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estellan0vella · 2 days ago

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Happily Ever After Looks Like This: L.M & B.C Lee Minho x fem!reader x Bang Chan (College AU)

WC: 21.6K

CW: Explicit Sexual Content / Smut (warnings below cut), Reference to previous anonymous sexual encounters, discussion of historical racism in Disney media (portrayal of Asian caricatures in The Aristocats and Lady and the Tramp), Polyamory / Ethical Non-Monogamy, Reader is Filipino, Korean and Malaysian, mentions of cheating by a past partner, lying, dumb plans, mention of vomiting, mentions of morgues and cadavers, Changbin is the best bestie, background Jilix & HyunBin, Jisung is slightly insane

Smut Content Warnings: Detailed and graphic depictions of sex acts (oral, penetrative, anal, and group sex), BDSM-adjacent themes (light bondage, dominance/submission, spanking, orgasm control), Double penetration, Dirty talk, degradation kink, consensual power dynamics

The morgue smelled like antiseptic and dead dreams. You puked once, right after that first cold, lifeless hand flopped over when the sheet got pulled back. Changbin held your hair like a trooper, face pale as hell but still managing to talk shit even as his own eyes were watering. Of course, twenty minutes later, he lost his lunch too. The moment a med student casually cracked open a ribcage, he'd bolted for the bathroom with a hand over his mouth and you’d followed after him, dry heaving into the sink next to his stall.

Now, walking up to the Alpha Phi frat house with your hair in a ponytail, strands framing your still-traumatized face, you pull the zipper of your blush pink top up to your neck like it’ll ward off ghostly hands or something. The slim-fit fabric clings to your frame, the high collar doing nothing to stop the bone-deep chill still clinging to your spine. Your black cargo pants swish with each step, sneakers kicking up tiny clouds of dust as you follow Changbin up the porch steps.

“I swear on every protein shake you’ve ever made, Binnie, if I see a zombie tonight, I’m throwing you at it and running.”

“Dude,” he says, dragging out the word in that way only he can, eyebrows raised as he pushes open the front door, “we agreed earlier that I’m throwing you at the zombie. You’re more likely to survive. You’re flexible and short. I’m short and built like a damn freezer. I’m not outrunning shit.”

“You’re the size of a mini fridge, not a freezer. Get it right.”

“I’m not going back to my dorm tonight,” you announce, as you slide your bag off your shoulder and toe off your sneakers by the door. “I will not sleep if I am alone. I’m scared zombies are going to get me now.”

Changbin pauses, staring at you like you’ve said something deeply philosophical. Then he nods seriously. “Sleepover here tonight. Me and you versus the undead. Hyunjin can sleep in his room for once. He’s always draped over my ass anyway, maybe tonight he can spoon a pillow.”

You nod solemnly. “If the zombies run towards us, we sacrifice the rest of Alpha Phi.”

“We throw Jisung in first.”

“No hesitation,”

As you both move toward the living room, the noise level dips just enough to catch low voices. You glance over and slow to a stop. Chan and Minho are on the couch, each of them hunched over one of their phones. They’re scrolling through something, brows furrowed, Minho occasionally swiping angrily while Chan’s jaw works like he’s chewing on words he can’t spit out.

“They okay?”

He glances over, squints, and sighs. “Come on. Let’s go make some strawberry smoothies. I’ll tell you everything.”

You follow him to the kitchen, grabbing a stool while he yanks the fridge open, and pulls out a tub of strawberries, almond milk, protein powder, and Greek yoghurt like it’s muscle memory. He slams it all down on the counter, grabs the blender, and plugs it in.

The blender roars to life, and that’s when he leans in close and starts talking.

“So, the masquerade party last week? The pair of them,” he jerks his thumb toward the living room, “hooked up with some girl in the upstairs lounge.”

You tilt your head. “Okay?”

“They don’t know who she is.”

“...Okay?”

“They’re obsessed with finding her.”

“Okay?”

“She had a blonde wig. Silver mask. Pastel blue dress. Clear heels. Sound familiar? Because it does to me. Because I helped you pick out that slutty Cinderella outfit"

Your brain short-circuits. You stare at him. He tosses in a scoop of protein powder and starts the blender again. You’re still silent when he leans over the counter, one brow raised.

“That hot threesome you were telling me about the other day?” he whispers. “You fucked Minho and Chan.”

Your mouth falls open, and all you can manage is a hoarse, “I think I’m going to pass out.”

Changbin’s smirking now, obviously enjoying every second of this. “Whatever magic is between your legs has got them fucking hooked. They want to find out who the girl was and invite her on a date.”

You slump forward, forehead on the counter. “This is what a stroke feels like. Or a coronary event. Changbin, I’m going to die, right here, on the spot.”

“Minho keeps saying how perfectly submissive she was,” he adds, tone casual as hell. “Like, I knew you were a sub. I knew it.”

“Just shoot me,” you groan. “It was meant to just be a hot rebound threesome after the whole mess with Yeji.”

“I will still fight her if you want,” he says, yanking the blender lid off and pouring the smoothie into two mugs.

“If she sends another apology text, I might let you do that,” you mutter. “But Chan and Minho cannot find out. Ever.”

He hands you your mug. “They won’t hear it from me. But they want you to be the subby feminine meat in that sexy double dommy dick sandwich.”

“Just stab me. Right here. Use the spoon.”

He grins and leans back against the counter. “Okay, so listen. I know you’re dying of embarrassment, but Minho literally said her ass has to be genetic. And Chan goes, so do her tits. And honestly? I have met your eomma. They are fucking genetic. That Filipino blood gave you god-blessed tits and ass.”

You let out a whine and slide off the stool, lying flat on the cold kitchen tiles. “This isn’t happening.”

Changbin sips his smoothie with way too much glee. “All those years of gymnastics came into play, huh?”

“I didn’t know it was them! They had masks on! They had temporary hair dye! One had black hair and the other had blue hair! They’re purple and blonde usually! How is a girl supposed to figure that out when she’s horny?!”

“Poor thing. Two hot men want to fuck and possibly date you. What a hard life you lead.”

“I’m glad you know my pain,”

He snorts. “They also remember the little inner thigh tattoo she had. A barb wire heart”

You slap your hands over your face. “I can never wear shorts in the frat house again.”

“Then they’ll question why you’re dressed like a nun all the time.”

You peek through your fingers. “I thought they were two random bi guys. Not an established couple I know! Oh, Changbin, why do you let me make these decisions?”

“Because it’s fucking funny,” he says, completely unrepentant.

You wail again and kick your legs out across the floor. He laughs and tosses a strawberry into your mouth. “Here. Eat this. There’s no way those two idiots will figure it out.”

“I didn’t even know it was them,” you mumble around the fruit. “They were wearing masks, and one of them had a voice so deep I thought it was fake. And the other whispered in my ear in a way that made me fucking levitate, okay?!”

Changbin turns the blender back on for a second, then leans in. “Chan said she spoke in a language neither of them knew. He repeated what he could remember, and I recognized the Tagalog from the lessons you’ve given me over the past two years.”

You sit bolt upright. “That means I can’t speak Tagalog anymore.”

“You don’t here anyway!” he laughs. “You speak Korean like the rest of us because none of these dumbasses know your languages. Jisung knows a little Malay, yeah, but that’s it.”

You groan again, dropping your head back against the cabinet. “I’m gonna have to fake my own death.”

Changbin shrugs. “Or just wear a new mask, fuck them again, and vanish.”

You throw your strawberry stem at his head.

He just laughs and finishes his smoothie.

Two days later, and it’s still the same scene in the Alpha Phi living room, Chan and Minho tangled up on the couch, legs overlapping, limbs comfortably knotted together but their faces are anything but relaxed. The blinds are halfway open, letting in thin ribbons of afternoon light, but all that does is cast dramatic shadows over their increasingly annoyed expressions.

Chan’s got his arm thrown over Minho’s shoulder, his chin resting on his boyfriend’s head as they scroll through the same fifty fucking pictures they’ve been flipping through since breakfast. Neither of them says anything for a moment, the silence dragging until Minho exhales harshly through his nose.

“This is fucking useless,” he mutters. "The whole goddamn point was anonymity. I hate people. I hate parties. I hate masks.”

“You suggested the masquerade theme,” Chan reminds him, dragging his fingers through Minho’s hair.

“Yeah, because I thought it’d be hot, not a fucking logistical nightmare. I didn’t think we’d get attached to the sex fairy from hell!” Minho huffs. “She let us fuck her at the same time. In the same hole, jagi. We double-penetrated her. On the upstairs lounge couch. I can’t move on from that!”

“Please stop describing it like that-”

“I won’t,” Minho snaps. “Because it was glorious. Transcendent. Our masked sex nymph fairy gave us something pure. She let us both wreck her like she was made for it and now she’s just vanished into the ether. I’m tired of spit-roasting all these fucking one-night stands. Having them suck you off while I fuck them is boring now. Tasteless. We can't go back to that. It’d be like chewing on unseasoned chicken after being served fucking wagyu.”

“Minho-”

“She was interesting! Kinky as fuck!” Minho waves dramatically. “And she kept the fucking mask and wig on during sex, which was hot as hell at the time, but now it’s fucking inconvenient. Our mysterious little subby sex demon is hiding from us and I need more!”

Chan doesn’t argue. He just slowly nods, eyes half-lidded with desperation. Their cuddling is less affection now and more trauma bonding.

“I remember her bouncing on your dick while I sat on your face,” Minho says as if recounting a dream. “And then half an hour later, we both fucked her at the same time, and she still took it like a fucking champion.”

“Stop talking,”

“I can’t! Me and her made out over the top of you like you were just a fuck prop,” Minho continues, voice louder. “While your tongue was buried in my ass, and you were bouncing her on your cock like a goddamn machine. She was giving us her entire soul and it was a religious experience.”

“Please, Min.”

Minho grabs his shoulders. “I’m not fucking letting this go! I want our sex fairy back! We had something beautiful!”

That’s when Jisung finally coughs from the other end of the couch. He’s sitting sideways in a beanbag chair, an actual notebook on his lap and a pen tucked behind his ear like he’s investigating a murder, not a threesome. “You two are really going through it, huh?”

“No shit,” Minho mutters.

“Have you considered the idea that maybe,” Jisung says, flipping a page in his notebook with dramatic flair, “this girl doesn’t want to be found?”

Minho turns to him slowly like he’s been personally offended. “Outrageous. Chan and I gave her the night of her life. Abs. Big dicks. Three hours of hot sex. What else does she fucking want? A pension plan?”

“Maybe she just wanted a one-night stand?” Hyunjin offers from where he’s perched on the armrest, sipping an iced Americano like he hasn’t been plotting in his head this entire time. “She leaned into the whole anonymity thing. People do that for a reason, you know?”

Chan lifts his head. “But she was so-”

“Hot,” Minho interrupts. “Flexible. Submissive. Wet. Genetically blessed. Her tits, her ass, that waist- Flawless.”

Chan nods solemnly. “She was a subby dream. We cannot lose her.”

“She spoke in, like, four different fucking languages too!” Minho throws his hands up. “Who does that mid-fuck? We were fucking cultured.”

“Okay, but,” Jisung says, adjusting his notebook, “you guys fuck guys and girls all the time for one night, and then go right back to being disgustingly in love with each other. Like everyone else is just a blip on your horny little radar. What’s so different about this one?”

“Everything. We haven’t even had couple sex since that threesome. It’s like we’ve peaked. We’ve plateaued. We’ve been defeated by our own excellence.”

Chan rubs his face slowly. “We’ve tried. We’ve tried everything. I bent Minho over yesterday and couldn’t even get hard. That’s never happened before.”

Jisung stares, eyes wide. “Oh damn. You two usually fuck like rabbits.”

Minho slumps further into Chan’s side. “We’re like sad, limp, big noodles now.”

Chan nods again, dead-eyed. “Floppy. Tragic.”

Hyunjin watches them with barely concealed amusement, but deep inside his soul is screaming. Because earlier that day, before you and Changbin hit the gym, he was cornered in the laundry room with a threat so severe he still feels the chill.

“If those two figure out it was Y/N, I’m putting you on a six-month sex ban. No loopholes. I will take the lube. I will hide the toys. I will revoke blowjobs.”

Hyunjin had gasped like he’d been shot. “You’re a fucking monster.”

“I’m serious,” Changbin said flatly. “She was freaky and anonymous. That was her right. If they find out, and it fucks her up, you’re done. Six. Months.”

So Hyunjin is motivated. He is determined. And like any man faced with the threat of celibacy, he will lie his ass off.

“Okay,” Hyunjin says, setting his coffee down. “What if it was Oh Iseul?”

Jisung tilts his head. “Who the fuck is that?”

“She’s in my art history class,” Hyunjin says smoothly. “Loves costumes. Has a thing for drama. Totally fits.”

Chan blinks. “Wait. That name sounds familiar.”

“She’s got a fat crush on both of you,” Hyunjin adds innocently.

Minho’s eyes narrow. “Was she even at the party?”

“She told me she was going,” Hyunjin lies, heart pounding. “Said she was doing the whole mystery girl fantasy thing. She probably didn’t expect you to remember her, but now that you do...”

Minho’s mouth tightens. “The girl had a very specific thigh tattoo.”

“She has that tattoo,” Hyunjin blurts. "I’ve seen it. Trust me. I’ll talk to her.”

Jisung is silent, pen tapping against his notebook. He knows Iseul. Has seen her at a few parties. He can’t definitively say she wasn’t at the masquerade, but something about this doesn’t sit right. Iseul doesn’t know four languages. She’s not the most coordinated either, he watched her trip over a barstool last month and land on Seungmin.

He keeps quiet, but inside, his investigative journalism brain is screaming. This doesn’t add up.

Hyunjin keeps pushing. “I’ll message her. You two will finally get to nut and stop being dramatic little dick ghosts. Win-win.”

Chan nods like he’s already convinced. “Okay. Okay, yeah. Let us know what she says.”

Jisung writes something in his notebook without comment. Just in case. Something is off, and he’s going to figure it out. Because once Jisung’s curiosity is piqued, there’s no stopping him. He’s already planning questions. Alibis. He’ll ask Felix if he remembers seeing her. He’ll find out who bought blonde wigs in the week before the party. He’ll even check the guest list.

As the others continue discussing how to approach Iseul, Hyunjin’s leg bounces nervously, but he keeps a perfect poker face. Anything to avoid six months of celibacy.

The Alpha Phi kitchen smells like old pizza, banana peels, and whatever unholy combination of protein powder and desperation Seungmin tried to microwave yesterday. You sit cross-legged on one of the mismatched bar stools, the worn wooden counter cool beneath your forearms as you lean over Changbin’s big tub of ice cream. Your spoon digs mercilessly into the frozen mass as you swipe lazily through a dating app with your other hand, ankle swinging under the counter.

You’re wearing your favourite wide-leg black cargo pants and a sage green long-sleeve crop top that hugs your boobs like a second skin and stops just under them, showing off a generous stretch of midriff. The butterfly claw clip holding up your hair is the same shade of green, sparkly and shaped like actual wings.

Changbin’s out picking up takeout for the two of you, post-workout bulgogi and banchan from that place near campus that always throws in extra kimchi when you flirt with the tired-looking ajumma behind the counter. The plan is food, cramming flashcards into your brains for your upcoming kinesiology test, and maybe more ice cream if your “I got cheated on” card keeps working. So far, it’s been fucking golden. Changbin had barely blinked when you stuck a spoon in his tub and gave him puppy eyes.

You grin as you swipe right on a hot girl with short pink hair and muscles that could crush a watermelon. Her profile bio says Dom. Big fan of brats. Swipe with caution. You let out a delighted, “Fucking yes,” under your breath, wiggling your shoulders as you tap the heart.

“Hey, Y/N,” Chan says, voice warm and low, and you look up from your phone as the two men responsible for your recent religious experience stroll into the kitchen like they don’t carry the weight of your sexual awakening in their extremely muscular arms.

Chan’s got his usual oversized hoodie on, his platinum blond hair tousled and Minho follows right behind, sleeves pushed up his forearms, purple hair still damp from the shower, face makeup-free and gorgeous in the way that makes your chest ache in places you pretend don’t exist.

“Hey,” you chirp, flashing them a sunny smile, even though your insides are in freefall. Your fingers curl protectively around your phone like it’s going to save your ass from the oncoming storm. You do not want them to know you’re the mystery girl. The memory of that night still flickers behind your eyes at the most inappropriate times, like when you’re buying bread or brushing your teeth or sitting in church for your lola’s birthday mass last weekend. You should probably talk to someone about that.

Chan leans against the counter beside you, his fingers drumming idly on the wood, and Minho slides into the seat across from you, all sharp eyes and unreadable expression.

“Changbin told us about Yeji,” Chan says gently, and your heart clenches a little. He always sounds so sincere. “You deserve better, Y/N.”

Minho lifts an eyebrow. “Want me to pop her tyres? No one would know. I’m stealthy.”

You grin around a spoonful of ice cream. “It’s fine. Felix and Jeongin already sent her glitter cards. You know, the ones you open and poof. Glitter everywhere, forever.”

Minho lets out a sharp laugh. “Fucking iconic.”

Chan chuckles and bumps his shoulder into yours. “Gwenchana?”

“I am so okay,” you sing, tapping through your app again. “I’m good. Great. Fantastic, actually. Yeji broke my heart two months ago, and now I’m just looking for anyone who can give me an orgasm. Multiple preferably. I’m ready to be bisexual in public again.”

Minho blinks. “You sure about that?”

You nod, eyes glued to your screen as your thumb works overtime. “Yup.”

“She cheated on you,” Minho says, voice sharper now, like he’s trying to pick at a wound.

You shrug, licking your spoon clean. “Yup. And now I’m looking for quick, hot sex. Preferably with someone who knows how to make me forget my name for a few hours.”

Chan snorts, shaking his head. “Fair enough.”

Minho frowns, arms crossing over his chest. “Dating apps? Really?”

You finally look up, offering him a wide-eyed smile. “Yup. I’m embracing the slut arc. Time to get dicked down or whatever the sapphic version is. Scissored up? Strapped down? I don’t know.”

Minho blinks again, expression flat. “I think either is applicable.” He opens his mouth like he’s about to say something else, but you cut in before he can change the subject.

“Oh,” you say, real casual-like, taking another spoonful of ice cream. “Changbin mentioned something about a mystery girl you two are trying to find. From the masquerade party?”

Chan’s face lights up like a fucking Christmas tree. “Apparently it’s some girl from Hyunjin’s art history course. We’re meeting up with her for coffee later this week.”

Relief floods through your body so hard you almost collapse onto the counter. You don’t let it show. You just nod slowly, like that’s news you’re processing with curiosity, not soul-crushing anxiety. Inside, you’re mentally high-fiving Hyunjin’s chaotic gay soul for pulling it off.

“Have you met Iseul?” Minho asks, narrowing his eyes.

You blink, brain scrambling. “Uh. I think Hyunjin introduced me to her once. At a party. The uh, Greek gods and goddesses one. Few months before the masquerade. She was Aphrodite, I think. I’m not sure. I was a very drunk Persephone.”

“What did you think?” Minho presses.

You lie straight through your teeth. “Oh, she was great. So pretty. Sweet. Like, really sweet. Totally the type to go under the radar at a party like the masquerade. And she was wearing a really sparkly dress. Or maybe that was someone else. I was, again, very drunk. At one point I was eating grapes out of a stranger’s hand like a baby bird.”

Chan smiles. “I hope it’s her. She sounds great.”

Minho nods in agreement, and you can feel your shoulders finally relaxing. They’re convinced. Fully. The relief is so intense, you could cry. Instead, you shovel another bite of ice cream into your mouth and grin.

None of you notice the faint creak from the lower cupboard near the fridge. The one that’s always empty because Felix refuses to keep any snacks below knee level. None of you see the tiny crack in the door, or the glint of round brown eyes peeking through the shadows like a goddamn cryptid. Because, Han Jisung, investigative journalism major, short king of chaos, is currently curled up in that cupboard, scribbling notes into a tiny pocket journal.

Jisung knows Iseul. Knows she was definitely at the Greek gods and goddesses party. But the masquerade? He can’t confirm she was there. He’s checked every picture, asked every person he knows, even sent a totally casual message to her class group chat. Nothing.

But more than that, something is off. He watches you from the gap in the door. You’re acting too chill. Too unaffected. And Jisung is nothing if not paranoid. He doesn’t know why, but his gut, and also, as he’s been telling Felix all week, his left ball is tingling. And his left ball never lies. It tingled during the fake ID scam of freshman year. It tingled when Jeongin tried to pass off hashbrowns as vegan nuggets. It tingled before Chan and Minho confessed they were into opening their relationship.

It’s tingling now.

His eyes narrow as he silently writes in his notebook. Y/N. Sage green top. Looks hot. Suspiciously relaxed when asked about mystery girl. Too calm = guilty? Cross-reference height and tattoo location. Note to future HJs: Buy more pens.

He will not rest until this mystery is solved. Not even for Felix, who has stopped joining Jisung in his room because Jisung keeps muttering about “timeline inconsistencies” in his sleep and once whispered “masquerade titty fairy” during a blowjob. Felix now games alone in his room with the door locked, sending only the occasional please hydrate text.

But Jisung isn’t worried about collateral damage. The truth is out there. And he’s going to find it. Even if he has to live in the kitchen cupboard to do it.

The air outside the cafe is cool and crisp, but the tension under Minho’s skin is boiling. He walks alongside Chan, both of them a little too well-dressed for a casual meetup, Minho in his charcoal overshirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows like always, his purple hair slicked back out of his face, and Chan in his standard fitted black hoodie, the neckline stretched slightly from constant tugging, platinum blonde hair half flattened under a black cap.

They look like two men about to interrogate a witness, not meet a girl who may or may not have been their anonymous sex partner from nearly three weeks ago. Chan exhales slowly as he pushes open the door, the scent of roasted beans and sugar-syrupy syrups hitting them immediately. Minho spots her first, sitting at a window seat, latte cup in her hands, soft pink lips curled up in a bright, eager smile the second she sees them.

“Fuck,” Minho mutters under his breath, leaning toward Chan. “I swear her boobs were bigger that night. She’s definitely wearing a push-up bra right now, and they’re still smaller.”

Chan doesn’t even blink. “Maybe. But we’re here now, so be nice.”

“I’m always nice,” Minho huffs.

“You’re not,” Chan says. “At all.”

Minho scowls but nods, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I’m just saying, I’m never wrong about boobs, Chan. I know what my hands held that night. Those are not the same tits.”

Chan rolls his eyes and starts walking. “Just. Be. Nice.”

They reach the table and Iseul lights up like she’s won the fucking lottery, cheeks flushing, eyes crinkling as she beams. “Minho-oppa! Chan-oppa!”

Chan gives her a soft smile, sliding into the seat opposite her. Minho follows with a stiff nod and a tight-lipped smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. Iseul is already blabbering, practically vibrating with excitement. Minho clocks the too-tight bra immediately, chest squished together to give the illusion of volume, and the angle still isn’t fooling him.

“So, I was so surprised when Hyunjin-oppa told me you wanted to meet me!” she says, voice light and sweet. “I really didn’t think you remembered me from the party. I wore that blue dress, remember? Silver mask? Blonde wig? It was so surreal, I was so nervous.”

Minho leans his elbow on the table, watching her. “Yeah?”

She nods quickly. “Yeah, but you both made me feel really safe. I remember Chan-oppa kissed my neck right before we started, and Minho-oppa held my hand the whole time. It was so intimate.”

Chan blinks. “You remember that?”

Iseul nods solemnly. “Of course. You were so careful, even when things got intense. Especially during you know. The second time.” She giggles, covering her mouth. “Double. You know.”

Minho narrows his eyes slightly but doesn’t say anything. She’s hitting the right notes. Not word for word, but close. Close enough. Too close, actually, almost like she's been coached which she has been.

You, Hyunjin, and Changbin spent three goddamn hours in your dorm running Iseul through a crash course in “How To Pretend You Got Absolutely Railgunned by Two Sex Gods in Disguise.” You recounted every movement, every position, every moan. Hyunjin made flashcards. Changbin pantomimed half of it for clarity. Iseul got a full script.

Iseul is proud. Proud as hell that she’s remembering her cues. But she’s also hyper-aware that you exist. And if you ever decide you do want a second go at Chan and Minho, she’s out. Finished. Her one shot at becoming relevant in their lives would be gone in the blink of an eye. So as the conversation flows, she slips in little things. Little landmines.

“Y/N helped me pick the party outfit for that night, actually,” she says sweetly, sipping her latte. “I told her you guys were going to be there, and she laughed and said she wasn’t interested in you guys at all.”

Minho’s eyebrows twitch, but he says nothing.

“She’s always like that,” Iseul continues with a delicate pout. “Pretends she’s nice, but honestly? She’s a little, um, messy. You know she lied about the Yeji thing, right? That Yeji cheated?” She leans in conspiratorially. “It was actually the other way around. Y/N cheated, but Yeji let her lie about it because she didn’t want to ruin Y/N’s reputation. Sweet, right?”

Chan’s head tilts slightly, eyes narrowing just enough to be noticeable. Minho’s face doesn’t move an inch, but the silence that stretches after Iseul finishes speaking is deafening.

They remember how broken you were. How you disappeared for two days after it happened. How Jeongin, Felix, Hyunjin, Jisung, Changbin, and even Seungmin took shifts bringing you back to life. The glitter cards, the smoothies, the very illegal edible-laced brownies from Felix's secret stash. They remember how you cried into Changbin’s chest until you hiccuped like a toddler and Jisung and Felix rubbed your back and whispered comforting things in three languages. There’s no fucking way you lied. No way in hell.

Chan clears his throat, polite but clearly not believing a word. “Huh. Must’ve been a miscommunication.”

“Yeah,” Minho says blandly. “Miroh’s rumour mill is always full of shit.”

Iseul wilts slightly but recovers fast. “Maybe I got it wrong. Sorry, I wasn’t trying to gossip! I just- I really hope this means I get to see you both again.” She bats her lashes. “In a more private setting.”

They both offer vague smiles and nods. She doesn’t seem to notice Minho keeps glancing at her chest with the intensity of a man solving a geometry equation. He’s not checking her out, he’s analyzing. Calculating. Because these boobs, the ones being shoved up under this cheap padded bra, are not the boobs that were in his hands as he fucked into the masked girl from behind. The curve is different. These don’t match the muscle memory burned into his palms.

He glances at his hands for the hundredth time, fingers flexing slightly under the table. The tits he held that night were natural, full, soft but firm with that perfect weight. These are perky. Definitely smaller. Different. He knows this because he knows boobs. Just like he’d be able to pick Chan’s dick out of a photo lineup without hesitation, he could pick Mystery Girl’s boobs out of a crowd. These aren’t it.

Across the cafe, at a table in the corner with fake monstera leaves hiding the view partially from behind, two suspicious figures sit with newspapers up and iced americanos untouched. They wear black wigs, bad sunglasses, stick-on moustaches, and baseball caps pulled low over their foreheads. One of them has a tiny camera poking out from behind the menu. The other is trying to discreetly eat a croissant without dropping crumbs on the stakeout notes.

It’s Jisung and Felix.

Felix had no intention of coming. In fact, he’d threatened to throttle Jisung with a USB cable if he even brought up the case again. But then Jisung had dropped to his knees, literally, and given Felix a blowjob so intense, Felix saw colours he wasn’t sure were real. And when Jisung followed it with two slick fingers inside him, curling just right, whispering that he just needed “a few hours of surveillance, Lix,” and Felix folded like a goddamn beach chair.

So now, here they are. Felix sighs under his breath, chewing with a frown, while Jisung scribbles frantically. “She’s making shit up,” Jisung mutters. “She’s fucking lying. I can feel it in my left nut.”

“Your nuts are not the holy grail of investigative journalism,” Felix mutters.

“They are. You just came so hard you screamed into my pillow and now you’re doubting me?”

“I didn’t say your mouth wasn’t holy. I said your nuts aren’t.”

“Same system,” Jisung hisses. “Shut up and pass me the zoom lens.”

They both watch as Iseul laughs at something Chan says, her fingers twirling her straw. Jisung’s eyes narrow, and he mutters, “I will solve this.”

“That's great, Ji baby, solve it before I start fingering myself out of boredom.”

After an hour, Minho and Chan stand. Iseul hugs them both. She smells like caramel and desperation. Minho stiffens when her chest presses into him. Still not the right boobs.

As they leave the café, Chan glances sideways at Minho. “Thoughts?”

Minho sighs. “I want to believe it.”

“But?”

“But those aren’t the boobs, Chan. I know tits. Those are not her tits.” He flexes his hands again. “They don’t match.”

“Okay,” Chan says, voice tight. “Back to square one?”

“Back to fucking square one.”

Chan is on his knees, sweat rolling down his back, scrubbing at a suspicious smear on Minho’s bedroom floor with a vengeance he hasn’t felt since that one time Seungmin dared to reorganize his soundboard presets. He’s in nothing but his boxers, hair tied back with a clip he found on Minho’s desk and his entire torso glistens with effort. Across the room, Minho’s balancing on a stool, wiping down the top of his shelves like he’s about to host a royal dinner.

