacted to Felix’s suggestion and the younger Australian quickly addressed him. “Come on, hyung, this’ll get you in the party mood!”

Minho had settled beside Jisung by now, the two of them sitting close together at the foot of a sofa, their backs leaning against it, their legs touching. Jisung nudged Minho in the ribs and encouraged him with a playful “Come on, baby!”, which Minho responded to with an eyeroll and a “Fine.” But a crooked little smile graced his lips and Felix clapped happily.

This particular game was one you had never played with the boys before. You were sure there weren’t many secrets between them, so to them it was probably more a game of exposing each other and targeting individuals to drink rather than actually finding out juicy secrets, but you were bound to learn quite a bit about them and them about you. And mostly everyone seemed to be in quite a spicy mood. The questions went to all sorts of raunchy places that had Jeongin shaking his head, from things as comparatively harmless as “Never have I ever gone skinny dipping” to topics such as sexual experiences and even kinks. Occasionally, innocent questions were thrown in by somebody just to keep it light (and keep Jeongin from losing his mind entirely).

Throughout the game you found yourself sneaking glances over to Jisung without initially being aware you were doing it a lot of the time. In fact, your eyes were on him almost as often as they were on Minho right now, though every time you noticed yourself looking in their direction, you tried to stop. But you couldn’t help but feel Jisung’s eyes on you too, and eventually Minho started eyeing both of you, seeming to have picked up on something. He looked mildly irritated, as if he couldn’t figure out what exactly was going on. When his eyes met yours, you quickly averted your gaze again and tried your best to focus on the game that was happening.

Which became easy once Jeongin spoke up with the next question. The question itself wasn’t shocking, especially given the direction the game had already gone in. It was the fact that it had come from the youngest, who claimed not to want to indulge everyone else’s dirty minds, that made it so surprising.

“Never have I ever had a sex dream involving someone in this room,” he grinned, eyes scanning the group as he himself raised his beer to his lips. You looked up at Hyunjin who smirked, taking a sip as well. Changbin couldn’t hold himself back from shouting “It was about me, right? You can tell them it was about me, Hyunjin-ah, it’s okay!”, which got everyone giggling again. You drank too, but avoided looking at anybody else as you did so. Actually, it seemed like everybody in the room had taken a sip at that question.

Seungmin decided to take it a step further when it was his turn next. “Never have I ever fooled around with anybody in this room,” he stated with a deadpan expression, and your eyes widened in anticipation as you looked up from your beer, trying not to make it too obvious that you were most curious as to whether or not Jisung and Minho would drink. You saw that Minho had a hand resting on Jisung’s thigh by this point. And then, sure enough, the two of them raised their beers to take a sip at roughly the same time, even exchanging a tiny little blink-and-you’d-miss-it smile as they did. You also noticed Jisung’s cheeks turning a light pink. You suddenly became very aware of your heart pounding heavily in your chest.

You did notice a couple of other beers being raised in your peripheral vision, including Hyunjin’s right next to you – you were back on the armchair at this point. But to be completely honest, you weren’t paying enough attention to really register who else was drinking. You would definitely kick yourself for this later, but right now you were simply focused on the confirmation of Jisung and Minho’s relationship being (or at least at some point having been) more than platonic – and what knowing that was doing to you.

You weren’t sure at all how to feel about it, especially because at this point in the night you were painfully aware of how badly you wanted to kiss (and do more than that with) not just Minho, but also Jisung again – that second part you really hadn’t planned on. And maybe it was just the alcohol clouding your brain, but it didn’t really feel that way, because you still weren’t really drunk. You were only taking small sips of beer and drinking lots of water in between.

It was so hard to make sense of what you were feeling. You weren’t jealous of the two of them being with each other. You wanted them to enjoy themselves and be happy, and were glad if they could give each other that. The thing was just that you wanted �� like, wanted – both of them too. Badly. You couldn’t deny that at this point. And you were afraid that wasn’t ever going to be possible, nor did you want to get in the way of whatever they had going on.

But then again… you remembered the way Jisung had been looking at you, both after the kiss and several times since then. And as you were thinking about it, your eyes drifted to him and… he was doing it again. Looking at you like that. Looking at you like that with his damn fluffy hair and his damn flushed cheeks and his damn kissable freaking lips. Your heart skipped a beat and your gaze flickered over to Minho. And he looked at you too. And then at Jisung. His eyes kept jumping between the two of you, but he had an eyebrow furrowed, as if he was still trying to figure out just what was happening here. You wished you knew yourself. You gulped and tried to clear your mind, turning your attention back to the game that was resuming now that everyone had gotten all the cheering and whistling out of their system in response to the previous question.

Felix informed Minho that it was his turn, so the latter cleared his throat with a little shake of his head before glancing around the room with that devilish little glint in his eyes you’d come to love so much.

“Never have I ever pissed in JYP’s front yard.” This caused the entire room to burst out laughing, several of them clapping as they did. You clearly were missing some kind of inside joke, but it was pretty self-explanatory once Changbin whined out an “I hate you, hyung” and reached across Jisung’s lap to playfully punch Minho in the thigh. Minho shot him an overly exaggerated crazy-eyed death glare in return. Changbin raised his beer to his lips sheepishly and you joined Hyunjin in his full-body laughter that was shaking the entire armchair again as you pictured the scene. Minho looked around the room with a furtive little smile on his face, like he was really proud of himself.

The game went on for a while longer, the conversation and laughter flowed and you focused on just enjoying yourself once more. However, you still couldn’t prevent your eyes from drifting over to the two boys across from you every so often – just like you couldn’t prevent the jolt of electricity that went through your body every time you caught one of them looking at you too.

Eventually the group moved on to other games, more laughter and chatter, and finally the night seemed to be drifting towards an end as Chan began to yawn, earning him lots of teasing comments from the others (but mostly Seungmin) about how old he was. But then the others started getting quieter and more sleepy bit by bit as well, Hyunjin yawning and stretching overly dramatically every so often. You had been sort of keeping your distance from the two boys you couldn’t keep your mind off of, but had still been surreptitiously observing them. They were in a good mood, both still at fairly high energy levels – particularly Jisung, who kept suggesting more games and didn’t seem to want the night to end. You didn’t want it to either. But eventually, when even Felix became very sleepy, even briefly dozing off sprawled out on one of the sofas with his head on Changbin’s lap, the rest of you knew it was time to get going.

Felix and Seungmin hugged each of you goodbye one by one as you left their dorm. The two of them had had to stop Chan from cleaning up around the room and usher him out despite how tired he was. Minho was the last one out the door, and he couldn’t resist slapping each of the hosts on the butt as he left, even giving Seungmin a little squeeze. They shook their heads with a smile as they shut the door behind him. You sighed. It was silent out here.

You did not feel like a journey home in the middle of the night right now. But you knew that if you needed a place to stay, somebody would definitely let you crash. Chan had already told Felix he would be happy to let you stay over (or pay for a taxi if you preferred to go home) when the younger Australian had showed concern, not wanting to let you leave until he knew you’d be safe. Hyunjin was currently loitering close by you as well, an arm protectively around your shoulder, and you knew he’d have no problem offering you his bed either. You’d stayed at his and Changbin’s dorm previously when it had gotten late after you were all hanging out. In fact, that was where you were intending to go tonight again, and were just about to start heading in that direction with them when Jisung spoke up.

“Y/N, do you want to come hang out with us a little longer? Me and Minho-hyung aren’t that tired yet. You can stay over, don’t worry.” Your heart skipped a beat as you looked at him. Did he seem… nervous? You couldn’t tell. You glanced at Minho next, but he was just looking back at you blankly, blinking a couple of times.

You’d never spent a lot of time at their dorm before, despite being quite close with Jisung, mainly because you worried about bothering Minho. But as nervous as the thought made you right now, especially after the way the night had gone, you absolutely wanted to spend more time with the two of them – even if you weren’t sure it was smart, exactly.

“Yeah, okay,” you replied, trying your best not to seem overly eager. You turned into Hyunjin’s arms to give him a quick hug goodbye, then the others as well. Chan patted you on the shoulder before he turned to walk back to his dorm with Jeongin. Changbin and Hyunjin skipped away in the opposite direction arm in arm. And that left you in the dimly lit hallway with Minho, Jisung and a racing heart.

“Well, let’s go then,” Minho said and again, you couldn’t tell what he was thinking. You thought there was the slightest ghost of a smile on his lips, but it was dark and he was Minho, so who knew, really. Either way, you followed him as he turned on his heel and headed down the hallway. It was a short walk across the courtyard to their dorm and as you entered the cold night air, a brief shiver went through your body. Jisung put an arm around you, rubbing your shoulder, and the two of you walked the rest of the way like that. It wasn’t far, but it was so silent the entire way that it somehow felt longer than it should have. But you were smiling nonetheless. And you were suddenly quite aware of how good Jisung smelled.

---

Once inside the boys’ dorm, you were wracking your brain trying to think of something to say to break the silence, but you couldn’t come up with anything and you cursed yourself for it. For once you actually sort of wished you were drunker, so you maybe wouldn’t be worrying so much about embarrassing yourself. Although then again, maybe it was good you weren’t, because who knew what you would say if you weren’t thinking clearly. As it was, you were already pretty sober again and the boys didn’t seem particularly drunk either. Jisung was a lightweight, but he usually sobered up fairly quickly and the night air seemed to have helped him along, while Minho could hold his liquor pretty well and hadn’t ended up drinking that much tonight after all. He got each of you a glass of water, which you gratefully accepted, sitting at their kitchen island and tracing the pattern of the granite with your fingertip.

You looked up and noticed Minho quirking an eyebrow at you. You felt your cheeks get a little hot. You needed someone to speak. Now. This was unbearable. Were they feeling the same way you were? Or were they relaxed? Why weren’t they saying anything? Anything, any topic at all, please. You thought about the evening you’d just had, whether there was something you could use to start a conversation. And then you had it. You took a deep breath and put on a smile.

“So Changbin really pissed in JYP’s yard, huh?” This instantly set Jisung off in a fit of hysterical laughter, doubling over and clutching the kitchen counter for support. You breathed a sigh of relief as you continued. “I need to hear the whole story. Please.” And just like that the tension lifted again as the boys recounted the event, you commenting how badly you wished you’d been there in between giggles.

The conversation naturally moved onto other topics from there and things felt right and normal again between all three of you. These were the boys you’d gotten to know as good friends over the past few months and you even began to wonder what you had been so in your head about all night. The three of you chatted about all sorts of things for a little while and eventually you landed on the topic of movies. When you confessed that you’d never actually seen a Deadpool movie, Jisung was so taken aback he suggested you watch the first one instantly.

And so the three of you ended up on Minho’s bed with the movie playing on his big TV screen. You knew he had one in his bedroom because he loved nothing more than to relax watching an anime when he wanted some alone time. The TV was nicer than the one in the living room and the bed was big enough for the three of you to be comfortable, so here you were. Jisung had instantly sprawled out in the middle, insisting he needed cuddles from two of his most favorite people, and you both gladly indulged him – though you did catch Minho rolling his eyes jokingly as Jisung pulled him down and flung his right arm around his shoulders. You settled against his left side, taking in his scent and giggling at the way his hair tickled your forehead. Then you began to watch the movie.

About twenty minutes into it, you felt your stomach growl a little bit. It was around 2 am; not excessively late yet, since the party had begun fairly early, but you did realize that you hadn’t had a proper meal since this afternoon. You hoped no one had heard you, but either Minho had or he was hungry himself, because not long after, be briefly paused the movie and offered to take a quick walk down the street to the boys’ favorite late-night fast food place to grab something for you all, saying he wanted some fresh air anyway. Jisung quickly nodded eagerly and you confessed you were hungry too. You asked Minho if he wanted any company, feeling bad about sending him out by himself at this time of night, but he said he didn’t mind and told you guys to continue watching; he’d seen the movie enough times anyway. And that was how he ended up leaving you two alone in his bedroom… and all of a sudden your mind was right back in the place you had fought so hard to get it out of earlier.

You tried to concentrate on the movie. You really did. But you weren’t catching a damn thing that was happening on the screen. You were overly aware of every single thing about Jisung – his earthy scent you’d decided you really liked; the way his hair was still brushing against your forehead; the way his chest rose and fell with his breathing; the curve of his collarbone under your head. His heartbeat, which you swore was a little quicker than it should have been. You were also overly aware of your own heartbeat, which was definitely quicker than it should have been and seemed much louder than usual. And suddenly you were terrified that he had noticed it too, that he suddenly knew exactly what was going through your mind. You slowly turned your head, hoping to sneak a glance at his expression and gauge the situation. And he was looking right at you. Your heart stopped momentarily and your belly fluttered in the way that had been reserved for Minho and Minho only up until now. You wanted to look away before it got awkward. You wanted to but you couldn’t, because he was looking at you like that again. Like he had been all night. Like… like he wanted to kiss you again.

You licked your lips and swallowed, your throat suddenly dry. His eyes flickered to your mouth. Then back up to your eyes. Then back to your mouth. And then he was kissing you. His hands found your waist. One of yours crept up to caress his jaw while the other instantly tangled itself back into the hair you had been dying to touch again all night. You melted into his embrace.

The kiss was sloppy in the most perfect way, your bodies flush against each other. You could feel every part of him, from his hands that were finally resting properly on the small of your back, to his legs that had become entangled with yours, to his tongue – Jisung’s tongue, your friend Jisung’s tongue – to his hipbones, to his crotch, where you felt something twitching and beginning to grow hard. A small moan escaped you. And all of a sudden this was very real. And you remembered that you were in Lee fucking Minho’s bed. You suddenly pulled back a little bit, chest rising and falling rapidly. Jisung’s eyes found yours again, searching.

“Wait, wait, wait,” you said breathlessly. For a second you forgot what you were going to say as you looked at him – his messed-up hair, his flushed face, his dilated pupils, his glistening mouth that had tasted so sweet. And oh no, he was biting his lip. You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment. “Wait.”

“What’s wrong?” Jisung asked, voice full of concern. You had to tell him. You had to be honest before this went any further. It was too weird for you to be doing this. But wow, you did not want to tell him. Especially not when you could be kissing him instead.

“I… I need to be honest with you about something,” you groaned. This was so embarrassing. Was he going to hate you? Tell you it was messed up to have been kissing him when you were harboring feelings for his best friend? Or was it his boyfriend? His sexual partner? Did it matter? Oh god, you didn’t want to ruin it all. But you couldn’t ignore it.

“What is it, baby?” Oh, now why did he have to call you that? Didn’t he realize he was making this even more difficult for you? His eyebrows were furrowed. “Is everything okay?” And it was too late to back out of the truth now, because he was actually worried, and you weren’t going to leave him feeling that way. The mood was probably already ruined regardless. You averted your gaze.

“I… don’t know if we should be doing this. I kind of… um… have a thing for Minho? Oh god.” You could see the corners of his mouth twitch slightly upwards out of the corner of your eye and felt his gaze on your skin like it was burning you. “Don’t look at me. Ugh. I’m so sorry. It was so weird of me to be all over you like this, I don’t know what got into me, I’ve had a crush on Minho for months and I don’t even know what’s going on between you two – not that you need to tell me, I just don’t want to butt in, I promise I didn’t plan for any of this to happen, oh god this is so fucking embarrassing, I can totally understand if you want me to leave, I can call a cab or maybe Hyunjin is still awake and I can go over there instead, just please tell me we can figure out a way to keep being friends, I…” You trailed off. The silence was deafening. Your cheeks were on fire. Why wasn’t he saying anything? You had to look up at him, didn’t you? You did not want to. You swallowed once. And peeked. He was smiling. Why was he smiling? Was he laughing at you? That would be even worse than you’d feared. You were about to turn your eyes away again when he put a hand on your shoulder.

“Y/N.”

“Jisung.”

“Just… take a breath, okay? Everything’s fine.”

“If everything’s fine, why are you laughing at me? Maybe this is amusing to you, but it’s not to me, this is mortifying, I don’t want to lose my friends, I’m so embarrassed right now, I don’t even know what to-”

And all of a sudden you were cut off by his lips again. You quickly pulled back. He moved with you. His eyes were laser focused on your mouth. He looked like he was getting ready to devour you. You wanted to let him so badly.

“Jisung!”

“Y/N!” He was giving you nothing. You groaned. You kissed him. You couldn’t help yourself. You were melting into the kiss again, into him. His tongue was so soft and felt so good in your mouth. Your arms snaked around his waist. His hand made its way to your ass. Your eyes shot open. You detached your lips from his once more and put a little space between your bodies, placing a hand on his chest to ensure the distance was kept this time. You could still feel the heat radiating off of him. It was intoxicating.

“Jisung, we need to focus! Minho will be back any second, this is weird!” You looked at him, trying to convey how serious you were with your eyes, but it was difficult when you were sure you were in just as flustered and flushed a state as he was – and seeing him like that was making it very hard to concentrate. He sighed, but there was still a little smile on his lips.

“Look, Y/N, I wasn’t necessarily expecting it either, but I don’t know, I think I like you.”

“I mean… you were definitely kissing me like you do.”

“Hey!” he exclaimed. “You kissed me first!”

“That’s… true. But in my defense, it was only because Hyunjin dared me.”

“To kiss anybody in the room. Not me specifically.”

“I hate you.”

“I wanted it.” He grinned at you. Your heart skipped a beat.

“But… Minho?” You swallowed uneasily.

“What about him?”

“I just told you I like him.”

“I know.”

“Do you like him?”

“Yeah.”

“Does he like you?”

“Yeah.” He said it so nonchalantly. It drove you crazy.

“Don’t you think this is way too complicated?”

“I think you’re making it a lot more complicated than it needs to be.” You smacked your own forehead at his words.

“Now what on earth does that mean?”

“Look, Y/N, the way I see it, it’s kinda simple. I like Minho, so I kiss Minho. I like you, so I kiss you.”

“But I like Minho.”

“Do you like me?”

“I think so.”

“Then kiss me.”

“I want to, but – stop!” He was moving closer again. “Doesn’t it bother you that I like Minho?”

“No, why? Minho’s great. And beautiful. I totally get it.”

“Well, you said he likes you. And I don’t want to, like… cause any problems.” Jisung smiled at your concern. You did not want his pity.

“Look. I know Minho can come across as kind of… possessive? But trust me. He will not be bothered by us hooking up. The only thing he might be bothered by is if we didn’t offer to include him.” You swore you forgot how to breathe for a moment when you heard those words. Jisung clearly noticed your reaction, because his smile widened considerably. He was enjoying this, wasn’t he? You couldn’t even tell if he was being serious. What on earth had you gotten yourself into?

“Did I just hear you right, Han Jisung?”

“You did.”

“You’re suggesting we hook up… with Minho.”

“I am.”

“You want us to hook up. With Minho. You. And me. And Minho. Yes?”

“Yup.” He clearly noticed you were not processing this at all, so he continued. “Did you think I was just hoping to get in a secret quickie with you before he came back? You know the restaurant’s not that far away, right? He’s already been gone longer than I thought.”

“Were you guys… planning something? Is he, like… expecting to come back to this?”

“Nope. But sometimes things happen. And so you go with the flow, you know?”

“You didn’t talk to him about wanting to have… a threesome… with me tonight? That’s not why you invited me over?”

“Nope. We just wanted to hang out. But now I want to have a threesome. Do you want to?”

“I mean… yes? But, like. Will Minho even want to?”

“We’ll ask him.” He made it sound so simple.

“Does Minho even like me?” You were terrified of the answer.

“Don’t know. I know he thinks you’re really hot, though.”

“He told you that?”

“Lots of times.” Oh. Well, that was that. Your brain had officially stopped working. How were you supposed to process this information? And it was almost scary, the way Jisung seemed to be reading your mind right now, because the next thing he said was: “I want you to stop thinking so much about it all. You don’t need to figure it out.”

“I… don’t?”

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, good.” His voice had become an almost-whisper as he had inched his way closer to you once more, now taking the hand that had been placed on his chest into his own and intertwining your fingers. You could feel the breath coming from his mouth when he spoke. Something in you wanted to protest more – that part of your brain that was such a seasoned overthinker that it short-circuited whenever something interrupted that process. But Jisung wasn’t going to give you a chance to. And honestly, you were grateful to him for it. And so you gave in to the kiss once more. Fully, this time.

You lost yourself in him, let his hands roam your body, let yours roam his in return, every curve, every bone. You felt his chest contracting against yours with each heavy breath he took. When he detached his mouth from yours you almost whined in protest, until he attached it to your neck instead and you forgot everything, focused only on how good his teeth felt on your sensitive skin, saliva everywhere. Your hands slid under his sweater. His skin was so smooth; you could feel the muscles in his back and stomach tensing as you ran your hands all over them, caressing him, incoherent moans escaping you. He was perfect. And he was so good at this. Why was he so good at this?

“Mmh, Jisung. So… good,” you moaned into his hair and he began sucking on your neck even more aggressively at that. His sweater was slipping off his shoulder and you wanted to get him out of it so badly. Your hands reached for the hem of it, began pulling it up… and just then you heard the sound of a key in the lock. And you froze for a moment. Jisung looked up at you. You made eye contact with him. His eyes were glinting like he knew something you didn’t. Like he was almost sure Minho would be happy to join you. Meanwhile you were terrified once again of Minho coming into his own bedroom, finding you in this state with his Han Jisung, and being absolutely disgusted. But the situation was what it was now. And his steps were coming closer to the bedroom. Your belly did a somersault. And he came through the door.

You had moved away from Jisung a little bit and attempted to smooth your clothes down. Regardless of all that, you knew your neck was a mess, so it was probably pointless to even try to look presentable. But it had been an automatic reaction to try and fix your appearance. Jisung had done no such thing. His hair was all over the place, his sweater was still half off, and there was a very obvious erection straining against his jeans. Not to mention the lust-filled grin that was plastered on his face as he looked at the man that had just come through the doorway.

“Hi, Minho,” he grinned.

“Um, hi guys,” the older of the boys responded and you noticed the corner of his mouth quirk up. You looked away quickly when his gaze met yours, hating the fact that you were so nervous again. “What’s going on here?” He couldn’t keep the amusement out of his voice as he reached for the remote to pause the movie that was still running. Both you and Jisung couldn’t stop yourselves from chuckling as you realized it had been on this whole time.

“We, uh… might have gotten a little distracted,” you said sheepishly after your giggles had subsided.

“I can see that.” Minho smirked as he observed the state the two of you were in. “Well, there’s fried chicken in the kitchen, but I’m sure it can be reheated later.” You couldn’t help but giggle again at that deadpan statement.

“Minho-hyung.”

“Yes, Han?” Your heart was pounding as you looked expectantly at the beautiful man standing in the doorway. The man you’d dreamed about so many times. The man whose bed you were currently in… with somebody else. Was this the moment you were finally going to get your hands on him? Was something way beyond what you’d ever dreamed of about to happen?

“Do you want to… join us?” And yes. Jisung had really just said those words. There was no going back now. You swallowed as you awaited Minho’s response. He didn’t say anything at first. But he made his way towards the bed. It sunk as he crawled onto it and took his place on the other side of Jisung once more. Jisung could barely contain himself; he was biting his lip again and his hand was already reaching for Minho’s hip, attempting to pull him closer. But Minho looked at you again first.

“Y/N, are you comfortable with this?” And you could tell he was holding back from pouncing – on someone, anyone, either of you, both of you –, just waiting to make sure this was something you really wanted. And you loved him for it. But if he couldn’t tell by now how badly you wanted him, what with the way your eyes were dripping with lust and your chest was heaving as you stared at him, then you were better at acting than you’d thought.

“God, just get in here, Minho.”

He did not need to be asked twice. He pounced. His lips were on yours in an instant and it was everything you’d ever imagined it to be. He was rough in all the right ways and he tasted even better than you could have dreamed. As you ground into Jisung’s hip, he hoisted Minho’s thigh over his other side, attaching his lips to the older boy’s neck. Then he quickly began to unbutton Minho’s shirt as the two of you continued to make out messily, pausing in between for air and to finally help Jisung out of his sweater as well. You’d never seen the younger of the two quite this excited before and it did things to you that you had no words to describe.

Both of them were so beautiful. Both of them smelled so good. Their scents were all over the room as sweat was already mingling, and you briefly pulled away to take your own shirt off as well. Both pairs of eyes were on you as you did so, and you returned the gaze, looking at their bodies in awe. Jisung had begun unbuttoning his jeans now and Minho reached a hand down to stop him.

“Let me.” The way he said those words sent a shiver down your spine, and suddenly he was pulling you back towards them as well, shoving you down next to Jisung. You began kissing and biting the younger of the two all over his ear, jaw, neck, chest, anywhere you could reach as Minho took his time unbuttoning the man’s jeans and sliding them down his legs excruciatingly slowly, taking his underwear right along with them.

“Don’t be shy now,” Minho said to you as you stopped what you were doing to look at Jisung’s boner that stood against his belly, twitching in arousal, all but begging to be touched. “I’ve had my fun with it plenty of times. You can get us started.” And so you did. You trailed your hand down towards Jisung’s crotch and around the general area first; his lower body bucked upwards when your fingers brushed the inside of his thigh. He let out a small whine, already breathing heavily, cheeks pink, lips slightly parted. And then you were wrapping a hand around his length, giving it a couple of slow pumps, loving the way it felt pulsing under your palm. Jisung groaned, his eyes fluttering back in his head. You caught Minho watching him in awe and thought you might just about die.