“I’m telling you,” Minho says, flicking dust onto the floor like the absolute menace he is, “it’s not Iseul. I don’t care how many lines she memorized. It’s. Not. Her.”

Chan grunts. “I didn’t say I believed her, Min. I said she got close. I said maybe. I said we should be nice.”

“I am nice,” Minho snaps, then immediately frowns. “Okay, no. I’m not. But I know tits, Chan. I do. I know them like I know my own dick. Better, even. Iseul’s are not the same tits. Mystery girl’s tits were-” He pauses, thoughtful, voice dropping to a reverent tone. “-angelic. Like fucking handcrafted. These ones? Off-brand.”

Chan makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sigh as his phone vibrates against the nightstand. He picks it up, frowning at the screen. “Jisung’s calling.”

Minho freezes, arm halfway into an old hoodie sleeve. “What the fuck does that gremlin want now?”

Chan answers. “Hello?”

“Get your asses to my room immediately,” Jisung’s voice rasps on the other end, weirdly low and cryptic, like he’s trying to be intimidating but just sounds like he smoked a pack of menthols.

Chan blinks. “You good?”

“Bring Minho. Just come. Now.”

They don’t bother changing. Why would they? This is Alpha Phi. It’s not like seeing your friends half-naked is abnormal. Everyone’s seen everyone’s ass at some point. So they just walk through the hallway like twin sins, and make their way to Jisung’s room.

They open the door and they freeze.

“What the actual fuck,” Minho breathes.

One entire wall has been transformed into a sprawling mystery board with string, printouts, hand-written notes, and at least three printed screenshots from what looks like a private Instagram story. Felix is lounging on the bed, arms crossed, wearing sweats and a tank top.

“You were at the cafe?” Minho asks, pointing at a grainy zoomed-in photo of himself hugging Iseul with visible discomfort. “That’s me! That’s Iseul! You were there?!”

“Yes,” Jisung says proudly, standing in front of his wall like he’s about to give a TED Talk. “And thank fuck I was, because you two dipshits almost fell for Iseul’s bullshit.”

Chan crosses his arms. “What do you mean?”

“I mean she’s not your mystery girl. She never was. Hyunjin’s story? Pulled straight out of his fine art major ass like a clump of emotional haemorrhoids. I asked myself why he would lie, and then it hit me.”

Minho sighs. “Dick.”

“Exactly.” Jisung points like it’s the most profound word ever spoken. “Changbin threatened a sex ban. And you know Hyunjin. He would absolutely sell his soul to avoid a dry spell.”

Chan nods grimly. “He’d lie to Jesus for dick.”

“Exactly!” Jisung gestures at his board. “So I went full investigator mode. We’re talking alibis, timestamps, social media posts. And guess what? Iseul was in fucking Namyangju helping her sick halmeoni during the masquerade party. Look-”

He points to a row of screenshots from Iseul’s Instagram, timestamped and geotagged. There she is, blurry selfies with her grandma in a hospital bed. Videos of soft piano music playing in the background. A picture of herbal tea.

Chan steps closer. “Holy shit.”

Minho rubs his face. “So she lied. Why the fuck would she lie?”

Felix groans. “Because she wants to fuck both of you, obviously. She saw a shot and took it. Honestly, I respect the hustle, but I also want to hit her in the tit for ruining my sex life.”

“Which brings me,” Jisung says with a flourish, “to the real culprit. I narrowed down everyone who attended the party versus those who disappeared for exactly three hours during the time of your demon-level threesome. And I came up with one single match.”

He pauses dramatically.

Minho raises an eyebrow. “Is he broken?”

“Let him do it,” Felix mutters from the bed, dead-eyed. “He’s been obsessing. He needs the dramatics so I can finally start fucking him again. I have gotten crumbs of his ass since this party bullshit started. ASS. CRUMBS.”

Jisung throws a hand in the air. “The girl who broke your dicks forever is none other than L/N Y/N.”

The silence is deafening. Chan and Minho just blink. Jisung marches to the far end of the wall and points to a picture tacked near the bottom.

“Hyunjin took this selfie the night of the masquerade. Look behind him, blurry as hell, sure, but there’s Y/N, sitting on his bed in a pastel blue silk dress, blonde wig on her lap, silver mask in her hand. Pregaming with Changbin and Hyunjin.”

Chan stares. “No fucking way.”

Minho takes a slow step forward. “That looks like her.”

Jisung nods. “I also remember seeing the masked girl hanging around Changbin most of the night before she disappeared. And you know how Hyunjin gets. The only girl allowed within a three-foot radius of Changbin’s fine ass without Hyunjin turning into a petty little bitch? Y/N.”

Chan stumbles backwards, clutching his chest. “Holy shit.”

Minho drops onto the edge of Jisung’s desk chair like he’s been shot. “She was the masked girl.”

“And now,” Jisung says, striding to the final section of the wall like he’s delivering the finale of a murder trial, “the nail in the coffin. The final, most damning piece of evidence comes from her private Instagram. Only a few of us are on it, me, Changbin, Felix, Hyunjin, Jeongin. Look.”

He slaps a photo up onto the board. It’s you, in a mirror selfie taken in Hyunjin’s room, flanked by Changbin and Hyunjin. You’re holding a peace sign. Wearing the same silk dress. Blonde wig on. Silver mask dangling from your fingers. Your thigh is propped up on the bed, fully visible.

There, clear as fucking day, is the infamous barbed wire heart tattoo.

“I also have,” Jisung adds with manic glee, “multiple photos of that exact tattoo. Look-”

He holds up a photo of you and Changbin at the gym, your leg stretched high during a warm-up, your shorts riding up just enough for the barbed wire heart to peek out. Another from the beach. Another from a pool party. All of them timestamped. All of them irrefutable.

Chan covers his face. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

Minho stands up so fast that the chair beneath him nearly topples over, and he doesn’t even notice. His hands are clutching at his own face and his eyes are wide and horrified, his voice incredulous when it explodes out of his mouth like a fucking scream in a horror movie.

“Both our dicks were in Y/N’s pussy! At the same fucking time! Y/N! L/N Y/N! We double-penetrated our friend! We ate her out!”

Chan groans, dragging his hands down his face. “And it was the best three hours of sex we’ve ever had in our entire fucking lives.”

Minho nods rapidly, frantically, pacing the length of Jisung’s rug like a caged animal. “Like, ever, Chan. Ever. We've had so much sex. So much. We’ve had threesomes, foursomes, that one orgy at the ski lodge-”

“We don’t talk about the ski lodge,” Chan interrupts, horrified.

“Right, fine,” Minho waves it off. “But still! The point stands. That night? That night was next level. Body chemistry altered. Cells rearranged. Brain matter rewired. Fucking divine. I need that taste on my tongue again.”

Felix chokes on his water and turns around, laughing into his sleeve.

Chan slumps down to sit on the floor like his legs have stopped working. “We made out. Against her pussy. Like, our tongues were in her cunt at the same time. And it was perfect.”

Minho whirls around to face the others like a prophet revealing the end times. “I should have known! Those tits! Tits of perfection! That’s not the kind of rack you forget. Those were the eighth wonders of the world. And her ass! Don’t get me started on her ass. I want to write poetry about her ass.”

Chan, Jisung, and Felix all nod solemnly in full agreement.

“Filipino ass and titties,” Felix says, reverent like he’s invoking a holy name.

“Filipino ass and titties,” they all echo like they’re in church.

And then Minho does the thing he always does when he’s overwhelmed and his brain is short-circuiting: he makes Chan, Jisung, and Felix line up like soldiers in the middle of Jisung’s bedroom, and he starts going down the row, cupping each of their asses with an intensity that borders on spiritual.

Chan barely reacts; he’s used to it. Jisung sighs and leans into the grab. Felix just sticks his hip out and adjusts his stance so Minho can get a better grip.

“I don’t even know what to do with myself,” Minho mutters, squeezing Felix’s ass as if it’s a stress ball. “My brain is soup. I’m soup. Chan, help.”

“Don't look at me, I’m also spiralling,”

“So what are you two going to do?” Jisung asks, voice deadpan as Minho starts fondling his ass again. “Y/N clearly didn’t want you to know. And she probably didn’t know it was you guys either. I mean, full masks, fake hair, temporary dye? Come on. Anyone would’ve been clueless.”

Felix hums, crossing his arms. “And clearly she figured it out later. Probably had a meltdown. So she cooked up that Iseul diversion. Which, honestly, was smart. But it had Changbin’s fingerprints all over it. I guarantee he helped her. Probably figured it out himself, laughed for six hours, then helped her and Hyunjin build the lie.”

Minho finally pulls his hands away from Jisung’s ass, moving back to Chan like he’s orbiting him. “She gave us a night that literally altered our fucking body chemistry and she wants to hide from us? Fuck that. I’m not letting this go. We’re going to romance the fuck out of her. We’re going to make her forget that bitch ex-girlfriend. We’re going to become the best boyfriends she’s ever had. I’m talking husband material. Matching tracksuits. Power throuple gym sessions. Sundays at the dog café. The whole fucking dream.”

Chan sits up. “You’re talking full sap. Rings and shit?”

“Rings and shit,” Minho confirms.

“Pet names?” Chan asks.

“Fucking corny ones,” Minho nods. “Whatever she wants. Princess. Babygirl. Fucking sunflower muffin, I don’t give a fuck.”

Jisung sighs. “Maybe don’t tell her straight away that you know it was her. If she freaks out, she’s gonna set her mini army on you.”

Felix points at both of them. “If you scare her, I cut off both of your dicks. Right off. I will superglue them to your foreheads. Limp-dicked unicorns forever.”

Minho gasps, clutching his dick. “You wouldn’t.”

“I will. And I’ll even add glitter,” Felix beams. “So everyone knows what happens when you fuck with our Y/N.”

Chan and Minho exchange a look, horror painted across their faces.

Minho starts pacing again, hands twitching, alternating between grabbing Chan’s ass and Jisung’s as he mutters to himself. “Okay, okay. What’s the plan? What does she love? The gym. She always goes with Changbin.”

“We know her gym schedule,” Chan says, eyes wide with sudden inspiration.

Minho snaps his fingers. “We’re showing up at the gym. Full glory. Tight tanks. Sweaty muscles. We’re going to remind her exactly who fucked her so good she screamed in four languages.”

Jisung salutes him. “Godspeed.”

Just as the plan is taking form, Chan’s phone buzzes on the floor. He picks it up, glances at the screen, and grimaces. “It’s Iseul.”

Jisung lunges across the floor and snatches it, jabbing the answer button and immediately putting it on speaker. “Hello, lying liar who lies!”

There’s a pause, and then Iseul’s confused voice comes through. “Who the fuck is this?”

“Jisung. The short but righteous god of justice. And guess what? Chan and Minho know you’re a liar, so they won’t be meeting you for coffee again. Ever. Also, your boobs aren’t that great.”

Felix leans forward. “And you shit-talked Y/N! You think we’d ever forgive that? Not with the boobies she has.”

“Yeah!” Jisung shouts. “And your ass? Nothing compared to Y/N! We’re talking subpar. You barely have ass. It’s a suggestion of an ass.”

Iseul tries to respond, but Felix talks over her. “Your pitiful acting attempt only worked because Chan and Minho were pussymatized and desperate. But even Minho knew your tits were off-brand. Like, you’re trying to pass tofu off as mozzarella.”

Iseul splutters. “You’re all insane.”

“No,” Jisung says with a grin. “We’re loyal.”

And then he ends the call.

Minho raises a hand. “Okay. New plan. Tomorrow. Gym. Y/N goes with Changbin. We show up. Warm up. Flex. Casual banter. No weirdness.”

Chan nods. “No telling her we know. Just normal.”

Felix sighs. “You are not capable of normal.”

“We’ll try,” Minho says.

Felix claps his hands once. “Now get out of this room. I’m gonna fuck my boyfriend for the first time in weeks.”

Minho and Chan salute him and head out the door, whispering and plotting like the absolute chaotic dumbasses they are.

Minho starts showing up at the gym with a suspicious amount of consistency. Chan, too. At first, it’s subtle. Nothing that would raise alarms in your perpetually sunny, post-breakup mind. They just start popping up a little more when you’re there, usually with a towel slung over their shoulders, water bottles in hand, and that casual swagger that makes half the campus stupid. You’re so used to seeing them around, that it doesn’t occur to you how specifically aligned their gym schedules are becoming with yours.

The first few times, you wave from the yoga mat where you’re stretched out doing a backbend over a foam roller, sports bra snug and low-cut enough to give anyone within range a glimpse of the good stuff. Your leggings cling to your thighs like a second skin and you’ve long since stopped caring how many eyes are on you. You’re not here to sweat your soul out anyway, you’re mostly here to keep Changbin company and stay bendy enough to do stupid shit on request. Like that time Felix dared you to do a handstand into a split and you nailed it so hard a man had walked into a wall.

Minho nearly drops a dumbbell the first time you tip into a deep forward fold and the fabric of your leggings stretches tight across your ass. He nudges Chan, who’s standing next to him curling weights, and Chan just lets out a low whistle and mutters, “Fucking hell,” under his breath.

Minho nods like he’s receiving divine confirmation. “This is our good karma. This is our blessing. The gods of bi-poly boyfriends have finally smiled upon us.”

Chan grunts, switching to heavier weights without even realizing, clearly inspired.

They keep it cool, though. They don’t crowd you. They don’t hover. They make small talk. Minho throws a grin here, Chan tosses a compliment there. But mostly, they orbit you with quiet consistency, becoming background noise. Comfortable. Familiar.

It’s the second week of their soft launch into your life when the universe hands them an opening wrapped in glitter and chaos.

It starts with a bang. Literally. A loud fucking bang.

You’re in the kitchen with Jisung and Felix, the three of you surrounded by mixing bowls, a mountain of chocolate, and a weed grinder that’s been going since 2 PM. Jisung is shirtless in his apron, Felix is dancing to a Doja Cat remix blaring from his phone, and you’re laughing so hard at something Jisung said about Seungmin’s resting bitch face that you almost don’t hear the thud from upstairs.

Then comes the scream. “FUCK! FUCK, OH MY FUCKING GOD!”

Followed by Hyunjin’s panicked, echoing yell. “YOUR ANKLE ISN’T BENDING THE RIGHT WAY!”

Felix stops dancing. Jisung stops stirring. You freeze with brownie batter halfway to your mouth.

There’s another scream and Hyunjin’s voice cracks. “CHANGBIN SLIPPED- HIS LEG- SHIT- CHAN!”

You’re all way too high for this. Chan storms into the kitchen two minutes later, grabbing his keys off the counter and you salute him weakly with your brownie-covered spoon.

“Take care of them,” he tells Minho, who appears behind him in sweats. He doesn’t even question the command. Just steps into the kitchen and watches the three of you in varying degrees of fucked up.

You’re the most gone, sprawling across the couch with brownie batter on your nose and laughter still bubbling in your chest even though your best friend’s ankle is apparently twisted like a pretzel upstairs.

Minho sighs and grabs a throw blanket from the corner, tossing it over you as he sits down beside you. “Head here,” he says, patting his thigh.

You blink up at him. “Minho. Your thighs are like national monuments. I can’t just-”

“Do it.”

You melt into him without another word, head settling in his lap like it’s always belonged there. Jisung plops down on the floor in front of the couch and Felix curls up in a beanbag, already cueing up Frozen II on the big TV.

Halfway through Show Yourself, you reach up and pat Minho’s chest softly.

“Your heart is beating so fast,” you murmur. “Are you nervous?”

Minho chuckles and brushes hair from your face. “No, angel. Just very aware that you’re lying on my lap.”

You giggle and go back to watching Elsa freeze a fucking fjord or whatever the hell she’s doing. Felix is weeping softly, Jisung is whispering Into the Unknown every five seconds, and Minho just strokes your arm like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

The next day, Changbin’s officially off his feet. Crutches, ice packs, dramatic moaning every time Hyunjin breathes near him. And you? Gym partner-less. So Minho and Chan, the heroes of the story, swoop in.

“We’ll go with you,” Chan offers casually when you mention it at breakfast. “You shouldn’t have to go alone.”

You blink. “You guys don’t even go at the same time I do.”

“We do now,” Minho says with a shrug.

By the third session, they’re basically your built-in workout buddies. Chan prefers the weight machines, grunting through reps like a man possessed. Minho floats between the boxing bag and machines, occasionally stopping to spar with himself in the mirror like he’s auditioning for a drama about hot street fighters. You mostly hang out on the yoga mats, sprawled in ridiculous shapes, headphones in as you move through sequences with surprising grace and focus.

Minho watches you more than he works out.

“Do you even lift?” you ask him one day, upside down in a headstand.

“I lift your energy,” he says with a wink.

Chan groans from the leg press. “That was so dumb.”

You giggle, collapsing onto your side. “I’m not even that serious about working out,” you admit, tugging your leggings back up your hips. “I mostly came with Changbin so he wouldn’t be alone. Hyunjin hates the gym. I just do this to stay flexible. You guys should do yoga with me!"

Chan looks horrified. “I bend like a fucking tree. Rigid. Stiff. Tragic.”

Minho shrugs. “I did ballet. I’ll give it a shot.”

“You did ballet?” you blink, pleasantly surprised.

“Yeah. Gave it up when I realized I wanted to stick my hand up cow asses and become a vet instead of pirouetting on stage,” he says, deadpan.

Chan nods solemnly. “It’s true.”

So the next morning, you teach them yoga. You guide them through deep stretches and poses, correcting their form with soft taps and gentle hands. Minho catches on quickly, graceful and strong, his balance shockingly good. His core is tight, and his movements fluid. You’re honestly impressed.

Chan, however, is a disaster. He wobbles. He groans. He almost falls on you during downward dog.

“This is humbling,” he mutters from the floor as you guide him into child’s pose.

“Your hips are so tight,” you giggle, kneeling beside him.

“You’re telling me,” Chan grunts.

Minho’s already in a deep straddle stretch, almost hitting the splits. He grins at you. “I can’t go all the way down though.”

“Why not?” you ask, stretching opposite him.

“Because I have balls,” he replies simply. “They get in the way. Splits are a no-go.”

You burst out laughing, falling forward into the mat.

Chan nods from his crumpled heap. “Valid. Can confirm.”

You grin, stretching your legs out beside them. You still have no clue they know. No idea they’ve been planning this whole infiltration. And no idea that every stretch, every yoga pose, every glistening drop of sweat rolling between your tits is driving them absolutely fucking insane.

The gym at night is quiet, almost eerily so. The kind of quiet that lets every breath, every footstep, every distant clink of metal echo like a whisper through the walls. The air is still tinged with the faint scent of sweat and industrial cleaning spray, the fluorescents overhead flickering just enough to be mildly annoying. You’re on the treadmill, hoodie sleeves rolled to your elbows, earbuds blasting early 2000s girl group bops as your feet pound rhythmically on the belt. You’re not sprinting, you’re just vibing, legs moving at a steady jog, ponytail bouncing, skin glowing in the low light of the late-night gym.

Across the room, Chan and Minho are full-blown grappling like two wolves in heat. It started as light sparring, something casual. But the second Minho hooked his leg around Chan’s and slammed him into the mat, it escalated fast. Now they’re panting, grinning, covered in sweat, and rolling on top of each other with a level of homoerotic tension that should be illegal. Shirts long gone, boxers slung dangerously low on their hips, their muscles glisten as they twist and slam and taunt each other.

Minho has Chan in a chokehold, Chan flips them, and they laugh breathlessly as Minho wraps a thigh around Chan’s waist like he’s about to ride him into another dimension.

“If you’re gonna fuck, do what everyone else does and go to the locker rooms. I hear the third shower stall has the best acoustics.”

Chan barks a laugh, struggling under Minho’s thigh. But then Minho opens his mouth. And all hell breaks loose.

“Not like you’ve not been between us before,” he says casually.

And it’s like the fucking world stops.

You trip over your own foot, eyes going wide as you fumble for the emergency stop button. The treadmill slams to a halt with a violent jolt and you go flying forward, just barely catching yourself on the handles. You spin around, breath caught in your throat, and stare at Minho.

Chan slaps Minho’s arm so fast that the sound echoes through the gym. “MIN!”

Minho freezes. Eyes wide. Hand flying up to his mouth like he can shove the words back in. “Oh fuck. Fuck. Oh my god. I didn’t- I mean, I did, but- Fuck-”

“YOU KNOW?!”

“Well, clearly you knew before us!” Chan yells.

“I figured it out after corpse day!” you cry, voice hysterical, “Like a week after the party! Changbin basically spelt it out for me!"

Chan throws his hands in the air. “You knew for almost a month before we figured it out?!”

“I was gonna take it to my grave, Chan!”

Minho scrambles to his feet. “You RUINED our dicks!”

“WHAT?!”

“You broke our fucking dicks, Y/N! And then tried to redirect us to Iseul! I knew it wasn’t her! Her tits are like two sad peaches! You’re, like, fucking melons! How the fuck did you think I wouldn’t notice?!”

“Oh my god. How the fuck did you two figure it out?!”

Chan gestures wildly. “Jisung went full cracked-out detective mode! He came at us with a fucking conspiracy wall and evidence folders!”

“How the fuck did JISUNG figure it out?!”

“Left nut instinct,” Chan says solemnly.

“I hate this,” you whisper. “I hate this so much.”

Minho throws his arms wide. “NO HIDING ANYMORE! You are a SEX WITCH. You subby little SUCCUBUS. We haven’t fucked in weeks because of you! Me and Chan?! No boning! We wake up humping each other and then remember mystery girl doesn’t exist anymore and it’s like post-nut clarity without the nut! It’s torture!”

“I’M SORRY I’M GOOD AT SEX!”

“YOU SHOULD BE!” Minho yells. “You BROKE two grown men's dicks!”

“I SAID I’M SORRY!”

“You ruined our lives, Y/N!” Chan adds, dramatically flopping onto the mats.

“FUCK YOU,” you shout.

“YOU DID!” Minho screeches, eyes wild.

You’re all sweaty, out of breath, faces flushed, and screaming in an empty gym at midnight like absolute lunatics. Then, suddenly, Minho stops pacing, breathes in deep, and looks you dead in the eye.

“Now go on a date with us.”

You freeze. “Say what now?”

Minho walks up to you, completely serious despite the ridiculousness of the entire situation. “Me and Chan are going to take you, L/N Y/N, on a date. A real date. Wine and dine. The whole fucking thing. I can’t believe you thought me, Lee Minho, boobs, ass, pussy and dick extraordinaire, would not realise Iseul was, like, two whole cup sizes smaller than you. I’m offended, honestly. I knew the moment I saw her sad little boobies in the café.”

Chan props himself up on his elbows. “It’s true. We were just too fucking desperate.”

“So go on a date with us,” Minho says again, grinning now. “Let us romance the shit out of you. Then you can decide if you want to be our girlfriend and become a throuple. Us. Together. Dick, dick, and pussy forever.”

You blink. Slowly. Several times. “I- What?”

“You heard me.”

“Okay,” you say, voice faint, “I’ll go on the date with you two.”

Both of them whoop.

“Now someone help me sit down before I pass out,” you mumble.

Chan jumps up and grabs your elbow. Minho gently guides you down onto the mats like you’re made of glass. The second you’re down, he pulls a glucose gel packet from his gym bag like he’s been preparing for this moment his whole life.

“Suck,” he says, holding the packet to your lips and squeezing. “Suck this. Suck hard.”

“Don’t say it like that,”

Chan rubs your back in slow circles. “Breathe, you’re fine. I think your blood sugar just crashed.”

“Yeah,” you whisper, “that was too much queer panic in one space.”

Minho tuts. “You need a better diet. I mean, Chan and I both know from your pussy taste that you drink a lot of pineapple juice-”

“This is how I die,” you groan, pulling your hoodie over your head and burying your face in your cap.

Minho and Chan collapse beside you, laughing so hard they can barely breathe.

“Seriously though,” Chan says, wiping a tear from his eye, “it is impressive.”

“I hate both of you,” you say into your hoodie.

“You love us,” Minho teases, poking your side.

You kick his shin and he just grins.

Your dorm room looks like a drag queen tornado hit it. There’s fabric everywhere, makeup brushes scattered like casualties across every surface, and music blaring loud enough that your neighbours have probably considered calling campus security twice already. Felix is currently scream-singing Candy Store from Heathers while simultaneously helping Jeongin dig through your closet, his phone propped up on the windowsill and blasting musical theatre like it’s sacred scripture.

Changbin is stretched out dramatically across your bed, casted foot propped up on your throw pillows, and he keeps throwing M&M’s into his mouth with zero accuracy. Half are bouncing off his cheek, and Jisung is keeping score like it’s an Olympic sport.

“You need to give a visual callback to the night you fucking destroyed them,” Felix says over the music, dramatically pulling out a glittery silver crop top before immediately shaking his head and tossing it aside. “Blue and silver. That’s the theme. We’re paying tribute to the masked pussy fairy.”

“Absolutely,” Jisung agrees. “Constantly remind them of the hottest night of their lives that you gave them.”

Hyunjin snorts from behind you, where he’s currently working your hair with terrifying precision. He’s got your roots sectioned off with butterfly clips, blowing your hair out straight with a round brush and more sass than necessary. “Honestly, if we don’t get you looking like the sexed-up reincarnation of Cinderella tonight, I’ll exile myself from the gay community.”

You sip from your favourite tumbler, the infamous one that says queer slut in swirly cursive, a gift from Hyunjin after the Yeji disaster, and hum happily around the pineapple juice Felix filled it with earlier. You’re sitting at your vanity in your bra and panties, skin glowing from your earlier shower, legs crossed and shoulders relaxed while your chaos brigade dances and preens around you.

Changbin tosses another M&M. It hits the wall. “I demand you wear something that shows off your thighs. Chan's a thigh man. I’ve watched him look at them in the gym like they’re his religion.”

“I’m just saying,” Jeongin says, dragging out a dramatic satin something from the back of your closet, “if you don’t show up tonight and have them weeping at your feet, we’ve failed.”

“Oh my god,” Jisung gasps, leaping up like he’s been struck by divine lightning. “I forgot about the light blue satin one! The mini with the structured strapless top and the pearl strands! Where the fuck is it? I know you bought it when we went on that completely irresponsible shopping trip with Hyunjin and Jeongin, you were on your period and emotional and said ‘I deserve to look like a rich bitch fairy.’”

You nearly choke on your juice. “That was a moment.”

“And now it’s having a fucking comeback,” Jisung says, yanking open your closet and digging like a raccoon in a glitter bin. “Aha!”

He spins dramatically and holds it up. The light blue satin glows under the overhead light, the decorative faux pearl strands catching like moonlight across the structured bodice, down the waist, cascading artfully to the thigh. The hip is ruched, the fabric flowing into a dramatic sash that trails down like a fucking dream, all while the mini-length hemline ensures your thighs remain fully on display.

Felix claps like a pageant mom. “YES! YES! YES! It’s giving ethereal Cinderella who slays her evil stepsisters with a strap-on and has five fairy queerfathers!”

Felix dashes across the room and grabs your clear stilettos from the shoe rack. “Glass fucking slippers, bitch. Chan and Minho aren’t going to know what hit them. They’re going to be so horny they’ll start barking.”

Jeongin grabs your faux pearl choker and matching earrings from your jewellery drawer, holding them up triumphantly. “We’re leaning into the theme. Fake luxury. Real effect. You’re about to go full subby siren.”

Hyunjin finishes blowing out your hair and pulls the clips free, letting the soft, silky strands fall over your shoulders like a shampoo commercial. “Alright, you hot little disaster, let’s beat your face.”

Felix starts slow dancing with Jeongin in the background as Jisung twirls around in your curtain like it’s couture. Changbin tosses another M&M and finally lands one in his mouth.

Hyunjin works fast, dragging blue and white shimmer across your eyelids like he’s painting a masterpiece. He adds soft white to the inner corners of your eyes and then starts carefully placing tiny pearls right at the edges, delicate and gleaming.

“Cunty Cinderella,” he murmurs like a prayer.

Felix nods. “Cunty Cinderella.”

Jisung nods too. “Cunty Cinderella.”

Jeongin studies you, eyes narrowing in that critical fashionista way. “It’s giving subby angel.”

Hyunjin smiles as he dusts highlighter across your cheekbones and the bridge of your nose. “Exactly what we want. Ethereal. Glowing. Looks like she’s never cussed in her life but is one orgasm away from destroying the patriarchy.”

You sip more pineapple juice, glowing like the bisexual goddess you are.

Jeongin taps your shoulder. “Okay. No bra with this dress. The structure is gonna push your tits up like the royal titties they are. Bra straps with a strapless dress are a crime punishable by death.”

“Obviously,” you say, rolling your eyes. “No bra strappage here.”

Jeongin gestures grandly. “Good. You are a woman of class. Now lose the bra so we can get this dress on you without fucking up Hyunjin’s masterpiece.”

You slide it off with ease and Jisung immediately clutches his chest like he’s being spiritually attacked. “Titties! My kryptonite!”

Felix fans himself. “Our queen. Our icon.”

Hyunjin holds the dress open as Jeongin and Jisung guide you into it like you’re being prepped for a coronation. The satin glides over your skin, cool and luxurious, and when the bodice hugs you tight, lifting your chest perfectly, you glance in the mirror.

“Holy shit,” you whisper. “I look expensive.”

“You look like a meal,” Jeongin says. “Three-course. Michelin-starred. Served on a silver fucking platter.”

Felix adjusts your hair, tucking a few strands behind your ear before slipping the pearl earrings into place. “They’re gonna lose their minds.”

Hyunjin sprays your hair into place and hands you the clear heels. “Now go forth, slutty Cinderella. Your princes await.”

Changbin raises his glass of Sprite like it’s champagne. “Make them cry.”

You step into the stilettos, tall and radiant, your team of fairy queerfathers beaming around you like proud pageant dads.

And deep down, under all the chaos and glitter and laughter, you feel it. The heat, the buzz, the excitement curling in your stomach like butterflies on speed.

The night air wraps around your skin like silk as you step out of your dorm building, the heels of your clear stilettos clicking softly against the concrete. Minho and Chan are leaning against Chan’s stupidly fancy sports car, parked right out front like they own the building. Which, to be fair, with their matching smirks and sinful silhouettes under the streetlights, they fucking look like they do.

Chan’s in a deep navy suit tailored within an inch of his life, the delicate red piping along the seams giving just the right amount of drama. His shirt matches the tone of his suit, buttoned up but without a tie, collar relaxed, blonde hair slicked back just enough to show off his face and jawline.

Minho, on the other hand, is in an all-black ensemble that could kill a man. His crisp button-up is tucked into tailored black trousers that hug his waist perfectly, cinched with a minimalist belt that glints subtly in the light. His tie is only half-knotted, resting loose around his neck like he couldn’t be bothered to finish it, and the effect is painfully hot. His hair is pushed back, revealing the sharp cut of his cheekbones and the way his eyes darken the second he lays them on you.

They both go still. Dead quiet. Just staring.

“Holy fuck,” Minho mutters.

Chan lets out a low whistle, lips curling into a grin. “You trying to kill us before we even leave campus?”

“Maybe.”

Minho pushes off the car and meets you halfway, eyes dragging slowly from the hemline of your dress to your face. He twirls a strand of your hair around his finger with a fond smirk. “I prefer this. The natural hair. Blonde was fun but this?” He lets the strand slip through his fingers before taking your left hand in his and lifting it to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. “Gorgeous.”

Chan mirrors him on your right, taking your hand and kissing it with the same reverence. “Ready to be wooed?”

You nod and Minho opens the car door with a wink, and you carefully lower yourself into the plush leather of the backseat, the dress riding up your thighs a little more than intended, but you pretend not to notice. Minho slides in beside you and Chan closes the door behind him before slipping into the driver’s seat up front. The engine hums to life, smooth and purring, and you lean back, smoothing your hands over your lap.

Minho, however, is not subtle. The moment the doors are shut and the car begins to glide out of the parking lot, he’s leaning closer, not touching, but close enough that you can feel the heat of him. He inhales deeply, nose hovering near your shoulder like an absolute menace.

“Strawberries. Vanilla. And violets?” he murmurs.

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye. “Body lotion and perfume. You done sniffing me?”

“No,” he says simply and keeps doing it.

You just sigh and let him, amused. It’s not like you didn’t spend an hour marinating in that exact combo for this very reason.

“So,” you ask, glancing toward the front seat. “Where are we going?”

Chan smirks into the rearview mirror. “It’s a surprise.”

Minho hums beside you. “I know this isn’t the moment for it, but I have to say it, your tits look fantastic right now.”

“Minho-”

“I’m just being honest,” he says, not even bothering to pretend he’s looking at your face. “This dress was made for you. And I’m guessing, no bra?”

“It’s a strapless dress,” you reply. “I’m not a savage.”

Chan chuckles up front. “She’s got a point.”

The car glides along the road, smooth and seamless. But you swear to god, every single fucking pothole or speed bump they find on the road, Minho uses as an excuse to stare down at your tits like they’re a religious experience. Every bounce, every shift of fabric, every movement, his eyes are locked on like a man possessed.

“I swear to fuck,” he mutters after a particularly aggressive bump, eyes wide, “this dress is struggling. Want me to hold them for you? Just for support. For science.”

You laugh, hand coming up to lightly smack his shoulder. “You are ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously helpful,” Minho adds.

Chan, ever the chaotic enabler, adds, “I mean, he’s got warm hands.”

You let out a breathy laugh, nerves and arousal tangling in your gut. This is new territory. Yes, you’ve fucked them. Yes, you’ve moaned and screamed and came so hard between them that your legs were shaking for hours after. But that was behind a mask. Anonymous. A night carved out of chaos and heat and impulse.

This is a date. This is them, now, looking at you without masks, openly wanting you, openly admiring you, openly asking you to be part of their world. The flirting feels heavier now, more sincere, more affectionate beneath the teasing. You can feel it in the way Chan watches the road but glances back at you at every red light, eyes soft. In the way Minho’s hand brushes your thigh once, then again, each time lingering longer.

Minho leans in, whispering again, “You good?”

You nod, smiling. “Yeah. Just overwhelmed in a good way.”

Minho smiles and leans back, not pushing, not pressing. Just close enough to remind you he’s there.

Chan drives in calm silence, eyes fixed on the road, the gentle hum of the engine making everything feel surreal. You lean slightly into the leather seat, trying to process the fact that this isn’t a dream. You’d expected a restaurant, maybe some rooftop place with candles and overpriced appetizers. But the longer he drives, out of the city, then looping past some back streets, then straight back toward campus, you start to get the feeling that something’s up.

But you don’t ask.

You just watch the way Minho's fingers twitch on his lap, the way Chan’s jaw clenches and relaxes in the rearview mirror like he’s biting back a grin. It’s like they know a secret you don’t, and you’re not even mad about it. You’re too curious, too warm, too giddy.

After another slow twenty-minute loop, Chan finally turns into familiar territory and your brows lift slightly when the frat house comes into view. But still, you say nothing. Chan pulls up smoothly to the curb, parking directly in front of the main entrance like this is a goddamn hotel, engine purring to a stop before he gets out and circles around the car.

He opens Minho’s door first, offering a hand with dramatic flair. Minho rolls his eyes but accepts it, letting himself be pulled up like a debutante. Then they both turn to you, standing in sync, side by side, two beautiful devils in dress clothes.

Both extend their hands toward you with twin grins, and you sigh, taking each of their hands as you step out. The sash of your dress drapes elegantly behind you, stilettos hitting the sidewalk with soft clicks.

Minho leans in, his lips brushing just behind your ear as he murmurs, “We needed the time. The others had to run back from your dorm after helping you get ready, and Seungmin was on supervision duty in the kitchen the whole time. Hence, the scenic forty-minute detour.”

Your jaw drops as you whip your head toward him, eyes wide. “You drove me around just to stall?!”

Chan shrugs, utterly unapologetic. “We had to buy them time.”

You’re still blinking at them as they each loop an arm around yours and guide you up the steps into the house.

The door creaks open, and the moment you step inside, your breath catches in your throat.

The entire downstairs is dark, save for a string of twinkling fairy lights that wind from the living room doorway and disappear into the hallway. You glance between them, stunned, and they just smile, gently nudging you forward.

As they guide you into the dining room, you let out a genuine gasp.

The dining table, the shitty, beer-stained, permanently sticky table that’s hosted everything from beer pong to midnight strip poker, has been transformed. A crisp white tablecloth drapes over it, lit candles glow in the centre, casting warm, romantic shadows across the table, and the overhead lights are dimmed. Fairy lights run along the walls, wrapped lazily around picture frames and shelf edges.

Chan pulls a chair out for you with a flourish, bowing slightly as he motions for you to sit.

You do, stunned into silence as you carefully smooth your dress down and settle into the seat. Minho drops into the chair beside you, legs spreading comfortably, his arm draped behind you on the chair like he owns it. Chan sits opposite you, grinning like a man who knows he just pulled off a ridiculous fucking stunt.

“Wait for it,” Minho says.

Chan lifts a tiny silver bell from the table and gives it a single dainty ring.

You hear shuffling from the hallway. Then Jisung strides in wearing a white button-down shirt and black trousers, a folded towel over one forearm, and a wine bottle held in his other hand. He’s even wearing a clip-on bow tie and there’s a fake moustache drawn on his upper lip in what looks like eyeliner.

You immediately slap your hand over your mouth to smother your laugh, shoulders shaking.

“Bonsoir,” Jisung announces in a horrible French accent. “Welcome to Alpha Phi’s exclusive dining experience. I am your sommelier, Jean Sung. Tonight, we have prepared only the finest cuisine, paired with our house vintage.”

Minho bites his knuckle like he’s trying not to cry from laughter. “Please, Jean Sung. Tell us about the wine.”

“Ah, yes,” Jisung says, holding the bottle up to the candlelight and examining it like he’s fucking Monet. “This is a very rare bottle of... Château de GS25. Imported from the exotic lands of... the local convenience store. Aged to perfection for exactly seventy-two hours on the bottom shelf.”

You snort, eyes watering as Chan wheezes across the table.

“It has a bold bouquet,” Jisung continues, totally committed, “with top notes of cherry-flavoured chemicals and subtle undertones of we didn’t have time to get actual wine glasses, so please enjoy these plastic ones.”

Minho claps. “Magnificent. Bravo.”

Jisung bows deeply, popping the bottle open with unnecessary flair, and proceeds to pour generous servings into plastic wine glasses with all the grace of a drunk pirate. He sets one in front of each of you with an exaggerated flourish.

Chan raises his to toast. “To Jean Sung.”

“To the most ridiculous fucking sommelier I’ve ever met,” you add, raising yours as well.

Minho grins. “To our first official date.”

You clink the cheap plastic together, wine sloshing slightly.

Jisung backs out of the room with a final bow, muttering something about fucking nailing it and you lean back in your chair, face warm from laughter and wine and the overwhelming feeling that you’re being truly, deeply cared for.

Chan’s fingers curl around the tiny bell again, and he gives it a delicate jingle that somehow manages to sound ridiculous and fancy at the same time. You barely have a second to breathe before Jeongin, Hyunjin, and Felix file in like a fucking performance troupe.

Felix is in full chef whites, with the tall hat and everything, even though you know damn well he found that thing on Gmarket for fifteen thousand won. Jeongin and Hyunjin, meanwhile, are dressed in white dress shirts, black bowties, black slacks, and matching smug expressions like they’ve been hired to serve Michelin-star food.

Each of them carries a plate: one with Kimchi Fried Rice, another with Bibimbap, and the last with perfectly arranged yaki mandu.

They place the dishes down in front of the three of you with synchronized, exaggerated bows. You cover your mouth with your hand, trying to suppress your laughter as Jeongin gives you a cheeky wink. Hyunjin smirks, and Felix stands tall with his chin up like Gordon fucking Ramsay.

Then they turn to leave.

“Uh, excuse me,” Minho calls after them, voice dry. “You didn’t explain the dishes.”

The three of them stop mid-shuffle and rotate like malfunctioning NPCs. Felix steps forward, adjusting his ridiculous chef hat with the grace of a cat who’s just knocked over a glass and pretended it was on purpose.

He points at each plate dramatically. “To your left, we have Kimchi Fried Rice, perfectly balanced heat and umami. Centre dish is Bibimbap, a classic, made with every vegetable Hyunjin could cut without slicing his thumb off. And finally, we have yaki mandu, crisped to golden perfection, because I know you love dumplings, and I am a man of culinary excellence and emotional intelligence.”

Hyunjin crosses his arms and mutters, “I helped.”

Jeongin shrugs. “I stirred something.”

Felix turns back to the three of you and places his hands on his hips. “Enjoy your date. Do not fuck until after dessert. Please and thank you. Ring the bell once you're ready for the main course.”

You open your mouth, but he’s not done.

“I slaved over this meal. With love. And with the lingering rage of Yeji’s bullshit and Iseul trying to talk shit about my favourite girl, who, by the way, has the best titties on this entire campus. Including Jisung's, and he has fantastic titties.”

From the kitchen, a muffled voice echoes, “Facts!”

Felix salutes dramatically, Jeongin blows you a kiss, and Hyunjin mouths “text me if they’re weird” before they all vanish like gremlins scurrying back into the dark.

Minho shakes his head, already reaching for his chopsticks. “We live with cartoons.”

“Actual fucking clowns,” Chan adds, grabbing his own utensils.

You dig into the food with a hum of appreciation. “Felix cooked his ass off.”

“He really did,” Chan agrees, eyes closing around a bite of rice. “Like, I might wife him after this. Sorry you two”

You snort softly as you pop a bite of mandu into your mouth, chewing happily.

Minho wipes his mouth with a napkin and leans his cheek into his hand, eyeing you thoughtfully. “So, Y/N. Is your favourite movie Cinderella?”

You nod as you finish chewing. “Yeah. The 1950s one.”

Chan raises an eyebrow. “Wasn’t her dress silver in that?”

“Yes!” You perk up immediately, eyes gleaming. “In the original 1950s animated film, Cinderella’s ball gown was a silvery-white colour. Disney changed it in a lot of the marketing and merchandise over time to this pale blue shade, probably because silver didn’t pop as much in advertising, especially when you’re printing posters and dolls and shit. Blue stood out better. And a silver dress sometimes reads too close to a wedding gown, which they didn’t want.”

Minho leans in, interested. “So if they were trying to differentiate characters, why make Elsa’s dress blue too?”

“Well,” you say, sipping your wine, “Elsa came out over sixty years later. Completely different era of design. Also, Elsa controls ice, it makes sense to dress her in an icy tone. That’s the thematic tie-in. But her dress colour changes. By the end of Frozen II, she’s in white and lavender, which I think is about her identity evolving again. Disney uses colour as a visual metaphor. Changing her dress is also a great way to create more merch, let’s be real.”

“Alice and Wendy wore blue too,” Chan says, mouth full of mandu.

“Obviously,” you reply. “They’re not Disney princesses, which is bullshit. Both deserve better. But Disney uses blue a lot. It represents selflessness, innocence, and empowerment. Blue’s like the good girl with a core of steel colour. That’s why Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, Alice, Wendy, Elsa, Anna, Merida, Belle, so many characters wear blue at some point. It’s practically a trope.”

Minho whistles. “Shit. You should teach a class.”

“Disney for horny adults,” you grin.

“I’d enrol,” Chan says, raising a brow.

You point your chopsticks at him. “You’d enrol just to hit on the professor.”

“Correct,” he says with no shame.

Minho shifts slightly, gesturing with a piece of mandu. “Okay but like, real talk, Rapunzel’s dress being purple in Tangled? That’s straight-up royalty foreshadowing, planting visual narrative cues in the colour palette, and I respect the fuck out of that.”

“Thank you!” Chan slams a hand down, agreeing. “I’ve been saying that! Purple is literally the colour of royalty, and it’s subtle but it’s there. Her mom wore purple, the banners had purple, it was all planned.”

You lean forward, elbow on the table, chin in your hand. “You two are so much geekier than you pretend to be.”

Minho shrugs. “I contain multitudes.”

Chan deadpans, “I cried at Mufasa’s death. Twice.”

Minho lifts the tiny silver bell between two fingers like it personally offends him and rings it with a flourish that’s more dramatic than necessary. The sharp chime rings through the room, and Chan shifts beside you with an excited grin.

“So,” he says, leaning in slightly, resting his arm on the table as his eyes shine with that bright, sparkly curiosity he always gets when he’s about to go full nerd, “Tiana.”

You tilt your head, grinning. “We talking about the symbolism in her outfits?”

Chan points at you like you just solved a murder. “Yes! Exactly. Like, the green, right? It’s not just a nod to her being a frog for most of the movie. There’s more.”

You nod along eagerly, already hyped. “Absolutely. Disney leaned so hard into green because it’s associated with nature, life, new beginnings but also money. Like, her dream is to open her own restaurant. She’s grinding. That girl was about business. It’s entrepreneurial symbolism and also connects her visually to Naveen once he becomes a frog. They made her visually match her love interest but also highlight her individuality and drive.”

“And then,” Chan says, waving his wine glass slightly, “when she’s in blue, early in the movie, it’s nighttime scenes, moments where she’s daydreaming, or reflecting. Blue is that classic Disney princess colour, right? But with Tiana, it’s not about being delicate or damsel-y. It’s serenity, clarity. She’s composed, self-reliant. The colour just reinforces how she’s in control of her own path.”

Minho’s smirking beside you, sipping his wine with his head tilted as if watching a tennis match. “God, you’re both such dorks.”

You grin over your shoulder at him. “Shut up, you’re worse.”

Right on cue, Felix enters through the kitchen doorway, dramatically balancing a large tray, followed by Jeongin and Hyunjin, who have once again fully committed to their roles as fake waitstaff. Jeongin’s sleeves are now rolled halfway up his forearms and he’s wearing sunglasses indoors like a security guard for Michelin-star dining. Hyunjin struts like he’s about to walk the damn Met Gala red carpet, carrying two dishes like he was born to serve. Felix’s chef whites are even messier than earlier, stained with actual sauce and flour now, and he looks like he’s just left the set of a cooking show mid-finale.

“Main course has arrived,” Felix says, setting down the tray with a flourish.

Jeongin slides a dish in front of each of you with exaggerated flair, like he’s drawing swords. “Bulgogi Deopbap for our dainty debutante.”

Hyunjin nods solemnly, placing another. “Samgyupsal sukju bokkeum, because someone here needed pork in their life.”

Felix gestures to the third dish. “Galbitang, soul-soothing and sexy. And this one-” he points dramatically at the final plate, “-is sataejjim. I was going to make agujjim, but our queen here has a fish allergy and I love her so you’re getting slow-braised beef short ribs instead. Don’t get emotional. I’m already the best friend you’ve ever had, I don’t need more compliments tonight.”

Jisung strolls in next, looking like he’s had a glass of the wine himself, refilling your plastic goblets with the same absurd flair as before.

Felix claps his hands once. “Enjoy your date. No fucking until after dessert, I mean it."

Felix bows, followed by Jeongin’s mock salute and Hyunjin’s “don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” before they all vanish again, leaving the three of you surrounded by the scent of steaming meat and spices.

You’re halfway through a bite of sataejjim when Minho suddenly sits back and gasps like he just had a fucking revelation.

“Oh my god,” he says, “I have one Disney thing to talk about.”

You glance over, chewing, then swallow. “What?”

Minho’s eyes light with fire and fury. “The racist-ass cats in Aristocats. And don’t even get me started on the ones in Lady and the Tramp.”

You nearly choke on your bite, covering your mouth as Chan lets out a loud groan beside you.

“No seriously,” Minho says, leaning forward, gesturing with his chopsticks like they’re weapons. “I’m a very feline-coded Korean man. I love cats. I saw the title ‘Aristocats’ and I thought, ‘fuck yeah, cats in France, let’s go.’ But what do I get?”

He slaps his hand on the table. “Fucking slanted-eye caricature cats playing the piano with chopsticks while singing in fake-ass accents. What the fuck?!”

Chan is already snorting with laughter. You’re trying to drink wine and listen, which is dangerous at best.

“We are all Asian!” Minho continues, eyes wide, pointing at each of you. “We are Koreans! Asians! I repeat, we are ASIAN!”

He points dramatically at you. “And you! You’re triple Asian! Filipino, Malaysian, Korean! It’s even worse for you, darling! That’s a triple insult! Disney spat in three parts of your bloodline!”

You start laughing, full-bodied and loud, shoulders shaking as Minho continues his rant with zero signs of stopping.

“I mean, I watched that as a kid thinking it was normal! And then I grew up and rewatched and I was like, ‘Oh fuck, this is racist!’ Like violently racist. Just punch-me-in-the-face levels of racist. And don’t even bring up the Siamese cats in Lady and the Tramp. Who approved that?!”

Chan covers his mouth, shaking silently as you wheeze into your wine.

“And then!” Minho slams his chopsticks down for emphasis, “the biggest crime in Disney history. The most heinous act ever committed. Worse than the cats.”

You and Chan look up, both breathless.

Minho glares. “The shitty-ass bob Eugene gave Rapunzel.”

“OH MY GOD, YES.”

“I MEAN,” Minho says, standing up now, hands flailing, “this man had ONE JOB. Cut her hair so she wouldn’t get used for her magic anymore. Cool. Fine. I support that. But why did he have to give her the most tragic haircut of all time?!”

Chan’s practically doubled over now. “He really gave her the Triangle Bob.”

“He could have cut it to her waist!” Minho yells. “Her shoulders! Anywhere manageable! So a hairdresser could shape it! But no, he went for the DIY kitchen scissors, blindfolded hack-job. And she had to live with that. Live with it! It was blunt! It was uneven! It was a chopstick-holder hairstyle and I will NEVER forgive him.”

You’re gasping for air, tears at the corners of your eyes as you grip your stomach.

Chan wheezes, “Triangle Bob is a hate crime.”

Minho collapses back into his chair, folding his arms with a scowl. “Justice for Rapunzel’s hair.”

Chan rings the bell for dessert just as Minho, mid-ramble, is in the middle of telling you both about his bisexual awakening, gesturing animatedly with a half-eaten mandu still in his hand.

“I swear to fuck,” Minho says, mouth full of dramatics and absolutely no shame, “I was thirteen, and I was rewatching Aristocats for the first time in years. And then suddenly, BOOM, Thomas O’Malley.”

Chan leans back in his chair, wine glass in hand, grinning. “The alley cat?”

“Yes,” Minho confirms with wide, passionate eyes. “He was charming. He was smooth. He had swagger. I didn’t know what was happening, but I wanted him to look at me the way he looked at Duchess.”

You’re already giggling into your hand, trying not to choke on your water as Minho continues.

“But then!” Minho slams his palm on the table. “Duchess? Duchess had me like, do I want her or do I want to be her? She was elegant, refined, beautiful. She had three kids, she was basically a MILF in cat form. So I’m thirteen, sitting there on my halmeoni's couch, sweating, realizing I had a crush on both of them and I didn’t know what the fuck to do about it. I was like, is this puberty? Is this bisexuality? Is this the start of my villain origin story?”

Chan’s wheezing now, barely able to breathe, and you’re hunched over your plate laughing so hard your shoulders are shaking.

“And don’t even get me started on Simba,” Minho says, pointing aggressively. “You know the moment. You know the moment!”

“Oh my god,” you wheeze. “No.”

Minho barrels forward. “The slo-mo hair flip as he walks across the log? The glow-up montage? The muscles? The fucking strut?! That was peak awakening. And then Nala? With those goddamn bedroom eyes during Can You Feel The Love Tonight? Yes, Elton John, yes I fucking can! What was that?! That was not kid-appropriate. That was a fuck-me gaze! She looked at Simba like she wanted to climb him like a tree!”

Chan’s banging on the table now, head tilted back as he howls with laughter. You’re crying, wiping at your eyes, your stomach aching from how hard you’re laughing.

Minho just crosses his arms and sits back like he’s just delivered a sermon. “Disney really out here giving kids complicated emotions about animated animals.”

You can barely get a word out as you giggle. “You’re so unwell.”

“Extremely,” Minho agrees. “And still hot.”

Before Chan can chime in with another sarcastic quip, the door swings open again, and your favourite quartet returns, Felix in full chef whites once again, looking far too pleased with himself, Jeongin and Hyunjin behind him, each balancing trays covered in colourful desserts. Behind them, Jisung trails in with a wine bottle tucked under his arm, already grinning.

Felix sets the first tray down with a flourish. “Dessert time, bitches.”

Jeongin and Hyunjin follow suit, lining up plates with a precision that clearly took at least two practice runs.

“We have,” Felix begins, clapping his hands, “Yaksik, sweet rice with jujubes, chestnuts, and pine nuts, soaked in honey. Makgeolli ice cream, soft, creamy, and slightly boozy. Goguma cake, that fluffy sweet potato masterpiece. Chapssal doughnuts, fried to golden perfection and rolled in cinnamon sugar. Gyeongdan, which I made with love and a little chaotic bisexual energy.”

Hyunjin carefully places down a fruit platter, meticulously arranged slices of strawberries, bananas, kiwi, and melon encircling small bowls of chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry-flavoured dips.

Jisung plops the rice wine bottle down with a grin. “Here. Because we’re classy.”

Felix nods solemnly. “Each dessert was crafted with intention. With precision. And yes, with aphrodisiacal energy. I put crystals in my chef’s hat.”

Chan blinks. “You what?”

“I manifested horniness. These desserts are blessed.”

You bite your lip to keep from laughing again as they bow one last time, Felix muttering, “Enjoy your threesome or whatever the fuck is gonna happen,” before they all disappear again to the sound of Seungmin yelling from the kitchen, “If you don’t bring me the leftovers right fucking now, I’m breaking someone’s nose.”

Back in the now dessert-laden dining room, Minho grabs a ripe strawberry from the fruit platter and dips it into the chocolate sauce, swirling it around before holding it up to your lips.

You arch a brow, amused, but lean forward and take the strawberry between your teeth, biting off the chocolate-soaked half with a hum of appreciation as Minho watches you eat it like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen.

Not to be outdone, Chan picks up a slice of banana and dips it in the strawberry sauce before turning to Minho and holding it to his mouth. Minho’s eyes flicker from the banana to Chan, then to you, then back to Chan as he smirks and leans forward, lips wrapping around the banana slice with exaggerated slowness.

Chan doesn’t flinch. He just watches as Minho licks his fingers clean with zero shame.

You raise your eyebrows higher.

Minho winks at you. “What? He’s tasty.”

“You’re such a slut,” you mutter, laughing.

“I’m a slut with taste,” Minho replies, already reaching for a piece of Goguma cake.

You all start digging into the desserts properly, plates filling up with little bits of everything.

Minho is practically purring after his third bite of Goguma cake. “Okay. This? This is fucking criminal. I would do illegal things for more of this.”

Chan leans in, his voice low and playful. “Would you suck a dick for it?”

“Depends. Whose?”

“We’re not even at the end of dessert yet, and you’re already planning the blowjob schedule?”

Minho tilts his head. “I like to be organized.”

Chan just laughs, taking another sip of wine. “That’s why he colour-codes our shared calendar.”

And just like that, the three of you dissolve into laughter all over again, cheeks flushed, stomachs aching, hearts full. Your desserts are still on the table, the candles still flicker, the wine still flows. And yet, nothing tastes quite as rich as this moment, surrounded by food, warmth, and two ridiculous, passionate, wonderful idiots who clearly adore you.

And you? You adore them right back.

The door to Chan’s room closes with a quiet click behind you, and the soft noise feels heavier than it should. Final. Decisive. Like crossing a line you’ve been toeing for weeks.

His room smells like cedarwood, clean laundry, and something darker beneath it, skin, sweat, heat. The lights are low, warm and golden from the lamp in the corner. It’s quiet except for the soft shift of fabric as Minho drops his suit jacket over the back of Chan’s desk chair, and the way Chan’s breath hitches softly behind you.

You feel their eyes on you before you turn around. You can feel the air shift, the tension gathering like a storm. The way they look at you now is different than before the date, before dessert and laughter and the teasing jokes about animated animals and colour symbolism. There’s a new weight behind their gaze. Hunger. Possession. Something distinctly, deliciously dangerous.

Chan moves first, always steady, always grounding. He steps into your space, fingers brushing your waist, thumb dragging over the skin exposed by your dress. The satin fabric rustles quietly as he leans in, mouth just barely brushing your ear.

“Still with us, sweetheart?”

You nod, lips parting, but he catches your chin between his fingers before you can speak. His eyes search your face, expression dark and focused.

“Use your words.”

“Yes,” you breathe. “I’m with you.”

Minho makes a quiet, approving noise from somewhere behind you. You feel his approach without turning, he’s the kind of presence that fills a room like gravity. His hands slide around your waist from behind, firm and possessive, pulling you gently against his chest. His lips find the side of your neck, the heat of his mouth just barely grazing your skin.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, voice low and rich. “We were starting to wonder how long you were going to tease us. Wearing that fucking dress like you wanted to be ruined.”

Chan smiles against your cheek, hand sliding up your spine to the zipper of your dress. “You’ve been driving us insane all night. We didn’t say anything at dinner because we wanted to play nice, but now?”

The zipper comes down slowly, the sound loud in the quiet room. Your breath catches.

Minho slips the dress down your body, mouth still pressed against your neck as the fabric slips down your body. It pools at your feet in a soft whisper, and you feel the temperature shift against your bare skin. You didn’t wear a bra, and the cool air kisses your nipples, sending them tight and aching. Minho’s hands slide up to your breasts immediately, fingers rough against the softness as he rolls them in his palms, teasing with slow, deliberate pressure.

Chan steps back for a moment, watching. His gaze is fire, burning its way down your body. You’ve never been looked at like this, like you’re prey, like you’re art, like you’re both. He unbuttons his shirt with slow movements like he’s giving you a show, and every inch of skin he reveals makes your thighs squeeze tighter together.

Minho pinches your nipples, hard, and you gasp. He smirks against your throat.