You were very aware of your own wetness pooling in your underwear and your pussy twitching, heat coiling in your lower belly. You leant down to place a few excruciatingly soft kisses around Jisung’s crotch and finally on the tip of his cock, before pulling away to start removing your own pants. Minho took the opportunity to attach his mouth to Jisung’s cock and when you heard the moans coming from the younger man, you felt like you couldn’t get your clothes off fast enough. Minho was straddling Jisung’s legs by now and Jisung’s hands were grasping for the other man’s crotch too, attempting to rub him through his pants before awkwardly stretching his body to reach for the buttons and fumbling with them desperately. Minho stopped him, pulling his mouth off of his penis with a pop, then sat up straight and smiled. He kept doing that – smiling like that – and you couldn’t take your eyes off of him when he did. But Jisung’s whine at the loss of contact pulled your attention back to him for a moment.

“Y/N, take over,” Minho ordered, and you took his place eagerly. As you positioned yourself between Jisung’s legs and bent down to take him into your mouth, you felt the bed shift as Minho presumably got undressed… and then you felt his hands begin to roam you from behind. They went all over your body, helping you out of your bra before sliding your underwear off and tossing it to the side. There was so much going on that you luckily only had a brief moment to feel self-conscious as you knew Minho was inspecting your ass and pussy from the back. His hands were kneading your ass cheeks while Jisung was grabbing at your breasts desperately. At the same time you could feel him thrusting up into your mouth and heard his moans quickening… at which point Minho pulled you off of him and flush against his own naked body instead. You gasped at the feel of his erection against your ass and his hands all over your breasts, kneading, pinching. You turned your head slightly to look at his face, panting. He was smiling at Jisung.

“Not yet, baby,” he told him, before pressing several kisses against your shoulder and the crook of your neck that were so soft you almost burst right then and there, your entire body tingling. You arched your back against him, grinding back against his crotch. His chest was slick with sweat against your back. When he looked up from your shoulder, you tried to catch his lips with yours, but he just teased you with an evil grin before flipping you onto your back next to Jisung once more. You turned your head towards Jisung and the two of you looked at each other, completely breathless. A small giggle escaped you which Jisung quickly reciprocated before pressing another sloppy kiss to your lips. You bit and sucked on his bottom lip for a few moments, then turned your head to look up at Minho as Jisung kept kissing and nibbling along your cheek, your neck, your ear. Your eyes trailed up and down the body of the man you’d been lusting over for months. He looked unbelievable, kneeling over you like that. When your eyes met you couldn’t keep yourself from moaning.

You grasped one of his hands, brought his index finger to your mouth and ran your tongue along it before beginning to suck on it, never breaking eye contact with him as you did so. He was watching you intently. You were aching to be touched. He began to lean down, bringing his face impossibly close to yours. You reached for the back of his neck, ready to pull him into a kiss, already feeling his breath on your lips, so eager to taste his mouth once more… but he stopped just short of it again, smirked at you once, then turned his attention to Jisung.

He pulled Jisung’s face off of you before kissing him passionately, deeply, as you could only watch in awe. It was too much.

Your hand found its way to your pussy and you began rubbing your clit while simultaneously spreading your wetness around your folds. You whimpered at the sight of the two of them messily making out, tongues battling as their naked bodies ground against each other. You squeezed your legs together tightly once before pressing a first cautious finger into your pussy, then a second. Your other hand had made its way to your own mouth and you moaned into your palm softly, holding back a little bit. Still, the boys broke their kiss to look at you. It took everything in you not to look away – you were so overwhelmed, so turned on you thought you might burst, so self-conscious but still unable to stop touching yourself at the sight of them.

“I think Y/N needs some attention, hm?” Minho purred at Jisung. “What do you think? Want to put that tongue of yours to good use?” Jisung began grinning again before sliding his body down the bed a little bit, motioning for you to position yourself on top of his face.

“Are you sure?” You asked him, but he was nodding eagerly before you had even finished your question. Minho took you by the wrist, practically forcing you to stop fingering yourself, and helped you position your body above Jisung’s face, slowly lowering you down until your pussy made contact with the younger’s mouth. You moaned loudly as soon as it did, grabbing onto the bed’s headboard to steady yourself as your body arched in response. Jisung put a hand on each hip to steady you, and as he ate you out, Minho began to give the rest of your body attention again. His hands and lips were all over you, squeezing your nipples, kissing you behind your ear and all down your back, making you shiver all over. He lightly slapped your ass cheeks and came back up right next to your ear to ask you in an excruciatingly seductive tone if that was okay for you. You nodded quickly.

“Yeah?” he asked. “That feel good?”

“Mhmmmm,” you moaned back as he slapped you a couple more times.

“What about Jisung? Is he making you feel good?” You could only respond with unintelligible noises as the younger’s tongue penetrated you deeper at the sound of his name.

“M-Minho,” you brought out breathlessly. You were a bit nervous to ask him for anything, but your arousal overrode your embarrassment. “C-can you scratch me?” You panted. “Please?” You swore you could hear the smirk in his voice when he answered.

“You want me to scratch you, kitten?” You nodded, still moaning and holding onto the headboard for dear life, the muscles in your arms flexing. “As you wish, beautiful.” You barely had time to process the fact that he had just called youbeautiful before his nails were on you. All down your back, along your thighs, your hipbones, everywhere. You moaned even louder. Your body was reacting beyond your control, you could feel the tightening sensation in your lower belly growing exponentially and your legs began to shake so that you wondered if you would even be able to remain upright long enough to orgasm.

“You like that, huh?” Minho spoke, and you nodded wildly, still desperately trying to keep your body stable. He kept going, grinding against your ass, scratching you and peppering you with kisses all over your neck and back while Jisung held you steady with a firm grip on your hips. Your thighs were quivering at this point and you knew you wouldn’t last much longer. Jisung pulled away for an excruciating moment, placed unbelievably soft kisses on the inside of your thigh, and when his lips and tongue reattached to your pussy once more, it didn’t take long before you went over the edge. Minho had added one of his fingers into the mix, steadily circling your clit with it as Jisung kept eating you out. Your thighs shook uncontrollably as your orgasm washed over you and you let the two of them hold you up as you rode it out, eyes closed in pure bliss until the last of the waves of pleasure had rocked through your body.

Then you slowly lifted yourself off of Jisung with Minho’s help, slumping with your back against the headboard, and looked at the two of them sheepishly. You were well aware your mouth was still open but you were incapable of closing it fully at this point in time. You looked at Minho; he was still wearing that mischievous expression. You looked down at Jisung, who was wiping your juices off of his lips, sucking them off his own fingertips as he made eye contact with you. Then you broke into a smile.

“Holy fuck,” you breathed. The boys laughed. It was silent for a couple of seconds save for the sounds of all your heavy breathing.

“Are you done, baby?” Minho asked from where he knelt in front of you.

“God no,” you responded, earning more chuckles from the two of them. “Just give me a moment.” Your chest was still falling and rising rapidly while your body felt so heavy and sensitive that you didn’t think you could move just yet. “Can you keep yourselves busy for a few minutes?” They both looked at you as if that was a stupid question and instantly were all over each other once more. Jisung grabbed Minho by the hips and pulled him down until he was straddling him. They began to make out desperately, hips grinding against each other, pornographic sounds coming from both of their mouths.

Jisung’s hand found its way between Minho’s legs and when the older of the two broke the kiss briefly to throw his head back, squeeze his eyes tightly shut and let out a strangled moan, you nearly lost it. The veins in his neck were very visible and he had never looked better. No. You most definitely were not done with them yet.

You watched them for a few minutes more, taking in every detail. Jisung’s smooth body, the muscles in his arms tensing up as he had one hand buried in Minho’s crotch, the other wrapped around his ass to hold him down against him. Minho’s thighs on either side of him. God, those thighs. You were feeling your own arousal begin to build quickly again and cautiously reached down to touch yourself once more, slowly letting yourself get accustomed to the sensation again without overwhelming your still very sensitive body.

You ached to taste Minho again, to shove your tongue in his mouth, to get your hands on him, on his dick which you had yet to have your fun with. You began crawling towards him, reached a hand into his hair, gently turned his head in your direction. His half-lidded eyes met yours and there was that smile again. You tried to pull his face towards you, but just before his lips met yours, he moved them to your neck instead. You groaned.

“What’s- ah! What’s wrong, kitten?” he brought out breathlessly in between moans as Jisung kept pumping his hand up and down his cock. You looked down at it until Minho used his spare hand that wasn’t currently clutching onto Jisung’s shoulder to pull your face back up by your chin and force you to look into his eyes. “What do you need?” As he said that, he trailed his hand down your front until he reached your pussy, where he began slowly circling your clit once more with two of his fingers.

“Mmh- Minho, oh god.” A shiver went through you and you closed your eyes to let the sensation fully wash over you. He was using just the right amount of pressure as he rubbed excruciatingly slow circles over your clit and you forgot everything else for a moment.

“Tell me, kitten,” he huffed out.

“M-Minho… need… you,” you panted. Your hips were bucking in his direction every time he completed a circle and you wanted to feel him inside of you immediately. “P-please. Just fuck me.” You opened your eyes to look at him again. He had reached his other hand down to stop Jisung jerking him off and caressed the younger man’s hand gently before reaching past him to the bedside table, where he retrieved a condom from the top drawer. He looked down at his roommate lovingly, then back up at you.

“Jisung’s been waiting a little longer than me. Don’t you think we should let him go first?” You looked at Jisung and his eyes were so wide, so full of desire. Minho didn’t even wait for your response before he unwrapped the condom and began to slowly pull it down over Jisung’s cock, which you noticed was twitching and already dripping precum. You felt your mouth begin to water, despite the devastating loss of Minho’s fingers on your clit. When he had finished putting the condom on the younger man, he moved to lay down next to him again. “What do you think, Jisungie?” Minho asked him, running a finger down his stomach, trailing it between his legs, grazing his cock, causing Jisung’s hips to jerk upwards.

“Mmh… Y/N. Can I? Can I f-fuck you?” He was panting. He looked incredible. You nodded and moved to straddle him. Who were you to turn him down?

“God, please,” you breathed out, but just before you could settle on top of him, he grabbed you by the waist and flipped you over so you were on your back beneath him instead. Your head hit the pillow and you glanced to the side to make eye contact with Minho for a moment. He was licking his lips and moved to stroke your cheek with his hand. You leaned in towards him, but he gently pushed your face back to look at Jisung instead. You complied, your initial frustration forgotten quickly as your eyes settled on the younger of the two who was now towering over you. He had reached up to push a hand through his hair and the muscles in his arm flexed tantalizingly as he did so.

You reached your hands up to run them over his chest and stomach, feeling every breath that he took. His skin was hot and slick with sweat and you reached up to his neck to pull his face down to meet you. His mouth was on yours in an instant, his tongue pushing into your mouth eagerly. Your breath was already quickening from the exhilaration of the kiss alone. When you felt his hand reach down to grasp himself and slowly begin to position his cock at your entrance, it sped up even more in anticipation. You reached your own hand down to spread yourself for him.

He slowly pushed into you and each little bit further he went sent new waves of pleasure radiating out from your stomach through your entire body. He already felt so good and he had barely even begun.

“Mmh… feel so good, baby…” he groaned as if he was reading your mind again, eyes closed, mouth open as he continued pushing into you until he bottomed out. Then, slowly at first, he began to thrust.

“Oh fuck,” you couldn’t contain your moans. “Jisung!” His hands were on either side of your head now, grasping the pillow for support. Yours were on his ass, pulling him closer, pushing him deeper into you as you slid your hips up and wrapped your legs around his back to find just the right angle. You closed your eyes for a moment, just feeling him, the indescribable sensations going through your body. Both your voices filled the room in time with his thrusts as he settled into a rhythm.

You heard Minho groaning next to you too and when you turned your head to look at him once more, you saw he was slowly stroking his own cock while looking at the two of you. Knowing he was getting off on watching you both amplified your pleasure tenfold and you didn’t even know where to look at this point. You wanted to see both of them. But Jisung enclosed your mouth in yet another desperate kiss, taking the decision off your hands as he continued to thrust into you, though you could already feel his movements speeding up and becoming slightly more erratic as he whined into your mouth in pleasure.

You bucked your hips up to meet his movements and help him keep the pace. He pressed his forehead against yours as he moaned your name against your mouth. You reached one of your hands up to push his sweaty hair out of his eyes. He grabbed your hand with his own and intertwined your fingers against the pillow next to your head. You felt Minho begin to place soft kisses all over both of your hands as he continued to writhe against the sheets next to you, still stroking himself agonizingly slowly. You could see his chest rise and fall out of the corner of your eye.

Meanwhile Jisung’s movements were becoming even more frantic. His hand was still on yours, squeezing tight, but he buried his face in your neck again, allowing your skin to swallow up the sounds still coming from his mouth.

“Mm- so close, baby,” you felt him groan out, the vibrations from his lips shooting through your entire body. “So… close…” He turned his head to meet Minho’s face in a hungry kiss, then looked back at you, the veins in his neck popping out, jaw clenched from how hard he was trying not to cum right now. Yet he didn’t slow his movements down.

“Let go, baby,” you whispered, squeezing his ass hard with the hand that was still resting there. And that was all it took. With a few final big thrusts, you felt his cock pulse inside you as he hit his climax, until his movements gradually slowed down. He was panting against your neck again, still holding onto your hand for the final few sporadic, lazy thrusts before he pressed one more kiss to your neck, then came back up to your face to attach his lips to yours again for a moment. Finally he pulled himself out of you, collapsing next to you and trying to catch his breath. You grinned at him and stroked his cheek affectionately. He laid there with his eyes closed for a few moments more before blinking them open and looking at you.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for that to happen so fast!”

“It’s- oh! It’s o-kay… mmh…” Minho’s hand had latched onto your pussy so fast you barely had time to register it as the sensation overwhelmed your body. You reached down to stop its movements before you completely lost your mind again. “I still have this one to get through, after all.” You cocked your head in Minho’s direction and grinned at Jisung, who was wiping sweat off his forehead, where his hair had started to curl slightly. Minho had moved his attention to your breasts, kissing them, then between them, then your belly, then your hipbones.

“Still sorry,” Jisung panted. “I wanted to make you cum.” He pouted a little bit.

“You already did, remember?” He smiled at that.

“Don’t worry, Jisungie, you can still help,” Minho purred, looking up at him. “Do you need more of a break?” he asked you, and when you instantly shook your head he chuckled a little bit before retrieving another condom from the bedside table, sitting up to slide it over his own dick this time. You watched, entranced, until he lifted your face up by the chin with a finger and smirked at you in that way he always did again. You swore you could have cum just from that. He reached down between your legs once more and you could feel yourself trying to squeeze your thighs shut against your control as the sensations threatened to overwhelm you.

“Minho,” you warned him, breathing heavily. “Not like this. Need you inside me.” He complied, removing his hand from your pussy and rubbing it over your thigh once instead before leaning down to press a kiss to your hipbone again and nip at it a couple of times.

“Where do you want me, baby?” he asked as a shiver went through your body. You took a moment to ponder.

“Lay down,” you decided. “Want to ride you.” He complied.

As his head hit the pillow, Jisung began to kiss and nip at his upper body while you positioned yourself on top of him. His hands quickly gripped your thighs tightly, nails digging into them as you took his cock into your hand, loving the way it felt, and gave it a couple of strokes, which it responded to as if it had a mind of its own. Your other hand reached for your pussy to spread it again and rub your wetness around a little more before positioning Minho’s cock at your entrance.

Then, ever so slowly, you began to lower yourself onto it. A guttural moan came from deep inside Minho’s chest as he shut his eyes for a moment. Now it was your turn to smirk as you slowly took him all the way inside of you before beginning to slide up and down on his cock. He looked even hotter beneath you than you’d ever imagined, than you’d ever thought possible. When he opened his eyes again and looked at you, the eye contact while feeling him inside of you nearly drove you insane.

Jisung was currently squeezing Minho’s bicep while sucking on his neck. You leant down, hoping to kiss Minho while still keeping your hips moving up and down steadily. Just before your mouths connected, he placed his hand at your lips and shoved his finger back in your mouth instead. You were going to go crazy if he didn’t kiss you soon. You hated it. You loved it. It only made you hungrier for him. You sucked and bit at his finger eagerly, relished in his grunts, then sat back up straighter, throwing your head back.

You were starting to get tired but you could not stop going, feeling your pleasure building and building, even more so when Minho began scratching you again, on your back, your thighs, your hips. You arched your back, shut your eyes, moaned his name. He kept his hands on your hips now and slowly his grip began to tighten, holding you down until you couldn’t move anymore. Then he pulled himself up until he had his arms around you tightly and his face at your breasts, kissing them, sucking on your nipples one after the other, licking a stripe up your neck. Then he was lifting you off of him.

“Turn around,” he instructed. “On your knees. Jisungie, you want to help?” The younger nodded excitedly. “Good. Get below them. You can help keep them steady.” Jisung complied. You were straddling his thighs again as Minho gently pushed you down so you were on all fours, hands on either side of Jisung’s head, faces dangerously close together. Then Minho positioned himself behind you again, this time lining himself up with your entrance, asking if you were ready and slowly pushing his cock inside of you once more when you told him you were.

The moan that left your body was the loudest one yet as he bottomed out inside of you, instantly hitting a very deep angle. Jisung swallowed your sounds up hungrily, mouth all over yours. Then Minho grabbed both of your wrists and held them behind your back. Your upper body slid down a little until your face was on Jisung’s chest and all three of you rocked along with the entire bed as Minho thrust into you steadily. Jisung’s hands moved from your hips, where he had been holding you in place, to your breasts and began to play with them while you moaned into his burning skin. You were sure the two men were looking at each other over your head and just the thought of that turned you on even further, if that was possible.

Minho held your wrists in place with only one hand as the other scratched down your back slowly once, causing a shiver and eliciting more moans, before he used it to repeatedly slap and knead your ass in time with his thrusts. One of Jisung’s hands reached down to your clit and you knew you were going to be done for very soon.

You were trying to moan out names – either of theirs, both of theirs. You were trying to say “theretherethere ohgod right there”, you were trying to say “fasterharderpleaseohfuck” – but what came out of your mouth was fully incoherent at this point. It didn’t seem to matter, because Minho was clearly on the same wavelength as you. You were aware of his grunts and groans growing more frequent, you were aware of his hips smacking against your ass faster and faster as he fucked you harder, deeper, hitting just the right spot over and over, and you were aware of your pleasure building and building until it felt almost impossible to bear.

“Gonna… cum…” you managed to groan out against Jisung’s sweaty skin, and just before you did, Minho pulled your body back up against his. His movements slowed again for a brief moment, and then he was turning your face towards his and before you could process what was happening, his lips finally consumed yours – deeply, intimately, passionately. When his thrusts sped up again your climax hit you so fast and hard you almost bit down on his tongue, nearly screaming into his mouth as your pussy clenched around him, wave after wave of pleasure tumbling through your trembling body. When it finally started to slow down and your soul reentered your body, you were so grateful for Jisung holding onto your thighs below you, because you might have fallen over otherwise.

“Almost… there…” Minho groaned against your mouth. “Hold… on… baby.” Your hands curled into fists as you steadied yourself against Jisung’s chest, focusing on how hot Minho sounded when he was desperate like this, knowing you would let him fuck you for as long as he needed no matter how much it took out of you. But he came not long after with a shaky moan, hands holding your hips in place as he rutted into you frantically, then slower, slower, until he stopped. His forehead rested against yours. You both stayed like that for a moment, eyes closed. Then he kissed you once more, so softly this time, before pulling out of you, smoothing your hair down gently with one hand.

You collapsed half-on top of Jisung and he chuckled into your hair, pressing soft kisses to your temples and the top of your head. You felt Minho’s lips ghost against the scratches on your back once, twice, three times before he collapsed next to the two of you as well, resting his head against Jisung’s shoulder.

There was silence for a little bit. You felt so heavy, in the best way. The world around you seemed muted, like everything had been dipped into candlelight – not just your vision but your hearing as well, the sounds of the boys’ breathing muffled as the blood rushing through your head finally started to slow down.

Jisung rested a hand on your back and you were so sensitive to the touch you almost jerked away from it, but once you got used to it, it felt so good, grounding you. His naked body beneath yours was warm and comfortable. You slowly fluttered your eyes open again and looked at Minho across from you. You reached out to touch his face, caress his cheek gently, then turned your face down to Jisung’s chest to press a kiss to it. Then you rolled onto your back, legs still intertwined with Jisung’s, and looked up at the ceiling. Just like before when you guys had first entered the dorm, you were the one to break the silence, but this time it wasn’t awkward.

“Wow.” A single word. And all three of you huffed out little laughs, looked at each other – and you had never been happier, never felt more blissful, more relaxed, more at home. You couldn’t have wiped the smile off your face even if you’d wanted to. After another moment you spoke again. “Um, we might need to try watching that movie again another time.” The sound of the boys’ soft laughter filled your heart with joy and your stomach fluttered again. You loved the way it felt this time.

“You’re both so fucking hot,” Jisung said out of the blue and you and Minho both grinned.

“You’re fucking hot, baby,” Minho told him in return and you could only nod your enthusiastic agreement.

After a little more comfortable silence, Jisung slowly began to shift you both off of him, announcing he wanted to take a quick shower. He asked if anyone else wanted to but you informed him you couldn’t stand just yet and Minho agreed with you, so once Jisung had left, he pulled you into his arms instead. His skin felt so good against yours, so comforting. He played with your hair as you listened to the sounds of the water hitting the tiles in the shower and after a while Minho mumbled “You really are beautiful” against the skin of your temple. You turned your head up to kiss him and he reciprocated with no hesitation. There was none of the urgency from before and it was incredible in its own way, soft and sweet and perfect.

After another little while you became vaguely aware of the sound of a hairdryer at the edges of your drifting consciousness, and by the time Jisung returned you both were half asleep already, Minho’s arms tight around your middle as he spooned you from behind. You were aware of Jisung turning the TV off before he crept into the bed beside you and pressed a kiss to your forehead. Your eyes fluttered open once, met his and you both smiled before he reached over to the nightstand to turn out the light and settle down on his back. You laid your head against his chest, inhaled him deeply, draped an arm across his stomach and let his heartbeat lull you to sleep. It didn’t take long.

---

When you woke up the next day to daylight cautiously peeking in through a gap in the curtain, still very much tangled up in both Minho and Jisung’s bodies, you panicked for a second. But laying here with them was so soothing that you didn’t let yourself think about your worries for long, instead listening to their deep, steady breathing and letting their scents envelop you.

It wasn’t too long until they began to stir as well, blinking their eyes open not long after each other. And the way they both smiled when they took in where they were and who they were with told you everything you needed to know: this had not been a mistake. And it also would not be the end of it. If their gentle, content expressions hadn’t been enough to convince you of that, the way they softly greeted you and each other and the lazy kisses and cuddles that ensued certainly were, as well as the rest of the slow morning (or, well, afternoon) you spent together. You took your time cuddling, chatting, getting ready, eating some breakfast that Minho prepared for you all.

You didn’t talk about the situation in depth yet, but you felt no rush to. In fact, for once in your life, you didn’t want to try and rationalize or understand everything. The only thing you all did confirm was that you had enjoyed yourselves immensely and wanted to spend a lot more time together – and that was enough for now.

When you ran into Felix on your way home that afternoon, you still hadn’t been able to wipe the smile off your face that you’d been wearing all day. You stopped to chat for a few moments and you could tell he wanted to ask, but you also figured from the way his eyes were twinkling that he maybe already had an idea. Either way, you told him you’d catch up with him and the others again later – that you wanted to go home and freshen up and take a little time to yourself for now. But just before you left, you pressed a quick kiss to his cheek and grinned at him.

“Great party, Lix.”

[cheolsbitch]

“Three’s Not a Crowd”

Summary:

You’re just roommates—best friends, nothing more. But when you admit no man has ever made you cum, Minho and Jisung take it as a challenge. What starts as teasing turns into denial, control, and desperation as they make you beg for every touch—except the one thing you want most.

Content Warning:

Explicit sexual content, oral sex (m and f receiving), fingering, orgasm denial, edging, overstimulation, spanking, light humiliation, power dynamics, dominance/submission themes, possessiveness, psychological play, polyamory (m/m/f), bxb content, emotional manipulation in a sexual context, and intense teasing. All acts are fully consensual but heavily rooted in delayed gratification and power control.

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3

“This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things”

You don’t even flinch when a pillow smacks you dead in the face.

“You’ve paused this movie three times now,” Jisung groans from where he’s sprawled across the couch like a tired housecat. “At this point we might as well just reenact it ourselves.”

“You wanna play the role of ‘Guy Who Dies in the First Five Minutes’?” you mutter, flinging popcorn at his forehead.

Minho snorts from the kitchen. “He’d overact and cry for no reason. The director would kill him off faster.”

“Excuse you,” Jisung gasps, sitting up indignantly, his hair a disaster and his sweatpants even worse. “I am a natural-born thespian. Right, babe?”

You blink at him. “Don’t call me babe.”

“You let Minho call you babe,” he whines, pouting now. “This is favoritism.”

“He doesn’t call me babe,” you say, just as Minho strolls in and casually drops into the seat next to you.

“Babe, you want the last can of cider?” he asks, already handing it to you.

You take it, muttering, “I hate both of you.”

It’s always like this — loud, stupid, a little too close. No boundaries. No filters. Just the three of you, the weirdest little trio to ever share a rent bill.