“I want to make something very clear,” he says, and his tone drops, velvet laced with steel. “Tonight isn’t just about fucking you. We’re not doing this just to scratch an itch.”

Chan tosses his shirt aside and comes back into your space, thumb sliding across your lower lip.

“We’re going to ruin you,” he says softly. “You’ll never be able to think about sex without thinking about this night. About us.”

Minho turns you around slowly, hands guiding your hips, and when you face him, you nearly lose your breath. His expression is pure dominance, restrained only by the barest thread. He’s stripped down to his dress pants, belt still on, the outline of his cock thick and hard beneath the fabric. He cups your jaw and tilts your head back, making you meet his eyes.

“You belong to us now,” he says, quiet but firm. “Understand?”

You nod again, but it’s not good enough for him. His hand tightens slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to ground you.

“Say it.”

“I belong to you.”

Chan makes a soft, broken sound behind you. “Fuck, I love how she says it like she means it.”

Minho kisses you and it’s not gentle. His mouth claims yours, tongue sliding past your lips without hesitation, and you melt into him, moaning softly into the kiss. His hand slides down your back, gripping your ass roughly, pulling you flush against him.

Behind you, Chan’s hands start moving again, sliding over your thighs, up to your waist, over your ribs. He palms your breasts from behind, brushing his thumbs over your nipples in time with Minho’s kiss, and the dual sensations make your knees buckle.

Minho breaks the kiss just enough to speak. “Get on the bed.”

Your body moves before your brain catches up. You climb onto the mattress, sitting back on your heels in the centre, heart pounding in your chest. Minho follows, kneeling behind you, while Chan circles to the foot of the bed, eyes locked on yours.

“Hands,” Minho says.

You hold them out obediently, wrists together, and he grabs a length of black silk, his tie, you realize, the one he wore to dinner. The sight of it being looped around your wrists, tight and careful, sends heat pooling low in your stomach.

Minho knots it with ease, then guides your arms above your head, tying them to the headboard with just enough give to let you shift. It’s not uncomfortable. It’s perfect. You test the restraint once, a soft gasp escaping you at the way it tugs your spine straight.

“Look at her,” Minho says, low and dark. “Fucking perfect.”

Chan kneels between your legs, palms on your thighs, and spreads them slowly. He takes his time, watching your expression, watching your thighs tremble under his touch.

“She’s already shaking,” he murmurs, sounding pleased. “Barely touched her and she’s already falling apart.”

Minho leans in from behind, mouth at your ear. “You like this, baby? Being spread open for us like a good little slut?”

“Yes,” you whisper, voice catching.

Chan dips his head, lips brushing your inner thigh. “We’re going to make you beg tonight. Make you forget your name. You think you can take us again?”

“I can,” you breathe. “I want to.”

“God, look at her,” Minho says, his voice thick with hunger. “Dripping for us already.”

Chan hums in agreement, trailing kisses up your thigh, stopping just short of your pussy. His breath is hot against your skin, and when he finally licks a long, slow stripe from your entrance to your clit, you cry out.

Minho cups your breasts, kneading them as Chan eats you out with slow, deliberate pressure, tongue curling around your clit, teasing it with just enough friction to make your hips buck. He holds you down easily, one hand spread across your lower stomach, anchoring you to the bed.

“You taste like you’ve been thinking about this all night,” Chan says, voice muffled against your pussy. “You taste like ours.”

Minho pinches your nipples again, harder this time. “She is ours.”

Your wrists pull against the tie as your body arches, sensation starting to tip toward overwhelming. Chan doesn’t let up. His tongue is relentless, working your clit while two fingers slide inside you, curling just right, just deep enough, making your back arch again.

“Please,” you gasp. “Please-”

Minho leans over, mouth at your ear again. “You wanna cum, baby?”

“Yes, please-”

“Not yet.”

You whimper, hips twitching, and Chan grins against your cunt. He pulls back, licking his lips, and looks up at you, face flushed, pupils blown.

“She’s close. I can feel her pulsing around my fingers.”

Minho moves down, nudging Chan out of the way. “Let me taste her.”

Chan pulls his fingers free and sucks them clean, making eye contact with you the entire time. Minho doesn’t wait. His mouth replaces Chan’s without hesitation, tongue diving deep, nose brushing your clit. You choke on a moan.

He’s rougher than Chan, less teasing, more focused on wrecking you. His mouth works you open like he’s trying to imprint the feeling of him on your body permanently. You feel your orgasm start to rise again, sharp and fast.

“Please- please let me-”

Chan brushes his fingers over your nipple again, voice soft but firm. “You want to come already, sweetheart? We’ve barely started.”

Minho groans against your pussy, and the vibration sends a shock through your spine.

“Cum for us,” he says. “Right now.”

The command hits you like a freight train. Your orgasm crashes over you in a wave, legs trembling, breath shattering in your chest. You cry out, the sound raw and needy, and Minho keeps licking, keeps fucking you with his tongue until you’re whimpering, too sensitive to bear it.

Your orgasm shudders through you like a shockwave, your muscles locking and twitching as Minho keeps working your clit with merciless precision. Even with Chan holding you still, your hips jerk against Minho’s face, tears springing to your eyes from the sheer intensity. It’s too much, you whimper, it’s too much but you don’t want it to stop.

Chan watches you closely from behind, his arm secure around your waist, eyes dark and tender at once. As soon as Minho pulls back, face wet with your arousal, lips shiny and swollen, Chan reaches around and unties your wrists with careful fingers. The moment your arms fall forward, he catches them, guiding them down to your sides and rubbing slow circles into your wrists to ease the stiffness.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he murmurs, kissing the back of your shoulder. “You did so fucking good. Breathe for us.”

Minho shifts down, sliding his hands under your thighs again, but this time not to pin you. He strokes gently down the length of your legs, palms kneading into your sore muscles, coaxing you back down from the edge. His thumbs work into your calves, the arches of your feet, before moving up again, pressing into your thighs with a gentleness that borders on reverent.

“You were beautiful like that,” he says, voice low and wrecked. “All spread out and shaking for us. You came so hard, baby. You made a mess on my face.”

Your chest heaves as you try to steady your breath, warmth blooming in your stomach from the praise and the way their hands move over you with such care. It contrasts deliciously with how rough they were moments ago. The shift between their dominance and this deep affection is dizzying, addictive. You feel cherished even while ruined.

They’re both naked now, when that happened, you’re not sure. But you can feel the heat of their bodies as they press close again, Minho nudging your chin up with two fingers to kiss you deeply. You can taste yourself on his tongue, the slick glide of his mouth devouring yours with new urgency.

Chan shifts behind you, hands stroking down your spine before he eases away just long enough to reposition himself on the bed. When you open your eyes again, Minho is crawling forward, and Chan lies back beneath him, stretching out like a throne made of muscle and sin.

“Want me to take a seat?” Minho asks Chan, voice a low purr as he glances down at him.

Chan grins, eyes already fixed on Minho’s ass as he licks his lips. “You know I fucking do.”

Minho doesn’t wait. He straddles Chan’s face, knees planted on either side of his head, his cock heavy and flushed against his abdomen as he leans forward on his hands and lowers himself slowly. Chan’s hands immediately grip his thighs, holding him steady as his mouth opens and he starts licking into him, tongue wet and eager, licking slow circles around Minho’s hole before plunging in with a groan that vibrates against Minho’s skin.

The sound Minho makes is obscene, part moan, part broken laugh, like he’s already losing control. He looks at you, dark eyes locked onto yours, and crooks a finger.

“Come here,” he says, voice raw.

You crawl forward, still trembling, and Minho meets you halfway. He pulls you into his lap, straddling Chan’s chest now, your knees pressing into the mattress as you sit just above Chan’s sternum. Minho kisses you again, deep and demanding, his hands running down your back, nails raking lightly over your spine until you arch into him.

Chan groans beneath you both, his hand sliding up between your legs again, two fingers finding your clit and rubbing slow, deliberate circles that make you twitch in Minho’s grip.

“Look at her,” Chan gasps against Minho’s hole, pausing only briefly. “Dripping again already. Our perfect little cock-drunk whore.”

Minho bites your lip and tugs. “She’s insatiable. You love being used, don’t you, baby? Just a little plaything for us to fuck and ruin. You’re already making a mess all over his chest.”

Chan groans again, his fingers rubbing faster, coaxing more wetness from your already oversensitive cunt. You gasp into Minho’s mouth as the pressure builds again, nerves raw from your last orgasm, but hungry for more.

Minho kisses you again, then breaks it, panting as Chan starts fingering him from below with slick fingers, the lube cool and slippery as it sinks in. His eyes flutter shut, then snap open again, and he pulls back from your mouth just enough to speak.

“Not yet. Don’t let me cum. I want to come inside her. Want to fill her up while you’re already fucking her.”

Chan’s fingers slow, but he doesn’t stop entirely. Minho’s face is flushed, jaw clenched, muscles tense as he rides the edge. Then he grabs your hips and hauls you forward off Chan’s chest, dragging you up until you’re nose-to-nose with him again.

Minho guides you, carefully, to straddle Chan’s hips. His cock is thick and flushed beneath you, leaking pre-cum against his stomach. You reach for the lube he tosses up to you and coat his length, spreading the slick down his shaft until he groans, his hands gripping your waist.

“Ready?” he asks, voice hoarse.

You nod, and he lines himself up. You sink down slowly, inch by inch, your walls stretching around him as you gasp and shake in his lap. He fills you completely, the stretch familiar and overwhelming all at once. His hands grip your hips tighter as he groans beneath you, his eyes fixed on the way you take him.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “You were made for this.”

You start to ride him, slow and steady at first, your thighs trembling from effort. His hands guide your pace, hips bucking up to meet your movements, the slap of skin against skin echoing in the room.

Minho slides behind you, hands stroking down your back again, then lower, until he’s spreading your ass with both hands and leaning in to press soft, open-mouthed kisses along your spine. His lips leave trails of heat in their wake, and then his hand slides down to your pussy, fingers circling your clit as he whispers in your ear.

“Gonna take both of us, sweetheart. Gonna stretch you open around two cocks. Can you do that? Can you take it for us?”

“Yes,” you whimper, voice cracking.

Minho’s fingers dip into the jar of lube again, coating his hand before he reaches down. You feel the cool slickness against your cunt again, this time lower, careful and deliberate as he presses one finger into your already stuffed pussy alongside Chan’s cock.

You cry out at the stretch, but you don’t stop him. You don’t want him to stop.

“That’s it,” Minho murmurs, voice husky. “Loosen up for me. Relax. Let me in.”

Chan is stroking your hair now, gently running his fingers through the strands as you breathe through the pressure. Minho adds another finger, scissoring slowly, opening you wider around Chan’s cock.

“You’re doing so good,” Chan whispers. “Taking it like our perfect little toy.”

Minho leans forward, pressing his chest against your back, his hands never stopping as he preps you. “Gonna ruin you, baby. Gonna make you beg for more. You’re gonna forget what it feels like to fuck anyone but us.”

When he finally pulls his fingers out, you’re shaking, gasping, ready. You feel him line up behind you, his cock thick and slick with lube, the blunt head pressing against your already stuffed entrance.

“Breathe,” he says softly.

Chan holds you steady, one hand on your hip, the other cradling the back of your head as Minho starts to push in.

The burn is intense. You’re so full, so stretched, the sensation bordering on pain as your body fights to take him. But he goes slow, painfully slow, his hands sliding up your back to soothe you, whispering soft words as he presses in deeper.

“That’s it, just a little more. You’ve got it. You’re perfect. You can take it.”

Chan kisses your temple, murmuring praises as you start to sink fully onto both of them. Minho’s hips finally meet yours, and you sob, body trembling between them, stuffed to the brim with cock and praise and fire.

“Holy shit,” Chan groans. “She’s squeezing the life out of me.”

“She’s fucking tight,” Minho grits out. “Look at you, taking both of us. Such a filthy little slut.”

You whine, overwhelmed, and Minho tugs your hair back, making you arch against him. His other hand slides down and slaps your ass hard, the crack sharp, the pain blooming hot across your skin.

“You like that? You like being our little fucktoy?”

“Yes,” you gasp, eyes rolling back.

Minho moans, hips starting to move now, shallow thrusts that make both you and Chan cry out. Chan grips your thighs and starts to buck up into you, their cocks sliding in and out in a rhythm that builds quickly, bodies slapping together, sweat slicking your skin.

You’re sandwiched between them, pressed to Chan’s chest as he licks and bites at your neck, marking you with hickies, sucking dark bruises into your skin with possessive intent. Minho spanks you again, then grabs your hair and yanks your head back to kiss your throat.

“You’re ours. “No one else gets to fuck you like this. No one else gets to ruin you.”

“She’s dripping,” Chan groans. “I can feel her soaking both our cocks.”

Minho leans over you, grabs Chan's face, and kisses him over your shoulder. It’s hot, wet, messy, tongues tangling, teeth clicking, and you moan at the sight, your cunt clenching even tighter around them both.

They thrust harder now, synced up in a rhythm that drives you higher and higher. You can’t breathe. You can’t think. You’re split open and full, every nerve ending lit up like fireworks, your orgasm building with terrifying speed.

Chan slaps your ass this time as he groans. “You close, baby? You gonna cum for us again?”

You moan, the sound broken, desperate. You’re close again already, your clit throbbing, cunt clenching so hard around them that Minho hisses and leans forward, biting into your shoulder.

“Gonna cum,” you gasp. “I can’t- fuck- I can’t-”

“Yes, you can,” Minho snaps, thrusts turning punishing. “You’re gonna cum with both our cocks in you. You’re going to make a mess all over us.”

Chan’s hand sneaks between your legs, fingers finding your clit again, rubbing tight, fast circles until your vision whites out. You moan, loud and hoarse, as your orgasm crashes over you, every muscle locking, cunt convulsing around them so hard that it drags Minho over the edge with you.

“Fuck- Fuck, baby,” Minho groans, slamming into you one last time as he cums, hips jerking, cock twitching inside you.

Chan holds you tighter, kissing your face, your shoulder, your temple, murmuring soft praises as Minho collapses against your back. Chan’s thrusts slow, dragging the last of the pleasure out until he groans deep and spills inside you too, warmth flooding your cunt as the three of you sag into each other.

They don’t pull out right away. They hold you there, trembling, stretched and shaking and so full it feels like you could burst.

Minho’s hands are steady as he eases you off Chan and onto the bed, the mattress welcoming you with a soft sigh beneath your aching limbs. The room is warm, the air still thick with the quiet aftermath of the night’s intensity. You’re pliant, exhausted in the way that only full-body pleasure and emotional surrender can bring, your chest rising and falling in deep, measured breaths.

He presses a kiss to your temple, lips lingering as his thumb traces soothing circles along the curve of your waist. The gentle scrape of his voice is low, grounding. "You did so well," he murmurs. “Our good girl.”

Chan moves around the room quietly, bare feet against the wooden floor, the mini fridge humming to life as he crouches to retrieve water and one of the electrolyte drinks you like. His back is turned, muscles loose now, sweat still glistening along his spine as he uncaps a bottle and returns to your side.

He settles down next to you, eyes scanning your face like he’s memorizing every line again. You can’t help but smile, slow and a little dazed, when he brushes a thumb across your cheek and tips the bottle toward your lips. “Small sips,” he says. You do as he says, swallowing slowly, grateful as the cool liquid soothes your throat and brings you back to your body one careful drink at a time.

Minho’s arm curls under your shoulders, pulling you into his chest. His skin is warm, slicked with the remnants of exertion, and his heart beats steady beneath your cheek. You rest your hand over it, breathing in the scent of him, sweat, faint traces of his cologne, something uniquely him that wraps around you like home.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, brushing your hair back from your damp forehead. “Both of us do.” His hand smooths along your back, up and down, rhythmically, and every stroke helps you float a little closer to being grounded again.

Chan’s fingers stay curled gently around your wrist after helping you finish the drink. He watches your eyes blink slowly, chest still rising and falling like the tide. His voice is quiet, but sure. “Let us clean you up, yeah?”

Minho hums in agreement, eyes dipping to yours. “Quick rinse, just a body wash. We’ll take a proper shower in the morning, hmm?” His lips graze the crown of your head as he waits for your answer.

You nod against him, and the response is immediate. He shifts with you in his arms, rising carefully and keeping you close, hands under your thighs as he carries you toward Chan’s ensuite bathroom. You feel the soft puff of his breath against your neck, the press of his cheek to yours.

In the bathroom, the lights are dimmed, casting the tiles in golden warmth. Steam curls gently from the faucet as Minho sets you down on the edge of the tub, brushing your knees with his thumbs.

He turns back to you, taking one of the hair clips left near the sink and gathering your hair up, fingers deft but gentle as he twists it and secures it. “Let’s keep this dry,” he says softly, pressing another kiss to your shoulder. His touch never stops, even as the water starts to run, even as he tests the temperature and helps you step into the tub.

The water is warm as it trickles over your skin, rinsing away the remnants of sweat and intensity. Minho pours body wash into his hands and starts lathering you with it. He moves slowly, methodically, gliding his hands over your shoulders, down your arms, down your back.

Chan joins a few minutes later, a clean towel slung over his shoulder. He kneels beside the tub, fingers brushing your knee before trailing down to your calf. “You doing okay, angel?” he asks, voice tender.

You nod again, lips parting slightly. “More than okay.”

The corner of his mouth tugs upward. “That’s what we like to hear.”

Minho rinses the suds from your back and thighs with a handheld sprayer, careful not to let the stream hit too harshly. Every time you shiver, he kisses the spot it touches. His hand finds yours again, holding it as Chan leans in and kisses the other side of your neck, less biting now, just soft, almost reverent.

When the rinse is done, they both help you step out, Minho steadying your waist while Chan wraps a towel around your shoulders. Their hands don’t rush. They press warmth into your skin as they dry you, as if they're anchoring you with every pass of the fabric.

“Let’s get you into bed,” Minho says as he brushes a final kiss to your cheek. “I’ll do your lotion in bed. Make sure your legs don’t cramp.”

Chan strips the bed quickly while Minho helps you back out into the bedroom, his arm a solid weight around your waist. The sheets are fresh when you return, cool, clean and inviting. You settle into them with a sigh, Minho joining you on one side, Chan on the other.

The bottle of lotion is already in Minho’s hands. He starts at your calves, working upward, strong thumbs pressing into sore muscles until you groan in relief. He moves with patience, rubbing out the tension in your thighs, the lingering tremble in your hips, even the soles of your feet. Every time you twitch, every time you flinch from a sensitive spot, his hands soothe, adjust, never judging.

Chan returns with a warm compress he made from a damp towel in the microwave and presses it gently to your lower back, kissing your spine as you exhale deeply into the pillow. “There she is,” he murmurs, brushing his nose along your shoulder. “That’s our girl.”

Minho kisses your ankle as he finishes the massage and tugs the blanket over you, sliding in beside you with a groan. “We’re not moving again until morning,” he says. “Not even if the house catches fire.”

“Agreed,” Chan chuckles, wrapping an arm around your middle as he settles in. You’re in the middle of them again, but this time it’s all comfort, no tension, no urgency, just shared breath and tangled limbs and the kind of silence that feels sacred.

Minho reaches over you to grab his water bottle from the nightstand and offers you another sip. You take it, nestling back into the pillows when you're done. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “So fucking proud of you,” he whispers. “You gave us everything tonight.”

Chan’s fingers trace up your spine, feather-light. “You’re everything we’ve ever wanted.”

The morning light filters lazily through the barely drawn blackout curtains in Chan’s room, streaking across the floor and casting a soft golden hue over the chaos of clothes, discarded shoes, and the three tangled bodies currently occupying his bed. It’s quiet, save for the occasional creak of the mattress and the sound of someone breathing deeply against your collarbone. You blink a few times, slowly waking up, vision blurry and limbs too heavy to move yet.

Your legs are thrown over Chan’s thigh, who’s pressed up against you like a human-sized heater, arm slung possessively around your waist. Minho is lying on your other side, half on his back, phone in hand, shirtless and looking unfairly good for someone who was railing you stupid six hours ago. Your body is comfortably nestled between them, wrapped in a pair of Minho’s old basketball shorts and one of Chan’s oversized t-shirts that smells like cedarwood and laundry softener. You feel like you’ve been steamrolled by affection, dick, and several hours of thoroughly unholy athleticism.

Minho glances down at you, clearly noticing your eyes blinking open. He doesn’t even greet you with a good morning. Instead, he smirks and says, “You forgot to take your makeup off properly last night even with the shower, and also, you got railed by us again, so now your mascara looks like you lost a fistfight with a raccoon.”

Your groan is muffled against Chan’s pillow. “Oh my god.”

Minho doesn’t stop. He’s already pulling the tiny mirror from Chan’s nightstand drawer like this is a part of his morning routine. He holds it up to your face with zero mercy.

You glance, wince, and then groan again, dropping your face back into the pillow. Your eye makeup is a smeared masterpiece, glitter and liner in disarray, and your neck is covered in hickies, a constellation of purple and red blooms that stretch down your collarbones and disappear under the neckline of the t-shirt. You look like you’ve been gently mauled.

“See?” Minho says proudly. “Masterpieces. I should’ve signed my name on your ass in hickies.”

“You might’ve,” you mumble.

Chan stirs behind you, snuggling closer as he mutters, “Pretty sure he left a few handprints too.”

Minho rolls his eyes, setting his phone down. “Sit up, a bit. Come on.”

You shift slightly, wincing at the soreness in your legs, and Minho props himself on one elbow as he grabs a container of wipes from Chan’s drawer. He pulls one out and gently starts wiping at your face, surprisingly soft for someone who definitely bit you hard enough to bruise last night.

“Are you feeling okay this morning?” he asks after a pause, his eyes scanning your face as he wipes away the smudged eyeliner.

“My legs ache,” you say honestly, “and my vagina needs three to five business days to recover.”

Minho snorts loudly, tilting your chin up with two fingers. “Fair. You took it like a champ though. You were fucking incredible.”

“You two broke me.”

“We worshipped you,” he corrects with a wink, grabbing another wipe and folding it as he continues. “Besides, you didn’t seem too broken when you were riding Chan like a prize pony.”

Chan hums against your back. “That was a great moment.”

You laugh softly, half-embarrassed and half-flattered. “Okay, perverts. Jesus.”

“Don’t use the Lord’s name in vain when you came screaming it last night,” Minho teases, leaning in to kiss your shoulder before opening a new bottle of cleanser. He pours some onto a cotton pad and starts wiping again, this time more methodical.

“So,” he says after a beat. “How did you find the date?”

You blink up at him, smiling sleepily. “I’ve never had anyone put that much effort into a date before. Let alone two people. It was amazing.”

Minho’s expression shifts, something softer behind his usual snark. “Which is bullshit,” he mutters, dabbing around your jawline, “because you’re worth it. And more.”

Your chest tightens a little, and you just nod, biting your lip as you let him take care of you. The cotton pad goes in the trash, and Minho reaches for toner, soaking another pad before pressing it gently to your cheek.

He’s quiet for a second. Then, almost casually, he says, “We want you to be our girlfriend.”

Your breath hitches.

“The three of us,” Minho continues, carefully brushing the toner down your jawline. “As equals. No weird love triangle, no secrets. Just us. Together. How does that sound?”

You don’t even have to think about it. The words are already at the tip of your tongue, warm and certain.

“It sounds really good,” you whisper.

Minho finally smiles, wide and genuine, eyes crinkling at the corners like it’s physically impossible for him to hold it back. He finishes with your cheeks and moves to your forehead.

Chan, who’s been half-asleep this whole time, mutters into your back, “That was easier than I expected.”

Minho scoffs, offended. “Easier? Channie, darling, we had sex with her, couldn’t find her, got misled by fucking Hyunjin, and spent literal weeks pining like dumbasses. We changed our entire gym schedule to match hers, she had a whole breakdown when she found out we knew, and then we had to recruit the frat clown squad to roleplay as restaurant staff for a fake date-night restaurant we set up in the dining room, Jisung drew on a moustache, Felix summoned horniness with his fucking crystals, and Seungmin almost stabbed us when we made him work kitchen clean-up.”

Chan grumbles, “Okay, okay, point made.”

Minho throws the used toner pad into the bin and grabs moisturizer. “You make it sound like this was easy.”

“I just meant-” Chan yawns, stretching behind you, “-she said yes, like, super chill. Not even dramatic.”

“That’s because she’s mature,” Minho says as he begins rubbing the moisturizer into your skin. “Unlike us.”

You can’t help but smile, warmth blooming in your chest as you lie there between them, pampered, teased, held like something precious. It’s intimate, not just in the physical closeness but in the care, in the routine of it. Minho tending to your skin like it’s second nature. Chan curled around your back like you belong to him. You’ve never felt more cherished, more understood, more wanted.

“I feel gross but loved,” you murmur.

“You’re beautiful,” Minho replies instantly, smoothing the last of the cream into your cheek. “Even when your mascara’s halfway down your face and you look like you’ve just come out of a brawl.”

Chan lifts his head, blinking at you. “You’re ours now, right?”

You nod, still a little breathless from how fast your life shifted. “Yours.”

“Good,” Minho says, sitting back and admiring his handiwork. “Now let’s figure out what you want for breakfast. Because you’re gonna need the energy. And not just for healing your pussy.”

The kitchen smells like fried kimchi, garlic, and something vaguely toasted as Minho moves around the stovetop like he was born to command it. You sit on one of the counter stools with your legs pulled up under you, oversized hoodie sleeves hiding your hands as you sip a big mug of hot honey lemon tea. The hoodie is Chan’s, of course, soft and oversized, with fraying cuffs and his scent all over it. Chan’s sprawled out in the chair beside you, shirtless and smug, looking like a man who slept like a baby after rearranging someone’s guts, which, technically, he did.

Minho hums to himself at the stove, flipping slices of kimchi toast in the pan, a plate of Gyeran Mari already sitting on the counter. He’s shirtless too, just wearing sweats, hair still a little damp from the quick shower he took with you earlier. Your legs are sore, your throat is a bit raw, and you’re pretty sure one of the hickeys on your neck is the size of a small country. But you’re happy. You’re soft. You’re safe.

Minho turns slightly, using the spatula to point at the plate of rolled omelette. “Eat,” he orders.

“I’m waiting for the toast,” you say, sipping your tea with a lazy smile.

Chan’s already eating, tearing into the Gyeran Mari with one hand while rubbing his eye with the other. “He gets really intense about breakfast,” he mumbles.

“It’s his love language,” you say, grinning at Minho.

Minho glances over his shoulder with a smirk. “Damn right, it is. You two get orgasms and breakfast. I’m spoiling the fuck out of you.”

He slides two pieces of golden-brown kimchi toast onto a plate and turns off the heat before bringing it over and setting it in front of you with a flourish. “For the love of my life. And my other love of my life.” He presses a kiss to your temple, then one to the top of Chan’s head.

You’re mid-bite, the spicy, tangy crunch of the toast exploding on your tongue when you hear footsteps. The frat house is waking up.

First to appear is Jisung, wearing neon yellow boxers and a university hoodie with the hood up, hair sticking out like he got electrocuted in his sleep. “Jesus fucking CHRIST,” he groans. “Could you three be any louder last night? I think the walls were vibrating.”

You almost choke on your toast as Chan starts laughing, and Minho doesn’t even blink.

Then comes Hyunjin, in silk pyjama pants and nothing else. “Y/N,” he drawls dramatically, “I love you, I support you, but if I have to hear you scream one more time through my wall, I’m throwing myself off the balcony.”

Felix walks in after him, hair a mess, wearing a giant t-shirt that says Feed Me and Tell Me I’m Pretty. “There was a point where I was like... do I want a turn?”

Jeongin stumbles in last, looking offended. “I was in the kitchen getting water at, like, 2 am. I heard someone say ‘harder’ and then a crash. Was that the bed?”

Minho finally speaks, not even looking up as he cuts another piece of Gyeran Mari and slides it onto your plate. “You’re all still alive. That’s disappointing.”

Changbin appears behind them on his crutches. He’s still wearing a boot cast from the ankle fuckcident in the shower, hair pushed back, and an evil grin on his face.

“You’re so loud,” he announces. “I have one good leg, and it still managed to spasm from hearing you moan.”

“Stop,” you laugh, covering your face with your hands.

Jisung leans against the fridge, yawning. “You know what’s worse? I had to walk past Chan’s room to take a shit this morning, and I saw the door open. The mattress is barely on the frame. It’s off-centre. There’s scratches on the wall.”

Chan lifts a piece of toast and points it at them. “I regret nothing.”

“I regret having ears,” Jeongin deadpans.

Hyunjin leans over the counter, looking at your food. “That Gyeran Mari up for grabs?”

Minho slaps his hand away without even blinking. “Touch my girlfriend’s food and I commit a six-man homicide right now.”

There’s a pause as you and Chan slowly turn to look at Minho, who is still lovingly arranging more toast on your plate like he didn’t just threaten mass murder in the same tone people use to ask for more sugar.

Minho shrugs. “I said what I said.”

The room goes silent and then, all five frat brothers collectively peace the fuck out.