Jisung throws his leg over yours without asking, warm skin brushing yours where your shorts ride up. Minho leans into your side like it’s the most natural thing in the world, arm slung lazily along the back of the couch. No part of this should feel abnormal. It never used to.

But then again, you’re pretty sure Minho’s hand just grazed the top of your thigh when he shifted.

And you’re definitely not thinking about the way Jisung’s bare knee is pressed between yours, or how his voice goes lower when he talks like that.

You crack open the can and take a long sip.

Nope. Not thinking about it at all.

“Men Are Actually So Useless”

You shut the apartment door as quietly as you can, slipping your shoes off with a sigh. It’s almost 1 a.m. Your date ended forty-five minutes ago, and you’ve been walking off the frustration ever since.

You’d shaved. You’d worn perfume. You’d even sat through two hours of small talk with a man who thought astrology was “girl math.” And for what?

To get railed like a fleshlight and left hanging.

Pathetic.

You’re halfway to your room when a voice calls out from the couch.

“Well, well, well. Look who finally decided to come home.”

You groan internally. Of course they’re still up.

Minho’s half-asleep on one end of the couch, hoodie pulled over his head, blanket up to his chin. Jisung is sitting cross-legged on the floor, munching on leftover dumplings and looking way too smug.

“Don’t,” you warn, not even turning around.

“Aw, come on,” Jisung says through a mouthful of rice. “How was your date? Did he whine about the check or just show you his Spotify Wrapped?”

You pivot slowly, arms crossed. “He came in under two minutes.”

Minho lifts his head. “Like… into the date?”

“No,” you say flatly. “Into me.”

Jisung chokes on his food.

There’s a beat of stunned silence. Then—

“Bro.”

“What the fuck—”

“Are you serious?”

You walk to the kitchen, ignoring their reactions, and grab a cold bottle of water. The twist of the cap feels like violence. “I should’ve known when he asked if foreplay was like, optional.”

Minho groans. “Oh my God.”

“He literally said — and I quote — ‘I usually skip it unless it’s their birthday.’”

Jisung drops his chopsticks like the dramatics he is. “Men are actually a crime. A war crime. I want names.”

You sit on the counter and take a swig of water, swinging your legs. “It’s fine. I’m just gonna start pretending sex doesn’t exist. Like birds.”

Minho narrows his eyes. “Birds do exist.”

“Not to me.”

Jisung stares at you for a second. “Wait, are you telling me you didn’t finish?”

“Jisung.” You stare back, deadpan. “I’ve never finished. Not from another person. I genuinely think the female orgasm is a myth. Like… Santa. Or straight men who actually eat pussy.”

Minho visibly winces.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you snap, pointing at him. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

He opens his mouth.

Closes it.

Looks away.

Exactly.

Jisung throws his hands up. “No, you’re right. We’re hopeless. I’ve seen porn and I still don’t know what the clit looks like.”

You snort. “It’s okay. Neither does anyone I’ve ever dated.”

There’s another pause. One of those loaded, too-quiet ones.

Then Minho mutters under his breath, “Maybe you’re just dating the wrong people.”

You blink.

Jisung slowly turns toward him, eyebrows raised.

“What was that?” you ask.

“Nothing,” he says immediately. “Forget it.”

But you don’t. And neither does Jisung.

Because something about the way he said it—

The quiet.

The certainty.

—makes something in your chest stir.

You’re still perched on the kitchen counter, legs swinging, water bottle in hand. The silence after Minho’s little comment sits heavy in the air, even with the distant hum of the fridge and Jisung’s abandoned dumplings growing cold on the coffee table.

Then, casually — like he’s talking about the weather — Minho speaks again.

“I’ve never left anyone high and dry.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“I’m just saying,” he shrugs, leaning back into the couch. “I’ve never been that guy. They always finish. Every single time.”

You snort. “Yeah. Okay.”

“I’m serious.”

“Oh, I know you’re serious,” you say, sliding off the counter. “You just sound dumb.”

Minho blinks. “Why?”

“Because they were acting, dumbass.”

His jaw twitches.

You wave your hand dramatically. “Moaning, shaking, saying your name like you’re the second coming of Christ? All fake. Peak performance. Women deserve Oscars.”

“I know the difference between fake and real.”

You laugh in his face. “Oh my God.”

“I do.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do.”

Jisung raises a finger. “Okay, hold on. I always let the girl finish before me, too—”

“You think you do,” you say.

He stops mid-sentence, blinking. “Wait. What if they faked it too?”

“Exactly,” you mutter. “Men always assume they’re God’s gift to—”

“No, no, no, don’t do this to me,” Jisung says, pointing at his own heart. “I give effort. I go in with a strategy. I pace myself. I’ve got rhythm. I ask questions.”

Minho laughs into his blanket. “You sound like you’re planning a heist.”

“This is a heist. Stealing orgasms. Successfully.” Jisung looks at you, distressed. “Wait, what if I’m just mid?”

Minho wipes a tear of laughter from his eye. “Do they leave right away?”

“What?”

“The girls you’re with. Do they get up and ghost right after, or do they cling? Text you later? Try to come back for more?”

Jisung pauses.

Thinks.

“…They cling.”

Minho raises his brows, smug. “Exactly.”

“So… I’m good?”

“You’re welcome.”

Jisung looks weirdly proud of himself now, arms crossed and chin up like he’s just been knighted.

You just stare at them both, blinking slowly.

“This is the dumbest conversation I’ve ever heard,” you mutter.

Minho turns his attention back to you, eyes lazy, voice casual. “I know when it’s real. Don’t lump me in with your trash date.”

You open your mouth to say something. Maybe to argue. Maybe to mock.

But then you remember the way he’d said it the first time—quiet, certain, calm—and the way he’s looking at you now.

And for some reason…

You say nothing at all.

“You Two Are All Talk”

You’re sitting on the floor of the living room, surrounded by greasy takeout boxes, scattered shot glasses, and half-finished bottles of soju and beer. The air smells like sweet alcohol and fried food, and someone — probably Jisung — spilled peach soju on the remote, which means you’re now stuck watching a dating show that none of you care about.

The TV’s playing in the background, but you’re more focused on watching Jisung reenact one of the over-the-top breakup scenes using a piece of fried chicken as a microphone.

“—and then she goes, ‘I just feel like you’re not emotionally available,’” he says in a fake high-pitched voice, holding the drumstick dramatically to his chest. “Girl, he ghosted his own mom! Of course he’s not available!”

Minho’s snorting into his beer bottle, lounging on the couch with one arm thrown lazily behind his head.

You’re sipping straight from a bottle of plum wine, blinking slowly. “Still more emotionally satisfying than my date.”

“Okay, we get it,” Jisung sighs, tossing the chicken bone onto a napkin. “Your sex life’s a horror movie. We’ve been hearing about this man’s 45-second sprint for days.”

“Oh, please,” you scoff. “You two act like you’re walking sex ed posters.”

Minho glances at you lazily. “Because we are.”

You laugh — hard. “Right. You two probably watched one moaning compilation and decided you’re gifted by the gods.”

“I do my research!” Jisung insists, sitting up straighter. “I study. I prepare.”

“Yeah? So you’re publishing a thesis now? ‘Women Are Easy: A Straight Man’s Journey Through Delusion’?”

Minho lifts his beer, grinning. “You’re just mad because your date couldn’t find the clit with GPS.”

You gesture at him with your wine. “Please. You probably think the clit is a setting on a washing machine.”

“I’ve had people shaking,” Minho says, smug.

“From disappointment?”

He smirks. “From pleasure, kitten.”

You groan. “Stop calling me that.”

“She looks like she’s gonna throw something,” Jisung mutters.

“I’m fine,” you say sweetly, taking another long swig. “Just dying of secondhand embarrassment.”

“Never have I ever“

An hour later, Jisung announces shots like it’s a public service.

There’s a dangerous mix of bottles on the table — soju, tequila, beer, someone’s emergency stash of rum Minho “accidentally” found in your closet. You’re all way past tipsy and deep into dangerously oversharing territory.

“I swear to God,” Jisung slurs, trying to stack the bottle caps like a tower, “if this one doesn’t count, I’m doing a truth round.”

You just laugh and refill your cup. “You’re already three truths deep. It’s called Never Have I Ever, not Tell All My Kinks and Cry About It.”

Minho raises his half-empty glass. “Never have I ever… had sex in a moving vehicle.”

You drink.

They both stare at you.

You shrug. “Backseat. Wasn’t great. Windows fogged up. Whole Titanic reenactment. Zero payoff.”

Minho smirks. “You really do have hidden talents, kitten.”

“I swear to God if you say that one more time—”

“What? It suits you.”

“You’re literally projecting a furry kink onto me.”

“No, I’m projecting cutie with claws energy onto you.”

You take another drink just to avoid screaming.

“Okay, okay—my turn,” Jisung says, pointing dramatically. “Never have I ever… choked someone during sex.”

You and Minho both drink.

Jisung makes a noise. “Wait, you?!”

You shrug. “I’ve had a weird phase or two.”

“She’s so mysterious,” Minho teases, leaning in. “What else don’t we know?”

“That I regret agreeing to this game.”

“Liar,” he says, grinning. “You live for the drama.”

Jisung grins, drunk and delighted. “Never have I ever had a kink I was scared to tell someone.”

Minho drinks.

You raise your brow. “Spill.”

He just licks his lips and smiles. “Wouldn’t you like to know… kitten.”

You throw a napkin at his face. “Get a new personality.”

“I’m gonna get it printed on a t-shirt,” he says proudly.

“Make it two,” Jisung adds.

You groan.

Jisung turns to you, squinting. “Okay, what about you? Be real. What’s your weirdest kink?”

“I don’t have one.”

Minho snorts. “Liar.”

“I don’t!”

“You’re too aggressive to be vanilla. I don’t buy it.”

“I will fight both of you in the street.”

“I’d still call you kitten.”

“I’ll put you in a headlock.”

“Still hot.”

You down the rest of your drink.

This is fine.

Everything is fine.

—

The bottle of tequila is almost empty, which means the decisions being made now are… unsupervised at best.

Someone — probably you, but you’ll deny it later — suggested switching to dares after Jisung confessed he once cried mid-blowjob because the girl played a Taylor Swift song in the background and it “unlocked a core memory.”

There’s no music anymore. Just laughter, slurred speech, and the occasional crash of something being knocked over as Minho tries to do yoga in jeans for a dare.

“I’m literally—” he wheezes, stuck in a sad downward dog, “—so flexible.”

“You’re gonna snap your spine,” you say, lying sideways on the couch, cheeks flushed from alcohol and laughter.

“You love it,” he grins, not even getting up. “Don’t act like you don’t wanna see me in this position.”

“Why are you like this?”

“Born this way, kitten.”

“I swear to God.”

Jisung downs a shot. “Alright! My turn again. Truth or dare, baby girl?”

You throw a pillow at his face. “You call me that again and I’m putting your toothbrush in the toilet.”

He giggles. “Dare it is.”

You groan. “Fine. Hit me.”

Jisung lights up with pure evil. “I dare you to send a ‘you up?’ text to the last person you matched with.”

Your soul leaves your body. “Absolutely not.”

Minho sits up with interest. “Do it.”

“I’m blocking both of you.”

Jisung leans in. “Come on, you said you wanted someone with actual experience, remember?”

“I also said I wanted to be hit by a bus.”

“Same vibe.”

You groan louder, but you grab your phone anyway. “If I get ghosted or proposed to, it’s your fault.”

“I accept full responsibility,” Jisung says, raising his glass.

You fire off the message, toss your phone face-down, and collapse dramatically across Minho’s lap, already regretting everything.

“Ow,” he says, not even trying to push you off. “You’re heavier than you look.”

“You’re skinnier than your attitude,” you mutter into his thigh.

He just laughs, brushing a strand of hair off your face. “Still comfy though?”

You flip him off without looking.

“Still cute though,” he says, way too casually.

You groan. “Don’t start.”

“Don’t act like you don’t love being called kitten.”

“I don’t!”

“Keep lying to yourself, sweetheart.”

You dramatically slide off his lap and onto the floor like a melting popsicle. “I’m gonna actually lose it.”

“Too late,” Jisung says. “You lost it three shots ago.”

You throw another pillow at him.

He throws one back.

Minho just watches, sipping his drink and smiling like he’s hosting a sitcom.

“Alright,” you say, slurring a little, “who’s next before I start throwing hands?”

“You just went,” Minho smirks from the couch, legs spread, hoodie slipping off one shoulder. “It’s my turn.”

“Oh no,” Jisung groans. “This is how we die.”

Minho lifts his shot glass, looking far too pleased with himself. “Jisung. I dare you to reenact the most dramatic porn line you’ve ever heard.”

Jisung doesn’t even blink. “Challenge accepted.”

He clears his throat like he’s prepping for a Shakespearean monologue.

Then, in the most unhinged, breathy voice you’ve ever heard:

“Doctor… I think my clothes are allergic to me. They just keep falling off.”

You choke on your drink. Minho lets out an actual wheeze.

“No, no wait—” Jisung holds up a hand, getting into position. “Let me set the scene.”

He kicks over a chair pretending it’s a hospital gurney and drops to one knee dramatically.

“Oh no, step-sir… I’m stuck. In my own feelings. For you.”

You’re crying. Actually crying. There are tears in your eyes.

“Step-sir!?” you gasp between laughs. “I hate you so much!”

Minho’s laughing so hard he’s gone silent.

“You’re welcome,” Jisung says with a bow, then promptly stands up and starts grinding to the faint beat of a TikTok sound someone left playing on a loop.

“Why does he dance like a drunk worm?” you mutter.

“He is a drunk worm,” Minho replies, refilling his glass.

“You love it!” Jisung yells mid-body roll, nearly falling over.

“I love you less every second.”

You all spiral again.

Once the laughter dies down and Jisung finally collapses into a heap, panting from his own twerk attempt, he raises his hand like he’s back in school.

“Okay. New round,” he says, breathing hard. “Everyone says their real kink. No lies.”

You groan. “This again?”

Minho leans in. “You scared, kitten?”

“You’re obsessed with me.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

You flip him off but stay seated.

“Fine,” Jisung says. “I’ll go first. Praise kink. But like—genuine praise. Not condescending.”

Minho raises a brow. “You want someone to pat your head and go ‘Good boy?’”

Jisung shrugs. “If the shoe fits.”

You snort into your glass.

Minho gestures at himself. “Control. Domination. Tying people up. Making them beg.”

You look at him. “You sound too confident.”

“I’m not trying to impress anyone. I just know what I like.”

Everyone looks at you next.

You hesitate.

Then sigh. “…Probably power play. Like, being told what to do. But not in a creepy way.”

Minho smirks. “So you do have a thing.”

You hold your drink up. “Shut up and cheers me.”

He clinks glasses with you, looking way too smug.

You roll your eyes and look back at Jisung. “That enough horny for you?”

He doesn’t answer right away.

Then, quieter than expected, he asks:

“Have you ever actually felt… safe during sex?”

The room stills.

Like, really stills.

Even the soft music from your phone feels too loud all of a sudden.

You glance over. Minho’s not smiling. Jisung’s staring at the floor. You don’t say anything right away, because you don’t know what to say.

And for the first time all night, it doesn’t feel like a joke.

Just a very real, very honest question hanging in the air.

No one answers.

But no one laughs either.

And somehow, that feels like enough.

But then Jisung lets out a breath and laughs — not a bitter laugh, just a tired, tipsy one.

“Shit,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair. “Sorry. That was a buzzkill.”

You shake your head. “Nah. It’s valid.”

Minho finally speaks, voice low but easy. “Alright. That’s enough emotional intimacy for one night.”

You glance over at him. He stretches his arms above his head, his hoodie riding up slightly, revealing the sharp line of his waist.

He catches you looking and smirks. “Unless you wanna unpack your trauma some more, kitten.”

You groan. “I’ll smother you with a couch cushion.”

“You’d have to reach me first.”

Jisung raises his hand from where he’s lying like a corpse on the rug. “I vote we move this party to Minho’s room.”

Minho blinks. “Excuse me?”

“You have a big-ass bed and a TV. Your room’s the final boss of sleepover vibes.”

“He’s right,” you yawn. “Your mattress is practically luxury. My back still hurts from that Ikea piece of shit in my room.”

“Wow,” Minho says, offended. “She insults my kindness and wants to steal my bed. Incredible.”

“You love us,” you say, already standing. “Shut up and move.”

“Fine,” he mutters, grabbing his phone and the last bottle. “But if any of you hog the blanket, I’m throwing hands.”

Ten minutes later, you’re all tangled up on Minho’s bed — limbs draped across one another, the soft buzz of a random movie playing on the mounted TV. It’s dark, but the screen casts a glow across the room, painting Jisung’s half-asleep face in soft blue light as he mumbles something about how good Minho’s sheets smell.

“Because I wash them like a civilized human,” Minho mutters, shifting so he’s not lying directly on someone’s foot.

You’re curled on your side, head half on a pillow, half on Minho’s chest, too drunk and tired to move. His heartbeat is steady under your ear.

“I’m never going back to my room,” you mumble.

“Same,” Jisung adds, already half snoring.

Minho’s voice is quiet but amused. “You’re like stray cats. I let you in once and now you live here.”

You don’t reply. You’re too busy letting your eyelids fall shut, body warm, brain fuzzy, surrounded by the two people who somehow make everything feel a little easier — even the hard stuff.

And in that moment, with the movie humming softly and the bed full of slow, sleepy breathing, the world feels… safe.

Maybe not perfect.

But safe.

—

“Too Hot to Be Wingmanned”

The apartment smells like toasted bagels, fabric softener, and regret.

You sit at the kitchen table, hair in a messy bun, oversized t-shirt barely covering your shorts, sipping the world’s strongest coffee while Jisung pops Advil like candy.

“I don’t remember falling asleep,” he mumbles, face buried in his arms.

“You didn’t,” Minho says, already fully dressed in sweatpants and a smug expression. “You just faceplanted into my mattress and made dolphin noises until you passed out.”

“I’m a delight,” Jisung groans.

You stretch, sore but oddly content. “Well, that was the most fun I’ve had in weeks.”

“See?” Jisung says, perking up. “And now we keep the energy going. There’s a party tonight.”

You blink. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.” He downs the rest of his orange juice and slaps the counter. “We’re going. We’re getting dressed. We’re finding someone to ruin your life for the weekend.”

Minho frowns. “Why would we do that?”

“To get her laid,” Jisung says proudly.

“I’m standing right here,” you deadpan.

“Sorry, get her emotionally and physically fulfilled.”

Minho looks at you. “Do you actually want to go?”

You shrug. “Why not?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Because parties are loud, sweaty, and full of men who say ‘vibes’ unironically.”

You smirk. “Sounds like your dating history.”

Jisung chokes on his bagel.

“Fine,” Minho sighs. “But I reserve the right to judge every person you talk to.”

“And I reserve the right to ignore you.”

One Hour Later:

“Okay, thoughts on this one?” you ask, stepping out of your room in a strappy red dress that’s half the size of your confidence.

Minho looks up from the couch, squints. “Too… Valentine’s. Like you’re about to hand out chocolates and trauma.”

You scowl. “That’s literally my personality.”

Jisung gives it a seven out of ten. “It’s giving accidentally slept with the DJ.”

“Next one,” you sigh.

They sit through six more dress changes — everything from “bored trophy wife” to “church girl who commits tax fraud” — all met with critiques like:

“Too prom.”

“Too goth girl on her fifth rebirth.”

“Too nun, but like a bitter nun.”

“That one’s straight-up whore vibes — which, to be clear, I support.”

Finally, you step out in the final dress.

Jet black. Tight. Short.

Backless, clinging to your curves like it was made for you.

Your thigh tattoo — the bow on the back of your leg — peeks out with every step.

And your back tattoo trails upward from your lower spine, delicate and dark and sexy as hell, disappearing under the high collar and reappearing again at your nape.

You don’t even speak. You just do a slow spin.

The room is silent.

Jisung’s mouth is open.

Minho blinks.

You raise an eyebrow. “Well?”

Minho swallows. “You’re not wearing that.”

You smirk. “Oh? Why not?”

He gestures vaguely. “Because… it’s… a lot.”

“That’s the point,” you say, admiring yourself in the mirror. “If a man’s gonna ruin my night, he better at least be speechless first.”

Jisung finally exhales. “No, but like… why does this feel illegal? I feel like I’m watching something I need permission to see.”

Minho’s still staring, brows furrowed. “I just think—maybe you could wear a jacket.”

You laugh. “The fact you’re malfunctioning means it’s the perfect pick.”

Jisung’s already getting his shoes. “We’re so dead.”

Minho mutters something under his breath as you walk past to grab your lipstick.

It sounds suspiciously like “fuck me” — but you pretend not to hear it.

“Look Hot, Regret Nothing”

The party’s already in full swing by the time the three of you walk through the door — bass thrumming in the floorboards, lights low and hazy, the scent of perfume, alcohol, and way too much cologne clouding the air.

Heads turn as you step in.

Not because you’re doing anything special.

Just existing.

Looking like that.

Jisung whistles low under his breath. “Goddamn, we’re not even ten feet in and people are already eyeing you like you’re a buffet.”

You shrug, pretending not to notice the way a few people pause mid-conversation to check you out. “Good. I’m starving too.”

Minho’s next to you, hands shoved into his pockets, jaw tight. “This place smells like frat boy sweat and bad decisions.”

“That’s the vibe,” Jisung grins. “Come on, let’s find the drinks and a corner to watch the world burn.”

The three of you weave through the crowd — a tangle of neon lights and pulsing music, people dancing, bodies swaying too close, laughter rising like steam.

You make it to the makeshift bar, where Jisung immediately takes on the role of overenthusiastic bartender, pouring shots like you’re all 19 again.

“To bad choices and worse men,” he says, handing you a glass.

You raise yours. “And to thighs that don’t chafe.”

Minho reluctantly clinks his glass with yours. “And to someone trying to flirt with you so I can judge them relentlessly.”

You grin. “Aw, you do care.”

“I just don’t want to have to fight someone,” he mutters. “These pants are too tight for kicking.”

You toss the shot back, and the burn in your throat barely registers — the music’s too loud, the energy too electric, and you look too damn good to care.

And apparently, so does the guy walking up to you.

He’s tall. Sharp jaw, smirky lips, a little too confident.

“Hey,” he says smoothly. “Saw you walk in and had to come over before I lost my chance.”

You blink. Bold.

Minho, beside you, doesn’t say anything. Just sips his drink. But you can feel his gaze burning into the side of your face.

“Name’s Theo,” the guy says, offering his hand. “You look… dangerous.”

You raise a brow, taking his hand just long enough to keep it polite. “And you look like you use that line a lot.”

He laughs. “Guilty. But I’m charming enough to get away with it, right?”

You open your mouth to respond, but Jisung beats you to it.

“She’s got a low tolerance for bullshit,” he says, grinning wide. “But if you’re lucky, she might let you buy her a drink before crushing your ego.”

Theo glances between you and your two best friends, then locks back onto you. “Is this the part where they give me a shovel and tell me to start digging my own grave?”

Minho finally speaks.

“No. This is the part where we see how long you last before she figures out you don’t know where the clit is.”

You nearly choke on your drink.

Theo laughs, a little less confident this time. “You’re the protective type, huh?”

Minho’s smile is cold. “No. I’m the honest type.”

You nudge him with your elbow, shooting him a look. “Be nice.”

“I am,” he says, deadpan. “That was me being nice.”

Despite the tension, Theo stays — talking, flirting, clearly trying to impress. You humor him for a while, laughing at some jokes, sipping another drink, even swaying a little when the music gets good.

He leans in close when he talks. Too close.

His hand brushes your lower back once. You ignore it.

Minho doesn’t.

Jisung, sensing the vibe shift, quickly drags Minho to the other side of the dance floor under the excuse of “bro I love this song,” giving you space.

You dance a little. Just enough to tease. Just enough to feel good.

But when Theo leans in, breath warm against your ear, and whispers, “Wanna get out of here?” — you freeze.

You don’t answer.

Because before you can even think of a reply, a hand curls around your wrist and pulls you back.

Not hard.

Just enough to stop you.

You blink, turning around.

Minho.

Standing there, jaw clenched, eyes dark, voice low.

“She’s not going anywhere.”

Theo raises an eyebrow. “You her boyfriend?”

“No,” Minho says, tone sharp. “I’m her reality check.”

Theo snorts. “Yeah? And what reality is that?”

“The one where she’s too good for you, and you’re a ten-minute detour she won’t even remember tomorrow.”

You don’t say anything.

Because you don’t have to.

Theo holds your gaze for a beat longer, then shrugs and walks off without another word.

The music swells again.

You and Minho stand there in the middle of it — the lights, the noise, the crowd — and for once, he doesn’t say something smug or sarcastic.

He just looks at you.

Like maybe he’s not entirely sure what just happened either.

You swallow.

“Thanks,” you say, trying to keep it light. “For cockblocking my one shot at mediocre disappointment.”

He huffs a breath, not quite a laugh.

“You deserve better than that.”

And then he turns and walks away, disappearing into the crowd before you can answer.

—

After Theo disappears into the crowd — bruised ego and all — you take a second to breathe, letting the music thrum through your veins and clear your head.

You spot Jisung dancing near the kitchen, doing some chaotic combination of body rolls and finger guns that should be illegal. You walk over, slide in beside him, and match his rhythm just enough to make him grin.

“There’s my girl,” he yells over the music. “You good?”

You nod. “Minho scared off my fan club.”

“Tragic.” He leans closer. “But also… not mad about it.”