Felix and Jisung flee first, mumbling about breakfast being a warzone, followed by Jeongin yelling “I didn’t even want toast anyway!” as Hyunjin grabs Changbin’s arm and helps him hobble away.

“I need to disinfect my brain!” Hyunjin cries as he walks out with Changbin who is shouting something about needing noise-cancelling headphones just to survive in this house.

Within thirty seconds, the kitchen is yours again. Peace restored.

Chan sighs happily, nudging his foot against yours under the table. “God, that was satisfying.”

“They really are dramatic,” you say, mouth full of toast.

“They’re all just mad they’re not getting laid,” Minho says as he sits down across from you and picks up his own plate. “And that they’re not getting fed.”

Chan leans over and feeds you a bite of omelette with his chopsticks. You chew happily and then reach across to feed Minho a piece of your toast in return.

He smirks. “See? This is the life.”

Chan clinks his chopsticks against yours. “Poly power.”

Minho raises his mug. “To fucking and feeding.”

You giggle, raising your tea. “To loud orgasms and good breakfast.”

The three of you clink together like a bunch of unhinged but happy weirdos who somehow found love in the middle of frat house madness, post-threesome chaos, and a campus-wide mystery. And as you laugh and eat and bask in the morning light pouring in through the windows, you think to yourself that maybe, just maybe, this is what happily ever after looks like for you.

Proofread by the amazing @hwangjoanna <3

Bang Chan Taglist: @0haerireah0

Lee Minho Taglist: @0haerireah0 @linowzzzz @puppymsworld

General Taglist: @nightmarenyxx @velvetmoonlght @annafee_bou @mlink64 @intoanothermind @furfoxsake22 @daaaph-lol @tirena1 @yu-winchester @cristy-101 @strayk1ds143 @skzlover24

Winner of this poll

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strrykais · 4 months ago

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(‪‪𐙚) texts with husband minho

ྀིhe thought one was enough for him, now stuck with a high dose of baby fever minho just wants to continue to add to his family ˎˊ˗

requested: hiii! i loved the jeongin baby fever text could you please do some with lee know !!

「 authors note 」 thank you for requesting! i hope you enjoy it was very fun to write! for more click here !

ⓒstrrykais

permanent taglist : @hyunestrella @spicy-sawdust @charlieg1rl @gnabnahcbby @totheseok @mystverse @jisungs-iced-americano @kimseungminpabo @bookswillfindyouaway @puppy-minnie @katchowbbie @night-storm7 @auroratiseee @goldenmellow @sellomaybe @embrr0-0

reblogs, likes and replies are appreciated! feel free to send feedback/thoughts/requests in my asks!

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skzstarl0ver · 3 days ago

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☆*: .｡. Office hours .｡.:*☆

Lee know x reader / Teacher x student / age gap /smut / one shot

**Involves!!** age gap, illegal relationship, inappropriate touch, dirty talk, sex in public / school, cursing

enjoy xx (open for request)

★.•☆•.★★.•☆•.★¸.•☆•.¸★ skzstarl0ver ★⡀.•☆•.★⡀.•☆•.★¸.•☆•.¸★

You were late. Again.

Your boots clicked against the marble floors of the language building as you all but sprinted toward Lecture Hall 3B. The weight of your laptop bag bounced at your side, and your heart pounded—not from the effort, but from knowing who’d be staring you down the second you walked in.

Professor Lee Minho had a gift for making you feel like he could see through walls.

You burst into the room just as he was writing something in neat Hangul on the whiteboard. He didn’t turn when you entered, but you saw his hand pause for just a second before resuming, smooth and deliberate.

"Nice of you to join us," he said without looking. His voice was low and smooth, with the kind of velvety edge that made people listen. Or blush.

A few chuckles echoed through the room. You felt them before you saw them—eyes. Watching you as you made your way to your seat.

Minho turned slowly, marker cap clicking shut in his fingers. He looked right at you, dark eyes unreadable, mouth barely twitching in the ghost of a smirk. He was wearing that charcoal button-up shirt again—the one that always seemed to cling just a little too perfectly to his frame.

You sat. Crossed your legs. Tried not to roll your eyes—or let your knees knock together.

"Let’s continue," he said smoothly. "Unless someone else wants to make an entrance?"

Your cheeks burned. But beneath the embarrassment was something else. Something twisted and warm and electric that curled low in your stomach.

Because you knew it wasn’t just snark. Not with the way he always looked at you like that. Like he wanted to say more.

You didn’t need help with the assignment. Not really. But you knocked on his office door anyway that afternoon, heartbeat quick, lip tucked under your teeth like a secret.

"Come in," came the reply.

The office smelled like black coffee and old books. Minho sat behind a dark wood desk, sleeves rolled up, jaw sharp in profile. He didn’t look surprised to see you.

"Didn’t think you were the ‘ask for help’ type," he said, eyes flicking up.

"Guess I’m full of surprises," you said. Your voice came out cooler than you felt.

He leaned back in his chair, appraising you. His eyes dipped—just for a second—to your mouth, your neckline, your bare thigh where your skirt had ridden up slightly. He said nothing, but the air cracked like a wire pulled tight.

"What do you need help with?" he asked finally.

You stepped closer. Your fingers brushed the edge of his desk.

"Grammar," you lied.

He smiled, slow and knowing.

"Sit," he said. But it wasn’t a suggestion.

You sat, crossing your legs slowly, watching his eyes flicker to the movement. His fingers curled slightly against the desk. You felt it—the shift in the air.

"You sure it’s grammar you need help with?" he asked, his voice a little lower now, a little less controlled.

You tilted your head. "What if I said no?"

Minho’s jaw flexed.

He stood up slowly, moving around the desk until he was standing right in front of you. You leaned back in the chair, heart hammering in your chest, breath shallow. His presence was magnetic—too close, too intense.

"Then I’d ask what the hell you think you’re doing," he said, gaze dropping to your lips.

You let the tension hang between you like a pulled wire. Then, softly: "Testing a theory."

His brow lifted. "And what theory is that?"

You leaned in, voice barely a whisper. "That you’ve been wanting to touch me since the semester started."

That did it.

Minho’s breath left him in one sharp exhale, and the next thing you knew, his mouth was on yours—hot, urgent, needy. His hand cupped your jaw as he kissed you hard, like he’d been holding back for weeks, months, too long.

His tongue slid against yours, and a soft whimper escaped you—one he swallowed greedily. You felt him smirk against your lips as he murmured, “You’re gonna get us both in trouble.”

You reached up, fingers tangling in his shirt. "Then don’t stop."

He didn’t.

In one motion, he pulled you up from the chair and spun you, backing you against the edge of his desk. Papers scattered to the floor. His hands were everywhere—at your waist, up your thighs, under your skirt, fingers digging into your skin like he couldn’t get enough.

“You don’t even know what you’re asking for,” he muttered, lips brushing your neck.

“Try me.”

He paused then, forehead against yours. Breathing hard. Eyes wild.

“If I start,” he growled, “I’m not stopping at just a kiss.”

“Then don’t,” you whispered.

He pushed you up onto the desk. One knee spread open, the other wrapped around his hip. His hands were so confident, so sure of you—palming your thigh, sliding your underwear to the side with a low, appreciative groan.

“Already so wet for me,” he murmured, voice like sin. “You’ve been thinking about this, haven’t you? Sitting in my class like a good little student, but dreaming about getting bent over my desk.”

You gasped, hands in his hair, back arching. “Minho—”

“Professor,” he corrected, mouth brushing your ear, “if you’re going to moan my name, do it right.”

And oh—did you.

His mouth trailed hot kisses down your neck as his fingers worked you open, slow and devastating. You were a mess, writhing on his desk, biting your fist to keep from crying out.

“Let them hear,” he said, watching your flushed face. “Let them know who you belong to.”

When he finally slid into you, it wasn’t slow. It was rough, deep, desperate—weeks of tension snapping all at once. He grunted in your ear, your name a broken groan on his lips. Every thrust rocked the desk, every sound between you swallowed by the thick silence of his office.

You didn’t care who might walk by. Who might hear.

All you could think about was how good he felt. How he knew exactly where to touch you, how to take you apart, how to make you beg.

“Such a smart girl in class,” he panted, hand gripping your waist as he pounded into you, “but in here? You’re mine.”

You shattered.

And he kissed you through it—possessive, deep, reverent—as if he’d never wanted anything more.

After, the silence was thick. Only the sound of your breathing filled the room.

Minho helped pull your skirt back down, brushing his fingers over your skin with surprising gentleness.

“This shouldn’t have happened,” he murmured, lips brushing your temple.

“But it did,” you replied, voice soft but firm.

He looked at you, searching your eyes. Then: “Come back next week.”

You blinked. “For…?”

“Office hours,” he said, smirking. “You’ve got a lot of grammar to work on.”

Thanks for reading, hope you liked it xxx (this was a request)

#skz #stray kids #lee minho x y/n #lee minho x you #lee minho #lee know x reader #lee know #teacher x student #viral #viralpost #fanfic #skz fanfic #request #request fanfic #like #follow4more #follow me

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justiceforvillains · 8 months ago

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Accidental Confession in the Wrong Group Chat : Lee Know

───────────♡̆̈─────────────

➽ Summary: Hyunjin meant to put all skz in a group chat but instead of putting I.N he accidentally put Y/N in it

➽ Genre: Crack, Humor and Fluff

➽ Warnings: Hyunjin being put in the air fryer

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Fake texts are really fun I might start doing more of those

✦ Masterlist ✦

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dreaming-medium · 6 months ago

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Language Barrier

Pairing: Lee Minho x Reader

Word Count: 7K

Tags: fluff, first meeting, first kiss, strangers to lovers

Summary: When the power goes out while you’re in an ATM vestibule, you come to realize you’re stuck inside until the police come to open the door. But there’s one problem, you don’t speak a lick of Korean, and the man inside doesn’t seem to speak an ounce of English.

———

A/N: Please note that sentences that are Italicized are meant to be in Korean and sentences that are regular text are in English.

‘How are you?’ - English

‘I’m fine thank you, and you?’ - Korean

—————————————————————————

Luck was not on your side today.

It’s not like you’re an unlucky person as a whole, no, that’s not it. Today was just one of those days that when you say ‘How could this get any worse?’, the universe takes it as a challenge.

Perhaps you should’ve just kept your mouth shut after you spilled coffee on your blouse this morning. But, you’ve always been such a ‘glass-half-full’ sort of person that you tried to take every inconvenience in stride. Everyone has their limit, though.

Before you came here on a business trip, you had heard about the Korean Monsoon season.

Everyone and their mother told you about how much it would pour, how it would feel like the skies suddenly opened up. But, you didn’t take anyone’s warning seriously. You would wave them off with a scoff.

“It’s just rain,” you thought. “How bad could it be?”

You’re eating those words now as you run through the streets in your nice, newly-soaked, professional heels. Your slacks are sticking to your legs, making the fabric ten times heavier. With your bag held over your head, you look around frantically for the bank.

It doesn’t help that it’s close to 10 PM and visibility is already horrible at this time. Yes, you should have gone earlier, but you were distracted!

Where is it? Where is it?

There!

You spot the glass doors and practically sprint up to them, grab the handle, and rip the door open.

A giant sigh of relief comes out of your lips as you step inside the tiny vestibule.

The only other man inside the place jumps a bit at your noise. He glances over his shoulder at you, but immediately turns back to what he’s doing at the ATM. You pay him no mind as you shake the rainwater off of your bag.

It’s after hours at the bank, meaning the only thing open and available is one ATM inside the room between the bank itself and the streets of Seoul.

Soft beeping comes from the ATM as the other man presses a few buttons. There’s an umbrella on the floor at his feet.

After brushing the water off your jacket, you bring your bag in front of you and start fishing out your card. Countless items inside your bag are now completely soaked.

Ugh, there goes all those business cards you collected at the meeting. Most of the ink is bleeding off the cardstock. Maybe, if you try really hard, you can make out the phone numbers on the cards.

Is that a 6 or an 8?

Or maybe the email addresses will be easier to understand. Surely, it just their names and their company’s–

There’s a bright flash of lightning followed immediately by a booming clap of thunder at the same time the lights in the ATM vestibule flicker and go out completely.

You fight the yelp that bubbles in your throat. The man in front of you seems to lose the fight against his reactions and lets out a tiny yip.

His shoulders come up and he seems to bristle like a cat.

“You’re kidding,” you mumble, looking up at the lights. It was almost pitch black inside now, save for the tiny emergency lights that kick on on either side of the glowing Exit sign.

The man lets out a grumble and a sigh.

You look over and see that the ATM has completely shut off. Figures.

The storm must’ve triggered some sort of power outage. Great. Now you’ll have to find some other ATM.

Why, oh why, did the restaurant that your boss wanted to take you to tomorrow morning have to be cash only?

Whatever, there should be a bank a few blocks from here.

Your heels click on the tile as you make your way to the door. When you grab the handle and pull, it doesn’t budge.

There’s a beat.

You try again, really putting your back into it this time.

“Am I stupid or what?” you whisper to yourself, trying the other door and pulling equally as hard.

“They’re not going to open,” the man behind you says. “The fail-safe locks probably kicked in once the power went out. It’s a security measure.”

You turn around and look at him with a blank look on your face. “Oh, ah, um… s-sorry, no… no Korean.”

The man blinks at you. “You don’t speak Korean?”

You blink right back at him. “Um…” All you can do is shake your head with wide eyes and a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry,” you repeat.

Another series of blinks are exchanged.

“No… Korean?” he asks slowly. His English sounds so unsure.

You nod. “No… no Korean.”

A tiny, exasperated sigh comes from his lips and he looks around, as if anything inside this tiny little room would be able to help him communicate with you. Meanwhile, you turn back to the door and give it another sharp tug to no avail.

“No,” he says firmly, drawing your attention back to him. He motions down to the door handles and then shakes his head.

“No?” you repeat, a bit confused.

“No.”

Honestly, the primitive conversation between the two of you would be somewhat laughable if you didn’t feel frustrated beyond belief.

“Why?” you ask, becoming annoyed. Obviously, he knows something that you don’t.

The man blinks at you and shifts around nervously on his feet. His hands motion around as he tries to conjure up a sentence in English. “N… No. Closed?... Closed.” He nods, saying the word rather confidently.

Yes, you know the door is closed. But, why?

After a second, he sees that whatever he said evidently isn’t good enough, so he points back to the ATM, to the light that is now off due to no power, and then to the locks. You follow his pointing and the cogs in your brain start turning slowly.

“Fail-safe locks,” you state and then finally release the door handles.

“Fail… Fail-safe locks,” he repeats slowly. “Fail-safe locks.”

“Fail-safe locks?” you parrot his Korean back to him and he nods.

A small hum comes from your chest and you take a step back from the door finally. “How long do you think–” you cut yourself off when you look over at him. The man is staring at you, not following a word you’re saying.

Your hand comes up and you brush some wet hair off your forehead and then scratch the back of your head as a nervous tick. There’s no point in even asking the question, he won’t be able to understand anything you’re saying.

If you were in his shoes, you’d probably be a bit annoyed too. But at the same time, he’s already been kinder than most would be in this situation.

He’s locked in an ATM vestibule with someone who doesn’t speak the same language as him– in his own country. He’s been more than kind. Most people would just wave you off and forget trying to communicate at all.

But here he was, talking slowly and making sure you can understand what he’s saying. He’s going so far as to point around the room to make sure you understand.

The man notices you give up and he lets out a tiny sigh, turning to then peer out the glass doors at the streets of Seoul. There’s basically no one out there, everyone has taken shelter from the squall.

“We’ll have to wait until the police come to open the door.” He pats at his pockets, searching for his phone.

Even with how terrible your Korean is, you still pick up on a few words. “Police?” A beat. “Police?”

“Yes,” he answers in English, taking his phone out and tapping the screen a few times before holding it up to his ear. The man continues to look through the glass doors, watching all the different cars drive by, none of them police cars.

You decide to turn around, walking around the tiny room.

All of the lights are off except for the emergency lights. They cast a dull glow through the entirety of the vestibule. There's barely enough light to see from one side of the room to the other.

Rain starts hammering against the glass as the man speaks into his phone. “Yes, hi, hello. I am currently trapped with another woman inside the ATM vestibule of Metrobank Seoul… Namdaemunno… Yes, that one.”

Your ears perk up when he mentions the name of the bank and the address. Ah, he must have called the police. His face pulls into a slightly annoyed look, but he doesn’t speak with a hint of it through the phone, at least, not that you’re really able to tell.

The man says a few more words into the phone before he hangs up with a sigh. He runs a hand through his hair and then down his face in an exasperated fashion before turning to look at you. His mouth opens to say something, but he thinks better of it and he grimaces even more.

Your own features pull into a sympathetic expression and you look away, slightly embarrassed. Should you have learned more of the language before coming here? Absolutely. But at the same time, you didn’t have much time to prepare once you were told you had to travel here for business.

He shuffles from foot to foot and looks around, shoving his hands in his pockets and desperately trying to remember every English class he took in school.

“Police…” he says slowly, thinking through every word he wants to try and say. “Police are… busy.”

“Busy?”

“Yes. Busy. Busy with… car…” He brings both of his hands together and claps and then makes an explosion noise with his hands.

“A car accident?”

He snaps his fingers and points to you, as if you’re a team during a game of charades.

“Car accident,” he says in Korean.

“Car accident,” you repeat and he nods.

Despite the reality of the situation, you smile. The humor in all of this does not escape you. You decide to try and meet him halfway, even with your butchered pronunciation.

“Police… time… long?” Your head cocks to the side and you point to your watch. He shakes his head and shrugs in exaggerated movements.

Scoffing, you roll your eyes. The accident was that bad, huh? No wonder the power went out then, the car must have smashed into electrical lines after that loud clap of thunder. This probably means all of the traffic lights and such are out too.

The police are most likely directing traffic and making sure no one gets injured; two idiots stranded in an ATM vestibule are the least of their concerns. Honestly, you can’t be in a safer place. Well, unless this guy is a murderer, but you haven’t gotten a harsh vibe yet.

You sigh and lean against the wall near the corner across from the ATM. Your body slides down to the floor and you stare straight ahead. It seems like you’re going to be in here for a while then.

The man takes one last look outside the doors before walking in your direction. He leans against the adjacent wall and takes a seat on the floor with you. His shoes almost touch the side of yours. It’s at this time that you let yourself take a moment to really look at him.

He has to be around your age; older than a college graduate but younger than someone settled into their career. Something that definitely doesn’t escape your attention is how… pretty he is. His skin is near perfect and so is his hair. Everything, down to the clothes he’s wearing, is absolutely flawless– and he’s only in sweatpants and a zip-up hoodie!

Next to him, especially in your current drowned rat state, you probably look like something worse than a hot mess. You quickly comb your hair off your forehead once more and pull at your soaking wet clothes sticking to your skin.

The man’s lips purse for a moment and he opens his mouth as if to say something, then promptly stops, opting for a grumble of frustration.

After a moment, an idea flickers through your mind and you hold up one finger to him to say ‘one moment’. You reach down into your pocket for your phone and take it out, tapping at a few screens and bringing up the Translate app.

‘What’s your name?’ you type into the phone and it immediately translates it into Korean below it. You turn your phone around and hold it up to him.

The man looks at you, then your phone, and his eyes light up. If you’re not mistaken, you even see a little bit of relief flash over his features. A tiny smirk pulls at one corner of his lips before he looks back at you.

“Minho,” he answers and motions to you.

“Y/N,” you reply. “Nice to meet you, Minho.” You hold your hand out for a handshake.

Minho looks at your hand and his smirk gets wider before he grabs your hand and shakes it gently. The skin on his palm is so soft. “Nice to meet you, Y/N.”

After shaking his hand, you bring your phone back up to your face and type another sentence into the translate app.

‘I’m very sorry for not knowing Korean, I’m here on business.’

Minho looks at your phone, reading the statement before shaking his head and pulling out his own phone. He types away and then holds it up for you to read.

‘No need to apologize. With my line of work, my English should be better. It’s a very hard language to learn.’

A little laugh huffs from your nose and you nod and type.

‘Try learning Korean.’

Minho laughs with you and his smirk grows into a playful smile. Jesus Christ, this man is gorgeous. He looks down and taps a bit on his phone and then he holds it up to you. With the way his smirk pulls at his lips, it almost reminds you of a devious little cat.

‘I could tell you were a foreigner when you first came into the bank.’

Your eyebrow raises. “Oh, really?”

He’s chuckling when he brings his phone back to type more and then hold it up for you to read.

‘You don’t have an umbrella.’

Laughter leaves your lips when you read that and your head tilts back to rest against the wall. The wetness from your clothes is beginning to seep into your bones. Plus, the feeling of the fabric sticking to your skin is starting to become overstimulating.

But, you try and keep it together. You don’t really have another option at the moment.

You type a message back to Minho.

‘People tried to warn me about the Monsoon Season. As you can see, I didn’t listen.’

He reads your message and sucks his teeth with a smirk. Minho shakes his head and motions to the glass doors, as if to say ‘Look!’.

“I know, I know!” you laugh and look outside at the sheets of rain pouring from the sky. Puddles have turned into small ravines flowing down the sides of the road. Any car that passes by creates a huge splash as they pass through them.

Every once in a while, the sky will light up and thunder will follow it quickly.

Minho laughs with you. “Next time… you listen.” He nudges your leg with his foot.

You look over at him. “I will, trust me.”

A long look is shared between the two of you. There’s this tiny nagging feeling at the back of your mind, it’s that same feeling you get when you see someone in public that you swear you’ve seen before. Maybe he just has one of those faces?

No, you definitely haven’t met him before. You would remember if he was someone you shook hands with in the last few days. A man that gorgeous would never slip under your radar, you’re certain.

Minho stares back at you, eyes flitting about at your soaking wet hair matting to your skin. It looks like his one hand twitches for a moment and then he shifts in his seat.

Back to the app.

The two of you type away on your phones and hold them up at the same time with the exact same question on them.

‘What do you do for work?’

Again, the two of you let out little huffs of laughter and he motions to you as if to tell you to go first.

So you do, you type down on your phone a little answer for him.

‘Right now, I’m only the assistant to a CEO for a huge company. Wherever he goes, I go. I write all his contracts; everything he does goes through me first. I’m more of an administrator than an assistant, though.’

Minho reads your answer carefully and then types out a small response with a tiny crease in between his brows.

‘Why do you say ‘right now’?’

A sad smile spreads on your face as you look down at your phone to type out a response.

‘I studied hard and have a Mathematics degree. But no matter where I apply, they say I don’t have enough experience. Back in America, the job market is absolutely horrible. So, I’m stuck.’

Minho’s eyes scan through your message and a frown pulls at his lips. He looks back up at you, meeting your eyes and then back to your phone before he begins to type his own message.

Your silent communication warms your heart a little bit. The glow from his phone lights up his features and you study him carefully. His teeth poke out from his top lip– it’s absolutely adorable.

He seems to think for a long moment before his thumbs fly over his screen.

Rain is coming down in sheets outside the door, it’s the only other sound inside the room besides the light clicking of the haptics on his phone.

You reach back and once more run your fingers through your hair– it seems to be drying now, but not in a good way. The humidity of the rain is apparent in the way it's starting to frizz up.

Minho turns his phone around after a moment of typing.

‘I’ve heard about how hard it is to get a job in America, I’m very sorry it’s so unfair. For what it’s worth, I think there’s nothing wrong with the job you have now. Hard work is hard work no matter if it's an assistant or a scientist.’

His words strike a chord within your heart, they tug at your chest and at the corner of your lips which twitch into a wistful smile on your face.

“Thank you,” you say to him in Korean, looking directly into his eyes. Minho smiles back at you when he hears it.

“You are welcome,” he answers in English.

His smile seems so warm for a stranger. He looks at you as if you’re an old friend, not like a woman, still soaking wet from the rain, sitting on the floor with him inside an ATM vestibule. He’s so genuine.

After a few seconds of just looking at him, you bring your phone up to type once more.

‘Your turn. What do you do?’

Minho stares at your phone for a long time, seemingly reading the sentence over and over again. His bottom lip pulls between his teeth and he seems to weigh something in his mind.

His brown eyes flick to yours, then back to the phone, then back to you again before he looks down at his phone.

You never realized how much just body language alone can convey.

He types slower, his thumbs not moving as quickly as before. Why does he seem so apprehensive?

Eventually, he turns the phone around.

‘I’m an idol.’

“Oh,” you say softly. Your shoulders shrug a bit and you cock your head to the side. “Like a K-pop idol?”

Minho nods in response. “Stray Kids.”

The name rings a bell, it’s just one you’ve heard floating around for a few months now. You think one of your friends is into them, but you can’t remember. She’s into so many different groups, it’s hard to keep track anymore.

You type in your phone.

‘I’ve heard the name before. Weren’t you guys at the MET Gala?’

With a breathy chuckle, he nods. A smile spreads across your face.

‘Wow, I’m trapped in a room with a celebrity then. You know, people write stories like this.’

Your joke definitely lands because he snorts a huff of laughter as you type on your phone a little bit more after that.

‘Don’t worry, I won’t take pictures and post them all over Twitter or anything. This will just be a funny story for me to tell my friends when I get back home to America.’

“Thank you,” Minho says softly with genuine gratitude in his voice. God, you can’t even imagine what it’s like being an idol. There probably wasn’t a single place he felt safe going to anymore. There are always cameras just waiting to take his picture.

‘When do you go back to America?’

‘In a few days. My boss loves to extend his business trips at the last minute. So, I could be here three more days or seven more days. It’s very hard to pack to come on these trips.’

A bittersweet expression settles on his handsome face.

You think for a long moment before typing away at your phone and showing it to him.

‘Have you ever been to New Jersey? That’s the state I’m from.’

Minho’s lips purse as he thinks for a long few moments. Very slowly, he nods, almost unsure. He types in his phone, then thinks for a moment, then types again.

‘I think we’ve been there twice. Is Newark in New Jersey?’

Excitedly, you nod. “Yes, that’s up in North Jersey!” You’re so excited that you forget to type down on your phone. “Oh!” you say with a laugh, looking back down at your phone.

‘Yes, that’s in the northern part of the state, about an hour or so from my hometown. I grew up in the central region, right on the beach. It only takes ten minutes to get to the beach from my house.’

Minho’s smile widens and he looks at you with a slightly envious look in his eyes. You giggle in response.

‘Two other members love the beach, but they’re from Australia.’

‘Australian beaches are probably not that different from American beaches. But I’ve never been to Australia. Have you?’

Minho nods and you see him close his translation app and switch over to his camera roll. His fingers quickly begin scrolling up through the countless amount of photos he has on his phone.

Not wanting to invade his privacy, you look away from his phone and out the doors in the vestibule once more. Not a single soul is walking– or running– along the sidewalks anymore.

Due to the power outage, there’s not even street lights illuminating in the puddles, it’s almost eerie looking. But, surprisingly, you don’t feel uneasy at all. Especially not with Minho sitting at your side.

Said man hums to get your attention, shuffling closer to you, and you look down at his phone. The picture is absolutely gorgeous.

It’s a photo of the beach, you’re assuming in Australia. The red sun is peeking above the horizon and painting the sky a beautiful wash of reds, pinks, and purples, all of the colors melting into one another. The clouds are wispy and glow in the morning sun.

The ocean seems so beautifully blue, even the foam at the crash of the waves is beautiful.

In front of the ocean is a gaggle of boys, it looks like there’s about seven of them. Each of them have bright, beautiful smiles on their faces reaching their eyes.

You’ve never been able to feel joy radiating from a photo like this, it seems to be contagious since you find a smile pulling at your own lips.

“This photo is beautiful,” you whisper, not taking your eyes off of it.

Minho hums, maybe he understood what you said. His thumb moves and he scrolls to the next picture where two of the boys have taken one of the others by his legs and arms and seem to be pretending to toss him into the surf.

A soft giggle comes from your lips and you find yourself leaning towards him a bit to get a better look at the photo. Truly, you didn’t even notice your shoulders brushing against each other, and by his lack of reaction, it seems Minho didn’t either.

“Friends?” you ask him in your choppy Korean.

Minho looks over at you, his face closer to you than before. His eyes widen a bit at your proximity, but he doesn’t back up at all.

“Family,” he corrects you in his soft English.

An even warmer feeling spreads through your chest and you look back down at the photo. They must be his band members, but they just look so much closer than that. It reminds you of all of your friends back home.

Before you can even think twice, you’re opening your own camera roll, scrolling through an endless sea of memories before finding one specific morning you woke up to go watch the sunrise on the beach.

A tiny, awe-struck noise comes from Minho when he looks down at it.

“Sunrise,” you say and then think for a moment. You’re not sure of the Korean you want to say. “Favorite… time.”

He’s so patient when you speak, it absolutely melts your heart. There’s a different air about his softness with you too. He’s not treating you like a child just learning how to speak, no, he’s just being… nice. He’s being sweet and genuine and it speaks volumes about his character.

“Sunrise,” he says in Korean.

“Sunrise,” you repeat, looking up at him. His eyes were already trained on your face by the time you looked up. A tiny dusting of pink covers your cheeks. How long has he been looking at you?