You laugh, shake it off, and grab another drink. Jisung disappears toward the bar to flirt with someone wearing leather pants and absolutely no shame.

You’re left standing near the edge of the dance floor when a girl approaches you.

She’s pretty. Glitter under her eyes, drink in hand, tipsy smile already half-formed.

“Hey,” she says, swaying slightly. “Sorry — I just have to ask. Are you, like… poly?”

You blink. “What?”

She giggles. “Like, are you dating both of them?”

You tilt your head. “Both of who?”

She gestures vaguely toward the party. “Your two boyfriends. The tall chaotic one and the one with the resting murder face. They’ve been glued to you all night.”

You pause.

Then it clicks.

Minho. Jisung.

She thinks… oh.

You stifle a laugh, glancing across the room where Jisung is now dramatically flipping his hair at someone and Minho is leaning against a wall like it personally offended him.

“Oh,” you say, trying not to wheeze. “No. They’re just my roommates.”

The girl blinks. “Seriously?”

You nod, sipping your drink.

She leans in conspiratorially. “Girl. I can’t even find one man to text me back. You’ve got two hot ones wrapped around your finger like a romcom. That’s not fair.”

You smile. “What can I say? I cook frozen dumplings and never wear pants around the house.”

She stares for a beat. “Yeah. I’d fall in love with you too.”

You laugh out loud this time.

Hard.

But when she keeps looking at you like you’re the luckiest bitch on Earth, you just raise your cup and say, “You know what? Sure. They’re both mine. Full-time emotional support boyfriends.”

She gasps. “Iconic.”

You clink drinks with her, still grinning.

Because honestly? Explaining the chaos that is your friendship with Minho and Jisung would take too long.

And at this point?

You’re not even gonna fix her.

—

You find them near the balcony, Jisung sipping a mixed drink that’s definitely 90% sugar and 10% vodka, and Minho leaned against the railing like he’s about to deliver a monologue from a noir film.

They both look over as you walk up, still chuckling from your last conversation.

“What’s so funny?” Jisung asks.

You grin. “Some girl just came up to me and asked if I was poly.”

Minho raises an eyebrow. “Because of us?”

You nod. “Apparently I’m dating both of you. She said she couldn’t even get one man to text her back, and I’ve got two stuck to me like glue.”

Jisung beams. “Wow. She gets it.”

Minho just groans. “That’s it. We’re changing our group chat name to ‘Gay Boyfriends United.’”

You’re mid-sip when a voice interrupts you — confident, a little too loud, and already annoying.

“Excuse me,” a guy says, stepping in far too close. “I just had to say—you are absolutely gorgeous.”

You glance over.

He’s tall. Overdressed. The kind of guy who thinks holding a drink in a wine glass makes him sophisticated.

“I mean, damn,” he says, eyes raking over you like you’re inventory. “Face, body, those tattoos… just—perfect.”

Minho straightens up behind you.

The guy keeps going. “I don’t know how your two gay boyfriends are letting you walk around like this without putting a ring on it.”

You blink. “Excuse me?”

“Come on,” the guy smirks. “They’re obviously just your fashion advisors. Let me take you out sometime—properly. You deserve a real man.”

You don’t even get the chance to respond.

Because Minho moves.

Slowly.

Calmly.

His hand finds your waist from behind, warm and solid, and he steps right up to your back. His head rests gently on your shoulder, lips brushing your ear as he speaks low.

“Let’s go home, babe.”

The word babe lands like a gunshot.

Your heart stutters. Your mouth goes dry.

The guy in front of you falters. Blinks. Then scoffs.

“Seriously? That guy’s not even into girls.”

Minho tightens his grip slightly. Doesn’t say a word.

And that’s when Jisung steps in, looping his arm around both you and Minho with a blinding smile that somehow doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Yeah,” Jisung says lightly. “We were just about to leave. Weren’t we, babe?”

You’re completely frozen now.

Minho’s breath is warm against your neck.

Jisung’s grin sharpens.

And both of them?

Staring this man down like they’ll bury him behind the venue without breaking a sweat.

The guy looks between the three of you — the way you’re pressed together, how they’re practically wrapped around you like they’re daring him to speak again.

He raises his hands in surrender. “Yikes. Alright. Didn’t realize it was that serious.”

He backs away, muttering something under his breath, and disappears into the crowd.

You don’t move.

Minho doesn’t move.

Jisung hums like nothing happened. “I really liked that drink too. Tragic.”

You blink. Slowly.

Minho leans in just a little more, voice low against your skin. “You okay?”

You nod once, still stunned.

Jisung squeezes your arm. “We’re gonna go home now. You’re riding with us, yeah?”

You look between them, still pressed to both sides of your body like armor.

“Yeah,” you say quietly.

Because at this point, what else can you say?

—

The car is quiet.

Minho’s driving, one hand on the wheel, the other resting loosely in his lap. He’s focused — a little too focused — eyes forward, jaw tense. Jisung’s in the backseat, head tilted against the window, drunk and humming along to the low music playing on the stereo.

You sit in the passenger seat, hands folded tightly in your lap.

No one’s spoken since you left the party.

Not about what happened.

Not about the guy.

Not about the way Minho pulled you into his arms like it was nothing, or the way Jisung clung to both of you like backup was already pre-planned.

You don’t know what to say. You’re not even sure what you should say.

So you just… stare out the window, watching the city pass in blurs of gold and red, neon signs flickering past like ghosts.

Finally, Jisung speaks.

“Do you think that guy moisturizes?”

Minho snorts. “Doubt it.”

You blink. “That’s what you’re choosing to talk about?”

“He looked dry,” Jisung murmurs, eyes still half-closed. “Like… emotionally. And epidermically.”

“Epidermically,” Minho repeats, deadpan.

You smile a little despite yourself.

Minho glances at you at a red light. “You okay?”

You nod. “Yeah. Just processing.”

He nods once. Doesn’t press.

Jisung hums again. “You looked hot, though. Like, actual hot. Like a problem.”

“Thanks,” you mutter. “Apparently too hot for gay boyfriends.”

That gets a laugh out of both of them.

Minho shakes his head, pulling into your building’s parking lot. “If I hear that phrase one more time, I’m committing a felony.”

—

Back at the apartment, you all peel off your shoes and jackets with the sluggishness of post-party fatigue. Jisung collapses dramatically onto the couch like he’s just been shot.

“I’m so tired,” he whines into the cushions. “Minho, carry me to bed.”

“I’d rather throw you out the window.”

You laugh, making your way to the kitchen for water. Minho joins you, grabbing a glass from the cabinet like it’s muscle memory.

For a second, it’s just the sound of water pouring and the low hum of the fridge.

Then—

“You know you didn’t have to do all that back there,” you say quietly.

Minho glances at you. “What, call you babe and hold you like a K-drama boyfriend?”

You snort. “Exactly.”

“I was just playing the part,” he says, voice light. “Didn’t wanna deal with that guy’s mouth for another five seconds.”

“Sure,” you say, raising your glass. “Oscar-worthy performance.”

He smirks. “You liked it.”

“I blacked out.”

“Liar.”

Jisung yells from the couch, “If anyone’s Oscar-worthy, it’s me. I fully committed to the role of clingy gay boyfriend. I deserve a bouquet and maybe some champagne.”

“You’re not getting shit,” Minho calls back.

“Discrimination,” Jisung mutters.

You lean against the counter, sipping your water, feeling the tension finally starting to bleed out of your system.

Minho looks at you, serious for just a second. “He was being a dick. I wasn’t gonna stand there and let him talk to you like that.”

You stare at him.

He holds your gaze.

You nod once, softly. “Thanks.”

He shrugs, reaching past you to grab a snack from the cabinet — like he didn’t just melt your brain a few hours ago.

“Anytime, kitten.”

You groan. “I knew you’d bring it back.”

He grins. “Don’t act like you don’t miss it when I stop.”

You chuck your water bottle at him.

Another date night

It had started out fine.

Better than fine, even.

You’d gotten dressed up — not too much skin this time, just enough confidence. He picked you up, took you to a quiet rooftop bar, ordered for you without being an asshole about it. He was funny. Charming. Flirty in a way that felt natural.

You laughed. You flirted back. You let yourself think, Maybe this time.

And when he leaned in and kissed you outside his place, hand on your waist, whispering something smooth against your skin — you didn’t flinch. You let him lead you in.

And that was the mistake.

Because the moment things got physical… it all unraveled.

His kisses were messy — but not the good kind. All teeth and wetness, like he was trying to eat your mouth instead of kiss it. His hands were too fast, like he was skipping every chapter just to get to the end of the book.

When he finally got you to his bed, it wasn’t sex.

It was… humping.

That’s the only word that came to mind.

Rhythmic, fast, mechanical. He didn’t look at you, didn’t touch you properly, didn’t even notice that you’d gone completely silent halfway through.

And when it was over — when he collapsed beside you with a content sigh and tried to pull you into his arms like he’d done something worth celebrating —

You stood up and said, “I have to go.”

You dressed in silence, didn’t bother with excuses, and left before he could ask if you wanted water.

—

By the time you get home, your skin is still buzzing — not with arousal, but with rage.

Minho and Jisung are on the couch, both in sweatpants, half-watching some dumb late-night cooking show. They pause when they hear the door open.

And they look at you.

Like they already know.

Minho cocks his head. “Well?”

You don’t say anything.

You just kick your shoes off harder than necessary, walk into the kitchen, open the fridge, close it again without grabbing anything, and press both hands against the counter.

“You okay?” Jisung asks gently.

Still nothing.

Minho sits up straighter. “Bad?”

You laugh. Just once. A broken, humorless sound.

“Why is it always me?” you ask, still facing the fridge. “Like… what the hell am I doing wrong?”

Neither of them says anything.

You turn, and they both see it — your eyes glassy, your voice shaking now.

“Do I have a sign on me that says ‘Don’t worry about her’? Like I’m just… there to be used and thrown away?” You gesture vaguely. “It’s like none of them even try. Like I don’t matter.”

“Hey,” Minho says, standing now. “That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” you snap, voice rising. “I keep going on these dates. I try to give people chances. I try to have fun. And every single time I end up back here, wondering what the hell is wrong with me.”

Jisung walks toward you slowly, like you’re a wild animal about to bolt.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” he says softly.

You shake your head. “It’s pathetic. I literally had to fake moaning just to get it over with faster. I felt nothing. Nothing. It’s like he wasn’t even with me.”

“Did you—”

“No,” you cut in. “Of course I didn’t.”

Minho’s jaw tenses.

You take a shaky breath. “I came home. Got in. Locked the door. Said hi to you guys. And now I’m going straight to my room to do what he couldn’t: make myself cum.”

Jisung’s eyes widen slightly.

Minho doesn’t move.

You look between them. “What? You wanted honesty? There it is. I’m tired. I’m frustrated. And I’m so fucking done pretending this doesn’t bother me.”

And with that, you turn on your heel, walk down the hall, and shut your bedroom door.

Behind the door, it’s quiet.

Just you, your pounding heart, and the sound of your vibrator drawer sliding open.

—

Minho and Jisung stand in the living room, frozen in place, her words still echoing in the silence between them.

“…make myself cum.”

Neither of them speaks.

Then, very faintly—just through the thin walls they all used to joke about when playing music too loud—comes the sound.

A soft whimper.

Followed by another.

Then a quiet, breathy moan.

And another.

Jisung’s eyes widen. “Oh my God.”

Minho doesn’t say anything.

Not at first.

He just stares at the hallway, jaw clenched, lips parted, expression unreadable.

But then the sounds continue — more desperate now, sharper, her breaths catching like she’s chasing it, needing it. Taking it. The kind of pleasure they’ve never seen her give anyone else.

The kind of pleasure no one else has ever deserved to give her.

And suddenly the silence between them is heavier than ever.

Hotter.

Jisung shifts slightly, hands twitching at his sides. “That’s… she’s really…”

Minho finally speaks. Voice low. Dangerous.

“She’s not faking this time.”

Jisung looks down.

Minho follows his gaze.

They both see it.

Hard.

Obvious.

Each of them, clearly affected.

Jisung swallows hard. “Okay… this is new.”

Minho doesn’t move away.

Doesn’t joke.

Just lifts one brow and lets his gaze flick from Jisung’s straining sweatpants to his flushed face and back again.

Then, calmly — like he’s talking about the weather:

“So it’s not just her.”

Jisung’s voice is a little breathless. “Nope.”

They stare at each other for a long second.

And then another moan cuts through the air — louder this time. Her voice raw, desperate, breaking as she gasps something unintelligible.

Minho exhales slowly. His tongue swipes across his bottom lip.

And then he smirks.

“Still think we’re all talk?”

Jisung doesn’t answer.

Minho steps closer — just one step — his eyes gleaming, cocky, full of wicked confidence.

“She thinks no man can make her cum,” he says, voice low, hungry. “That no one’s capable.”

He leans in just enough for Jisung to feel the heat of his breath.

“I say we prove her wrong.”

Jisung swallows. “We?”

Minho’s smirk widens.

“Oh yeah,” he murmurs. “We.”

He turns toward the hallway, voice dropping even lower.

“And I know just the way to prove it to her.”

The sounds from your bedroom have faded now — the vibrator long silenced — but the effect lingers.

The air is thick with tension, lust, and something darker.

Something heavier.

Jisung still stands frozen by the couch, hands clenched at his sides, face flushed to the tips of his ears. His chest rises and falls in short, unsteady breaths, his eyes flicking between the hallway and Minho like he’s stuck in the middle of a slow-burning fever.

Minho watches him.

Carefully.

Hungrily.

Then, he steps closer.

“You hear the way she sounded?” he asks quietly. “That wasn’t fake. That was real.”

Jisung nods, throat tight. “Yeah.”

“She’s been chasing that feeling from every guy who’s ever touched her.”

Minho’s voice drops lower — smooth, deliberate.

“And none of them gave it to her.”

Jisung bites his lip.

Minho steps even closer.

“You think she deserves to keep begging for it?”

His fingers lift — featherlight — and ghost along the hem of Jisung’s shirt, just barely grazing the skin underneath.

Jisung shivers.

“N-no,” he says, voice catching.

Minho smiles.

“Exactly.”

He lets his hand drift upward, knuckles grazing Jisung’s bare stomach, brushing just under his ribs — not enough to satisfy, just enough to taunt.

“You want to help her, don’t you?”

Jisung nods quickly. “Please.”

Minho’s hand trails slowly up to his chest, fingers dragging lightly over his shirt, then back down to his waistband.

His lips are close to Jisung’s ear now, breath warm, soft, intimate.

“We take our time,” he murmurs. “No rushing. No fucking her like a rabbit. No skipping the parts that make her moan like that.”

Jisung lets out a soft, helpless sound — somewhere between a whine and a whimper.

Minho grins.

“We make her feel everything. We kiss her slow. We touch her like she’s breakable. And when she’s trembling? When she’s begging?”

His fingers drift down, teasing the waistband of Jisung’s sweats.

“We don’t let her finish until she knows exactly who it was that finally made her cum.”

Jisung lets out a shaky breath, hips twitching forward instinctively, chasing contact. “Minho—please…”

Minho pulls back slightly, just enough to meet his eyes.

“You too, huh?”

Jisung blushes deeper, his hand twitching toward his own waistband. “I—yeah. I need…”

Minho hums.

“Oh, I know what you need, baby.”

He dips his head lower, lips brushing against Jisung’s jaw now.

“But you don’t get it. Not yet.”

Jisung whines, softly. “Please…”

Minho steps back, smug as ever, eyes dark.

“Not until we make her beg first.”

He runs his tongue across his bottom lip, tilts his head, and grins.

“Then maybe I’ll let you beg for me too.”

“So This Is War”

It starts small.

You barely even notice it at first.

Minho’s hand brushing your lower back every time he passes behind you.

Jisung leaning his head on your shoulder when you’re watching TV, his fingers just barely grazing your thigh.

A smirk. A wink. A joke that feels a little too heavy, a little too close to something more.

They’re not doing anything new, not really.

But something’s different.

And the worst part?

They’re suddenly everywhere.

Minho starts walking around shirtless.

Not unusual — but now he does it with his sweatpants slung so low on his hips you can see the sculpted V-cut leading down beneath the waistband. His body glows — pale, smooth skin, lean lines, strong forearms, chest defined enough to make you choke on your morning coffee.

He catches you looking. Every time.

“You good?” he asks one day, when you’ve been staring at his abs for way too long.

“Peachy,” you mutter, looking away fast.

But then Jisung joins in.

Except with him, it’s worse.

Because Jisung’s tan, tattooed, and stacked like he was carved from heat and sweat.

His chest is broad, arms thick, abs sharp — and the ink curling down his ribs only makes it worse. When he stretches? You can see the cut of every muscle down his sides, the way his sweatpants hug just right.

And he stretches a lot.

Especially in front of you.

“Oh my God,” you whisper under your breath one day when he reaches up to grab a cup and his entire back flexes.

You don’t think anyone hears.

But Minho smirks behind you.

You try to keep it together.

You really try.

But one day, you’re sitting on the couch and both of them — shirtless, in grey sweats — come in laughing about some inside joke, brushing past you to grab drinks from the kitchen, all tan skin and defined muscle and cocky grins—

—and your thighs squeeze together involuntarily.

Hard.

You suck in a breath and clench your fists in your lap, trying not to make a noise.

It’s fine, you tell yourself. It’s just the lack of sex. The drought. The desert. It’s not them. It’s me.

It’s not just you.

And when you catch Minho watching you squirm?

You know it.

—

So the next day, you fight back.

You grab one of their shirts from the laundry — oversized, soft, smells like a mix of laundry sheets and masculine warmth — and wear it.

Just it.

No shorts.

No bra.

You walk into the kitchen like it’s nothing, yawning, pretending you don’t notice the way the hem barely covers your ass.

Minho glances up from his cereal.

Freezes.

Jisung does a double take from the sink and nearly drops his mug.

You stretch, arms overhead. “Morning.”

They both respond at the same time.

“Good morning.”

“Holy shit.”

You smirk, turn around slowly to reach into the cabinet, letting the shirt ride up just enough to flash the curve of your thigh.

When you glance back, both of them are staring.

And neither says a word.

Because they’re trying not to fold.

They’re trying to wait you out.

And all you’re thinking is:

Let’s see who breaks first.

“Just Watch the Movie”

Minho’s bed has always been the biggest, the comfiest, the default for group hangouts — but tonight? It feels more like a battlefield.

A slow, sticky, silk-and-skin battlefield.

The lights are off. The screen glows soft and blue, casting flickers across the walls as some random action movie plays — explosions and gunshots you’re not paying attention to at all.

Because you’re sandwiched between Minho and Jisung.

Again.

Only now?

You’re in your favorite black silk nightgown. Thin straps, low neckline, barely brushing mid-thigh. Soft as sin.

Minho’s wearing loose grey sweats, nothing else. His pale chest rises and falls slowly, one arm thrown behind his head like he’s not doing anything wrong.

Jisung’s in gym shorts, shirtless, golden skin on full display — broad chest, solid arms, side tattoo visible and staring at you like a dare.

They’d invited you in with matching smirks.

You should’ve known.

It starts small.

Minho tugs the blanket over your legs, hand brushing up your bare thigh — casual, almost careless.

Jisung shifts beside you, leaning into your shoulder like he’s getting comfy, but his fingers trail lightly along your arm, then down to your wrist.

You try to focus.

You try.

But their hands keep moving.

Minho’s fingers start stroking slow circles just above your knee, thumb dragging lazily over your skin like he’s petting a cat.

Jisung starts playing with the ends of your hair — gentle, rhythmic — his knuckles grazing your collarbone when he tucks a strand behind your ear.

Your pulse is pounding.

“Comfortable?” Minho asks, voice low and warm.

“Mmhm,” you manage, not sounding convincing in the slightest.

Jisung shifts again, this time letting his hand rest on your bare thigh — just resting, but warm, and big, and intentional.

You clench your jaw.

The movie plays on. You couldn’t name a single character if someone paid you.

Minho leans closer, his mouth near your ear now. “You’re really tense, kitten.”

You swallow hard. “Just… focused on the movie.”

Jisung chuckles against your shoulder. “You sure? You’re squirming.”

You turn your face, trying to glare, but Jisung’s grinning — full lips, hooded eyes, messy hair, and he’s so close you could count his lashes.

Minho’s fingers trace the edge of your nightgown now, teasing the thin fabric, like he’s curious how far it rides up when you breathe deep.

You shift again, thighs pressing together, heat blooming low in your stomach.

They don’t say anything.

But they know.

And worse?

You know they know.

Jisung presses a kiss to your shoulder — innocent, featherlight, like he’s not driving you insane.

Minho exhales a soft laugh, eyes glued to the screen but fingers sliding higher by the second.

And you?

You’re trying to keep your breathing even.

Trying to keep your thighs still.

Trying not to melt into the sheets and moan out loud.

Because this is a game.

And you’re still trying to win.

“Not Gonna Break”

You don’t know how much time has passed.

Could be ten minutes. Could be an hour.

The movie plays on — indistinct background noise, flickering shadows on the wall — but your brain hasn’t registered a single frame. Not when Jisung is currently lying with his head pillowed on your chest, warm cheek against your collarbone, arm draped across your stomach like he belongs there.

And his hand…

Is on your thigh.

Massaging.

Not lazily. Not teasingly.

Expertly.

His palm kneads into the muscle with slow, soothing pressure, fingers spreading warmth through your entire leg as he works his way up and down your thigh like he’s really trying to help.

“You keep tensing,” he murmurs against your chest. “You’re all tight. I’m gonna help, okay?”

Your breath catches, but you nod.

“Mmhm,” you hum, barely holding it together.

He squeezes your thigh a little harder, just under the hem of your nightgown. His skin is so warm. His hands so big.

Focus on the movie.

Beside you, Minho shifts.

He’s been quiet — too quiet — stretched out along your other side, one hand behind his head, the other still lazily resting just above your knee. But you feel his gaze now.

You feel it when it drops to your shoulder.

The one where the silky strap of your nightgown has slipped down — exposing the smooth curve of your skin, your collarbone, the faint outline of the top of your chest. You didn’t even realize it had fallen.

But he did.

And now?

Minho lifts his hand.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

Fingers brushing against your bare shoulder as he hooks the strap with his thumb, sliding it back into place.

He doesn’t rush.

He lingers.

The backs of his fingers trail up your neck, grazing the edge of your jaw, the heat of his touch leaving goosebumps in its wake.

You don’t look at him.

You can’t.

But your thighs press together again — instinctive, desperate — and Jisung notices.

He hums low against your chest. “Still tense, baby.”

You nod once, throat dry. “Just tired.”

Minho smiles beside you, voice soft. “Mm. Sure it’s not something else?”

You stay silent.

Jisung’s thumb strokes along the inside of your thigh now.

Minho’s fingers casually draw shapes on your shoulder.

And you?

You’re overheating.

You’re melting.

You’re gripping the blanket in your lap so hard your knuckles ache.

Because you refuse to fold.

You refuse to moan.

And you refuse to let them win.

Not yet.

—

You woke up the next morning tangled in silk sheets, warm and still buzzing slightly from the night before.

They’d teased.

They’d touched.

They’d pushed.

But you?

You won.

You fell asleep between them like it was nothing — calm, composed, lips sealed shut even when your thighs were clenched so tightly it hurt.

Now, the living room is filled with sunlight and fake peace.

You’re curled up on the couch with your phone, scrolling idly through your feed, coffee in hand. Trying to pretend the night before didn’t exist.

Trying to pretend you’re unaffected.

Meanwhile, Minho and Jisung are standing across the room — sweaty, shirtless, freshly back from the gym — and so clearly up to something.

You hear it first in their voices.

The tone.

The deliberate lightness.

“I think I pulled something,” Jisung says, stretching dramatically, sweat glistening down his chest.

Minho smirks, slapping his shoulder. “That’s because you never stretch before lifting. Amateur move.”

“You were the one grunting through squats like a porn star.”

Minho shrugs. “I was lifting heavy. Don’t be jealous.”

You glance up from your phone just in time to see Jisung walk behind Minho, arms snaking loosely around his waist in mock-affection.

“Oh, I’m so jealous,” he says, pressing his cheek dramatically to Minho’s back. “You’re just so strong and sweaty. Who wouldn’t want you?”

Minho laughs low in his throat, hand covering Jisung’s where it rests on his stomach. “Careful, babe. Say that again and I might start thinking you mean it.”

You blink.

Stillness.

They’re not looking at you.

They’re fully focused on each other — too close, too flirty, too much.

Touching like they’ve done it a thousand times.

Comfortable. Warm. Intimate.

You swallow.

Your thighs press together.

Again.

Your brain protests. They’re your best friends. They’re messing with you. This is just a bit—

But your body?

Your body is burning.

You don’t even realize you’ve been staring until Minho glances over — meets your eyes — and smirks.

“Oh, morning,” he says, pulling away from Jisung just slightly. “We were just talking about the gym. Got real hot in there.”

“So hot,” Jisung agrees, stretching his arms behind his head, chest flexing, sweat still glistening along his collarbone. “Dripping.”

You say nothing.

“Actually,” Minho adds, grabbing a towel from the back of a chair and wiping his neck slowly, “we should probably shower.”

Jisung nods. “Yeah, especially if we’re going out later. Shopping, right?”

Minho turns to him. “You go first?”

Jisung tilts his head, smiling. “Why don’t we just shower together?”

You choke on your coffee.

Minho raises an eyebrow. “To save water?”

“Yeah,” Jisung grins. “And time. We don’t wanna keep her waiting.”

You open your mouth.

Nothing comes out.

Minho lets out a soft, thoughtful hum. “You’re right. It’s the responsible thing to do.”

They turn.

Walk toward the bathroom.

And just before disappearing down the hall, Minho glances over his shoulder.

“Unless you’d rather join us, kitten.”

You don’t breathe.

The bathroom door clicks shut.

And you’re left on the couch, heart pounding, legs tight, coffee forgotten.

What the fuck.

Minho x Jisung — third person POV

————————————————————————————————————————

Minho didn’t speak when they stepped into the bathroom together — didn’t need to.

The silence between them said enough.

Jisung hesitated just slightly, fingers fumbling at the waistband of his gym shorts. Minho noticed, eyes gleaming. He stepped in close and reached down, his knuckles brushing lightly against Jisung’s hip as he curled his fingers under the fabric.

“I’ve got it,” he murmured, voice low and smooth.

Jisung’s breath hitched.

Minho dragged the shorts down slowly, past the swell of his ass, down thick, toned thighs — letting his hands linger, teasing the skin just enough to make Jisung tremble. He peeled them off completely, gaze flicking up as Jisung stood completely bare in front of him.

“Look at you,” Minho said softly, almost like he was speaking to himself. “Already flushed.”

Jisung swallowed, eyes wide. “I—”

“Shower,” Minho interrupted, tugging off his own sweats and stepping into the water like it was nothing. “We need to get clean.”

He didn’t wait. Just reached for the soap, lathered it between his hands, and moved in behind Jisung.

The first touch made Jisung shiver — Minho’s slick palms dragging slowly down his back, massaging the lather into his skin like he had all the time in the world.

Then lower.

Over his hips.

Around the front.

Minho’s hands slid over Jisung’s chest, fingers pressing into the muscle, thumbs brushing his nipples before moving lower again.

Jisung bit his lip, thighs trembling.

Minho leaned in, lips ghosting his ear. “Still holding it together?”

Jisung’s head dropped back against Minho’s shoulder, a soft whimper escaping. “No. Minho, please—kiss me, just—something.”

He turned without waiting.

Minho caught him, both hands gripping his waist now — and then their mouths met.

The kiss was messy. Desperate. Full of moans swallowed and lips bitten and Jisung pressing forward like he couldn’t get close enough.

Minho groaned, hands sliding down to grab Jisung’s ass, squeezing tightly, dragging their hips together until their cocks brushed — hard, hot, aching for more.

Jisung gasped into the kiss.

Minho broke it only to kiss lower — trailing down his jaw, to his throat, then lower still, pressing open-mouthed kisses down the line of Jisung’s chest.

When he reached a nipple, he bit.

Jisung cried out, hand flying to Minho’s hair.

Minho sucked harshly — then licked over it, soothing the sting before switching sides.

“Fuck—Minho—please—don’t stop—”

His mouth moved with purpose now, kissing and sucking all over Jisung’s chest, hands roaming his sides, hips grinding into him with each flick of tongue.

Jisung’s body was shaking.

Every moan echoed in the tile and steam.

Every breath sounded like begging.

And when Minho finally pulled back, lips red, eyes dark, Jisung looked ruined.

“Needy little thing,” Minho whispered, brushing hair from his face. “You’re gonna come undone before we even get started.”

Minho’s gaze swept over Jisung like fire licking across paper — slow, consuming, inevitable.

His hands stayed firm on Jisung’s hips, thumbs brushing over the sharp lines of his waist, holding him steady even as his legs threatened to give out. Steam curled around them, the sound of water splashing against tile almost drowned beneath the sounds pouring from Jisung’s mouth.

Minho bent again, pressing his lips to Jisung’s chest — not kissing gently, not even sweetly — but claiming, with his teeth and tongue and heat. Every time Jisung moaned, Minho dragged it deeper, lower, letting his hands slide over Jisung’s ass, gripping hard, grinding him up against the firm line of his own cock.

“Minho, please—fuck—please,” Jisung choked out, hands buried in Minho’s hair, hips twitching helplessly forward, desperate for any friction.

“You’re already falling apart,” Minho murmured, voice soaked in that sharp, dangerous calm. “We haven’t even touched your cock yet.”

Jisung whimpered.

Minho licked a slow, deliberate line across one nipple before dragging his teeth gently against it. He felt Jisung’s whole body jolt, legs trembling harder now.

“Fuck—Minho, please, I’m so close—”

That made Minho pause.

He leaned back, looked up at him — water dripping down his temple, lips flushed and wet from kissing, eyes half-lidded but sharp.

“No,” he said simply.

Jisung blinked through the haze. “W-what?”

Minho’s hand moved between them. Not to stroke. Not to finish. Just to hold him — his palm wrapping firmly around Jisung’s cock and keeping him still.

“You don’t get to cum yet,” Minho said, cool and smug, brushing his thumb just barely over the head. “Not until I say so.”

Jisung whined loudly, body jerking forward involuntarily, cock twitching in Minho’s grip. “Fuck—fuck, Minho, I can’t—”

“You can.” Minho’s voice was like velvet-covered steel. “Because I said so.”

He gave one slow pump — not fast enough to satisfy, just enough to remind him who was in charge — before pulling his hand away completely.

Jisung almost sobbed at the loss of contact.

“You’re gonna stay nice and hard for me,” Minho continued, licking across his own bottom lip as his eyes dragged slowly down Jisung’s body. “And you’re not gonna cum until I make you beg for it like you mean it.”

“Minho, please—*please—*just a little—”

“No.”

Minho turned him around suddenly, pressing Jisung’s chest up against the cool tile wall, keeping his body flush behind him.

He leaned in close, voice right at his ear.

“You’re mine to play with,” he whispered. “And we haven’t even started yet.”

Jisung whimpered again, chest heaving, cock dripping, thighs shaking.

He was wrecked.

And Minho?

Minho was just getting warmed up.

Jisung’s forehead rested against the cold tile, chest heaving, body trembling from the denial and heat surging through him. His cock throbbed between his legs, so painfully hard it ached. Every breath he took fogged the wall in front of him, but he couldn’t move. He didn’t move.

Because Minho was still pressed to his back — solid, slick skin, warm breath at his ear, one hand wrapped tight around his waist to keep him right where he wanted.

“I warned you,” Minho murmured. “Told you we weren’t done.”

And then—

He slid inside.

No teasing.

No preamble.

Just the thick press of his cock as he bottomed out in one, long, devastating thrust.

Jisung cried out — sharp and wrecked — a raw sound that echoed against the tile like it meant something.

Minho didn’t flinch.

He simply moved.

Steady.

Hard.

Fucking him into the wall with slow, brutal precision, each thrust deliberate and deep. Jisung moaned again — louder this time, voice breaking.

And that’s when Minho’s hand clamped down over his mouth.

“Shut up,” he growled against Jisung’s ear. “You wanna be loud? Then I’ll make sure no one hears you.”

Jisung’s eyes rolled back as Minho’s other hand wrapped around his throat — firm and unforgiving, not cutting off his air, just holding him there, keeping him in place like a prize.

Jisung moaned helplessly against the palm covering his mouth, muffled and soaked with need, his body twitching under the pressure, hips arching back into every thrust.

Minho groaned, voice hot and breathless against his skin. “You feel that? How deep I am inside you?”

Jisung nodded desperately, his muffled cries high and urgent behind Minho’s hand.

“You’re taking me so fucking well, baby,” Minho whispered, licking a stripe along Jisung’s jaw. “So tight. So desperate.”

His hips snapped harder, pace brutal now — the sound of skin on skin echoing between the moans Jisung couldn’t stop.

“Stay loud,” Minho growled. “I dare you.”

He tightened his hand just slightly around Jisung’s throat — enough to make his breath stutter, to make his entire body go tight — and thrust in again, even deeper, watching Jisung fall apart from every inch.

And under Minho’s hand, Jisung moaned like he was dying for it.

Because maybe he was.

Readers POV

——————————————————————————————

You’re halfway through getting dressed when you hear it.

A faint sound.

— to be continued…

[optimism-blooms]

XO KITTY (2025) | 2.07

[spear-of-moonlight]

SLOW COOKED LOVE - LEE MINHO

genre: fluff —wc: 1.2 k masterlist

The practice room, always home, now felt like hell. Minho couldn't even hear the music anymore—just his ragged breathing and his shoes squeaking against the hardwood floors. He kept messing up, and he didn't have enough nutrition in him to tell him it's because he hasn't taken a break in- he doesn't even know how long. His knees give out and he stumbles, hands on the mirror so he doesn't fall. He gets a look at his face up close—he looked more gaunt, which made sense because proper meals were a fantasy these days, his eyebags looked and felt heavy, settling into the space above his cheekbones as a vessel for his stress to melt down into from his head. His lips were chapped. You had been too busy with production to fuss over them, to immediately brandish his strawberry lip balm the moment you see it.

He heaved, sliding down the mirror, head in his hands. Tears of frustration threatened to spill, but he blinked them back. He didn't want to deal with the headache that came with crying. With a deep, exhausted sigh that left his chest through his mouth like a freed prisoner, he got up, legs aching as he turned off the music. It wasn't too late, but he'd been there since morning, agonizing over every minute movement—the footwork, the expressions, the hips, the fingers—he needed every bone and muscle under his control. He only just realised his throat was dry and craving water. His water bottle was empty, and his eyes roamed between the four walls for an oasis. Nothing.

He didn't remember a second of the journey home. He was too tired to stop at a convenience store for water, too tired to do anything but sit in his manager's car. After a weak but genuine thanks, he padded inside the house, no, the home he shared with you. Living together came to you both as naturally as a child splitting a candy bar in half for their best friend. No second thoughts, just pure love. Just you pulling him closer every morning with a mumbled "just five more minutes..", just playing mario kart and screaming at each other like you'd end each other's entire bloodline only to cuddle afterwards, just drinking on the couch with some movie in the background that's soon forgotten as you get lost in your giggly conversation, just comfort and intimacy. That's what he needed right now. Not from anyone else, only from you.

He was met with the aroma of the kimchi jjigae on the stove that slipped into his heart and planted a damn garden there, the smoke growing arms and hugging him as if in an old cartoon. Even better, the sight of you stirring the pot, the 'hotter than the stove' apron he got you clinging to your frame, turning around to look at him as if he was the only one who mattered. As if he was the only one who existed. Your eyes weren't wide with adoration, you didn't run to him with your arms open, there was no big smile on your lips. No, this was quiet. The way your eyes softened, the way you gestured with a tilt of your head for him to sit down, and the way you turned back to turn off the stove and reach for the bowls. There was no need for grand gestures, you knew he'd be sat on the chair with happy eyes once you return with the bowls. You were used to him, and he was used to you. And that was what mattered. That's what anchored the both of you in the chaotic storm of your lives. Familiarity. Knowing that no matter what happens, you have each other. Cliché, but it was familiar. Clichés never change. You were his moon, drawing him in and making his heart dance like tides. Even after countless sunrises, you'd still be there. And he'd be waiting. No matter what.

He'd always sit down at that gesture you make, supporting his head in his hands with his elbow on the table as he looks at you with a barely perceptible smile and soft eyes that made your heart want to leave your chest and fall into his hands. But not this time. Not when everything else blurred and all he could see was you, his moon—soothing, guiding, glowing. You weren't glowing physically by any means at the moment—exhausted after hours holed up in the studio, opting only for a simple shower and not bothering with your elaborate skincare routine. But you glowed to him, like an angel, caring for him when you knew he'd be too tired to do it himself.

He wrapped his arms around your back, and you held his forearms, the cold spoon in your hand pressing against his skin. You set it down, turning around and pulling him into your chest as he burrowed into your warmth, as if he wants to bury himself between your ribs and kiss that racing heart. He breathed in your scent as if his lungs would wilt without it, hands fisting your shirt as if you'd disappear. The tears he fought earlier spilled. But he didn't fight this time. Because you were there to wipe them away, as if touching a dewdrop on a flower, to press a kiss to his forehead that lingered like a promise. It was a promise. And he'd trade anything for this, just this. Your fingers carded through his hair, soothing, gentle, with all the love in your heart pouring out through your body, seeping through his skin to join the flow of his blood. He looked up, achingly beautiful, tears glinting on his cheeks like the moon on water. You wiped them away, gentle as always, leaning in to kiss his forehead as always.

His right hand pulled you down by the shirt, his lips meeting yours. You melted into it, as if it was where you belonged. It was. It is. The kiss wasn't fireworks or sparks, but the first bloom of spring after a harsh winter. And with the aroma of a home-cooked comfort wafting between you, you both knew the kiss would stay the same years later. Even as your lips left each other's warm embrace, you weren't ready to let go, one hand on his waist as the other cradled his head. He smiled at you, forgetting that your eyes weren't the universe. You smiled back, leaning in to give him that forehead kiss you missed earlier.

There was no spoken "I love you", neither of you being able to find words, lost in the depths of each other's eyes, photographing this moment in your memories. There wasn't a need for words anyway, the way he looked at you as if you personally placed every star in the sky and drew up every constellation was enough. The way you looked at him as if understanding every love poem at once was enough.

"Let's eat. You're exhausted."

"Mhm…feed me."

"I'm not your mother." You feed him anyway.

You always knew your first kiss would be in your kitchen—the heart of your home and the home of your heart.

[wonder-innie]

this is my first time request but i was wondering if you could make a fluff/smut oneshot on reader and lee know being in the same friend group but reader starts messaging him to get to know him once they realise they have a crush on him. he eventually finds out that they have a crush and keeps prodding to find out clues as to who it could be but then reader doesn’t give in so easily. you can give it whatever kind of ending…

so obvious, so clueless

lee know x fem!reader. fluff

word count: 3.3k

a.n: tysm for the request! i loved writing this.

a.n 2: english is not my first language. check my masterlist

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Lee Know and you had always been part of the same friend group, and making plans one-on-one with any of them was never a problem… except when it came to him. It wasn’t that you didn’t like the idea; it was just that your relationship with him wasn’t as strong as it was with the others.

One night, all your friends got too drunk, except for you and Lee Know. With nothing else to do, the two of you started talking, and to your surprise, the conversation flowed effortlessly. You felt comfortable with him in a way you never had before. At one point, he let out a bright, genuine laugh, his smile practically lighting up the room. You had seen him smile before, but somehow, this time, it felt different, like you were seeing it for the first time. It was the prettiest smile you had ever seen. Before you knew it, you found yourself searching for the best jokes just to make him smile again. You weren’t sure why.

Days passed, yet that moment lingered in your mind, how easy it was to talk to him, how comfortable you felt, and… how handsome he was. You started stalking him on Instagram more often, to the point where you practically had his pictures memorized. Each time you saw his face, your heart raced, and that’s when it hit you. You had a crush on him.

You tried to ignore it, pushing the feelings away whenever they surfaced. What if it ruined your friendship? Worse… what if it affected the whole group? Some nights, when you couldn’t sleep, your mind wandered to the possibilities. If you two started dating and it didn’t work out… would everything fall apart? You didn’t want to be the reason your group broke up.

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A week later, you wanted to talk to him so badly that you couldn’t help but send him a message, ignoring all your second thoughts. You opened his chat, fingers hovering over the keyboard, unsure of what to say. After a few minutes of overthinking, you decided to keep it simple.

“Heyy.”

Lee Know replied half an hour later, asking how your day had been. And just like that, the conversation started flowing, just like it had that night. He told you about his cats and even sent you a few pictures of them. They were adorable.

“They took their cuteness after their owner,” you typed without thinking twice.

The moment you hit send, you froze. Your eyes widened as realization hit… you had just sent him a pick up line with him. Unintentionally.

You gasped, heart pounding, suddenly regretting your words. But then, his reply popped up.

A single laughing emoji.

You sighed in relief when you saw that he hadn’t taken it as a serious attempt to flirt. At least, you hoped he hadn’t.

︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶

You and Lee Know had been texting for weeks, growing closer with each conversation. At some point, you even started sending what you both called “good morning selfies” (pictures of each other as soon as you woke up, looking as awful as possible). Well… at least that was the goal. Lee Know looked effortlessly handsome in every single one.

When Felix’s birthday came around, he invited the whole group to his place to celebrate. You felt a wave of nervous excitement, this would be the first time seeing Lee Know face-to-face after all those late-night chats. Wanting to look your best, you put on your prettiest dress and put extra effort into your makeup.

At Felix’s house, you greeted everyone with a hug, one by one. When it was Lee Know’s turn, your nerves spiked, but you didn’t hesitate. He smelled amazing. His cologne was deep, musky, and completely intoxicating. He was wearing a simple shirt and jeans—nothing particularly trendy—but to you, he had never looked better. Why did everything about him have to be so effortlessly perfect?

You didn’t get a chance to talk to him in private until later that night when Felix announced it was “movie time.” Settling onto the couch, you took a seat near the corner. You weren’t expecting Lee Know to sit beside you. It caught you off guard, but you weren’t about to complain.

Felix pressed play, and the movie began…a romcom. You hated romcoms. You always thought they were ridiculously predictable.

A few minutes in, Lee Know leaned close to whisper in your ear.

“This movie sucks.”

You stifled a laugh, turning your head toward him.

“I know, right? But we’re watching it for Felix… so be quiet.” You nudged him lightly before focusing back on the screen.

Of course, Lee Know wasn’t going to just sit there and behave. That wasn’t in his nature.

He suddenly blew softly against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. Goosebumps erupted across your skin.

“Don’t do that!” you hissed, glaring at him.

He grinned. “I’m boreeed. Entertain me.”

You rolled your eyes. “What do you want me to do? Pull a bunny out of my magical hat?”

His soft laughter sent a spark through your chest. “Yes, please. I’ve never seen a magician before.”

You let out a chuckle, shaking your head.

“Fine,” you sighed. “I’ll entertain you by roasting this horrible movie, then.”

He smirked. “Now that’s what I’m talking about.”

After a brief glance at the screen, you blurted out, “Noah Centineo’s acting is so fucking cringe it makes me want to gouge my eyes out with a damn spoon.”

Lee Know covered his mouth to stifle his laugh, his shoulders shaking. He leaned in closer, eyes gleaming with amusement. “God, I love the way your brain works.”

Lee Know leaned in again, his breath warm against your ear. “I swear, if they make the couple kiss in the rain, I’m walking out.”

You snorted, whispering back, “Oh, you just know it’s coming. Probably with some dramatic speech about ‘fate’ too.”

He sighed dramatically, shaking his head. “Yeah, because nothing says true love like pneumonia.”

As the movie dragged on, you and Lee Know kept whispering back and forth, throwing sarcastic comments at every overused trope. It was like no one else was in the room.

At one point, the main characters had a dramatic breakup scene, and Lee Know sighed, shaking his head. “Three… two… one… and cue the sad montage.”

Right on time, the screen faded into a heartbroken protagonist staring out of a rainy window.

You stifled a laugh. “I hate how predictable this is.”

“Right? It’s like they copy and paste the same script every time.”

As you both chuckled softly, what you didn’t notice were the lingering glances from your friends.

Felix, sipping his drink, nudged Seungmin with his elbow and tilted his head toward you two. “Are they always like this?” he whispered.

Seungmin smirked. “Nope. This is new.”

Han, sprawled on the floor with a pillow under his head, wiggled his eyebrows. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m sensing some serious chemistry over there.”

Felix nodded subtly, watching as Lee Know leaned in to whisper something else in your ear, making you giggle. “Yeah… they’re in their own little world.”

Changbin, who had been watching quietly, grinned. “Should we say something?”

Felix shook his head. “Nah. Let’s see how long it takes them to notice.”

Meanwhile, completely oblivious to your friends’ knowing looks, you and Lee Know were still locked into your conversation.

Lee Know sighed dramatically. “If they don’t end up together in the dumbest way possible, I’ll be disappointed.”

You smirked. “Oh, don’t worry. He’s definitely about to show up at her wedding and confess his love in front of everyone.”

Lee Know groaned. “God, I hope he gets rejected. Just once. Just for the plot twist.”

You snickered. “You’re asking for too much.”

At that moment, a new song started playing over the movie’s emotional climax. Lee Know made a face. “Oh great. Cue the emotional acoustic song.”

The movie’s final scene cut to black eventually, and the lights flicked on.

You stretched your arms and sighed, ready to make another sarcastic remark, when you noticed something strange, your friends were all staring at you and Lee Know.

You blinked. “Uh… what?”

Felix cleared his throat, quickly looking away. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

Seungmin coughed into his fist. “Yeah, just… interesting movie, huh?”

Han smirked but said nothing, exchanging a glance with Changbin.

You frowned, confused, but shrugged it off. Meanwhile, Lee Know stretched beside you, completely unbothered.

The night eventually came to an end. As you were about to leave, Seungmin casually stepped beside you, hands tucked into his pockets.

“So… you like Lee Know, huh?”

You nearly choked on air. “W-What?”

Seungmin raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Don’t play dumb. It’s obvious.”

Your face heated up instantly. You glanced around, making sure no one else was paying attention before whispering, “Okay, fine. Maybe. A little.”

Seungmin scoffed. “A little? You were in your own little world with him the entire night.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to brush it off. “Whatever. It’s not like it matters. He probably doesn’t—”

“He does.” Seungmin cut you off, looking at you like you were an idiot. “Y/N, the rest of us can see it. And if we can, you seriously think he doesn’t feel the same?”

Your heart skipped a beat. “You think so?”

Seungmin sighed, shaking his head with a small smirk. “I don’t think. I know.”

And with that, he patted your shoulder and walked off, leaving you standing there, replaying his words in your head.

Maybe… just maybe, he was right.

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A few weeks later, your friend group planned a beach day. The plan was to leave early in the morning—around 6 or 7 AM—so they’d be picking you up at your place.

When the car arrived, you climbed in, greeted everyone sleepily, and settled into your seat. You ended up sitting next to Lee Know.

Still groggy from waking up so early, you leaned your head against the window, trying to get comfortable for the long drive. But just as you started to relax, Lee Know nudged your arm.

“So… I heard something interesting the other day.”

You blinked, turning to him. “What?”

He smirked, tilting his head slightly. “Seungmin told me you have a crush on someone.”

Your stomach dropped. That traitor.

You kept your expression neutral, playing it cool. “Oh? And you believe everything Seungmin says?”

Lee Know narrowed his eyes at you, clearly not buying it. “So it’s not true?”

You hesitated for half a second too long.

His smirk widened. “It is true.”

You groaned, turning your head away. “I’m not talking about this with you.”

But Lee Know was relentless. “Come on, just tell me who it is.”

You shook your head. “Nope. It’s a secret.”

He huffed, pretending to be offended. “Why? You don’t trust me?”

You turned back to him, raising an eyebrow. “Exactly.”

Lee Know gasped dramatically. “Unbelievable. I thought we were close.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing softly. “We are, but that doesn’t mean I have to tell you everything.”

For the rest of the car ride, Lee Know kept trying to get you to spill.

“Is it someone from our friend group?”

“Do I know them?”

“Oh my god, is it Felix?”

You ignored most of his questions, dodging them with vague answers or simply changing the subject. No matter how persistent he was, you refused to give in.

And by the time you finally arrived at the beach, Lee Know still had no clue who your crush was.

But that didn’t mean he was going to stop trying to find out.

After arriving at the beach, your group got to work setting everything up; planting umbrellas in the sand, spreading out towels, and placing a cooler filled with beers in the middle of your little setup. The sun was already blazing, and the sound of waves crashing mixed with the laughter of your friends as they ran toward the water.

You had worn your bikini under your clothes, so without much thought, you grabbed the hem of your oversized T-shirt and pulled it over your head, quickly slipping out of your shorts.

What you didn’t expect was Lee Know’s reaction.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him freeze. His entire body stiffened, and he quickly turned his head to the side, his ears turning red. He was flustered.

You bit your lip, suppressing a smile. Was he really that shy just from seeing you in a bikini? Seeing that reaction made your heart beat faster, looked so cute.

Trying to act casual, you grabbed your bottle of sunscreen and began applying it to your arms and legs. But when it came to your back, you hesitated. Your friends were already running toward the ocean, leaving only one person behind.

Lee Know.

You turned to him, holding up the sunscreen bottle. “Hey… can you help me with my back?”

His eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, he just stared at you.

“M-Me?”

You nodded. “Unless you want me to ask a total stranger?”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes before snatching the bottle from your hand. “Fine, turn around.”

You turned your back to him, feeling the warmth of the sun on your skin. A few seconds later, his hands pressed against your back, spreading the cool sunscreen across your shoulders.

You swallowed. His touch was… soft.

His hands moved slowly, spreading the lotion over your shoulder blades, down to the middle of your back. You felt the way his fingers hesitated for a split second before gliding lower, rubbing the sunscreen into your skin with a gentleness you hadn’t expected.

You liked it.

Your heartbeat picked up as his fingers pressed a little firmer, the warmth of his hands contrasting against the chill of the lotion. For a moment, it felt almost… intimate.

Lee Know cleared his throat behind you. “There. Done.”

You turned to face him, noticing the faint pink dusting his cheeks. He quickly handed you back the bottle, avoiding your gaze.

You took it with a small smile. “Thanks.”

He nodded, still refusing to meet your eyes. “Yeah, whatever. Just don’t get sunburned.”

You chuckled softly before turning toward the ocean, but you could still feel the lingering warmth of his hands on your skin.

The day went by normally, filled with laughter, splashes in the ocean, and the warmth of the sun against your skin. You and your friends had lunch right there on the beach, passing around sandwiches and drinks as the waves crashed nearby.