A happy smile spreads over his lips, the edges curl up playfully. He nods. “Sunrise. Sunrise.”

“Sunrise.” Your voice says softly once more before looking back down at your phone.

Swiping through a few more pictures, you show him the boardwalk that runs down the beaches by your house. Everything from shops, to amusement park rides, to lemonade and ice cream stands litter the entirety of the shore.

He points down at the ferris wheel and shakes his head. “No,” he says simply.

“No?” you ask with a laugh. “Why not?”

“No… no high,” he shakes his head and motions his hands around to emphasize his point.

“Best picture,” you giggle holding your hand up in the air to emphasize the height aspect, then you’re swiping to the next picture taken from the top of the ferris wheel. This time, it was sunset. “Sunset.”

“Sunset.” A pause. “My… My… favorite time.”

A soft hum bubbles up in your throat. He loves sunset whereas you love sunrise. How cute.

“Sunset is beautiful,” you say slowly. Your eyes are still on your phone when you swipe to another photo.

“Beautiful,” Minho whispers softly.

Humming, you nod. “Yes, beautiful.”

A soft puff of air comes out of his nose and fans out over your cheek. When did he get this close? You look up at him and almost bump his nose with yours.

Minho’s head flinches back a bit at your sudden movement, but he makes no move to get further away from you.

He sighs softly, his eyes flitting all over your face, taking in every one of your features. “Beautiful,” he murmurs.

Your eyes widen, that pink blush making its way back to your face. You can’t even help the tiny, giddy giggle that bubbles in your throat. You look down shyly, biting your bottom lip.

Tender, gentle fingers lift your chin back up. Truly, you didn’t notice how cold your skin was until his warm touch spread on your skin.

Is this really happening?

A shiver races down your spine and a soft shudder comes out of your lips. Minho’s eyes look down at your lips and then down at your arm where goosebumps begin to raise.

He pulls away gently, making your brows furrow. Did you do something wrong? Maybe you misread his–

He’s shrugging off his hoodie.

Oh, he thinks you're cold.

Before you can even think to tell him you’re okay, he’s pulling your shoulder forward a bit so he can drape it over your back, bundling you up in such a pleasant, soft warmth. With small, fussy movements, he’s closing the hoodie around your body.

Perhaps you didn’t even notice how cold you were until you were suddenly surrounded in a warmth that can be compared to the fuzziest blanket you own. Not to mention the absolutely delightful scent that wafts upwards into your nose from the fabric.

It’s such a clean, cozy, calming scent. It’s like you buried your nose into the Mahogany Teakwood candle at Bath and Body Works.

Your eyes stay trained on his face while he bundles you up tightly. His hands gently grab your arms and rub up and down a few times to create even more warmth.

“Better,” he murmurs, finally looking up to meet your eyes.

How is it that a stranger has wormed himself into your heart like this? His tender gaze makes your soul feel calm, like those pictures of the morning surf under the sunrise.

“Thank you,” you whisper back to him. Your hands come up to grab at the hoodie, curling into the fabric.

Minho smiles back at you, you can see how his smile grows as he watches you relax into his clothing. There’s no space between your shoulders as you rest against adjacent walls, your two bodies have melted into the corner.

There’s a clap of thunder outside, but neither of you move. Your feet shuffle on the floor as you bring your knees closer to your chest. His legs adjust around yours, feeding them under your bent knees and tangling your limbs up further.

It’s so hard to break Minho’s eye contact, but you do it slowly, looking down at your phone and opening up the translate app once more. His soft breathing hits your cheek with every exhale.

‘You’re too nice to a stranger.’

Minho hums, almost in agreement. He picks up his phone and types back.

‘I’m usually not.’

You read the statement and then look at him, your head cocked to the side. Your brows furrow in confusion, but he types more before you can even ask another question.

‘I don’t know why I feel drawn to you.’

The text looks right back at you. Your heart flutters in your chest and you know that your cheeks get redder and redder by the second. Still, you can’t contain the giddy laugh that makes its way past your lips.

You bite the inside of your cheek to try and hide the smile, but it only makes Minho smile wider. His hand slowly comes up towards your cheek. Right before he’s able to make contact, he stops, hovering over your skin and gazing into your eyes.

A silent question is asked through his eyes. It’s a language that you don’t need any sort of app for. An answer is communicated right back.

Soft, tender warmth spreads over your cheek, radiating all throughout your body in the most gentle glow. His thumb caresses over your cheek bone, swiping gentle strokes back and forth.

You feel the same as him, that’s the strange part. There’s something so alluring about him that you just can’t put your finger on it. He’s pulling you in like a magnet and you don’t even want to fight against it.

There’s so many words sitting on the tip of your tongue, but you know that each and every one of them would fall on deaf ears. Nothing that you can say in the moment would make sense to him.

Exhales are shared and mingled together in the minimal space between your faces,

“Beautiful,” he whispers for your ears only. Not like there’s anyone else to hear it except the ATM sitting dormant in the corner of the vestibule. Not even the mice in the walls would have been able to hear his murmur.

Love at first sight was something you always gawked and scoffed at. You always thought that it was such a Hallmark invention, that there was no way you would be able to just look at someone once and immediately fall head over heels for them.

But here you were, sitting on a dirty floor, feeling your heart beating faster and faster in your chest. Letting your face be cradled by a man you didn’t know two hours ago. By the man who patiently worked with you to communicate.

How is this even possible?

You can count on one hand the amount of things you know about one another.

Minho, who is a famous idol in Korea, who loves sunset and hates heights, who has the most expressive brown eyes you’ve ever seen.

Minho, who did whatever he could just to talk to you when he could have just as easily sat in silence on the other side of the vestibule.

His hand slowly drags down your cheek, each finger gliding down your skin towards your jawline to lift under your chin.

Another silent question passes through both of you in the one language you seem to both be fluent in.

Your eyes flick down to his lips and he hears you loud and clear.

Minho leans in slowly, his lips brushing against yours in a featherlight touch. But, despite how soft the kiss is, heat spreads through your body in a grand wave, rushing through your fingertips and into your toes.

The first press is long and sweet, the two of you simply melting into the sensation of being locked together.

He pulls away only for a moment, his eyes gazing down at your lips before he swoops in again, this time his movements a bit quicker.

His hand returns to your cheek, guiding your head to tilt to the side to gain better access to your lips.

A soft sigh leaves your nose and your own hand travels up to grab at his shirt gently, just needing to hold onto him in any way possible.

Minho responds to your sigh, his lips moving a bit faster against yours. Both of your lips part and close, moving like mirror images of one another. Every few kisses, your noses brush against one another, but it doesn’t deter you from your actions at all.

Slowly, your hand travels from his shirt up to his neck, running up the side of his flushed skin. He feels feverish to the touch and it only spurs you on to keep moving. At the contact on his own body, Minho lets out a tiny grunt against your lips, his kisses stutter for a moment but he’s back to kissing you after just a moment.

Up, up, up, your hand travels over his moving jaw, to his cheek, then moving back to thread in his soft, brown trusses of hair. God, everything about him is just so perfect. It’s like you’re combing your fingers through the softest of cotton.

His kisses are getting deeper, little sighs come from both of your mouths as the passion continues on. Minho’s body turns towards yours a bit more, his knees canting up and almost forcing your legs onto his lap.

Tentatively, you feel his tongue poke out from between his lips, licking gently at your lower lip. You don’t even hesitate to give him access to your mouth. A gentle moan claws its way up your throat as his tongue licks into your mouth.

The hand on your cheek grips you a bit tighter, holding your face to his– as if you would want to try and move away from Minho and his addicting kisses.

“I just can’t help it,” he whispers in Korean against your spit, soaked lips before capturing them once more. “I don’t know what you’re doing to me, Y/N.”

All you catch is your name and it sends a shiver down your spine. You don’t even need to know what else he said, his tone says it all. The way it comes out in a breathy exhale is enough to send your mind reeling.

“Please,” you murmur into his mouth before he presses his lips to yours once more with the same amount of passion and need in his actions.

More and more rain hits the glass doors, becoming the only sound that can be heard in the room except for your shared exhales, pants, and breathy moans.

Slowly, the kisses begin to calm down. Minho pulls away for a moment to take a long breath. His thumb moves to brush against your lower lip like a butterfly landing on a flower.

His eyes open just a crack, gazing down at your mouth with a hazy look in his eye. As he slowly catches his breath, he presses his forehead against yours, his fingers brushing along the heated skin on your face.

“Forgive me, I didn’t do things in order,” he whispers. “I should’ve taken you out first.”

Your eyes open and you look at him in confusion. “Hm?”

His jaw clenches before he swallows and he takes another long moment to look over your face, his features soft and welcoming.

There’s some movement as his other hand blindly pats around his lap for his phone. He can’t physically tear himself away from you long enough to even look down.

Another tiny laugh comes from your lips.

Your fingers move out of his hair to come around and gently run over his features, brushing against his jawline, to then trace up to his lips and up the length of his nose, memorizing each and every detail.

Minho melts into your touch, his face moving closer to your touch, seeking you out.

His hand finally finds his phone and he grabs it blindly, flipping it around in his lap and tearing his gaze away from your face to glance down at it.

Thumbs are flying across the screen to type at his translate app. He’s typing so quickly on his phone that you can't help but laugh a bit.

Before he’s able to turn the phone around, there are a few sharp knocks against the glass of the vestibule. The two of you practically jump out of your skin and your heads whip over to the doors.

Red and blue lights are flashing outside and it looks like two police officers are standing outside, peering in at you both. They wave when they see they’ve caught your attention.

Minho looks at the police officers, then to you, then back to the officers, and then back to you once more. His mouth opens and closes a few times and he tries to form a few words but you’re untangling your limbs from one another.

In a moment, you’re both on your feet as the officers work on unlocking the doors from the outside.

Minho gently grabs at your arm and you look down where he’s touching and your heart sinks a little. His eyes look a little questioning and desperate.

“Oh,” you say sadly. You shrug off his jacket, and hand it back to him. Minho’s eyebrows pull together and his lips part. He looks down at the jacket and then up at you.

“No,” he says firmly.

“Are you two alright?” The police officer calls inside in Korean.

“We’re okay,” Minho responds without breaking eye contact with you. He puts a hand on his jacket still dangling over your arm and pushes it back towards you.

“Minho?” you ask, looking at him and then at the officer approaching you both.

“We apologize for the delay, but we knew you two were safe, so we had to prioritize,” the officer says.

You blink at him blankly for a moment before then looking back at Minho.

“She’s a foreigner,” he says to the officer, finally looking away from you. “She doesn’t know Korean.”

“Ah,” the officer responds. “My apologies. You can tell her that she’s free to go.” He nods at the two of you and motions towards the door. You take his hint and slowly begin follow him.

Once again, Minho tugs on your arm and you pause, turning around to look at him. He’s holding his phone up to your face with a pleading look in his eye.

‘Can I please buy you a drink?’

A wide smile spreads across your cheeks and you can’t deny the relief that you feel inside your chest. The moment your lips twitch upwards, Minho immediately mirrors it.

“Yes,” you respond. “I love to go.”

He chuckles at your choppy Korean once more before taking his jacket out of your hands and wrapping you inside it once more. This time, he grabs the hood and pulls it up over your head.

With a satisfied hum, he nods and laces your fingers together.

“Come,” he says confidently.

“Lead way.”

#Lee know x reader #Lee Minho x reader #Skz x reader #stray kids fanfic #stray kids x reader #Lee know x y/n #Lee Minho x y/n #lee know reader insert #Skz x y/n #Lee know fluff #Skz fluff

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stayinlimbo · 6 months ago

Text

Limits

pairing: lee minho x gn!reader genre/warnings: established relationship, somewhat suggestive, allusions to sexual activities (?), hurt/comfort, mc is overwhelmed and showcases such symptoms as a result, self-indulgent af because i can word count: ~0.5k note: this stuff can be scary, so remember that communication and consent are the sexiest things in a relationship ♡

As soon as your head hits the pillow, Minho knows something is different. Wrong.

Your once fervent kisses slow, lips barely meeting to brush up against his. Wandering touches become hesitant from underneath him, your hands instead settling to stiffly drape over his shoulders. Your chest raises rapidly, pressing against him in short bursts, and Minho’s hand dancing along the hem of your shirt halts.

Releasing the fabric, he quickly leans back until he can see your face, carefully hovering over your taut form. And what he sees makes his heart plummet to the depths of his stomach. Wide, shifting eyes flit around the room, avoiding his concerned stare. You’re on the brink of hyperventilating, sucking in shallow breaths sure to make your lungs burn in exertion. Glistening tears pooling in your eyes catch the bedroom’s soft lighting, and Minho is frozen, unable to tear his gaze away and ask what is happening until you start subtly pushing against him.

Snapping back into reality, Minho scrambles off you, barely noticing your arms fall limply to the bed, and lies on his side in the space beside you. “Hey, hey, shhh, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Minho soothes, bringing a hand up to tenderly cup your cheek. His thumb brushes over your cheekbone, hoping the touch will comfort you, even if only the slightest, as his eyes hurriedly scan your body. His heart is beating out of his chest and the growing lump in his throat isn't helping when he doesn’t find anything irregular except the love bites he left on exposed skin. “What’s wrong?”

You snap your gaze up and finally meet his worried one. The rise and fall of your chest slows ever so slightly. “I don’t know,” you breathe, rushing your next words. “Can you hold me for a minute?”

“Of course.” Minho tucks his arm underneath you and wraps the other around your waist, pulling you into his chest. His fingertips lightly scratch the base of your neck as your shaking body relaxes in his embrace. You hide your face in his neck, immediately nuzzling further as if you’ve finally returned home—as if he was your sanctuary from the rest of the world. Minutes pass, and he feels the tension slowly leave your body. Your breathing gradually steadies, small puffs of air tickling his neck.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know why, but I just can’t do it right now,” you murmur, lips grazing his skin.

Minho stills, furrowing his brows before gently grasping your shoulder and pulling you back to look at him. “Don’t be sorry. Never be sorry for telling me how you feel,” he whispered, resting his forehead against yours. “I will never force you to do anything you don’t want to. Okay?”

He watches you nod in response but doesn’t break his stare.

“Okay,” you say.

Minho presses a chaste kiss to your forehead and gathers you in his arms again. “Good.”

liked this work? want to let me know how i did? please like, comment, and/or reblog; they are greatly appreciated my asks are always open ♡

taglist : @linospuddin @linocz @spicyhyunn @inlovewithstraykids @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21

@hwangism143 @feelikecinderella @celebration88 @ssickmagnolia8

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1nthedarknessofthenight · 6 months ago

Text

﴾ haunt me

pairing: demon!lee minho x f!reader

genre: one-shot, horror au, smut

word count: 11,2K

warnings: small!stalking ⋆ obsessive behavior ⋆ blood ⋆ hair!pulling ⋆ ass!slapping ⋆ biting! ⋆ pain!kink⋆ choking! ⋆ small!fear play⋆ dom!leeknow & sub!reader ⋆ rough!sex ⋆ ass up face down!position ⋆ fingering (f.receiving) ⋆ oral (f.receiving) ⋆ cunnilingus ⋆ unprotected!sex ⋆ creampie!

summary: on Halloween night, you and your friends gather for a classic spirit summoning, eager to make the most of this tradition, unaware that you will be the one to face the consequences…

author’s note: this is actually the first ever thing I wrote here, but I forgot about it but now it’s finally seeing the light of the day

main masterlist

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The blanket around you did nothing for the coldness that seeped into your skin. Your teeth are still chattering, lips dry and nose runny. You should’ve known better, all of you. Your muscles are straining with every small move you make to get yourself a little more comfortable on the hard floor. Your eyes go over the room, finding only disappointment. The costumes, makeup and left over mess reminded everyone of how horrible the party was. You remember how excited you and your friends were. You all spend so much time getting ready, almost freezing to death while walking to the so called party. You looked forward to it so much and maybe you did have way too high of expectations. Everything was awful and mostly — it lacked the Halloween spirit.

Your attention goes back to the television, just as the lead character is being chased by the killer. Her screams pierce your ears, while you take a small sip of the wine in your hands. You and your friends decided to just rather go home and have a small party of your own. The disappointment was so great that none of you had an appetite for searching for another party. However the costume still wrapped around your body was telling you something different. Just watching horror movies and sitting in a costume didn’t fill the need of thrill you so needed.

Soft footsteps are heard, making you all turn, some in fright, thinking that something evil is coming right towards you all, but is just your friend Katherine. The soft light, illuminates her figure clad in dark, long dress, her nails glimmering as she lifts up something to show you. Firstly you only see what seems like a plate, but as another one of your friends goes to switch on a lamp beside you, all of you immediately realize what she was holding.

“Look what I got!” Her voice is chippery, but it holds a small mocking at the end. A series of groans and small sounds echo around you, while your eyes are still on the Ouija board in her hands. Your eyes go quickly over the letters and the planchette. Even with alcohol in your system, you are getting a really weird feeling from the piece of wood. It makes the hair at the back of your head stand up, shivers going down your spine. You are definitely not alone, because your friend Jade is almost trembling from even the thought of using such thing. Your hand falls on top of her messy hair to soothen her, but your eyes are still on the witch who rolls her eyes at her other friend’s noises. “Oh, common, it’s mandatory.”

The girl next to you shakes her head immediately, hand pointing to the board, making the others for a second silent. “You know what happens after using that thing, right?” You have to agree a little with her weariness. You have ever actually thought about talking to the death. Nothing made you believe something evil existed, but also you were not a sceptic. just nothing made you believe there was something more so far. Jade was scared of everything, so your friends didn’t take her warning so seriously and you have to huff softly at that.

“Well, yeah—“ Katherine shrugs, looking down at the Ouija board. “But also no, because I’ve never tried it.”

You watch her as she sits down on the floor before you, your other two friends circling around her to look closely at the wooden tablet. You too can’t help, but tilt your head at it. There were few scratches, dark smudges, but maybe it was that design. “Where did you get this?” You wonder, because you don’t think she has these kinds of things just laying around in her apartment.

She looks up at you, dark eyes peeking out from behind her neon yellow contact lenses. “The thrift store.” Some of you have to laugh shortly at her dry response, some too occupied by the board laying before you all.

“Are there at least instructions?” Wonders out loud your friend Hannah who sits across from you in her scary clown costume.

“Who needs them?”

It has to be the alcohol or maybe you were already getting tired, but as the television is shut off, lights switched off, you have this weird feeling on the back of your head. You scratch at the burning spot, distracting yourself for just a second by liting up some few candles. The flame gives you the small amount of warmth you so desperately need. You can still feel the coldness licking at your skin, but there was also this awful heat gathering in your chest. Were you nervous? Scared? A frown is plastered on your face, eyes never leaving the Ouija board, like the planchette would move at any second.

This uneasy feeling is not shared however, but still your friends seem to get a little quieter. All of you sit on the floor, the only light being the few lit candles around you and the Moon peeking behind the curtains. Was it the thought of doing something you shouldn’t that was scaring you? You refuse to believe that something in the shadows was peaking at you. The paranoia was eating you alive. Your frozen finger digs into your skin, pulse jumping rapidly and you have to remind yourself that it is all just in your head. None of you were touching it so far, however the sight of those scratches, dips and cravings on the board seem to pierce your soul.

You blink rapidly, smudging your makeup, because you have to sigh in exhaustion. You can’t remember the last time you were so paranoid and — scared. Maybe it is only because you have never tried it, but looking at your other friends they didn’t seem too into it. They still chatted between each other shortly, swallowing down the cheep wine. You look down into your own cup, swirling the liquid around as you can’t find the appetite to take a sip right now.

You are startled a little when someone claps their hands together, making your attention move to Katherine who rubs her palms together. “Are we going to do this?” Your eyes flicker to your scared friend, a little tipsier than before, so you are not too surprised by seeing her just nod in agreement. You do not protest either, putting down your cup next to you and outstretching your hands to the planchette that sits in the middle of the floor.

The silence is heavy, completely aware of the darkness wrapping around you, piercing your back. You try to ignore it as best as you can, shaking your head at yourself, pressing your finger lightly on the planchette. Nothing is heard for a second, all of you looking at each other briefly, before Amanda speaks up. “Is anybody here?” She calls out and her voice seem to echo around you almost.

Silence again, but you can’t help, but look around. Though you have to sigh a little when the same question is repeated. “It doesn’t work like that.” You say, cutting through the quiet.

Everyone turns to look at you and your friend can’t help, but raise a challenging eyebrow. “Okay, you try then.” Says Hannah.

You clear your throat a little, swallowing the invisible lump in your throat. The way you are becoming nervous is making you anxious. The blanket around you slips from your shoulders, the cold immediately kissing you. It felt like there was no layer left between you and the darkness. When you straighten your back, shuffling a little closer to the board, your fingers start to tremble. The small frown of confusion by your body reacting like this is visible, but you try to keep it together. Licking your lips, your eyes go around the room, before plastering your eyes back down. “We welcome everyone who wants to join us and if anyone is here, we would like you to make a sign.” You take a deep breaths between each word, not knowing exactly what is suitable to say in this kind of situation.

Your voice seems almost loud in the quiet room, but everyone seems to listen carefully to you. You do too, a little too hard, because the only thing you can hear for a while is your blood rushing in your ears. Your eyes are wide open, searching in the dark behind your friends. You don’t even know for what you are searching, but you feel like the answer is close. You have never talk to the dead, but you can’t say that people who do this are exaggerating. The waiting for something to happen is frightening and you think you have never been so on high alert over something that wasn’t even there.

“Could you maybe knock on something?” Asks Jade, her voice quiet, but in the room even a pin drooping could be heard.

“Or make that candle blow out?”

Questions fly across the room, though nothing happens for a moment. All of you look at each side of the room, your eyes however fall into the hallway where you were sitting next to. Nothing is seen, only those specks of light made by your eyes. However you swear you feel warmth coming from the end of the hallway. It was almost suffocating in a way, already thinking it’s just you, but then something does happen and you feel it yourself as very one else in the room.

“It’s moving….” Exclaims Amanda in shock, staring down at the planchette. Your own breath gets stuck in your throat, because you swear you feel the planchette vibrating under your fingers. Your eyes immediately trail over to your friends in disbelief. It moves subtly in short stops and you have to shake your head at it.

“Who is moving it?”

“It’s not me! You’re doing it!”

The voices of your friends fall to deaf ears. You don’t want to believe it, but looking at the frightened faces of your friends, you can tell that their reactions are completely genuine. Nervous feeling creeps up on you, watching the planchette travel over the board, before it stops at a corner. “Yes?” You say softy the word and you swallow roughly, eyes trailing over the room. You don’t want to believe it, but you are now left with no choice. “Is it yes that someone is here with us?” You ask again, listening carefully.

For a moment you only hear your friends’ whimpers of fear and your own heart in your ears, but then a small tap is heard behind you. Your head whips around quickly, your own gasp matching with the others as you stare with wide eyes at the window behind you. Only the Moon and swinging trees can be seen, nothing other than that. You turn back around to look at your friends, but your eyes fall onto something different.

The candles around you seem to rise, flame flickering and bending like something is blowing at them. Your own face of your fear, makes them look into the direction and few hushed curses are being shared across the room. “Holy shit–“ Says Hannah.

“Maybe you left the window open?”

“You know damn well that I didn’t, Jade”

You are not following their conversation again, lost in thought or to be honest you can’t even think straight right at this moment. Your face scrunches up, shivers going down your spine. You eyes widened again, freezing in your spot. The side of your body burns, it left like something was poking you, telling you to turn around. You can’t move however for a second, from the corner of your eye watching your friends panic over the planchette moving again, but you are not even touching it anymore. The thing that frightens the most is the feeling of someone’s eyes staring at your back.

Your head turns slowly around, body screaming at you not to, but something is controlling you, pushing you to look back into the hallway. The hot air rushes to your face and it wasn’t from the candles. When you finally turn to glance into the darkness, your blurry eyes from not blinking at all don’t see anything for a moment, but soon from the darkness appears a sphere, then it forms and forms till it turns into a silhouette of a person.

You gasp, breath getting stuck in your chest. It is eery, horrifying sight and even if you finally blink rapidly, like it was just your own eyes playing tricks on you, it only seems to get closer. It reaches for you and you want to pull back, but can’t. You watch the mass of darkness become fuller slowly, before you see pair of red beaming eyes forming out of it. You lips fall apart, a loud scream at the back of your tongue, but before it can fall out of you, the candles that you just now realized became even higher dim back down by blink of an eye.

The sound of the board being thrown across the room, makes you snap out of the trance, scrambling away, just like your friends. You are breathing hard, head turning to look at others who only have their eyes on the board in the corner of the room. And you at the moment realize in your frightened state that you have been the only one who saw the truth.

────

With every step, with every breath you took, your head would turn around. Paranoia seemed to follow you the moment you left your friend’s apartment and you hoped that was the only thing truly following you. You lived quite far, too late to catch the last bus, leaving you to walk your way home. However you were at least walking through the city and maybe you were just imagining the burning eyes at the back of your head. And if you weren’t, a look from a stranger couldn’t make you feel like this. Someone — something was sizing you up, following you, perfectly mimicking your movements like your own shadow and just as you though you caught it, turning around swiftly — nothing, only a crowd of people who didn’t even acknowledge your presence.

You didn’t either, there seem to be invisible to you and the thing following you that couldn’t be seen either however, had a strong sense of presence. Was there really safety in numbers? After a while, every little noise made you jump, laughter and occasional screams of terror when the unreal monsters jumped at someone, made your head spin. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe, like you already you have already considered, it was only in your head. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to try and talk to the dead and on this night specifically as everyone around you made your delusions even stronger.

You couldn’t breathe. Every time your feet moved faster, it seemed to be even closer to you. So close you that you could feel it reaching the back of your neck or was it just the wind? Your eyes trailed over the people. No one was looking at you, everyone minded their own, drinking the night away and crowding the small square. What if you and your friends decided to go here instead and not the party? What if you wouldn’t play with the board?

Your stroll slowed down to a full stop. It felt like whatever that was following you disappeared, but also at the same time seemed even closer to you. Just out of sight. You didn’t want to search for it, but something was telling you to do so. You stopped at the middle of the crowd, eyes almost like being pulled by a magnet stopping on a one specific place. The people walked through your line of vision before it become clear to you why you were so drawn to that spot.

There — right there, under the roof of a stand stood what it looked like a man by his slightly broad shoulders and short hair, but by the shadow which the roof casted on him, you couldn’t even get a glimpse of his face. However that wasn’t necessary. The way he stood…from his whole body radiated this menacing, evil aura that made your whole body freeze. Your breath was taken away from you, eyes wide, staring at the unknown figure. The same, almost even more intense wave of fear washed over you, it felt the same when you looked down the dark hallway. He didn’t feel like a real person, he felt like something way more than that. Something dark and hungry and it was staring right back at you. You didn’t see his eyes, but you just know. This couldn’t be real…

This couldn’t be real. Things like this don’t exist and if they did you feel like they would be more documented. You weren’t a true believer nor a sceptic, but you really didn’t feel like wanting to know the truth right now. He, it didn’t move and even by blinking, it didn’t vanish like you wished it would. It was probably just a person, a person with a really scary costume.

A gasp leaves you as suddenly someone elbows you. You turn to the person, catching there sneer and you realize that maybe standing in the middle of the street wasn’t a good idea. You looked stupid, but that was the least of your worries as you glance back at the man, only him being nowhere to be found. Were you just imagining things at this point? Maybe your fear was only playing with you. You ignore the weird occurrence as best as you could, deciding to continue heading back home. Your apartment was just few blocks away and at the thought of finally being inside your safe space makes you pick your pace.

The feeling of being followed doesn’t leave you however, but you keep your head high in a mock confidence, showing whatever this thing was that you are brave. You really weren’t much of an actress, because as soon as you reach the entrance door to your building, you rush to unlocked it, slipping in quickly, like the thing would just squeeze right through you. The doors slam shut loudly and you hope that none of the other residents won’t come to scold you. The more you walk your way up the stairs to your apartment, the more you don’t acknowledge the creepy feeling that someone is watching you.

Your apartment door shines brightly at you and you out of breath fumble with your keys. The satisfying click and smell of your home made you sight out in relief. You were so happy to be finally inside, greeting your cat who waited for you just as you opened the door. Your hands smoothen down her fluffy hair, sighing at her calming purring. Everything that happened flew over your head as you finally started to feel at ease. Like you thought — it was just your imagination, nothing more…

You weren’t one for drinking till you passed out, but you find yourself stumbling just a little as you pull off your shoes, already ruined just by a one night of walking. Making your way into your kitchen, you go to give some food to your fluffball who meowed at your every move and that sound really ease your racing heart.

Putting down the bowl on the floor, you watch your cat eating away for a second. You are lost in thought, though nothing specific was running through your head, just blankly staring into space. But just as you move to make your way to your bedroom, you saw something shift from the corner of your eye. Looking up, you however find nothing, but the dark corner of your unlight living room and at that your patience runs low. For yourself, because you can’t believe that you are making yourself see things in your own home where you are supposed to feel the safest.

You flip the light switch next to you, illuminating the room in subtle orange hue, your eyes still unmoving from the spot and still nothing was there. A sigh leaves you, but you refuse to say it was out of relief. At that you went to take your upper layer off, also fixing yourself something knowing that if you won’t eat or drink something, it will kill you in the morning.

You are exhausted, a heavy weight on top of your shoulders telling you to just lay down. In some way however you are still on high alert, maybe the aftermath of your own self scaring you. You thought about showering, but to be honest you didn’t have the energy to do all of your routine at this hour and also there is nothing for you to wash off.

You stumble again, but now over the bottom of your dress, catching yourself just in time with your hand on the doorway to your bedroom. The sheer, soft fabric is thrown on your bed, ignoring the mess all over the room. The corset around you didn’t suffocate you and you wonder what exactly is it that is making you lose your breath. Your hands fumble over your back, fingers just at the lacing of your top, but just before you can pull at it, you hear a noise.

It was loud and it momentarily makes you look back into the direction of your living room. You sigh shortly after, shaking your head at your own delusions. It was just your cat probably. However when you again go to pull at the string of your corset, you hear a meow right beside you, before you see your cat jumping into your field of vision on your bed. You freeze slightly, hands stilling. It is an old building, it makes noises all the time — it was nothing. You try to gaslight yourself by thinking it didn’t even happened, but then there’s even a louder bang! coming from behind you.

Your head whips around wildly, hair falling into your wide eyes that stare into your dark hallway. You feel your heart pounding against your chest and in your state of shock you are not quick enough to stop your cat from running to the direction of the noise. Your hands outstretch before you, in hushed whisper pleading your cat to come back, but her fuffy, long tail is soon gone from your vision. You hate the lump forming in your throat and the way your bottom lip quivers. That noise almost again makes you wonder if you imagine it, but then you hear it again, now in series of three bangs that echoed in your apartment. It sounded like knocking, mocking you to let whoever — whatever it was in, but what if it was already here with you? It sounded like the noises were meant for you to come in, get closer.

The noises weren’t the only thing making you frighten, it was also the way the air around you seems to drop in temperature. You immediately shiver, goosebumps appearing all over your body. But there was this odd warmness, starting right at the entrance of your open bedroom door. It was so appealing…

You finally take a step closer to the hallway when you hear another loud noise. The sudden realization that your cat might be in danger makes you take few steps further even with the fear you held in yourself. You hate her for it, but you are now only scared for her. You quickly look around your room for any kind of weapon, but you find nothing, realizing that your pepper spray was in your purse that you left on your kitchen counter. You just have to be brave…That’s what you try to tell yourself, while slowly making your way out of the room.

The darkness seemed deeper that when you went in your bedroom. It is intoxicating, heavy, it pierces your skin and stings at your eyes. Your lungs scream for air as you try not to breath at all, scared to even make a sound. Your light costume leaves you in very vulnerable state and it makes you wrap your arms around your stomach that grumbles uncomfortably. What if the thing you thought followed you was a man and he somehow got into your apartment? You don’t know if a man is better than an entity, but it certainly would make you feel less crazy. You hope that the knocking was mistaken, that it was only someone at your door. You have to tell yourself that there’s no way for someone to break in, because you locked the door immediately when you came in. However something at the back of your mind is telling you that you have the right to be frightened.

And you were to death, when you stop at the corner, living room just right behind a wall. Your eyes didn’t get use to the darknesss and looking at the threshold leading to your living room, you realized you weren’t going after light. You were only going down the path that seeped warmness, blazing hot, coming right from your living room. There was no light, the one you switched on was left that way, but now there’s not a single flicker of it peeking out. You listen carefully, for your cat or your intruder, but the sound of your heart makes your ears ring, so you had nothing, but your sight right now.

Your hand almost tears the fabric of your skirt as you lean forward a little, squinting into the room. A whiff of the same feeling washes over you again, making you pull yourself back with a choked sigh. It is the same one — like the one you felt while looking into the hallway, like the one when you saw the silhouette of the man and the same one that has been following you. Your eyes become blurry with tears, panicking, mind racing. You have no clue what to do. You have no weapon, your phone is in your kitchen and your keys…right beside the door to your apartment.

It is a bad idea, but if you would run through the living room quickly enough, you can get out. There’s still a chance that the intruder had your keys, so you ask yourself — are you willing to take the chances? Of getting caught by this…thing. You don’t want to leave your cat alone or worse with it, but if you would just make it next door to your neighbor, you can safe her and yourself. Your hand tightens around your skirt, picking it up and sprinting out of your hiding spot, but as soon as you do — you see him.

You choke, the sound bumbling in your throat, your eye staring straight at the silhouette in the corner of your room. Even in the dark, you can see it. The mass of darkness coming from him alone and the hot air suffocates you, just by looking into his direction. Tears stream down your face as you turn back to the direction of the door and back at the man, but then you hear a soft purring sound. Your cat is rubbing herself against the man’s feet and even if you are thankful nothing happened to her, you are terrified from seeing her so close to that man. Her white fur is bright and you almost come rushing to her, but as your eyes go back to the door, you run to that direction instead.

Your hand outstretches, reaches for the doorknob, even if you can see the keys glimmering before your teary eyes there was no salvation for you. You are turned around, roughly pushed to the door and a whimper of pain leaves you as your back meets the wood. Your mouth opens, ready to scream, but like he knew, his hand falls over your lips, silencing your cry for help.

Your teary eyes stare at the faceless person, eyes streaming down your face and pooling at his hand. You are held against the door, but not with his body, it was like your whole body had frozen over. You want to scream in fear, instincts telling you to just run, but you can’t move an inch. Though your body trembles, eyes searching, trying to get a view of this man. He didn’t feel real, his skin is hot, breath fanning over your face. You are starting to sweat from all the different temperatures, sobbing in fear as you hear his lips fall apart.

“Don’t scream.”

His voice is low, quiet yet strong. You don’t want to fulfill his demand, but the tone of voice — it echoed in your mind, repeating and repeating. His hand falls from your lips and you take in deep breaths, choking. You can’t even muster to scream, you can’t and you don’t want to, because he maybe will hurt you. “Please, don’t hurt me — don’t kill me.” You are shuttering over your words, choking again in your tears.

You can see him tilt his head at your pleas, standing right before your shaking body so casually it made you sick. He didn’t even try to do something to you yet and that definitely heightens the terror in you. You sob, crying and you gasping at the sound of him sushing you. You back pressed harder against the door, finally finding enough strength to move just a little away from him, when he leans just a little closer to you. “Where’s the fun in that?” He whispers to you, teasing you almost, amused tone in his voice. You look at him slightly confused, eyes blurry, still not knowing what this man looks like. You don’t feel at ease at his tone nor his words of small assurance. It is like he could see you, because you can hear the click of his shoes, stepping a little away from you. “I thought you wanted me to make myself known?”

You are left even more confused, before it quickly comes clear to you. You can’t — you won’t believe it. Those words pierce you painfully and with seeing him this much away from you, makes you immediately think of the silhouette you have seen following. This man could be just a man, but his words…back at the small seance you spoke them. A sharp intake is heard, shaking your head at the thought of this man being something more. The thought crossed your mind, but you actually never would think that it might be the truth. If it is — if this man is something from the other realm, haunting you, making you tremble in fear that it probably thrives in…you can’t – “No…” Your disagreement is quiet, heart beating wildly in horror as you look over the mass of darkness around him, evil. “This is some sick joke — you are just playing with me. Who’s behind his?” Your words are not making sense anymore to you, too many thoughts of how it could be possible leaves you thinking that it might be just a stupid prank, but no human could make you this sort of fear.

The man sneers, hissing like a snake at your words. It sounded like you just insulted him, gasping loudly when he makes a one big step closer to you and you swear your noses almost bump together. “Do you think your friends can do this?” He says, raising his hand, putting it right before your eyes. Your wide eyes stare at his hand forming into fist and by the act you see the light in your kitchen flickering with every subtle move of his. You look at him, finally seeing in the small flickers of light his face. You didn’t know what to expect, maybe a gross man or the devil himself with horns and a face of death, but you are certainly left speechless.

His dark, brown hair is slightly in his eyes. They shine, deep red at the corners that flicker with the light. Long and sculpted nose leads you to trail your eyes over his high cheekbones to his cupids bow and then his bitten, plump lips. This wasn’t a face of evil, he looked like an angel, no face that should make you feel terrified, but you can see it in his eyes. Sinister, holding evil as well as wisdom that you could never imagine or reach. Even in this small moment you had enough time to look him over, but as his hand closes into tight fist, the sound of the lightbulb shattering makes you fall back into the stage of horror. You can hear your cat running away from the scene and your tears recur, because you finally start to believe. “Do you think your friends could ever make you feel so frightened?” You shake your head, head spinning at what just happened.

He turned on the light with just his hand in the air, with just putting his hand into a fist he crushed it and you don’t want to know what else he can do. “I don’t understand…w-who are you?” You are hyperventilating, praying that is just your imagination again, but you can’t close your eyes and let him vanish from your sight. You need to see him.

“The better question is… what am I?” You are again shaking your head and it’s like he can see your thoughts, because he is making you say out loud what you have been thinking all along. You don’t seem him, but his lips lift up slightly for a moment at his own memory. “When you were playing with that Ouija board, do you know, that you opened the gates for anyone to go through?” A cry leaves you, just as the light in the corner of the room is light up with a flick of his finger. Your eyes stare into his amused ones and somehow you wished you didn’t have to see him. “You didn’t even closed it...”

Realization strikes you, your trembling stopping when you thought of your friends. What if they are also in danger just because of you? You would definitely wouldn’t be able to live with that guilt. ‘What am I?’ His words are the one thing on your mind right now. How much is he dangerous? He doesn’t even blink, doesn’t even breathe it seems, your eyes staring blankly at his face. “Oh, my—“ You can’t even finish the word as his hand quickly by a blink of an eye wraps around your throat.

You feel him squeeze his fingers in a warning, not quite choking you, but it still makes you gasp for air. “Don’t say his name, he can’t help you. You did this to yourself—“

“Are you the devil?” You wonder out loud and his whole demeanor changes, laughing drily at your question.

“I preciete the compliment, but no.” Your eyebrows furrowed at his weird behavior. You still fear him, but he doesn’t seem like he wants to hurt you at all. Maybe he already has you right where he wants, under him with his hand on your throat, playing with your life.

He maybe might not be the devil himself, but he still had those rings of fire around his irises. He is evil, you know it and evil always wants something. Like he said, you have done this to yourself and you have to pay. You know he won’t let you go, he didn’t stop following you from the apartment and even if you know who or maybe what he looks like, it doesn’t calm you down. You still know so little and you wish you didn’t have to know further. You are completely at his mercy and you are pulled back into the present when his hand tightens again, pulse jumping against his fingers.

“Just take what you want—“

He tsked at you, he now being the one shaking his head and you can’t move away from him or even fight against his strong hold as he makes you lean closer to his face. “Be careful with your words.” His upper teeth are revealed with how much he is sneering and it makes you look down at his mouth. His upper front teeth are bigger slightly, but they weren’t the thing that makes your heart skip a beat — his canine teeth were sharp as a razor and you wonder if his sneering is prediction of him maybe biting you, eating at your flesh. “I’m not the type of evil you’re imaging right now…” His voice is a little softer than before and you wonder if he can read your mind.

Then what is he? “T-then what are you?” You ask him, genuinely curious about his answer.

He lowers his head, your breathing stilling, leaving you speechless as he comes close enough to you that your lips are almost touching. “Do you want me to tell you, or do you want to find out yourself, like the big girl you are?” His breath words bounce off your parted lips, taking in his raw scent.

Heat pools over you, watching him pull away from you just to look back at your face. His words sounded suggestive and you hope your own mind isn’t messing with you. “You won’t hurt me?” Was he just playing with you all along? Just taking in the pleasure of seeing you scared?

“Not if you don’t want me to…I still have to take something.” His dark eyes fall over your body and you want nothing more than to cover yourself, because you realize at the moment how much your costume is provocative.

“Why? I didn’t ask for you — this.”

He tilts his head again, his eyes not holding amusement and you can feel the air thickening around you. “Did you now? Or were your drunk thoughts just speaking for you?” You breathe out, embarrassment making your skin hot at touch and you know he can feel it under his hand.

You are not sure if you wished for it, but it quickly reaches the surface. Your darkest desire of being taken over, filled with heat and pleasure…”Are you—“ You don’t even have to say it as he releases his hold on your throat, just to press his thumb on your bottom lip.

His touch is electrifying, addictive almost and your whole mind and body swirls for a moment. “A demon, that’s all what you need to know.” You almost nod your head in agreement, letting him trail his thumb across your lips, dangerously close to slipping in your warm mouth. You are puzzled by your own behavior, but you can’t fight it. The urge of him just coming a little closer to you, so you can feel more of him is strong. He can see it on your face and then there’s the subtle smile on his lips again, pouting and nodding at how much your body stops to shake. It certainly had an effect on him as wel, but the look on your tear stained face makes the hunger in him even bigger. “Or I could visit one of your friends…” He teases, though also too occupied by the feeling of his skin on yours.

“Just take me.”

You try to justify yourself, that you are doing this for them, but both of you know you want it — need it more. The fear is at the back of your head, forgotten almost replaced by the fuzzy feeling your mind is in. “Careful what you say.” He warns you again, maybe not to provoke him into doing something you didn’t want, but it flies over your head rather quickly.

His touch leaves you, but you don’t search for it as you are again left in small confusion. You know that you somehow wish for something specific, but you never thought it would come in this way. It makes you feel dirty, used already, but also it makes your nerve endings tingle. Desire for pleasure is normal for humans and you wonder how much he has seen them before. “Why me?” You ask him, surely you can’t be the only one on this night wishing.

“You intrigued me — your soul.” He says and his words hit you deeper than they should. “Calling for something to fill this hole in your chest. I can see into places that people so desperately try to keep hidden…tell me, are you hiding something Y/N?” You are taken back by the sound of your name, but you are aware that he must know you better than you know yourself.

“No…”

“Really…interesting.” The soft light creates shadows across his chiseled face, when he leans over you. “The moment I appeared…you didn’t seem so scared anymore. Does this idea of being used by a blood thirsty demon excites you?”

“No…”

The smile is tugging at your heart, a little eery in some way. “Then why can I smell your arousal from here?” You swallow roughly and you soon realize how much you have been pressing your thighs together. You can feel your slick coating your inner thighs, but the embarrassment doesn’t even reach you, because he looks like he drinks it all up. “I’m a demon of pleasure and desire, there’s no need to feel even an ounce of shame…” He is now reassuring you and his soothing voice is so different from the one you heard moments ago.

“But you’re a demon.” You state the now obvious and the statement should make you laugh in disbelief, but it only strikes you with a feeling you definitely feel shame about.

You feel the heat of his skin way before you feel the subtle touch of his hand on your exposed thigh. Goosebumps spread all over your body, swallowing your gasp at how pleasurable just this felt. “And a man still…” His fingers trail over the outer part of your thigh and your leg does jump away a little, but he was too addictive. “Doesn’t this idea of someone inhumanly powerful taking over your body and soul not excite you?” His voice is hushed and it feels so sweet in your ears.

You shake your head, though not doing anything to move away from him. “I won’t let you take my soul.” You can’t let him take the thing that makes you who you are.

“Maybe not…” Your eyes blink at him, head rolling back against the door as he straightens his back to tower over you. “But your body will be mine—“

You have now words, not even a sound leaves you, because you are left paralyzed when his hand squeezes roughly at the soft skin of thigh. Your wide eyes are staring into his, taken back by the bold move. He doesn’t have to hear any permission to touch you, it was all written right in front of him — all over you face, body and even your soul that you seem to be very sure that it will never be his. He has to wonder himself about how much this might be true, because you are responding to his touch like you have never been touched before. Just by his hand, playing with the string of your garter belt that held your white stockings leaves you gasping.

You are in trouble, you know, because you shouldn’t feel this much pleasure from the touch of a demon. However you already feel your body succumbing to him, just like he wanted. His hand travels under the thin layer of your skirt, dipping right into the mess you made of yourself. A sound leaves you unknowingly, head empty as he moves your thighs apart. The skin of your inner thighs is raw from how much you have been pressing your legs together, but you find yourself not caring anymore. With every breath you take, his hand trails higher and he bites his lip at how hot you feel against him.

His eyes travel across your face. Your eyes are barely open and he thinks he has never seen someone so away from their own mind by his moves. And obsessive, disgusting feeling washes over him, watching you sigh out in bliss as the tips of his fingers finally press over your covered clit. Your back arches a little, breasts pushing against your tight corset and he marvels over your barely covered body. “Who are you?” He asks you. You are dirty, thinking that wearing something like this in public is proper. His nature rages at the thought of anyone else seeing you like this.

You are slightly puzzled by his question, because the feeling of his hand right between your thighs is already too much for you to handle. “Christine…from Phantom of the Opera.” You response, eyes blinking open at him, just as he starts to form circles over your twitching clit.

“Adorable.”

Sharp moan flies out of your mouth, when he suddenly pulls the material of your underwear to the side. The air kisses your cunt, but it soon is warmed up by his fingers again. You are horrified of yourself right now. Why are you enjoying this? You have to remind yourself who and what is touching you, but you think nothing ever felt better. You have never made yourself and definitely not anyone else almost fall apart just by running your fingers through your folds. He is looking at you so intensely, you want to quiver. “Already this wet?” You can’t feel any shame in you and it is definite that he is making you feel like that. Should you be thankful? He is giving you sheer pleasure, circling your clit directly, after pushing the hood away from it. “Just like that, huh?” You don’t have any response for him, only whimpers of euphoria. “How long has it been?”

Your head rolls back, gasping at his touch. He knew your body better than you. Rubbing just at the perfect pace to make you crazy, pressing hard enough for your hips to buckle. Saliva gathers in your mouth, listening to the noises of your dripping center. You are so lost already that the only thing that makes you wake up is when his movements come to a stop. “What?” You say more because you didn’t want him to stop, looking back at him with big eyes and you realize he just asked you a question.

He leans closer to you, head falling on top of your shoulder so his lips are right beside your ear. He doesn’t really like to repeat himself, but being so responsive to him, he will let you do it once. “How long has it been since someone touched you?” With his question, his fingers travel down, right to your hole.

His breaths hit the sensitive skin of your neck and you have to swallow back a moan when his pointer finger just barely dips inside of you. “Long.” You confess in a whisper.

He smacks his lips, pressing them against your neck so you feel every word that comes from his mouth. “You poor thing, such a pity, but don’t worry—“ He is looking at you again, hand leaving you, making you whine a little and he can’t help but smirk a little. “I will make you feel things you have never felt before.”

With his promise, his hands find the back of your thighs, before he lifts you off your feet. You yelp from how smoothly he does it, pulling you up into his arms and you have no choice, but to wrap your legs around his waist. You are shocked by his strength, not used to being picked up so easily, staring at him with wide eyes. He doesn’t look away from you, even if he walks with you to your couch, not even when he lays you down on it. You feel special in this moment, drowning in the thought of him wanting you, but still his nature is not forgotten. He is made like this, he lives from the pleasure of the other.

Your head falls on the armrest, looking up at him looming over your body. He is already consuming you with his eyes alone and it feels delicious, but it sends a small sense of danger. His eyes flash red under the soft light, body clad in dark clothing perfectly contrasting with yours. Your hands are still in the air, fingers just barely grazing over his broad shoulder, but he soon leans closer to you, letting you hug him again. You feel small, vulnerable and weak, but you don’t want him to know he was right about you liking this. But, oh, trust me that he knows…

His hands grip the fabric of the couch, coming closer to you, placing his lower body right between your parted legs. Your hands seem to push him away from how bashful you have become and he surprises by not entirely rushing you. His head falls next to your neck again, slowly trailing his lips over the skin. Your breathing is formed into short gasps at his wet, soft kisses, eyes falling shut for a moment to savor the feeling. He can smell your perfume, sweat and even blood and it makes him groan quietly, kisses turning rougher, just to get closer to you. “Is this it? Is this all that you want?” You say, shivering still from his own sound.

His lips still for a second, but he doesn’t move away. “Is this what you want?” He now asks you.

You know, you don’t have to think much about your answer, but you still pause for a second. Your fingers twitch on his shoulders, legs closing around his and is it even necessary to give him an answer? The only thing you do is pull is head back down your neck, rolling your head back to give him more room, you are too embarrassed to say it out loud. He lets you, he is letting you have your way a little too much he thinks, but he can’t refuse the offer of your delicious neck.

His tongue licks a long stripe up your pulse, making you moan loudly when he starts to suck all over your neck. His bunny teeth nip lightly at your skin, fighting the argue to just bite down. He feels your nails digging into him, while he moans with you, enjoying just the taste of your skin like this. However the strong scent of your arousal is playing with his head, growling at the thought of eating your cunt. He can picture your face of ecstasy and shock all together. He would suck you all up, fuck you with his tongue and you coating his face in your pleasure.

You are shaking at how rough he nibs and sucks at your neck, the small fear of his sharp teeth piercing your quickly forming into pleasure. But before you can feel it, he releases himself from your neck to slide all the way down on the ground to kneel before you. His sharp movements always leave you in disbelief, your senses not quick enough to keep up with him. You pull yourself up to your elbows, watching him put his hands on your thighs, making your skirt pool at your waist.

Your legs are already trembling, knowing your pussy is left uncovered by his touches, but his attention is still fully on you. “White looks good on you, you almost make me feel bad that I will ruin it—“ The ‘you�� is silent, but the smirk is just a small reminder of what he is capable of.

When his eyes fall down to your cunt, he can’t help, but groan. He maybe is the one living of pleasure of the other, but what he is about to do to you is mostly for him. He doesn’t waste any time, he is inpatient and you as well as he can see from your fluttering hole. He doesn’t trail kisses over your thighs, nothing soft, nothing that you don’t want and when he pulls on your underwear, tearing the fabric he is sure that this is what you really want. It stings a little, the fabric snapping against you, before it is thrown away. His head fall between your legs so quickly your hips jump, clit hitting his nose and hard. Though even if you wanted to apologize, he didn’t seem to mind it at all, only letting his mouth fall open to suck at your folds.

“Oh…” Comes out of you, hand flying over your mouth from the feeling of his blazing, hot tongue running all over you. He spits and drools, saliva mixing with your slick and pooling right under your ass. Your hips keep jumping from the sheer and sharp pleasure. Your clit burns as it is caught between his lips. You are shocked by how quickly you feel yourself on the edge.

His head tilts back, releasing your bundle of nerves with a pop to run his tongue over your labia. Your clit twitches in need, mewing, just as he opens his eyes to stare right back at you. You can’t look away from him, from his red irises, his mouth wide open to catch every drop you give him. The pleasure and pain from his grip on your thighs forms into something else — something you haven’t felt before. You didn’t even know that just by someone going over your lips with their tongue felt so good. You swear you have never been this sensitive and he looks like that he knows exactly how to push you. He doesn’t need any guiding, nothing — he is a true man.

You can’t stop your sounds, the pleasure so good, you think you need to run away from it just to catch your breath. He doesn’t let you, his one hand pressing down against your lower stomach, preventing you from trashing around as his other goes to your hole. When his two fingers breaches you, a silent scream leaves you, your own hand flying to his to stop him, but you are already falling apart. Heat, waves of nonstop pleasure wash over you and your ears ring. Your mouth becomes dry, whimpers turning into cries, because you are sure you are going mad. You didn’t want it to end so soon, you wanted him to stop, to feel more.

Your whole body shakes wildly, the skin of your thighs jiggling around his head. You try to catch your breath while your orgasm is still washing over you, siting up to grasp at his hand. Your mouth is open, eyes now filled with tears, pleading and he watches you in your full glory. “I’m not stopping.” He says, words you so desperately needed to hear vibrating against you, fingers scissoring in you.

You immediately fall back down in relief and you can feel his crazed smile against you. The orgasm is none stopping. You don’t know if it’s because he isn’t stopping or if it was just him, but it is a out of body experience. Your hands press against your eyes, moaning wildly as his fingers pick up speed, tongue not stopping to move your clit up and down. He suck just perfectly, curl his fingers just right and doesn’t stop to take a breath nor to change position — he knows what he is doing. You push your legs up to your chest slightly, wrapping them around his head and the sight is to die for.

His eyebrows are furrowed, hand on your stomach searching for yours to put it in his hair. You instantly run your fingers through his soft hair, before tugging roughly and the deep growl that seems to make the whole room shake, sends you over the edge again. It is stronger, more burning and even painful and he eat it right up. You go silent again, eyes rolling into the back of your head and you pull his head with you also. You do hear him release himself from your messy, puffy cunt, just to watch you fall apart again. You don’t need him to help you ride out your orgasm, it was too good to not let it take over your whole being again.

The taste of you is on his tastebuds, licking at his lips hungrily, before crawling over your body. Your skin is hotter, almost like his and his cock pushes painfully against his pants at your drunk state. You looked beautiful…he needs to have you now. His hand moves your hair away from your sweaty face, making you finally open your blurry eyes. “Kiss me.” You say, hands pulling at the hairs on the back of his neck.

You haven’t seen much emotion on his face before, but this felt unnatural. It was just a split second, but you saw it — disappointment. “I can’t.” He says, shaking his head. His eyes held longing, but he makes you forget about this whole moment by kissing you on your collarbone.

You sigh, pressing your chest closer to him, just as he begins to trail down the valley of your breasts. “Can I at least have your name?” His lips wrap around the soft skin of your breast, sucking it in his mouth.

You hiss, pushing at his head. He sucked a little too hard, maybe telling you something by his action, but before you can question it he glances at you back again. “Minho.” He tells you his name, looking into your eyes as you repeat it softly back. You stare at each other for a moment, you moving around a little and just by it you graze over his bulge. Your leg stops in middle of his legs, gaze still unmoving, even if you press your thigh against him. It makes him hiss and you gasp a the sheer size of it. You can see your own desire reflecting in his eyes and he just couldn’t wait anymore.

His hands fly over to his belt, watching you watching his hands as he works to unbuckle his pants. You are holding your breath as he stands up to push down his pants. Your legs immediately press back together as you finally see him. Your lips parted, drooling almost at the size of his cock. Thick, long, veiny, a little curved just to hit those spots deep inside of you with an angry red mushroom tip covered in cum. You are breathing heavier from just the thought of him splitting you open and ruining you for everyone after him.

Minho is breathing through his nose to take in the smell of your emotions, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt and when you sit up, pulling down your skirt, he marvels over the sight of your body covered just in corset and stockings. You looked heavenly funnily enough. When he pushes his shirt from his shoulders you sigh at his muscular body — he was simply perfect. “Turn around.” He demands, voice so low you almost do a double take and when you don’t do immediately as he says, he just does it for you.

He moves you down the couch, turning your body around so your face is pressed into the cushion. Your ass raises in instinct and it grates you a smack across your right cheek. You cry into the couch, the soft skin rippling under his eyes. Then it’s his cock, slapping against you, before laying it flat between your asscheeks. “Fuck, look at that, I’m gonna split this little pussy apart.” You moan back at him, already hazy from just him humping against you teasingly. “Think you can handle it? Oh, you will, all of it—“ He is basically talking to himself right now, already drunk on you.

You are a little concerned, you have never taken something so big, but the thought of him not fucking you dumb is making you whimper like a bitch in heat. You don’t even recognize yourself. You press your ass back at him and Minho only slaps you again, but he finally at that guides his cock to your entrance. The sight of his precum mixing with yours is sending him over the edge, not believing that you are letting him fuck you raw, even if he sees it in the back of your mind. It makes him pull your head back roughly, wanting to watch you crumble on his cock.

You watch him from the corner of your eye, seeing the wild look in his eyes, pretty lips forming into ‘O’ as he finally pushes his tip inside of you. Just that is already too much, but you subconsciously push your hips back at him, swallowing another inch. He lets you adjust, because the way he will fuck you — you will need it. With only hallway through you already feel full to the brim, him already pressing against your cervix, but he is determined to fit all in. He knows you can do it and just after few moments, your ass is finally perfectly flush with his pubic bone.

Your walls suck him right in, wet, warm and soft. He wonders if he is the one being enchanted right now. His hand trails over the string of your garter belt again, loving the way it digs into your ass from how much you arch for him. Minho leans over you again, making him press into you even deeper and he sharply exhale at his tip basically breaks your cervix. “Feel that?” His hand falls down to press at the bulge on your lower tummy. “I’m in your fucking stomach that’s how fucking deep I am—“

“M-Minho—“ He enjoys his name falling from your mouth so much that he accidentally pushes a little too hard against your stomach. To his surprise you only moan louder, hips pushing against him. An open wide smile stretches across his face, watching you move your ass against him.

Your movements are put into stop rather quickly as he pulls out, before pushing into you again with a deep, long thrust. Your mouth is wide open, drooling on the couch already. You feel an abnormal tingling sensation, with his every move of his and with everything that happened that led to this moment it felt worth it. Your pussy molds into a form of his cock, making him smoothly pick up his pace. His one leg on the couch and the other on the ground gives him leverage and with the first sharp thrust of his, you both moan, the sound perfectly mixing with the wet slaps of your skins.