And throughout the day, Lee Know kept trying to get information out of you.

Every once in a while, he’d lean in, his voice teasing yet curious. “So… are you sure you don’t want to tell me?”

You’d simply shake your head, smiling innocently. “Nope.”

This game continued all afternoon. Every time he thought he was getting close, you dodged the question. Your friends, however, had started catching on.

Felix, Seungmin, and Han exchanged amused glances, whispering among themselves every time Lee Know tried (and failed) to get you to confess. He was completely oblivious to what was right in front of him.

Then, as the sun began to set, painting the sky in hues of pink and orange, Felix suddenly clapped his hands together.

“We should go get more beer.”

The others instantly caught on.

“Yeah, good idea,” Han said, already standing up.

Changbin stretched, “Let’s go before the store closes.”

One by one, they all got up, casually dusting the sand off their clothes.

You blinked. “…Wait, all of you are going?”

Felix grinned, “Yeah, why not?” Then, with a very obvious look between you and Lee Know, he added, “We’ll be back soon. Enjoy the sunset.”

Before you could protest, they were already walking away, leaving you alone with Lee Know.

A heavy silence settled between you two.

For the first time all day, he didn’t say anything.

The sound of the waves filled the quiet space, and you focused on the horizon, watching the sun sink lower. But then…

Lee Know let out a long sigh.

“Just tell me who it is. The suspense is killing me.”

You swallowed, keeping your eyes on the ocean. “I can’t tell you, Lee Know.”

“Why not?” He turned to fully face you, his brows furrowed. “Don’t you trust me? I thought we were friends.”

Friends.

That word hit you like a knife straight to the chest.

A mix of emotions… your feelings for him, the pressure he was putting on you, the fear of ruining your friendship, of breaking your friend group… it all exploded at once.

Before you could stop them, tears welled up in your eyes and started spilling down your cheeks.

You quickly stood up, turning away from him as you wiped your face with the back of your hand. You needed space.

Lee Know immediately noticed your shift in mood, and his voice softened.

“Hey… I’m sorry.” His tone was full of regret. “I didn’t mean to push you so much. I just—” He sighed again, more frustrated with himself than anything. “I need to know.”

Slowly, you turned back around, and when he saw your tear-streaked face, his eyes widened in alarm.

“You’re an idiot!” You snapped, voice shaking. “Do you really not see it? It’s so obvious…!”

Lee Know blinked, still clueless. “I must be an idiot then, because apparently, I’m the only one in our group who hasn’t figured it out.”

You let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head in disbelief before finally, finally saying the words you had been holding in for weeks.

“It’s you, idiot! You’re the one I’ve liked for almost two months now. Happy? Is that what you wanted to hear?”

A heavy silence filled the space between you two.

Lee Know stood in front of you, motionless, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet his gaze. Instead, you stared down at the sand, your heart pounding so hard it echoed in your ears.

Then, gently, he reached out and lifted your chin with his fingers.

Your breath hitched as your eyes finally met his. His gaze was intense yet unbelievably soft, filled with something you couldn’t quite decipher.

With the same hand, he delicately wiped away your tears, his thumb brushing against your cheek before resting his palm there. His touch was warm, grounding.

Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he murmured, “How am I supposed to hold back when you look beautiful even when you’re crying?”

Before you could even process his words, he leaned in and pressed his lips against yours.

The kiss took you completely by surprise. Your body froze for a few seconds, too shocked to react. But then—instinct took over.

You melted into him, wrapping your arms around his neck, your fingers tangling in his soft hair. His arms circled your waist, pulling you closer as the world around you seemed to blur.

The kiss was deep, filled with all the emotions that had been bottled up for weeks. The warmth of his lips, the way he tilted his head to deepen the kiss—it all felt so right.

The sound of the waves and the golden hues of the sunset painted the perfect scene around you.

And then…

A sudden burst of cheers erupted behind you.

You both pulled apart, startled, only to find your entire friend group standing there, grinning like idiots.

Felix clapped dramatically. “Finally!”

Han smirked. “Took you long enough.”

Seungmin rolled his eyes. “I told you he liked you too.”

Changbin grinned, raising an imaginary glass. “A toast to the new couple! I better get invited to your wedding.”

You groaned, hiding your face in Lee Know’s chest, while he simply smirked, unfazed.

Without missing a beat, he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you even closer, whispering just for you to hear.

“Guess we really were obvious, huh?”

[onekeii]

Can you help me out?

Day 2: Trapped together in a snowstorm | "I thought you knew where you were going?!" Stray Kids: Lee Minho/Lee Know x Fem!Reader Warnings/Genre: friends to lovers, light angst, bad humour, smut, oral (m!receiving), uni au i guess? Summary: Minho's always there for you when you need a hand. Word Count: 2,628 AN: can’t believe i’ve never written lee know fanfic before lol. also i write in british english but i can’t stand the look of the word “mum” so that is intentionally american.

Read on AO3

“You want me to drive you four hours to your Mom’s house?” Minho groans, his voice muffled through the phone line. “Yep,” you say confidently. If you pretended nothing was wrong with the idea, maybe there wouldn’t be?

“In this weather?” He says. You force yourself to look up. Snow blanketed every available surface - the train station roof, the tops of cars, the bins. The pavement and road before you were clear but slick with muddy snow and grit salt. The cement absorbed each meagre snowflake that fell atop it. You shake a few from your eyelashes and hum, “Mhm.”

He can't mask his sigh, “On Christmas Eve?” 

“I was screwed over by the trains, how was I supposed to know they’d cancel them all just because of some snow? Minho, please! Can you help me out?” You were desperate now. You’d fall to your knees in front of him, in the snow, if he was there in person.

Shuffling around, keys jingling, the chk of a door handle, “I’ll be there in fifteen.”

“Thank you so much!” You let out a breath you didn’t know you had been holding. It turned to steam and lifted itself into the air gracefully, more graceful than your little celebratory jig. Minho hangs up without a word, I should buy him some snacks, at least, you think.

As promised, Minho pulls into the train station within fifteen minutes and you hear the boot unlock with a click. He motions to the back of the car with a lazy hand, making no move to get out the car himself. You grumble to yourself as you dump your heavy suitcase in the back and slam the door a little harder than you should, but when you climb into the passenger seat and greet him, it's with your biggest, toothy smile.

You met him on your first day at university, and the two of you were inseparable ever since. Both of you took the same electives every year, rocked up to every party together, and hung out every day. You’ve called on his help more than you’d care to admit, sometimes just to feel his hand guide yours, or to watch his shirt ride up when he searches the top shelf for you. But he always came. This was your worst grievance by far, though.

“Coffee,” you announce, putting two cups into the holder. “Snacks,” you dangle the bag of crisps and cookies in front of his face before tossing it to the back seat. 

“Not only are you using me as your personal chauffeur, but you want to ruin my skin, too?” he tuts. 

“Just get to the motorway, I’ll guide you from there,” you pull out your phone and open Maps, but Minho has pulled out, the gritty roads adding a tasteful crunch to the low rumble of the car.

Hour one is spent fighting over the music, complaining about your teachers, and complaining even more about your classmates. Hour two, you feel, is socially acceptable for you to reach into the seat behind you and open up the snacks. “This dude texted me just this morning-” you're cut off by Minho.

“Your flatmate’s ex?” He asks. Far into the infinitely straight motorway, he holds the wheel with just one hand, slouched into his chair a little. He does everything so effortlessly, you can't help but linger on it for a minute. With his eyes fixed on the road, all Minho has to do to be fed is hold out his free hand. Last time you pressed a singular Dorito into it, this time it's a whole chocolate chip cookie. He frowns at your choice, but obliges himself anyway.

Nodding at his question, you leave your directions app to read the text verbatim, “He texted me, ‘I can’t keep this to myself anymore. I broke up with her because I like you more.’” You giggle to yourself as you read - you and your housemate enjoyed poking fun at him together this morning, but you look up to see Minho was not laughing at all. Both hands gripped the wheel tightly, knuckles turning slightly white.

What’s wrong? You wanted to ask, but you just still your laughter and glance out the window. Something turned in your gut, maybe you knew why, but asking him so directly… that risked making it real. “Turn coming up,” Minho’s voice slashes through your thoughts, you scramble to change back to your app. 

Mobile Data is Turned Off Turn on mobile data or use Wi-Fi to access data.

No matter, “It’s the second lane,” you say, certain in your memory. I’ll get my signal back in a moment. 

Hour three: you had guessed two more turnings, but you recognised neither. Your hometown was, apparently, still a little further, so you were looking out for the town before it on the signs that flashed past, to no avail. Did you remember wrong earlier? You look down at your phone but, still, no signal. 

The car was silent from your conversation earlier, but if Minho was still brooding, you were too panicked to notice. Another sign wooshes past, this one informing you of a petrol station a few miles away.

“Can we stop there?” You point it out to Minho.

He nods, “You... you okay?”

Elbow leaning against the car window sill, head in your hands, you shake your head. It was no use lying to him. Only when the car rolled to a stop did you show your face to him. Your vision was blurred with tears that were yet to fall, but you could see him jolt back a little, as if the sight scared him.

“Why are you crying?” He undid his seatbelt and reached forward, using his thumb to wipe one eye clear. A tender move he only reserved for you in dire moments. You run your sleeve across the other eye and mumble, “I think you know why.”

Minho purses his lips together, searching your eyes for a clue, “I really don’t, to be honest.”

“It begins with an ‘L’?” The frustration was a knot in your stomach, balling up tighter and tighter. How was he not getting it? “Like the ‘L’ word?” A poor choice of words on your part, but you were out with it now.

“...Lesbians?” he sits up straight, his eyebrows knitted together. God, you thought, is he trying to be funny, or is he just clueless? 

“Lost. Minho,” you say with snark, your eyes turn away from him for a moment in disbelief, “We’re lost!”

Now he seemed to get it, “I thought you knew where you were going?!” his voice peaks. A little too loud. 

The tears are seeping into your eyes once more. You want to say something - an excuse, an apology - but nothing comes out your stupid mouth. Instead, you watch yourself open the car door, practically rolling out of your seat before throwing the door back against the car. Then you’re walking towards the little petrol shop lighting up the dark sky. Since when had the sun set? What time even was it? You dreaded the answer.

Minho catches up to you in an instant, planting himself in front of you. The light from behind illuminated the outline of him; he was glowing. Glowing, like an angel who came to save you. He always came to save you, and yet you never did him any favours. Avoiding his eyes, you take one step to the side and try to walk around him. He blocks you again, this time with a hand on your shoulder.

“Can you just slow down and talk to me for a second?” Minho asks. “You always storm off when you’re upset and do something stupid.”

“I’m trying to buy a map,” you spit.

He sighs, then he’s winding his arms around your shoulders and pulling you in. You stumble forward, head against his chest and dizzy from his cologne. It’s far from the first time the two of you have hugged; goodbye hugs and ‘friendly’ movie cuddles and hugs when you’re feeling down. But it was strange this time. Minho committed himself to driving four - no, eight - hours through snow for you, you had just extended that time by getting lost, and now he was the one comforting you. You finally wrap your arms around his back.

“Why’d you bother driving out for me?” You say into his shoulder.

“Because you asked.” He pulls away, one corner of his mouth was pulled upwards into a smile. Then he turns on his heel, “Go sit in the car, I’ll get the map.” 

Thanks to that conveniently placed station, and Minho’s suspiciously fast driving, you were waylaid for only an hour. He did slow down, eventually, when you were back on track, for the increased snow covering the windshield and sticking to the road started to scare you a little.

“I hope it clears before you have to drive home,” you chew at your lip, but the snow showed no sign of letting up. When he pulls into your Mom’s driveway, the sky was pitch black. You wouldn’t have noticed it was there save for the snowflakes that fell from it in torrents now. Minho was adamant not to leave his heated car, but you drag him through the front door anyway. “At least stay for a coffee,” you say.

“Goodness,” a familiar voice rings from the kitchen, and your mother soon totters over to the front door, “I was about to ring you my dear- Oh, who’s this?”

“Mom, Minho. Minho, my Mom,” you sputter, realising how woefully unprepared you were for this interaction.

“Hi, Miss,” Minho says awkwardly, his lips pressed together in a thin line.

“You didn’t mention a boyfriend to me, dear, or did it slip my mind?” she pauses, “No, I would surely remember such a thing-”

Both of you cut her off in unison, “Oh, he’s not-” “Uh, I’m not-” You glare at him and he shrinks back into himself. “My train got cancelled so he drove me here,” you explain, “he was about to leave.”

“If he drove you all this way, then he must stay!” your mother beckons the two of you further into the room with wild hand gestures, “I won’t let him drive home so late, and in this weather too!”

“It’s alright, uh, Miss, I don’t mind,” Minho stumbles. What was he supposed to say? Your mother wasn’t listening. “I’ve plenty of food - too much! And her bed is big enough for the two of you–”

You didn’t hear anything else she had to say after that for she was running back into the kitchen, chatting to no one in particular. Minho turned to you, wide-eyed and lips twisted in an exasperated smile. Snow was still melting into his hair from your brief adventure outside. You reach up and pick one from his hair, watching it sink into your skin, “Sorry, looks like you’re staying here,” you say, the corners of your mouth heaving a smile onto your face.

When your mother finished feeding the both of you and talked Minho to exhaustion, she ushered you upstairs to get some sleep. You looked at the double bed in your room, still in the same place as it was when you first moved to uni. It was like nothing changed, except it had; Minho was in the room with you now. Clambering under the covers, you refuse to look back at him. The bed shifts and bounces a little when he slides under the sheets next to you.

You shared a bed with him many times before, for cheap hotel rooms and unplanned sleepovers, of course it didn’t matter this time. But it did. He’s next to you in your childhood bed, he’s met your mother, and it’s Christmas. You huff and submerge yourself further under the covers, making a point to face away from him. Minho turns off the lamp, rustles around behind you for a moment, then silence falls around you. Silence weaves its way between his steady breaths and your whirling thoughts. 

Hours felt like minutes, staring at nothing behind your closed eyelids. You sigh and roll over, hoping Minho had the sense to sleep the opposite way too. He did not. When your head hits the pillow again and you open your eyes out of curiosity, he was staring back at you.

It’s just dark, you think to yourself and blink away the static. But warm streetlights bleed into your room through cracks in your blinds, and you knew you weren’t dreaming. Why is he so weird? Yet you stare back.

“What?” He finally whispers.

Yes, what? You’re drawing blanks, then you can think of only one thing. You absolutely cannot say that, but your mouth is moving anyway, “I really wanna kiss you.”

“Okay,” he blinks. A few rogue strands of hair, freshly washed of snow, fall delicately across his face. 

You’re stunned. “...Okay?” 

“So?” His lips are parted, inviting you in, deliciously open so that all you need to do to taste him is attack. But you can’t.

This is far from your first rodeo. You’ve always been able to hit on other guys, to pull them closer by their collars, to drag them through your apartment door, to wrap your legs around their waists before you reach the bed. Minho is not other guys. What if you mess it up? Yet another sigh, so far reaching it blows his stray hairs back out of his face, “So, can you help me out?”

Yes. His answer, just like every other time, is yes. But he doesn’t say it; he snakes his arm around your nape, tugs you closer, and that’s all it takes. Your lips are on his, your body is static, your mind is lost from you. You shut your eyes and allow yourself to melt into him. But then your leg is hooked around his waist. His hands travel from your clothed thighs to rest on your ass. Rolling your hips down onto him, hard, he groans into your lips. The vibrations travelling through you only spur you to move faster.

Shirts, pants, underwear, they’re all on the floor in an instant. Five minutes ago, you did not have the faintest idea you’d end up in this position. You're knelt between his legs. Minho’s hard and looking up at you expectantly. His eyes are mocking you, challenging you. So you take him on. Lips closing around his member, you cast your eyes up as you take in as much of him as you can. He’s already tensed his eyelids shut in pleasure. A devious swish of your tongue, another and another, and his head is lolling backwards. 

Minho tangles his fingers through your hair, pushing you down further onto his cock. Obliging, you begin to bob your head up and down, moving faster with each of his grunts, tongue working at him furiously. He tenses, dick throbbing and releasing warmth to your mouth; you ride him through it, his shallow panting a musical backdrop as you watch white cum drip from the corners of your mouth, down his shaft. When you release him, the rest spills onto his toned stomach. A deep inhale, to catch your breath, then you swallow what’s left.

With nothing to focus on now, no high to push him to, you’re suddenly very aware of his eyes on you. With delicate fingers, he traces the outline of your hips to your waist, lingering on your breasts and how your nipples are hard with cold and pleasure.

“Your turn,” he grins, sitting up and pushing you back into the bed before you could even defend yourself, capturing your lips with his once more.

@12daysofchristmas

If you enjoyed, please consider helping out by dropping a reblog or follow ☆

[skzstannie]

"I've been wanting to do that for so long"

SKZ -> Minho x fem!reader

genre: best friends to lovers, fluffffffy wc: ~1,200 cw: none :)

summary: You and Minho are finally able to make something of his consistent flirty behavior.

A/N: Hiii! A little shorter than normal, but I wanted to get something out while I work on the requests I have. Hope everyone is doing well! Please feel free to leave feedback in the comments and like/reblog- it's truly appreciated!

Also, I know a lot of you like the angst, but don't worry! The request I'm working on has lots of it 👀👀

Masterlist | Happy Scrolling!

"Please tell me we don't have to watch another one of your chick flicks tonight," Minho groans, walking into the living room from the kitchen, two bowls of popcorn in hand.

"Of course we do, do you even know me?" you tease, sinking back further into the couch. You watch as he crosses in front of you, gently setting the bowls down on the table before throwing himself down onto the couch beside you.

It's your and Minho's weekly movie night, and the two of you decided to do it at your apartment this week. Not that the dorms aren't a fun hangout place, it's just sometimes your sensitive eardrums need a break.

The two of you have been friends for forever; you actually met back in elementary school. Your box of crayons was missing the pink one, and Minho became your knight in shining armor when he valiantly and bravely gave you his. From then on, he's been by your side. Need an errand buddy to run to the store with? Minho will come. Need someone to edit your college essay? Minho will do it. Need someone to cry with you on your couch once a week while you indulge yourself in different romantic fantasies? You know Minho will be there every time.

You try not to subject him to your rom coms every week, but it's so easy and fun to immerse yourself in other people's love lives, even if just for an hour and a half.

Your love life is close to non-existent. Minho, and occasionally his band members, are the only male interactions you ever get. You're not necessarily the most outgoing person, so it's hard for you to meet new people.

Not that you're necessarily complaining, I mean, you're so grateful for the friendship you have with Minho, but sometimes you wish it was more than that. His consistent teasing doesn't help your constant delusions. He's always flirting with you, calling you pet names and telling you how beautiful you are. You know it's nothing more than teasing, so you try not to let it affect you.

"How about this one?" you ask him, hovering over The Kissing Booth. You've seen it a million times, but it's one of your favorites; you'll never pass up an opportunity to watch it.

"I couldn't be more indifferent," he comments dryly. You roll your eyes at him and press play, playfully tossing the remote at his side.

"Do that again and I'm snatching it up and changing it," he glances at you, his face blank of emotion. You keep your eyes on the screen, holding back a smirk.

As emotionless as your best friend could come off sometimes, you know he always means well. You are more similar than you'd like to admit, and you know just as well how hard showing other's your emotions can be.

~ ~ ~

"Haven't we watched this one before?" Minho interrupts, his finger pointing accusingly at the screen.

"Maybe..."

"You've got to be kidding me. Where's that damn remote?" his hands sweep over the couch cushions in the dark room, and he looks to you when he comes up with nothing. His narrow eyes meet your innocent ones. "Give me it. I am not watching this one again; it was terrible."

"You didn't think it was terrible 10 minutes ago when your eyes were practically glued to the screen," you counter, holding the remote tightly in your clasped hands.

He scoffs, reaching out towards you. His fingers grasp around your arm and give you a rough pull, making you topple over into him. You let out an embarrassing squawk when you both slip to the floor in your impromptu wrestling match.

You find yourself underneath him, his hands still pulling roughly at the remote.

"Give it to me!"

"No! I want to watch this!"

The struggle continues for a few moments, you desperately trying to protect the remote while Minho sits above you, practically manhandling you.

In a quick lapse of judgement, you let up a little, allowing Minho to pin your hands to the ground above your head. Both of you are breathless as you lay beneath him, a playful smirk gracing the beautiful face in front of you.

Your eyes are wide as you lay there. You expect him to get off you, but he doesn't. He unwaveringly holds his position above you.

You catch his big brown eyes switch between your eyes and your lips, and you feel your breath hitch in your throat when he leans down slightly.

It's silent between the two of you as he slowly comes closer, his gaze remaining on your lips.

Your heart drops when he brings his lips to your ear instead. "I win," he whispers, before casually plucking the remote from your previously pinned hands. He gets off you, adjusting his clothes before he plops back on the couch, immediately exiting out of the movie.

You lay there another moment, thinking about what the heck just happened and whether you're going to let him get away with it.

You sit up abruptly, staring at him with disbelief. "What the hell was that?"

"What?" his gaze remains on the T.V. screen, and you find his nonchalance irritating.

"What do you mean, 'What'?"

"We wrestle all the time, what are you on about?"

Your jaw drops at his statement. "Yes, we do, but not- not like that," you let out a flustered chuckle, shaking your head at him.

"I don't know what you're talking about." When he speaks this time, you're able to catch the slightest upturn of his lips.

"You're messing with me," you tell him, not believing his actions could've been all innocent.

He finally breaks his gaze away from the T.V., setting the remote down beside him. "Now why would I do that?"

"Because- because that's what you do! You're sarcastic, and you're sly, and- and..." your frustration gets the best of you, and you bring your hands up to cover your face. You feel your cheeks burn red with embarrassment.

"What did you think was going to happen? Did you want me to kiss you like Noah did to Elle?"

You rip your hands away from your face at that, your jaw dropping at his suggestion. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," his voice is steady, his eye contact strong as he stands his ground. "We've been doing this long enough. I just want to know if this is reciprocated."

"If what's reciprocated?"

"You know, this- this thing between us. Is it reciprocated? Like, do you like like me like I like like you?" He raises an eyebrow at you, waiting for an answer you're hesitant to give.

"You're not messing with me?" you're cautious as the question leaves your lips.

"No, I'm not. How can I spell it out for you," he pauses, bringing a hand up to his chin in an exaggerated manner. "I like you. I have a crush on you. I want to be your boyfriend. I-"

"Ok, ok!" you cut him off with a laugh, "I do."

"You like me back?"

"Yea, yea I do."

His actions are quick as he drops to his knees on the floor in front of you. He rushes you, his body moving over yours. His hands grasp your wrists, pushing them above your head.

His legs rest on either side of your hips, pinning you down.

"Ok, let's try this again then."

You let yourself get lost in his eyes as he leans down towards you again.

When his face is close enough for his nose to rest against yours, he brings his lips to yours.

He pulls away when your both breathless, a look of mirth on his face.

"I've been wanting do that for so long."

[nightmarishwaltz]

Unspoken Desires - Lee Know x Fem!Reader

Pairings: bff! Lee Know x Fem! Reader; Genre: Fluff, Angst, Smut, Hurt/Comfort, friends to lovers, SLOW BURN; Warnings: Language, Mature Themes, SMUT in later chapters, slow burn - this is it I think? Let me know if I've missed anything; Word Count: 1.3K

Summary: Lee Know has always been your best friend—constant, familiar, safe. But when he shows up at your apartment one night, upset and vulnerable, the lines between friendship and something more begin to blur. A moment of comfort turns into something deeper, forcing you both to finally confront the feelings you’ve been avoiding for years.

A/n: Hey everyone! This is a little different from my usual content, but I’ve been deep in a Stray Kids phase lately and couldn’t resist writing something for Lee Know. This is actually my first full fanfic, so I’d love to hear your thoughts! If people are interested, I plan to continue this series, so let me know if you'd like more! So please don't forget to like, comment and/or reblog

This work will and does contain mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Chapter 1 - The Quiet Storm

The apartment is quiet except for the steady rhythm of the rain against your windows. It’s late—past midnight—but you’re still awake, curled up on the couch with your phone when your door unlocks with a quiet click.

You don’t even flinch. It’s him.

Lee Know steps inside, and the moment you see his face, you know. His expression is carefully neutral, but you can see past the mask—the slight hunch of his shoulders, the way his fingers grip too tightly around the strap of his bag. He’s exhausted, but more than that, he’s frustrated. He doesn’t look at you right away. Instead, he pulls off his cap, runs a hand through his damp hair, and exhales, slow and heavy.

Your chest tightens.

“Rough night?” you ask softly. He lets out a sharp laugh, bitter and low. “I fucked up.”

Your brows knit together as you sit up immediately, your voice laced with concern. “Min, what are you talking about?” “The performance.” His jaw tightens. “I missed a step—on live broadcast. It wasn’t just a little mistake. It threw everything off.” He scoffs, shaking his head. “Everyone covered for me, but I could tell. It was obvious.” You frown. You watched the performance. If he made a mistake, it was so minor that no one would have noticed—except him. But you don’t argue. You know how hard he is on himself, how much he expects perfection, even when everyone around him already sees it in him.

“Minho,” you say gently. “Come here.”

He hesitates for just a second before stepping closer. His gaze flickers to you, searching, but he doesn’t pull away when you reach for him. Your fingers brush his wrist before you take his hands in yours, squeezing lightly. They’re warm, slightly rough—familiar in a way that makes your chest ache. “You’re being too hard on yourself,” you say softly. “One mistake doesn’t erase everything you’ve done. It doesn’t change the fact that you’re a talented dancer. It doesn’t change how incredible you are.” His gaze drops to where your fingers are tangled with his. His hands could break you if they wanted to—all that strength and precision. But when he touches you, it’s always soft. Always careful.

A long silence stretches between you. Then, almost too quietly to hear—

“I just wanted to be perfect.”

And God, your heart hurts for him.

Minho isn’t the type to spill his emotions like this. He never asks for comfort, never complains about the pressure, expectations, or relentless pursuit of something just out of reach. But you know. You know how much he sacrifices. You know how he pushes himself until his body aches and exhaustion settles deep into his bones. You know how he carries the weight of every mistake like it’s proof that he isn’t enough. You reach up before you can stop yourself, cupping his jaw and tilting his face so he has to look at you. His skin is warm beneath your palm, his breath unsteady.

“You are,” your voice is barely above a whisper.

“You always have been.”

His throat bobs. His lashes flutter. His breath catches—like he wasn’t expecting you to say it out loud. Like he’s spent years hoping you would. “You don’t get it,” he murmurs. “You look at me like I’m already enough.”

“You’ve always been enough,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “You don’t have to prove anything to me, Min.” It’s been there for years—this thing between you, tangled in stolen glances, lingering touches, quiet longing tucked between the lines of friendship. You’ve both ignored it, brushed it off, convinced yourselves that the feelings would fade.

But standing here now, with his hands in yours, his lips parted, his breathing coming just a little too fast—there’s no pretending anymore.

His gaze dips to your lips.

You’ve spent years convincing yourself that this wasn’t more, that friendship was enough. But standing here, with his breath warm against your skin, you know—you were always his, and he was always yours. And suddenly, he’s so close—his body inches from yours, heat radiating between you.

You can’t breathe. You don’t want to.

Your hands slide up, fingertips grazing his cheekbones, threading into his hair. You’ve always loved the way he looks after performances—his dark hair damp with sweat, his sharp features softened with exhaustion, the quiet vulnerability in his eyes that only you get to see. He’s beautiful. Not just because of his face, or the way he moves, or the way he commands a stage.

It’s the way he cares. The way he protects the people he loves without asking for anything in return. The way he’s never let you fall, even when you weren’t looking. “You deserve to be reminded of how perfect you are,” you whisper, your voice barely audible over the rain.

Minho stills. You can feel his heart pounding beneath your palms. 

“…I can’t pretend anymore.”

His voice is raw, almost desperate.

And then—he falls.

His breath hitches, and for a moment, it feels like the entire world has frozen. He’s so close now, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from his chest, the thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm. His gaze flickers to your lips again, and something unspoken passes between you—a silent question, a shared vulnerability. He hesitates, just long enough to make your heart skip. Then, slowly, his hand slides to your waist, fingers tightening as if to anchor himself. And then, he leans in, the distance between you narrowing until there’s no room left for anything but the inevitable. The first touch of his lips is tentative, like a question, and you don’t hesitate to answer. 

His grip tightens, his body trembling as if he’s afraid to take this next step—afraid of how much it might change everything.

He presses forward, his lips crashing against yours with a desperate intensity, and for a moment, everything else fades away—the rain, the silence, the world outside. It’s just him, and it’s just you, the warmth of his body against yours, the familiar taste of him that you’ve never let yourself fully indulge in before. His hands roam over your back, pulling you closer as though he’s trying to erase the space between you, his touch almost desperate, as if this moment might slip away if he doesn’t hold on tightly enough. His fingers ghost over your skin, like he’s making sure you’re still here, still real. You kiss him back, letting the longing and the years of unsaid words pour into the touch, deepening it, pushing back against the wall as his body molds into yours. The heat between you grows, slowly but undeniably, until there’s no turning back.

“Minho, please…”

He swallows your gasp, pressing you back against the wall, his breath ragged, his body flush against yours. The rain outside keeps falling, but neither of you notice. Because right now, there is only this. The quiet storm between you. The dam finally breaking. The undeniable truth that you were never just best friends.

Minho pulls back slightly, his chest rising and falling with quick breaths. His eyes flicker with something more than exhaustion now—something raw, something unspoken. For years, he’s buried this. Hid it behind jokes, behind carefully constructed walls of sarcasm and self-doubt. But now, with you so close, the walls start to crumble. He opens his mouth as if to speak, but the words stick in his throat. He swallows hard, eyes flickering between you and the floor, searching for something—anything—to say. Then, with a jagged breath, he speaks, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been pretending… pretending I didn’t feel this. Pretending it wasn’t there. But I can’t anymore. I can’t keep pretending I don’t want this.”

Gradient divider credit goes to @fae-and-wolf

[love--and--venom]

Protective Instincts

Right so there’s one flavor of fanfic that i really love where bsf!idol gets super possessive over yn due to some dude bein a creep (specifically 09:12 and Claimed by atinyslittleworld and an ask answered by taegimood). Something about it sets my brain off in the best way and now i wanna do it.

Also it’s not like the other members wouldn’t help in this kind of situation, but in my little fanfic world I think the members listed below would be protective and possessive in a way that would have you questioning if they see you as something more than a best friend. Ykwim?

Stray Kids: ✧ Bang Chan ✧ Lee Minho ✧ Seo Changbin ✧ Hwang Hyunjin ✧ Han Jisung ✧ Felix Lee ✧ Kim Seungmin ✧ Yang Jeongin

Ateez: ✧ Kim Hongjoong ✧ Park Seonghwa ✧ Jeong Yunho ✧ Kang Yeosang ✧ Choi San ✧ Song Mingi ✧ Jung Wooyoung ✧ Choi Jongho

TXT: ✧ Choi Soobin ✧ Choi Yeonjun ✧ Kang Taehyun

Xdinary Heroes: ✧ Goo Gunil ✧ O.de (Oh Seungmin)

Enhypen: ✧ Lee Heeseung ✧ Jay Park ✧ Park Sunghoon

[leriexoxo]

THE SLEEPOVER

“Push me further, pull me closer, some sort of chemistry”

Pairing: Bestfriend! Leeknow x Reader

Tags: friends to lovers, smut, fluff, feelings realization, sexual tension, unprotected sex, steamy sleepover.

Word count: 3k+

Summary: What was supposed to be a chill sleepover between best friends turns into something a little too charged. Between late-night teasing and lingering touches, Lee Know thinks about kissing you—blaming it on tension, but his eyes say otherwise. Now neither of you can pretend it was just a joke.

This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You hadn’t planned to sleep over. It was one of those nights where everything just aligned wrong—rain soaking your jeans, your apartment’s power flickering out, and Minho casually offering, “Just crash here. You’ve done it before.”

And you had. Plenty of times. Movie nights, post-concert exhaustion, lazy Sundays when neither of you wanted to be alone. It was always easy, always natural. Best friends didn’t need to think twice about these things.

So you ended up in his hoodie again, curled on his couch, sharing popcorn and trading dumb commentary over a show neither of you paid attention to. But something shifted. Maybe it was the way the thunder rattled the windows. Maybe it was the silence that lingered longer between your jokes. Or maybe it was the fact that Minho’s eyes had started to linger on your mouth when you laughed, and yours kept falling to the way his fingers flexed when he reached into the bowl.

The air thickened, slow and subtle, like something unseen had crawled into the room and made itself comfortable between you.

When the final credits rolled, Minho stretched, arms over his head, hoodie riding up just enough to flash a sliver of pale skin. You didn’t mean to look. But your gaze caught on it anyway—then snapped away like it’d burned you.

“You’re staying on the bed tonight,” he said, voice rough from sleep, dragging a hand through his hair. “Couch’s too cold.”

You blinked at him. “Where are you sleeping then?”

He gave you a look like you were being dumb. “With you. Obviously.”

It wasn’t the first time you’d shared a bed. But something about tonight made it feel like the first all over again.

The lights dimmed. You climbed under the covers. Minho followed, close, warm. His body didn’t touch yours, but the heat from him bled into your side anyway. Neither of you said much—just soft breathing, slow blinks, the occasional shuffle of limbs as you adjusted.

And then he turned toward you.

Not fully. Just enough for his knee to brush yours beneath the blanket. Enough for his hand to settle between you, fingers brushing yours.

You didn’t pull away.

The air felt heavier now. Sticky. Your pulse started to race, and it had no right to.

His fingers twitched.

So did yours.

Then, so soft you almost didn’t hear it—

“Are you awake?”

You swallowed hard. “Yeah.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak again. But the silence stretched thinner, tighter, and when his thumb brushed over your knuckle, just once, your breath hitched.

It was nothing. A tiny touch.

But something inside you shifted.

Minho felt it too.

Because suddenly the bed felt smaller. The blanket too warm. The space between your bodies too dangerous.

You didn’t know what was happening.

You only knew you didn’t want it to stop.

His thumb dragged again. Slower this time. Over your knuckles, then back. A rhythm. Mindless, maybe. Maybe not.

You didn’t move.

Didn’t even breathe properly.

Because suddenly your hand wasn’t just a hand—it was alive, nerve endings on fire where his skin grazed yours.

“You cold?” he asked, voice low, husky from sleep—or something else.

You nodded. You weren’t.

Minho shifted closer, the mattress dipping under his weight. His thigh brushed yours fully now, and he didn’t move away. The warmth of him bled through the thin barrier of your shorts, and your body stiffened like it couldn’t tell whether to lean in or run.

His fingers curled between yours.

Not tight. Not firm. Just enough to tangle.

And then he whispered, “Is this okay?”

You nodded again. Too fast. Too breathless.

Minho’s gaze flickered to your mouth. Just once. Just a second. But it felt like your whole body noticed.

Your heart skipped so hard it hurt. Your breathing started to betray you. And the way he was looking at you now? Not friendly. Not casual. Not like the best friend who’d watched you ugly cry through a breakup and stolen fries off your plate without asking.

No. This gaze was unfamiliar. Intense.

And his touch? He was still tracing—your hand, your wrist, the sensitive skin near your pulse point. Each slow brush of his fingers was like static. Crackling. Buzzing.

“You’re acting weird,” you murmured, trying to joke, but your voice came out thin.

Minho smirked—barely. “So are you.”

You huffed a breath that was definitely not a laugh, and he used the moment to shift even closer. His nose nearly brushed yours. His lips—so close now. One more inch and you’d feel them.

Neither of you moved.

The air between your mouths felt loud. Hot. Like a storm waiting to break.

You should’ve pulled back. You both should’ve.

Instead, your fingers gripped his tighter.

Minho’s eyes dropped to your lips again.

And this time, he didn’t look away.

He leaned in—not fully, not yet. Just enough that you felt his breath ghost across your cheek, his lips hovering dangerously close to yours. His hand found your waist under the covers. Just rested there.

You let him.

He didn’t kiss you.

But when he whispered, “Tell me if I’m crossing a line,” his voice cracked—like he wasn’t sure he’d stop even if you did.

And you—God, you didn’t even know where the line was anymore.

All you knew was that you wanted him closer.

You should’ve said something. Should’ve cracked a joke, rolled over, done anything to break the spell settling over both of you.

But you didn’t.

You stayed still, heart racing, eyes locked on his like the air between you was magnetic. And Minho didn’t move either—like he was waiting. Testing. Trying to figure out if this was real or just some late-night, storm-soaked delusion.

His hand slid up your waist. Just an inch. The pressure feather-light, but it burned through the fabric of your hoodie anyway. His thumb stroked slow circles at your side, and you swore your skin shivered under it.

“You always wear my clothes to bed?” he asked, voice low, rougher than it had any right to be.

“You gave it to me,” you mumbled, suddenly hyper-aware of the way the hem had ridden up your thighs. “Said I looked cold.”

Minho hummed. A soft, dangerous sound.

“I didn’t realize it fit you like that.”

Your breath caught.

You didn’t mean to react. But his words curled around something deep in your stomach, pulling tight. Because that wasn’t friendly. That wasn’t casual. That was Minho’s voice dipped in something unspoken—something he hadn’t let surface until tonight.

You swallowed hard. “You’re being weird.”

His lips quirked, just slightly. “You already said that.”

You rolled your eyes, tried to turn away—tried. But his hand on your waist held you there. Not forceful. Just firm enough to make your stomach flip.

“Minho…”

His name felt different now. Intimate. Fragile.

And he felt it too.

“I don’t know what this is,” he admitted, gaze flicking between your eyes, your lips, back again. “But I don’t wanna stop.”

Neither did you.

You just laid there, tangled in tension, in silence, in breath that sounded more like anticipation than rest. Your thighs brushed every time one of you moved. Your fingers were still intertwined beneath the blanket, now slightly sweaty. His thumb kept stroking your skin. Like he couldn’t stop. Like he didn’t want to.

When you finally spoke again, your voice was softer. “We’re gonna ruin everything, aren’t we?”

Minho’s brow ticked, but he didn’t let go. If anything, his grip tightened.

“Maybe,” he said. “But I can’t remember the last time I cared this much about something I wasn’t supposed to want.”

You blinked. Your heart jumped. And for a moment, neither of you breathed at all.

The distance between your faces? Still there. Barely. But it was electric.

And you knew—next time, someone would break.

But not yet.

Not tonight.

——

A week later…

The tension hadn’t gone away. If anything, it’d gotten worse.

You’d both agreed—without saying a word—not to bring it up. Not the way he held you that night like you were something fragile and forbidden. Not the way your breath had hitched every time his fingers moved. Not the way he looked at your mouth like he’d already tasted it in a dream.

It was easier to pretend it was nothing. A fluke. Late-night confusion.

But Minho wasn’t confused now. Not when you showed up at his door again. Not when you smiled at him like you hadn’t been replaying that night on loop. Not when he saw you curled on his bed again, hoodie oversized, legs bare, looking so damn innocent it made something coil tight in his chest.

And he definitely wasn’t confused when you laughed at something dumb he said and leaned into him without thinking—thigh brushing his, hand resting on his arm like it belonged there.

That was when something in him snapped.

Because his body remembered. It remembered the way you gasped when he touched your waist, the way your lips parted when his breath ghosted over them, the way your thighs had trembled under the blanket even though he never really touched you.

So this time, he didn’t ask.

This time, he grabbed you.

His hand slid into your hair as he kissed you—hard. All heat and hunger and frustration. Your gasp was swallowed instantly, your back hitting the mattress as his body followed without hesitation.

“Fuck—Minho—” you breathed against his mouth, nails digging into his arms as he hovered over you, teeth grazing your lip.

“Couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he growled, voice nothing like the teasing best friend you knew. This was something else. Possessive. Feral. “Every fucking night since then.”

Your heart stuttered, your skin burning where his hands roamed—palming your waist, sliding under the hoodie like he owned it, like he owned you. His fingers trailed higher, skimming under your shirt until they ghosted over your ribs. You arched into him, chasing the contact like you were starving for it.

“I thought we said we weren’t gonna ruin this,” you panted.

His mouth traced your jaw, tongue hot against your pulse. “Then why’d you come back?”

You couldn’t answer.

Not when his thigh slipped between yours, pressing up just enough to make your breath catch.

Not when he groaned into your neck and said, “Tell me to stop.”

You didn’t.

Instead, you reached for him—hands tangled in his hair, lips crashing into his like you’d waited forever for this moment. Because maybe you had.

And this time, there was no hesitation.

Just the sound of fabric shifting, ragged breathing, and the quiet, undeniable truth of two best friends falling apart in each other’s arms—like they were always meant to.

Minho’s mouth never left your skin.

Every kiss he dragged down your throat burned like it was searing his name into you—marking you in places no one would ever see, but you’d feel them long after. His hand slipped under your hoodie again, fingers splayed wide across your stomach, dragging up slowly—so slowly—until he found the swell of your breast, thumb grazing the underside.

You gasped, hips twitching beneath him.

He looked down at you like a man unraveling. Like you were both the fire and the fuel.

“God, you have no idea what you do to me,” he rasped, and his hand moved higher, teasing until your nipple stiffened under his palm. “You were just laying there that night and I couldn’t stop thinking about how fucking soft you felt.”

He rolled your nipple between his fingers, gentle at first, then a delicious pinch that made you whimper. Your thighs clenched around his waist and he grinned—dark and satisfied.

“Yeah,” he muttered, leaning in to mouth at your neck. “You like that. Fuck.”

You did.

You liked the way his weight pressed you into the bed. The way his hand slid beneath your waistband like he’d done it a hundred times. Like your body was his to touch, to explore, to ruin.

His fingers brushed over your slit—warm, wet, aching—and he hissed against your skin.

“Shit. You’re soaked.” His voice dipped into something feral. “Is this all for me, baby?”

You choked out a yes, and he didn’t hesitate.

Two fingers dragged through your folds—slow, savoring every slick inch. He circled your clit just once, and your back arched with a sharp cry.

“Fuck—Minho—”

His mouth was back on yours in an instant, swallowing every sound, his tongue dragging filthy and deep. He curled his fingers inside you, finding that spot almost immediately—because of course he did—and he stroked it like he was already addicted.

“You gonna fall apart for me?” he whispered against your lips, breath hot, pupils blown. “Let me feel how tight this pretty pussy gets when she cums on my fingers?”

Your moan broke into pieces when he added a third finger, scissoring you open, stretching you just enough to make you tremble. His thumb never stopped teasing your clit, steady, relentless, and your body felt like it was climbing—too fast, too much.

And he knew. Knew exactly when you were about to lose it.

“That’s it, baby. Let go,” he groaned. “Cum for me.”

And when you did, it shattered you.

Your whole body locked up, a cry ripping from your throat as your walls clenched around his fingers, slick pouring down his wrist, thighs shaking uncontrollably. But he didn’t stop—not right away. He worked you through it, slow and filthy, mouth dragging over your collarbone while you gasped his name like a prayer.

When he finally pulled his hand back, he looked down at the mess between your thighs—his fingers coated in you—and licked them clean, eyes on yours the whole time.

“Still think we ruined something?” he whispered, crawling back up your body, pinning your wrists beside your head.

You shook your head, lips parted, still breathless.

“Good,” he growled, hips pressing between yours, the outline of his cock thick and hard through his sweats. “Because I haven’t even started yet.”

You barely had time to breathe.

Minho’s mouth was on yours again—hungry, desperate, like he’d been starving for years and only now figured out what he’d been craving. His hips rolled against yours, the thick press of his cock grinding through his sweats, dragging right against your still-throbbing clit.

“Need these off,” he growled, tugging your shorts and panties down in one quick pull, tossing them somewhere behind him like they’d offended him. Then the hoodie—his hoodie—got pushed up over your chest and bunched under your arms. He paused just to look at you, pupils blown so wide they swallowed the brown.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he muttered, palming your breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers again until you arched into him. “Always thought I’d keep my hands to myself. Thought it’d pass. But look at you…”

You whined as he leaned down, sucking your nipple into his mouth, tongue swirling, then biting just enough to make your breath hitch. His hand slipped between you again, dragging through your folds, making sure you were still dripping.

You were.

“Still so fucking wet,” he muttered, then sat back to shove his sweats down. And when his cock sprang free—thick, flushed, glistening at the tip—you nearly choked on your own breath.

“Minho…”

He smirked. “Yeah, baby. That’s all for you.”

He stroked it once, twice, slow and teasing, then lined himself up and dragged the head through your folds—slick mixing, pressure perfect, not pushing in yet.

“I’m not gonna be gentle,” he said, voice low and rough as sin. “You feel too good for that. You want it rough, don’t you?”

You nodded, helpless.

“Words.”

“Yes—please, Minho, I want it—”

That was all he needed.

He slid in with one long, slow stroke—inch by inch, dragging out the stretch, letting you feel every thick, delicious part of him. You gasped, nails clawing at his shoulders as he bottomed out, hips flush against yours, the burn and fullness making your eyes roll back.

“Shit,” he hissed. “You’re so fucking tight. Gripping me like you don’t wanna let go.”

And then he moved.

Rhythm slow at first—deep, controlled thrusts that left you breathless. Your body molded to his, hands locked in his hair, mouth open against his shoulder as he fucked into you like he’d been waiting for this. Like every thrust was months of pent-up tension finally breaking loose.

But then he snapped.

His hand slid under your thigh, hitching it up over his hip, and he started slamming into you. Hard. Deep. Loud enough to echo through the room, wet and filthy and so fucking perfect.

You screamed his name—broken, desperate—and he groaned, forehead pressed to yours.

“That’s it,” he growled. “Let me hear you. Let everyone fucking know who’s got you like this.”

You were gone.

Tears in your lashes, mouth falling open with every brutal thrust, your second orgasm already climbing—fast and dizzying.

“Minho—gonna—fuck, I’m gonna—”

He reached between you, fingers finding your clit and rubbing fast, relentless circles.

“Cum for me. Now.”

And you did—violently, sobbing his name, thighs trembling as your orgasm tore through you like a wave, soaking his cock and the sheets beneath you. He groaned at the feel of it, hips stuttering.

“Fuck—fuck, I’m gonna—”

He barely pulled out before he came—hot and thick across your stomach, chest heaving, eyes still locked on you like he couldn’t look away.

And then everything went still.

Heavy breathing. Shaky limbs. Sweat-slicked skin pressed together.

Minho leaned down, kissed you soft. Way softer than the way he’d just wrecked you.

And then he said it.

“I’m not losing you after this. You’re mine now.”

——

The morning light spilled through the blinds in soft slits, casting golden lines across Minho’s bare back.

He was still wrapped around you.

Your legs tangled. His arm heavy across your waist. Your face tucked under his chin where you could hear the steady thump of his heartbeat, slow and calm.

It was quiet. Peaceful.

And your whole body still ached in the best possible way.

You shifted just a little and immediately felt his hand tighten at your side.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he murmured, voice hoarse and heavy with sleep.

Your lips twitched. “Bathroom.”

“No.” His voice was muffled now—he buried his face against your neck and held on tighter. “You live here now.”

You laughed softly. “Live in your bed?”

Minho grunted. “Exactly. I’ll bring you snacks. You don’t need anything else.”

His fingers started tracing random shapes along your side, dipping under the blanket, dancing over your skin like he wasn’t even thinking about it. It was absentminded affection—the kind you don’t even realize you’re doing unless someone points it out.

But you noticed. Every brush of his fingertips felt like a love letter.

“I meant it,” he said after a moment, quieter now. “What I said last night. About you being mine.”

Your heart flipped.

“I know.”

You leaned back just enough to look at him. Hair a mess. Eyes soft. Lips a little swollen from how hard he’d kissed you. And still—still—somehow managing to look smug and flustered at once.

“I didn’t think we’d end up here,” you whispered.

Minho reached up and tucked your hair behind your ear. “Me either. But now that we are? I’m not going anywhere. So you better not run.”

You snorted. “Where would I go? You stole my shorts and ruined your hoodie.”

He smirked. “Guess you’ll just have to stay naked.”

“Lee Minho.”

“Just saying.”

You laughed again, burying your face into his chest, and he wrapped both arms around you this time—tight, warm, safe.

And when he kissed the top of your head, so soft you barely felt it, he whispered, “I’ve got you.”

And you believed him.

Because in that moment—wrapped in his arms, in his bed, with his scent all over your skin—you’d never felt more wanted in your life.

———————————————————————————-

Authors note: Hey guys, did you enjoy this? I wanted to hop on the bestfriends to lovers trope with Leeknow, i hope you liked it.

Please dont forget to reblog and leave a like, it encourages me 🧡

[twinklychan]

I don't think I could love you more

Lee minho oneshot

Just fluff, the fluffiest fluff probably, kissing mentioned

Wc: 1.7k+

Another Night that starts with you driving to Minho's place. Tears in your eyes. You try to wipe them away Aggressively as you think about how you ended up in this situation once again. The reason for your crying is probably the worst of it all. Your love for Minho was just too strong. It seemed silly to cry over how much you love your best friend. But even more silly was the fact that you cried over how much you wanted to be his Partner. 

It wasn't only a crush anymore, you were down bad and realization hit you when you sat on your couch, watching a show with best friends falling in love. (Who would've guessed…) 

You drive as fast as you can (and as fast as you're allowed to) and when you finally arrive it feels like 3 hours passed even though it's only a 15 Minute way to his apartment. You ring the bell once…twice…thrice until the door opens and a tired looking minho appears behind the door. 

You press your lips together at the cute sight of his tousled hair and tired eyes as he rubs his face with his left hand. When his eyes fully adjust to your presence, they ever so slightly widen and he immediately puts his hands onto both of your shoulders, pulling you in his chest. 

“What happened?!” For a moment you just stand there, head buried in his chest, confused as to why he would ask such a question but then you remembered that you came here crying. You suddenly start to laugh, surprising yourself with the sudden mood switch. 

You weren't only a crying mess now but also a crying mess with a smile on your face, looking like a maniac. Minho quickly pulls away, his face holding a concerned expression as he mustered you. 

“Am I supposed to know what emotion you're displaying now or what is happening?” He asks but all you can do is stand there and laugh, your hands cupping your face before they wipe the tears that race down your cheeks. You shake your head.

“No I- I just missed you.” You mumble into your palms, and when you feel His warm hands wrapping around your wrists to pull your hands away, you want to cry again. He is an angel. He has those delicate ways of showing his love even if it's only friendship (you want it to be more though.) The way he would scan your entire face and know your emotion immediately just made everything so much more comfortable.

Your friendship was to die for and you nearly do by loving him more than he probably loved you. Your eyes well up with tears again as you start to pout to fight them away but to no avail. The next tears lined up for the race on your cheeks and before you could stop them they were running down gracefully and with so much force you weren't even fast enough to wipe them away before they dropped onto Minho's arms.

“Come inside.” He mumbled, pulling you into his apartment fully before closing the door and turning back around to face you. 

“Now what the hell is going on-” He asked and you suddenly feel bad for waking him up at midnight and stealing his chance to sleep through. Love can be selfish at times.

“I-” you didn't even get to finish the sentence before he stepped closer in one long stride and examined your body.

“what- what are you doing-” you asked, yelping as he searched for bruises of any kind. (At least it looked like it) he held up your arms, one at a time, trying to find any signs of wounds but there was nothing. Then he put his thumb and Index finger to your chin and moved that side to side.

“You're not hurt- why are you crying?” He asked and you rolled your eyes.

“I told you I missed you!” your voice was louder than a minute ago now. You were sick of pretending to have only platonic feelings for him. His eyes widened a bit before he put on his usual resting expression. 

"Sure." He mumbled, smirking with a knowing look on his face.

“How could you not miss me, I'm great.” He continued and you whacked his arm, your lower lip moving slightly forward into a small pout.

“Don't make fun of me, idiot!” You whined, his lips turning into a smirk and you groaned.

“You know what? Forget it, I'm leaving, you're not worthy of my missings.” and with that being said you turn on your heels, ready to walk away. But as it just stayed silent in the apartment and you neared the door you suddenly turned around.

"What? So you actually want me to leave?” You say, disappointed when you see his smile. He knows exactly what he's doing. And you hate how good he looks. He looks like a Greek god sculpted his face himself and put every face he has ever found more than pretty into one sculpture  that turned out to be Lee Minho.

With a little bit self control he wouldn’t have laughed but knowig Minho he doesn’t give one fuck about that. He breaks out into laughter as you huff and turn around, opening the door.

“Fine, then just ignore my feelings I guess.” you mumbled to yourself, nearly closing the door behind you before you heard quick footsteps.

“Wait! I was just joking, come on!” He laughs as he follows you but you just ignored him, deciding to play a game with him this time.

As soon as your foot left his apartment, you felt one hand grabbing you in your kneecaps and another one under your shoulder blades. You felt your body being lifted off the ground and suddenly you were in Minho's hands, your legs on his right arm and your back on his left arm.

“what are you doing?” You ask as he looks at you like you're the dumbest person on this planet.

“What do you mean, dummy? I'm practicing.” You look at him confused as you try to read his face but to no avail.

“For what?” You ask, confusion in your voice.

“for our wedding.” and there it was, the minho you fell in love with. The minho that made your heart beat 100 times faster than it normally does and once again, like always when he did that stuff, your heart leaped onto the floor beneath you. You were glad he was holding you in his arms, otherwise you would've probably turned into a puddle right in front of him, with how weak your knees have gotten. 

The only way you could respond was a small slap on the shoulder and your face buried in his neck as you giggled. Your cheeks burned. You hated the way you reacted to him. The way you gave in so easily with a smile and how you weren't even able to hide the excitement cursing through your body.

Minho started laughing hysterically as he mumbled something along the lines of ‘cute’ to himself. But that was probably just your delusion.

10 Minutes later and the both of you were seated on his couch, cuddled up and watching a movie. But even if you tried so hard to concentrate on the movie, you just couldn't help but spiral. How were you not supposed to fall in love with your best friend with all the stuff he did to you?

The worst was, that you couldn't even pinpoint if it was just Minho’s way of friendship or if he was actually in love with you too. At this point you didn't care anymore. It was past 2am, you're not responsible for the stuff coming out of your mouth this late and you surely weren't when you randomly blurted out-

“I love you!” Silence. 

Then a small movement from his side.

“I…love you too?” He mumbled like it was a question and you knew he didn't have the same meaning behind it as you did. 

“Good.” You mumbled, coughing to overpower the awkward silence that hung in the air. Until Minho's laughter filled up the room. You nearly snapped your neck at how fast you turned it around to look at him.

“You're cute.” He snickered, making your cheeks burn as you Huffed.

“Well maybe I don't want to be cute-” 

“Too bad you are.” You couldn't even finish your sentence before he interrupted it, making your heart beat even faster if that was even possible. 

And from then on everything happened in mere seconds. 

His face inches away from yours, his lips moving to ask for permission, you nodding your head and finally his lips on yours. They moved in perfect sync as if they were meant to be put together. Like a puzzle. And as he pulled away and looked into your eyes with so much love and adoration you knew it was the end of you. 

You blinked once, twice,...thrice and then you grabbed the pillow beside you, burying your face in it as you squeaked. You never liked this cheesy stuff in movies or shows but somehow you weren't any better than the characters there. 

You had no intention of moving away from that pillow any time soon as you know your face must be looking like a tomato.

The only thing you felt were his arms that moved you into his embrace.

“Give me a moment.” You mumbled and Minho just laughed, adoring your honesty.

You finally pulled away from the pillow and were met with the admiring eyes and adoring smile of Minho’s. You bit your lip smiling to yourself as Minho looked at you.

“I love you…have been loving you for a while actually.” He admitted. You giggled, pecking his lips before pulling away.

“I love you too.” You mumbled.

“Can't believe you had to confess at 2am and wake me up for it though-” He teased as you hit his right arm.

“Ow- okay I'm sorry-” He apologized.

“You better be.” You glared, pecking his lips once again, and then his nose and his forehead.

“I love you.” You mumbled.

“I love you too.”

[cheolsbitch]

“Three’s Not A Crowd”PT.3

-Continuation-

if you haven’t read pt1 & pt2 please go read those first!

Summary:

You’re just roommates—best friends, nothing more. But when you admit no man has ever made you cum, Minho and Jisung take it as a challenge. What starts as teasing turns into denial, control, and desperation as they make you beg for every touch—except the one thing you want most.

Content Warning:

Explicit sexual content, oral sex (m and f receiving), fingering, orgasm denial, edging, overstimulation, spanking, light humiliation, power dynamics, dominance/submission themes, possessiveness, psychological play, polyamory (m/m/f), bxb content, emotional manipulation in a sexual context, and intense teasing. All acts are fully consensual but heavily rooted in delayed gratification and power control.

His thumb brushes your lip.

And then—

He leans in.

Slow. Careful.

And finally kisses you.

Jisung’s lips brush yours like he’s afraid you might break.

You’re still so close, tucked under Minho’s shirt, curled into his side, fingers resting on the faint outline of ink across his ribs.

His hand holds your face now — cradling your cheek with such care it makes your chest ache. His thumb strokes slowly across your skin, grounding you. Silencing everything else.

And then?

He kisses you again.

This time fully.

Soft.

Real.

There’s no rush in it. No teeth, no tongue, no hunger.

Just his lips against yours — warm and gentle, like he’s giving you something sacred.

You breathe into it.

Melt into it.

One hand drifts up to his chest, fingers curling into the soft curve of his collarbone.

He tilts his head, deepening it just slightly — his nose brushing yours, his lips parting a little more now, not to devour, but to taste.

And you kiss him back.

Slow.

Long.

Each pass of his mouth over yours feels like the kind of thing people don’t talk about out loud. Like something secret. Something quiet. Something… safe.

You sigh into him.

He kisses you again.

This one lingers longer.

He lets it drag.

Lets your bottom lip catch between his for just a second before pulling back — only to kiss you again, slower this time, like he’s memorizing you.

You feel his hand slip to your waist.

His thumb rubs soft circles under the hem of the shirt — his shirt now, technically — skin on skin, warm and lazy.

You hum into him, eyes closed, heart fluttering.

Then the kiss shifts.

Just slightly.

A little more pressure.

Your lips part more willingly now, and his tongue just barely flicks between — not enough to start something, but enough to remind you who he is.

Who you are.

Who you’ve both been holding back from being.

His hand presses gently at the base of your spine now, pulling you a bit closer.

And you let him.

You kiss him deeper — slower — your fingers curling tighter into the fabric over his chest, your knee nudging between his legs without even realizing it.

He exhales shakily.

Pulls back just enough to whisper, “You okay?”

You nod, lips brushing his as you speak. “Mhm. Just don’t stop.”

He smiles against your mouth.

And kisses you again.

Longer.

Softer.

Hotter.

The air between you thickens.

You’re practically laying over him now, his leg slotted between yours, your hand resting just over his heart as it races against your palm.

Your mouth opens more for him, and he kisses you like he’s wanted to for hours—like he’s still afraid he’ll have to stop, but can’t help himself.

Your hips shift slightly, instinctively grinding down.

You both moan.

Quiet.

Soft.

Barely there.

But then—

Click.

The sound of the shower turning off breaks through the silence.

You freeze.

Both of you do.

Jisung blinks at you, lips swollen, cheeks pink.

Your chest rises and falls against his, your mouth still hovering close to his, still tingling from his warmth.

He swallows.

You whisper, “Just one kiss, huh?”

Jisung laughs breathlessly.

But neither of you move.

Not yet.

Because your lips still remember.

And so do his.

The second the water shuts off, it’s like your whole body forgets how to move.

You’re still pressed against Jisung — your face tucked into his neck, his hand warm under the hem of Minho’s shirt on your waist, both of you dazed and quiet.

Your lips are swollen.

His are too.

You blink.

Reality crashes back.

Jisung whispers first, voice low and tight, “Shit—shit—okay—”

You scramble off of him, rolling onto your side and grabbing the edge of the comforter to pull over yourself like it could somehow hide the guilt.

Jisung shifts too, adjusting his position under the blanket, laying back and throwing an arm over his forehead like he’s always been relaxing.

You both try to breathe normal.

But the air between you still hums.

And then—

Footsteps.

Heavy. Confident. Getting closer.

The bedroom door creaks open.

Minho walks in, towel around his hips, damp hair pushed back, a few drops of water still trailing down his chest.

He stops just inside the doorway.

And looks.

At you.

At Jisung.

At the way the blanket’s a little too rumpled.

At your flushed cheeks.

At how Jisung won’t meet his eyes.

At how still you suddenly are.

He doesn’t say anything for a second.

Just shuts the door behind him.

And smiles.

Slow. Dangerous. Knowing.

“Well…”

His voice is deep and quiet, and it cuts right through you.

“Did you behave while I was gone?”

You don’t answer right away.

Your heart’s pounding.

Jisung lets out a weak little breath that sounds like it wants to be a laugh but fails halfway through.

Minho walks closer.

You shift under the blanket, forcing yourself to sit up as casually as possible.

“I… yeah,” you lie softly.

Minho tilts his head. “Yeah?”

He stops at the edge of the bed.

Leans down.

Face inches from yours.

“So if I kiss you right now…” he murmurs, voice silk-wrapped steel. “I won’t taste anything I’m not supposed to?”

Your stomach drops.

Jisung turns his face to the wall.

Minho smirks.

“Thought so.”

Minho’s face is so close it’s almost cruel.

His mouth is right there — the mouth you’ve been chasing all night — and still, he doesn’t give it to you.

Instead, he just looks at you.

“Did you kiss him?”

Your breath catches.

“I—”

Minho tilts his head, eyes narrowing. “Yes or no?”

You fidget under his gaze, your fingers curling into the edge of the blanket. “It—it wasn’t like that—“

His brow lifts. “So you did.”

You shake your head. “I—he—no—”

He lets out a low chuckle.

It’s not funny.

It’s dangerous.

Minho stands straight again, dragging one hand through his damp hair, still watching you like a cat watches a mouse trying to lie.

“You really gonna sit there in my shirt,” he says slowly, “on my bed, after I let you ride my cock like that—and lie to my face?”

You bite your lip.

“Minho…”

“Say it.”

His voice drops lower. Firmer. Unmovable.

“Did you kiss him?”

You glance toward Jisung, who’s still turned slightly away, silent but clearly listening.

You clench the blanket tighter in your fists.

And you whisper, “Yes.”

Minho hums. No surprise. No anger.

Just that fucking look.

“Good girl,��� he says softly.

You blink.

But then he leans closer again—closer than before—his breath brushing your lips.

And still…

He doesn’t kiss you.

You whimper. “Minho…”

He brushes his nose against yours. “What?”

You’re squirming now, voice tight, body hot all over again. “It’s not fair.”

“Mm?”

“I’ve been so good,” you whisper, breath shaking. “You said if I worked for it—if I earned it—please, I just want one…”

Minho just watches you.

Then—

“Do you really think you deserve it?”

You nod frantically. “Yes. Please—*please—*just one—”

He leans in so close you feel his lips brush yours.

Then turns his head.

And kisses your cheek instead.

You let out a strangled sob of frustration. “Minho—!”

“You kissed him first,” he murmurs against your skin. “Now you get to wait.”

Minho’s breath ghosts over your cheek where he just kissed you.

You’re still frozen, wide-eyed, lips parted like they’re waiting—like maybe if you don’t move, he’ll still change his mind and give it to you.

He doesn’t.

You let out a soft, broken sound, somewhere between a whimper and a sob. “Minho… please.”

He doesn’t pull back.

Just stays there. Inches away. His eyes flick down to your mouth—once, slowly—and then back up to your eyes.

“Don’t cry,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb gently beneath your eye. “You brought this on yourself.”

“I was good,” you whisper. “I did everything. I came when you told me to, I begged, I—”

“You also kissed someone else.”

You look down, voice crumbling. “Because you wouldn’t.”

Minho lets out a soft hum—thoughtful, not angry. He brushes your hair back behind your ear and looks at you like he’s trying to decide what to do with you.

“I know what you want,” he says gently.

“Then give it to me,” you plead.

“I will,” he murmurs, fingers stroking under your jaw. “Eventually.”

Your body deflates—shoulders dropping, lips wobbling, tears still hot behind your eyes.

“You’re cruel.”

He leans in again.

This time his mouth brushes just below your ear, lips barely grazing your skin.

“No,” he says quietly. “I’m patient. You? You still need to learn.”

Your throat tightens as he shifts, sitting up straighter. He glances at Jisung, who’s been silent but wide-eyed through the whole exchange, still laid back against the pillows.

“Come here,” Minho says, voice smooth again.

Jisung blinks. “Me?”

Minho nods. “She’s been acting like she’s starving. Let her watch while I remind you what a kiss feels like.”

And just like that—

Minho pulls Jisung in.

And kisses him.

Full.

Deep.

Jisung gasps against his mouth before melting into it instantly, their bodies sliding together under the sheets as their hands start to roam again. It’s slower than before now, more deliberate, hotter, somehow more intimate.

You watch.

Frozen.

Soaked.

Eyes wide and aching.

Because once again…

It’s not you.

(to be continued maybe…)

A/N: ok but like i kinda ran out of ideas on what to write after this… ngl so idk if i should end it on this cliffhanger or do another part. if i get some good ideas on how to continue from here maybe i will continue it 🥸

[optimism-blooms]

Kitty & Minho | Xo Kitty S2 (2025)

[spear-of-moonlight]

IF I BREAK, LET IT BE INTO YOU | LEE MINHO

genre: angst with a happy ending, friends to lovers warnings: language, hospitals, minor car accident — wc: 1.63k

masterlist

The first thing Minho did after coming home from practice was to go to your bathroom and steal your body wash. You wouldn't mind, not when the scent of strawberries lingered in your hair from his shampoo. Besides, later, he'd be able to see you in just a towel coming into his room to retrieve it. He wordlessly went into the shower in an attempt to rinse off the exhaustion. Curling up in bed, his hand reached for your pillow, pulling it against his chest and sighing when he realised it wasn't you. You had separate rooms, but you always shared a bed. "Just saving electricity," you'd said once, lips twitching as he buried his face in your neck, almost purring as your fingers carded through his hair. It was always quiet with you two—the love was in the way you'd slide a pudding cup towards him when he was down, and how he'd always feed you the first bite of it. His eyes would linger too long on your lips, you would watch fondly when he ate, your thumb would brush his bottom lip even when there'd be no pudding to wipe away.

His phone vibrating sent a jolt through him. He rolled over to take it from the nightstand, expecting his screen to be lit up with "Husband 💖💍", the contact name that made you cover your face in your stupidly perfect hands. He'd changed it right in front of you, smirking as you swatted him with a book for your contact name being "Daddy long legs". When you'd decided you'd recovered from the flush that went past the neck of your shirt, you'd uncovered your face and pinched his chest. "I'm not doing all the marriage paperwork." He'd pouted, already climbing into your lap. "But tax benefits—" You'd delivered a flick to the tip of his nose.

The call was from Chan. Chan wasn't the type to call, and maybe that's why Minho's heart stuttered for a second. Minho had always prided himself on his instincts, on his unerring gut feelings. And the call made his ribs feel much closer to his heart . He picked up the call, putting it on speakerphone instead of pressing it to his ear as if he anticipated a scream. But no, Chan was quiet. His tone measured, yet tense, like a string trembling from being stretched too tight. "It's Mn… he's in the hospital." He was careful, as if he knew Minho's body would move on it's own with his head filled with you. Minho's breath caught in his throat, not moving aside to let the words out. Chan spoke again, trying to sound calm. "Car accident. He's fine. Just a broken rib and a dislocated wrist-" Minho felt like the tears were carving a path down his cheeks. He got out of bed, heartbeat thundering as it drowned out Chan's voice. He heard what the injuries were. He knew you'd probably just take painkillers and ask him to cook for you. But the moment he heard car accident, his mind wasted no time in picturing you broken and bloody under a car crushed like paper. You were strong, he knew that. He knew you could handle yourself, more than just handle yourself. You'd shown it with the number of times you pulled him against your side and tucked him under your arm like something precious if an airport crowd got too close.

Minho himself was someone who laughed in the face of danger. But now that it was you who was in a hospital somewhere—Seoul National University Hospital, if he heard Chan correctly—he found himself turning into something else. Minho, who had flicked your temple once for thinking too much, could now barely see with the thoughts dripping out of his brain through his eyes as tears. Minho, who never prayed, was begging to every deity he could think of. Because it was you—and he'd be anything for you.

The hospital was brighter than he remembered, with a strange calm to it that made his blood feel sharp. He didn't realise he was shaking, he barely felt his teeth clattering. He grabbed the front desk too tight to stop his legs from moving due to inertia. "M-Mn Ln." The receptionist looked up and spoke softly, her eyebrows furrowing in concern. "Room number 107." The elevator would be too suffocating, he decided. He would have to stand still and be alone with his thoughts. He took the stairs. He came to a halt in front of the door labelled 107. He leaned his forehead against it, forcing himself to breathe and not barge in. When he got in, as expected, you were calm. There was a dressed cut on your cheekbone, bandages around your chest, a splint on your wrist, and a small smile on your face that soon turned into a shocked concern as you saw his state.

"Minho?"

That was all it took. Minho broke. A sob ripped from his throat, violent and ugly, and suddenly he was stumbling forward, collapsing into the chair beside your bed. His hands clutched at the sheets, at your wrist, anywhere, just to feel that you were real, that you were there. "You idiot," Minho choked out, tears streaming down his face. "You fucking idiot, I—" Your expression shattered. Even you hadn't been this worried about yourself. "Hey—hey." Your voice was softer than usual, rough with concern. A warm hand cupped Minho's cheek, thumb swiping at the tears. "Minnie, look at me. I'm fine."

"You're not," Minho snapped, but his voice was watery, weak. "You-you asshole, you scared me—" Your heart stilled. He wasn't like this. You took his hand in your uninjured one, bringing it to your face—lips below his knuckles and your nose above them. "I'm okay. Minho, please." You could see the way his shoulders were shaking, how his fingers tightened around your hand, how his other hand harshly wiped at his eyes. "Look at me, darling," you plead, surprising yourself at how worried you sounded. You pressed your forehead to his, noses brushing as your thumb rubbed circles on his hand. "Breathe for me, yeah?" With a desperate nod, he rested his forehead on your intertwined hands. "I knew you're fine, but—I-I don't know why I—" he admitted, a shuddering breath leaving his lips.

"It's okay, I'm okay. I'm here. I'm right here with you." Later, when he finally calmed down, he could feel it. The way you leaned in, just slightly, the way your breath hitched. The air between you was electric, thick with years of want, of denial, of stupid, stubborn love. Minho's heart pounded.

Then—

You pulled back. "Y-Yeah so… I'm.. I'm fine," you muttered, voice rough. Minho hated you. He hated you for being so careful, for always pulling away, for making him feel like this. He sat on the edge of the bed, resting his head on your shoulder. "I'm never letting you drive again," he threatened, inhaling your scent that dimmed in the smell of antiseptic. But your hair smelled like strawberries. His lips pressed against your collarbone, soft and certain. As if in reciprocal, your hand found his thigh, squeezing in reassurance. I'm here. He lifted his head, and you were met with molten honey that reflected stars—eyes that never failed to hypnotise you in a way that made you feel stupid for staring too long. You've spent years in denial that the star his eyes reflected was you. You didn't know you were leaning in until your lips met. Your hand reached his face, cupping the apple of his cheek that you were sure was a soft pink now. His sigh into your mouth was all the air you needed, the sigh that felt like he could finally breathe. You tilted your head when his lips parted, your tongue sliding in to meet his. You felt his smile. You couldn't see it, but it still made your arteries spell his name. The kiss tasted like salt and coming home. You were surprised you could think with how soft his lips were against yours. The homesickness you've always felt was for his lips. For him—to have him like this.

The only good thing about pulling away was that you could look at him. His lips were still parted as if they were waiting for yours to return, his eyes searching yours—still reflecting stars. The smile of his was as teasing as he was, taking it's sweet time curling those lips. Cupid would make Minho's smile his third arrow—the kind that never left your chest, the kind that stayed fused with your breastbone.

Neither of you heard the soft click of the door opening. But you did hear the "fucking finally" in Chan's voice. Minho stumbled back, almost tripping, and you caught him with a giggle. "Clumsy kitten. Come here," you mumbled as you pulled him back in. Chan stepped in, ruffling your hair. "You okay?" He tried to sound lighthearted, but you could hear the worry in his soft voice. You nodded with a hum, absentmindedly running your fingers through Minho's hair. "I'm perfect."

Chan sighed, patting your shoulder. "Good. I'll bring you some food later, yeah? 'M not letting my baby eat hospital cardboard." You rolled your eyes, a chuckle that made Minho's heart swim leaving your lips. "I'm a month younger than you, Christopher." He tilted his head, fond as he pinched your cheek. "Still my baby." He turned to Minho, smirking. "Hope you don't mind?"

"Yah-!" After receiving a punch to his stomach, Chan giggled. "Doctor said no strenuous activity, okay?", he teased, a knowing smirk playing at his lips. And just like that, you realised it was possible to want to punch Chan. Minho did, right after he groaned into his hands.

[ikleeknow]

₊˚ෆ 𝑪𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒎𝒂𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒆𝒔.

—— eight days leading up to Christmas with Straykids.

info : fem!reader, seperate one-shots, fluff, best friend to lovers au, established relationship au, enemies to lovers au, friends to lovers au, strangers to lovers au, mature language, Christmas related, non idol au

note : heyyy!! it’s been so long ik ik I’ve been so lazy recently but I decided to be productive, hopefully it lasts! These might be posted during November to December ( mostly November ) as I will be busy most of December!, anyways please enjoy ❤️

𝑮𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓𝒃𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒆𝒔. - (bangchan)

— best friends to lovers au, fem!reader, lots of fluff!

summary: when you come over to your best friends house to simply make gingerbread houses it somehow ends in you confessing but what will happen when he finds out?

published: 17th of November

𝒐𝒉.. 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒐𝒆 - ( lee know)

— friends to lovers au, fem!reader, fluff,

summary: you get invited to a Christmas party and at first you weren’t planning on going but when you realise your crush, lee know, is going why not you go too? published : tba

𝑹𝒐𝒄𝒌𝒊𝒏 𝒂𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑪𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒎𝒂𝒔 𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒆. - ( changbin )

— established relationship au, fem!reader, lots of fluff!

summary: you love decorating your tree and listening to Christmas music but what makes it even better is your boyfriends with you!

published : tba

𝒖𝒓 𝒔𝒐 𝒄𝒍𝒖𝒎𝒔𝒚. - ( hyunjin)

— enemies to lovers, fem!reader, at first Hyunjin is rude and cold but slowly gets softer, fluf

summary: your friends all plan to go ice skating but when you get there you can only see hyunjin, oh and did I tell you? they locked you in the rank too

𝑯𝒐𝒕 𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒄𝒐𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒃𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒌𝒆𝒕𝒔. - ( han jisung )

— best friend to lovers, fem!reader, fluff FLUFF

summary: when Jisung comes over to your apartment for your yearly Christmas movie marathon

𝑮𝒓𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒏𝒈. - ( lee felix )

— established relationship au, fem!reader, fluff fluff fluff!!

summary: there’s nothing better than spending Christmas Eve with your boyfriend and cooking Christmas cookies with him

𝒅𝒐 𝑰 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒚𝒐𝒖?. - (seungmin)

— stranger to lovers, fem!reader, fluff, the other boys make an appearance

summary: you love to go tree shopping and focus on always getting the best tree but when all your focus is taken away from a cute boy with his friends the trees don’t seem as important anymore

𝒎𝒚 𝒔𝒏𝒐𝒘𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒆. - (Jeongin)

— friends to lovers, fem!reader, fluff

summary: when it starts snowing outside you drag Jeongin outside to build snowman but why is it so cold outside?

authors note : I hope you guys enjoy this series! and hopefully it doesn’t take to long to get out 🫶🏼🫶🏼