It’s not soft or loving, it’s hard. cock pushing with every move even deeper into you if it’s possible. You are too far gone to do anything other than to take him, your own hand pressing against the bulge in your stomach. It’s sickening how much you enjoy feeling his cock run into you under your hand. Minho has to hiss with every trust in your swollen cunt, hands pinching at your ass and pulling at the strings digging into you. “So g-good— ah!” Your face buries back into the couch, when he snaps at the string, skin burning.

Minho is literally going mad, thrust so harsh, that the couch rocks a little under you both. You can’t believe how much you enjoy feeling pain mixed with pleasure just like he enjoys doing it. The sight of your ass bouncing, hands tearing the material under you and mostly your sounds — he knows that he has to have you someday again. His hand pulls at your hair again, not even missing a beat as he pulls you to his chest. You can’t hold yourself on your own and he helps you rather kindly, with his hand on your neck again, but now he is not being gentle. “Fucking look at you—“ He laughs at your fucked out face staring up at him and he knows he is not looking any better. “Ever thought you would enjoy a demon cock this much?” You choke around the hand on your throat, legs shaking under you. He needs to see more of you, all of you. So he quickly pull out of you, not missing a beat and turning you around to lay you on your back again. You can’t even grumble, because he is inside you back again and the view you have is better than you could’ve asked for.

You don’t say anything, when he rips through the front of your corset, tits spilling out and bouncing immediately with his none stop movements. He spits down right at your nipple, making you gasp at how sensitive it is, feeling his thumb smear the liquid all over you, marking you. Your own hands dig into his hard chest, droopy eyes catching his, before he goes down to your neck, now biting roughly. It makes you arch your back, his sharp teeth piercing you and it doesn’t even hurt half as much as you thought it would.

Moaning, Minho licks at the small drops of blood, eyes rolling back into his head at your sweet taste. Everything about you was so fucking sweet, he can’t believe his own luck right now. Your nipples catch on his, letting you hug him close to you and with the trembling in your legs, he knows you are nearing your orgasm again. “I-I am close—“ You can’t even voice out your words with his rapid moves, feeling yourself drip down on the couch. Your clit rubs deliciously over his pubic bone and with you walls spasming you can feel him twitching inside of you, knowing that he’s getting close too. You just need so desperately something to get you over the edge, something that would make this experience even better and soon those words are spilling out of you. “P-please….kiss me.” You whimper in his ear.

Minho pulls away from your neck, seeing small smear of your blood on those plump lips. “I-I can’t.” He repeats the same words to you and you can’t help, but cry.

“Why?”

“It will tie us together, a kiss will ties us together and you will have to be mine forever.”

He is loosing himself, never he had thought about kissing someone, but yours lips — so perfectly bitten and definitely sweet as every part of you are calling his name. You hear his words, you realize what he is saying, but why would any of you want to end this so soon?

“I want it, I truly want it, Minho—“ Your hands press against each side of his flushed face, his eyes wide, going between your eyes and lips, before he finally leans in.

The whole room around you seems to be set on fire around you, tongues tangling around each other. You taste yourself on his lips and mostly him. You are moaning into him, biting down on his lip, like he did to your neck and he groans lowly when your own teeth breach his skin, mixing your blood now with his. “I’m yours—“ You mumble between kisses, just as you fall apart on him, squeezing him. Minho can’t help, but smile into the kiss, hips stilling as his cock swells, twitching inside of you. He fills with his warm cum, not stopping at kissing you. He will be here every day and every night like this for you and for himself, for eternity, because he found something more pleasure than anything else he ever knew.

And that was you.

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desi2go · 10 months ago

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Sleep deprived

pairing: Minho x reader

warnings: fluff

Lee Minho always gave his best. From the moment he debuted as an idol, his perfectionism grew and grew. He wanted to impress Stay and make them proud.

When you met him, he was already an idol and you couldn't believe that he, the Lee Know of Stray Kids, asked you out. A normal person with a pretty normal job. But he did and you fell for him bad. He was the person you can lean on at the end of the day.

In the four-year relationship, you had ups and downs and even in the best relationship are fights about to happen. But in the end you can always find solutions.

You had met his group members after you dated for half a year and you immediately clicked with Han. He was like the male version of you and you became friends pretty fast. Minho didn't mind, he was happy. Because of that, Han spend much time with both of you.

You noticed that when the next comeback came closer and closer, Minho spent nearly all his time in the company, returning home late and barely sleeping. At first he tried to hide his tiredness but you knew him well and the dark circles under his eyes told otherwise. He often slept at the dorms so that he wouldn't wake you up when he got home even though you told him you didn't mind.

You had taken the afternoon off to clean the apartment and maybe visit your boyfriend with some food. When Han called, you didn't think that maybe something could be with Minho. Han and you called each other often.

"Hey Ji, what's up?" You asked, meanwhile cleaning the countertop of the kitchen.

"Can you come? Or are you at work?"

"No I'm home. What's wrong?" You cleared the wet towels away, searching for your car keys.

"No need to worry, Minho is sleeping right now. But we think he should go home." he told you and you immediately sped to the company building, running to the practise room.

You opened the door and entered the room. Minho sat against the big mirror, his head leaning against it. His eyes closed and his mouth slightly open. His members stood around him. Han jogged over to you, giving you a warm and sweaty hug.

"Why is he sleeping on the ground?"

"We did a short two minutes break and he must have been so tired that he immediately fell asleep." Felix stated.

"I'll take him home. He shouldn't work himself to death" you answered, crossing the room to kneel next to your boyfriend. You heard him quietly snoring.

Softly, you brushed his brown hair out of his face, rubbing his neck with the other. He stirred, eyes squeezing together as he leaned into your touch. He was so adorable when he was sleeping or waking up. You cupped his cheek, brushing over it.

"Wakey Wakey, sleepyhead" you whispered. He stirred again, his eyes half up and blinking lazy. Slowly, he came back to his senses, yawning while rubbing his eyes.

"What are you doing here, y/n?" He asked you with a small smile on his face.

"Taking you home with me so that you can sleep properly" He took your hand that still cupped his cheek in his and shaked his head.

"I need to finish practice"

"No, you're finished. Go home, Minho. Don't risk injuring yourself" Chan commented. Your boyfriend sighed. He knew that there is no point in arguing with his leader and his girlfriend. He stood up, rubbing his eyes and stretching. He definitely didn't choose the right place to fall asleep even if it was only a short amount of time.

You grabbed his hand again and led him out of the room, taking his sweater with you that he had taken off due to practising. Gently, you placed it around his shoulders so that he wouldn't get so cold during the short trip to your car. Like a toddler, he waddled after you, still sleep driven.

The shirt drive to your apartment was filled with a comfortable silence. Minho was curled up on the passenger seat, dozing off. The radio was playing quietly the entire time.

You parked the car and climbed out of your seat, walking around it to wake your boyfriend.

"Baby, come. We are home" you brushed through his fluffy hair. It was a gesture that was common to you both. Not only you would fiddle with his hair but he also with yours. Especially in the late evenings when you had trouble with sleeping due to the stress at work, he'll just move his warm fingers through it and it makes magic.

Your sleepy boyfriend waddled into your apartment, holding your hand ever so tightly.

"Come on, baby. You're still sweaty. Let me run a bath for you" He nodded and walked into the kitchen to grab a bite and something to drink.

Fast, you filled the tub with warm water, mixed with some bath oil and a bath bomb. Then, you brought new clothes to the bathroom. The door opened and Minho leaned against your back, circling his arms around you. He gave you a little peck against your neck and cuddled with you for some minutes.

"Thank you. Wanna come with me?" he mumbled. You nodded and both of you discarded your clothes and jumped into the warm water. "I'll wash your hair." you proposed and gently wetted his hair. You massaged his head while spreading the shampoo.

After his hair was clean, he layed his head on your chest, listening to your heartbeat. Slowly, you rubbed his back up and down, loving to feel his muscles relax and the soft skin.

After maybe hours of cuddling, the water was getting so cold that both of you decided to continue in the bed.

You found it funny how different his appearance could be. Most days, he loves sarcasm and humour and then there are days like this. Then, he is cuddly and wouldn't let you go anywhere without him. He really reminded you of a cat. He got claws knows how to use them but he is also touch starved. You loved him, your little ambitious cat.

#stray kids x reader #skz imagines #skz x reader #stray kids fluff #stray kids #lee know x reader #lee minho stray kids #lee minho x reader #lee know #lee minho #lee minho skz #lee minho x you #lee minho x y/n

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bangchanwifey · 11 days ago

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. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ boyfriend texts with lee know ⭑.ᐟ

hi !! thank you all sm for enjoying these 💝 i am planning to post changbins next so stay tuned!!!! thank u for reading <3

— all fake texts !

contains: bf!lee minho x female!reader

warnings: language, jealous/possessive minho, mentions of sexual activities, pet names, mdni!!!

⇾ MAIN MASTERLIST | STRAY KIDS MASTERLIST ♡

⇾ ty for reading i hope u enjoyed ! lmk what y’all wanna see next i’m hoping to acc have motivation to start writing fics soon 🙏🙏

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charlieg1rl · 6 months ago

Text

⤜ ˚. ✦ ⸝⸝ ֙⋆ 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 ᳝ › 𓈒 ୨.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐤𝐢𝐝𝐬 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (𝐬𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲)

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟 ?

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐨𝐭𝟖 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟎.𝟕𝐤

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧

• Always on alert: Chan constantly checks up on you, even if it’s just to see how your day’s going. He makes sure you’re okay and genuinely cares about your well-being.

• Gentle yet firm boundaries: If someone tries to make you uncomfortable, Chan steps in with a quiet but assertive presence. He’s not confrontational, but his stance and words make it clear he won’t let anyone disrespect you.

• Late-night talks: He often stays up late just to talk things through if something’s bothering you. Chan’s the type who reassures you with words of encouragement and deep conversations.

𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐡𝐨

• Subtle guardian: Minho isn’t overly vocal about his protectiveness, but he’s very observant. He’ll notice if someone’s acting suspiciously around you or if you seem uneasy, and he’ll handle it without making a scene.

• Physical boundaries: If you’re uncomfortable in crowded places, he subtly shields you, standing close and giving off a silent “don’t mess with us” vibe. He’s also the type to hold your hand tightly, like he’s anchoring you.

• Supportive presence: Even though he prefers you staying out of the public eye, he’s there to defend you against any negativity you might face, especially from people who try to intrude.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐛𝐢𝐧

• Assertive protector: Changbin isn’t afraid to confront people who cross the line. He’ll be vocal if someone is disrespectful, always ready to stand up for you.

• Physical comfort: He’s the type to keep an arm around you in busy or overwhelming situations, creating a protective bubble. It’s almost second nature to him.

• Always encouraging: He motivates you to be strong and resilient, yet he’ll always have your back, reminding you that he’s there if you need him.

𝐇𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐣𝐢𝐧

• Empathetic approach: Hyunjin is highly attuned to your emotions. If you’re feeling down or uncomfortable, he’s quick to notice and offer comfort, whether through kind words, soft touches, or just being there.

• Gentle reassurances: He’s more about comforting you than being overly protective. He’ll hold your hand, pull you closer, and whisper sweet words to help you feel secure.

• Defends your honor: If anyone dares to say something negative about you, Hyunjin won’t hold back in defending you, even if it means pulling them aside for a firm talk.

𝐇𝐚𝐧

• Casual protector: Jisung has a playful way of protecting you, using humor to defuse tense situations. He’ll joke around, making you laugh to ease your anxiety.

• Hiding his seriousness: Although he’s usually laid-back, if anyone crosses a line, he’ll drop his playful demeanor and confront the situation head-on.

• Comforting distraction: When you’re upset, he distracts you by doing something silly or taking you somewhere fun to cheer you up, reminding you of the good times.

𝐅𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐱

• Soft protector: Felix is more of a comforting presence than an aggressive protector. He uses his words and gestures to make sure you feel safe.

• Always checking in: He’ll frequently ask if you’re okay, especially in public places or unfamiliar environments. Felix is the type to keep an eye on you, subtly ensuring you’re comfortable.

• Loyal defender: If someone ever says anything hurtful or rude about you, his soft voice turns firm as he calmly addresses the issue. He doesn’t need to raise his voice; his loyalty and love are clear.

𝐒𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐦𝐢𝐧

• Respectful and firm: Seungmin won’t make a scene, but he knows how to command respect. If someone’s bothering you, he’s quick to politely, yet firmly, set boundaries.

• Understated comfort: He prefers to be a steady, calm presence, letting you lean on him without smothering you. Seungmin trusts that you can handle yourself but is always there if you need him.

• Gentle reminders: He reminds you to take care of yourself, subtly checking in and offering support without overwhelming you.

𝐉𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧

• Warm: Jeongin always looks out for you, particularly when you’re in unfamiliar places. He’ll subtly keep you close and make sure you’re comfortable.

• Assertive: Though typically sweet and caring, he doesn’t shy away from confrontation if someone makes you uncomfortable. He’ll step up and stand his ground to defend you.

• Lighthearted: Like Jisung, he has a playful side and uses humor to keep you at ease. If things get tense, he’ll try to lighten the mood with a joke or a warm hug.

tags: @omgsecretsecret, @therealmsbahng, @amarecerasus, @estella-novella

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sams-butt-dem0n · 2 months ago

Text

Lee Know everyday texts

masterlist

A/N: thank you for almost 150 likes on the Chan version of this omg I am so grateful!!! let me know if you have any requests either rin the comments or in my Ask Me Anythings 💙💙

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xxkissesforchanniexx · 10 months ago

Text

Oh, How I Hate Him

Pairing: bad boy!Minho x student council prez!fem!reader (college au) Genre: angst, fluff Word count: 8k >.> Warnings: college idiots, mention of drinking, drugs, smoking O_O DONT DO ANY OF THAT, cringe romance, enemies to lovers, dick exboyfriend. protective Minho >.> <.< thats it i think????

a/n: did I intend for this to be smut? Yes. is it? no. do i mind tho? absolutely not someone help me come up with a better title...

You inhaled deeply and smiled contentedly as you entered the student council office.

"Good morning Ms. President." Your friend and vice president, Jia, said.

You gave her a side eye. "I said don't call me that."

"I'm sorry." She giggled, "Yuna, schedule today?"

"We have to collect signatures for lowering student parking costs and start the campaign for the cafeteria to be expanded and renovated this summer, you also have to meet with the principal to discuss how the high schoolers are going to tour the campus, " Yuna, the student council secretary and planner named off things from the list.

You nodded, "Not too much." You checked your watch, "I have a class at 8:30 and I haven't gotten my coffee yet, any of you want to come with me?"

Jia and Yuna looked at you, with are you for real right now man? faces before getting up and grabbing their bags to go with you.

You went to the cafeteria and as you were getting your iced americano, a student came up to you.

"Y/n, can you sign here to help keep our debate program alive? The district is trying to cut off our funding to have our formal debate team dissolved." The boy handed you a clip board and a pen.

You signed your name before picking up your coffee, "I'm running a little late, Yuna, can you take the papers on my desk to the principal's office?"

"Sure." Yuna picked up her own coffee and ran off.

You briskly made your way across campus and checked your watch, 8:25 AM, right on time. You entered the history classroom and smiled, "Good morning." You greeted your professor before going to sit, not too close to the front, not too far back, and not perfectly situated in the middle.

As the classroom filled, your friend, Seungmin, leader of the science olympiad team sat beside you.

"You're a bit late don't you think?" You teased, taking out your notes.

"Not everyone i always going to be as punctual as you, Madam President."

You rolled your eyes.

The chatter in the classroom died as the teacher stepped to the front of the class, "Good morning class, as you know this is the only history class you have to take to meet the graduation requirements. So, if you intend to slack in my class just know your future depends on your performance in this cl-" She was cut off.

The door opened and you looked away from the teacher seeing a man with redish brown hair and a leather jacket at the door, he had pretty eyes and small but plump lips. His eyes raked over the class for a moment before he looked at the teacher, "Sorry, I'm late."

"You are?" She raised a brow.

"Minho. Lee Minho." He said, walking into the class and going up the steps to the back of the classroom, he passed you and your eyes met. He smirked slightly and you made a face, not bothering to watch where he sat.

"I hope you won't be late again, Mr. Lee." The teacher said.

"No promises." He said.

She pursed her lips before continuing her speech about the importance of the class, where to find the resources, the books you'd need, the minimum grade you'd need to pass the final and so on. A snicker made Seungmin look over his shoulder.

Minho was sitting beside a guy with chubby cheeks and big eyes. Han Jisung, who, raised a brow at you and Seungmin as if to ask what.

The teacher kept talking and Minho and Jisung's distractions persisted before finally the teacher, who you now knew as Mrs. Jung snapped. "Gentlemen, is there something that's important enough to interrupt my lesson?"

Minho looked a bit surprised and Jisung blinked a few times.

"No.. ma'am." Minho said tentatively.

"Mr. KIm," Mrs Jung said.

Seungmin looked up a bit confused. "Ma'am?"

"Swap seats with Mr. Lee."

Your mouth fell open, SAY SOMETHING! SAY NO! ASK HER POLITELY TO RETHINK HER DECISION. "Ma'am I really think-" You started.

"As the student body president and one of the three candidates for valedictorian of your graduating class, Y/n, I think you'd be a good influence on Mr. Lee." She reasoned.

Seungmin put his notes in his bag and sighed deeply. "It's fine Y/n, we'll talk later anyway." He went up the steps and waited on Minho to collect his things before sitting next to Jisung.

You looked at Minho as he sat beside you. This was going to be a rough semester.

You went to the student council office after class to handle what Yuna had told you about in the morning and as you set your bag down you bristled, staring at the stack of papers on your desk. The same stack of papers you told Yuna to take to the principal that morning. You sighed and grabbed the papers and left the office, walking briskly down the hall and to the administration office, greeting the schools secretary before setting down the papers in the principal's office.

You went to return to the student council office, pulling out your phone to check over things when you passed the entrance to the arts department. You froze as you saw something in the corner of your eye, looking up to see Hyunjin and a guy in a hoodie.

You raised your hand and opened your mouth to wave but stopped yourself. Who was that guy anyway... You shrugged and went back to the office to handle your things.

You started counting the signatures the other members of the council left on the table, you let out a soft sigh of frustration, for people who complained about it being too much to park on campus, they really, REALLY, did not seem to mind that much.

You went back to your apartment and greeted your roommate, Doyeon, who, was sitting on the couch eating your snacks.

"HEY! Those are mine!" You huffed.

"Are they??!" She looked genuinely shocked.

You rolled your eyes and went to go change before sitting beside her and munching on the snack too.

"Oh, Yeongs-" she started.

"Save it." You said, looking at your phone.

"But he-"

"DODO!" You looked at her. "No. You told me not to be persuaded by him, you shouldn't be either."

"But he seemed genuinely sorry." She muttered.

"He always seems someway." You rolled your eyes and looked back at your phone. You got a notification from instagram suddenly.

You looked at Doyeon. "Does EVERYONE on campus have my instagram?"

She looked away from the TV, "Why are you asking so suddenly?"

"No reason." You muttered, looking back at your phone before following Minho back. He and his stupid self.

The following day Minho was late, much to your delight, you took notes and listened to the teacher for about the Egyptians and the Romans. Twenty minutes late, Minho strolled into class and sat beside you, not bothering to take out his books or anything.

"Good morning Madam President." He whispered.

"You could at least try to get here on time." You said, quickly scrawling down something Mrs. Jung had said.

"You could at least try to relax sometimes." He shot back rolling his eyes.

"If you're going to be late," You slid the first part of the notes to his side of the desk, "Play catch up."

Minho pursed his lips before sighing and taking the notes, he wrote them down faster than you expected, sliding them back to you after about five minutes and peeking at the sheet you were working on. You didn't say anything until as you were writing, he kicked you under the desk. You looked at him.

He was following along with the teacher as if he hadn't done anything. You rolled your eyes and went back to working. Minho's antics persisted until the and of class and as you were packing up your stuff you turned in a bit of frustration back to your desk to see more papers.

Minho was talking to the girl across the isle, she giggled at something he said and you grabbed the papers and pulled out a folder, arranged it neatly then put it carefully into your bag.

You were about to go when you realized your water bottle wasn't in your bag. You looked around your area for a moment before you clenched your fists at the sight of your bottle in MInho's lap.

You grabbed it and were about to leave when he held up your phone.

"LEE MINHO!" You fumed, grabbing your phone and storming out.

"You seem mad-" Jia said, steering clear of your volcanic rage as you threw your things onto the table.

Some of the members of the council squeaked and took off running.

"I hate Lee Minho." You practically growled as you sat in your chair.

A few days later you had worn a pair of heels for a meeting and they had been hurting your feet. You grimaced slightly while getting your coffee and Hyunjin sighed.

"You don't have to wear those shoes y'know." He sighed.

"I have to build habit." You huffed.

Yet when you got to class you really wished you didn't have to "build habit". But you wouldn't admit Hyunjin was right either. So you suffered through the entirety of class and somehow made it to the student council office. The moment you sat down and sulked over your feet you got a text.

You looked at your phone and rolled your eyes at the sight of Minho's contact. You ignored the "You look like you stepped on a lego" text and tried to turn to your work when another text came to your phone.

"Don't ignore my texts." followed by a "Call down your guard dog."

You stared in confusion for a moment before opening your phone and responding finally.

You opened the door to see Seungmin glaring at Minho.

"Y/n tell this hooliga-" He started.

"What do you wa-" You interrupted Seungmin only to be cut off by a pair of slippers being thrusted into your face.

"Wear comfier shoes. You look like you've been in pain all day. Idiot." Minho turned on his heel and walked away.

You blinked in shock for a moment. "Did he just.."

"You give her the slippers?" Hyunjin asked as Minho blitzed into the dance studio.

"Yeah..." He relaxed as he realized he was safe. He must've looked like an idiot. But when you were leaving the campus that evening Minho saw you and Seungmin walking to thee latter's car. A small smile came to his face as he saw you were wearing the slippers.

The next few months were packed for you, your teachers piled work on you like there was no tomorrow, and you wrote essay after essay. Business with the student council wasn't much better as Jia got sick with something and the campus tour date was coming closer and closer.

And Minho? Oh how you hated him. You hated the way he walked and talked and how he seemed to understand things without reading too much. You hated how he smirked at you in the hall way and how he got under your skin.

"I'm going to assign you your first project of the semester," Mrs Jung said from the front of the class.

You sucked in a breath and looked at your already stuffed bag, full of books and papers for your other classes.

"You will work in pairs." She said, "The rubric and criteria needed are online, if you have any issues feel free to ask me. I will assign partners now."

You exhaled shakily, Please don't be Minho. Please don't be Minho Please don't be Minho-

"Kim Seungmin and Baek Soojin," She said, "Han Jisung and Park Junho,"

Please don't be Minho!

"Soo Dokyung and Jin Sungwoon."

GOD IM BEGGING PL-

"L/n Y/n and Lee Minho."

You wanted to die on the spot.

"Woulda look at that prez, we're a team." Minho whispered, smirking at you.

You bit your lip. This wasn't so bad, he seemed pretty good at turning in his stuff on time and was mostly accurate. You had everything under control. You took a deep breath and looked at him. "If this is going to work we need to distribute the work fairly. So, I'll research the fall of the roman empire and you research the rise, we'll have a document to collect references and-" You head throbbed for a moment and you grabbed your forehead.

"Are you okay?" Minho tilted his head, brows furrowing.

You nodded, "I'm fine."

Only you weren't because after class you went to the student council office and sat at your desk.

"Y/N are you okay?" Yuna asked as you held your head, sucking a deep breath before continuing with your work.

"Yeah I'm good." You said taking out your computer and getting ready to work.

"You look a little pale.." She muttered.

You still got to work on your research though, Yuna left after a while, telling you to take care of yourself and relax. Earlier than usual you finally decided to head out, calling a cab and-

"What's the president doing here so late?"

You looked at Minho, who was carrying a duffel bag and his keys. "Work," You said, looking at the road waiting for your cab.

He stared at you for a moment. "Are you okay?"

You turned to him, "Why are you so concerned if I'm alright today? I'm fine, thanks." You said a bit harshly.

He made a face, "You just look really burnt out. It's late, let me give you a ride."

"I already have a ride on the way, Minho," You shut him down fast and he pursed his lips.

"Whatever you say, Madam President." He walked away to the parking lot and you couldn't help but feel a pang in your chest, like you'd gone too far.

Your cab came and you made it back to your apartment, Doyeon was the third person to point out your sickly appearance but the only one who actually made it to feeling your head and gasping at how hot you were.

"What the hell Y/N?! Are you trying to kill yourself?!! Come on!" She dragged you to your bed and made you put your stuff down and change before getting you into bed. "You aren't going anywhere ma'am." She said, "You sit here and get better, Nurse Doyeon will take care of you."

"I'd rather die." You teased.

She pouted, "Meanie."

You rolled your eyes and smiled at your friend, "Thank you Dodo."

"Of course y/nnie."

If you felt like shit at school, that was only the beginning, you whined in pain at your sore throat and Doyeon had to convince you to eat even though it hurt to swallow. After you finally finished the noodles and all the soup Doyeon made you, she made you take medicine for your throat and to reduce your fever before letting you sleep finally.

Only as you were drifting of you thought about history and mentally berated yourself for not studying ahead for the lessons. You were about to grab your laptop when your phone buzzed. A message from Minho.

Minho stared at his phone for a moment, he thought about how you seemed a but more irritable and pale and how your usual upright, perfect posture was slackened. So he did do his research that night, and looked at his cat Dori, "She's so uptight. It's not fair.."

The cat mewed softly.

"You're right, I'll give her something tomorrow." Minho muttered, "Maybe she's overworking herself. You think she likes pasta? Or maybe I should make her strawberry cake..."

In the morning, Minho was getting ready for class when his phone rang, he pulled his shirt over his head and grabbed it, answering the call.

"Hyunjin?" He said, putting the phone on speaker.

"You coming today? Changbin might come too." Hyunjin said on the other end.

"Y'know I have a project to work on." Minho said fixing his hair in the mirror.

"Man, just a few hours."

"Yeah, nah." Minho said.

"Alright, your loss." He went quiet for a moment, "Did you see Y/n yesterday?"

Minho thought about how you looked so tired the day before. "Yeah."

"I'm a little worried y'know." Hyunjin sighed. "She never says anything when she doesn't feel well. But oh well, we'll see later."

Minho thought about what Hyunjin had said the entire way to class and for once, he was on time, sitting in his seat waiting for you. The classroom filled, the teacher entered, and you... never came.

He fidgeted slightly. Where were you? For the first time since he walked into that history class—much to Mrs. Jung and Seungmin's shock—Minho took notes. He jotted down things that were important and little details on the side, he underlined and highlighted did his best to seperate definitions and dates from key material as he'd seen you do.

After class he went to the student council office. This was abnormal. Where were you? You would never miss class even if you didnt have a ride and had to walk the entire way... in flip flops (as if you ever would) YOU WOULD BE AT SCHO-

"If you're looking for the president she's not here today." The secretary said.

"Why? Is she ok-" Minho started only to stop himself, "No problem."

He went to the arts department to see Hyunjin.

"Thought you weren't coming today?" The long haired man said, taking a hair band between his teeth so he could gather his hair.

"Came to say hi, I've got work to do." Minho shrugged.

"OH, 'cause Y/n isn't here?" Hyunjin giggled as he tied his hair.

Minho made a face. "Really wanna go that way?"

"No sir.." Hyunjin laughed nervously as Jisung and Changbin walked in.

"Minho! You came! Man we c-" Jisung said only to be cut off by Minho patting his head and moving him, hands at his waist.

"I came to say hi," Minho smiled, "I'm going now, I have work to do."

Jisung pouted. "It's cus Y/n is sick isn't it?"

Minho took a deep breath. "I'll see you guys tomorrow?"

When he left he made another copy of his notes in color, hole punched them, and put them in a nice folder before he went to his apartment. He stared at his phone.

"You should text her." Chan said over his shoulder.

"Why would I?" Minho looked at his friend. "Nah." He tossed his phone onto the couch and went to the kitchen and got to work making soup.

Jeongin appeared at his side. "Whatcha making?"

"It's not for you guys." Minho said, rolling his eyes.

"Then who is it for?" Chan said, looking over his shoulder.

"Yeah." Jeongin huffed.

Minho's mouth opened and he closed it again, deciding it was better to not say anything. Somehow he managed to get the food out of the apartment without either man getting it. He drove to your apartment and went up to your floor before raising his hand to knock on the door, he stopped himself.

Stop being an idiot... he thought before knocking on the door and waiting for a moment.

A girl with long hair and big eyes stared at him for a moment. "You are?" She said, leaning against the door frame.

Minho looked at her, "Lee Minho, Y/n's friend."

"Oh?" the woman got in his face. "What exactly makes you think you're Y/n's friend?"

"I- Well-" Minho stuttered.

"Doyeon."

Minho looked past the woman at you and sucked in a breath, you stood there wearing a pair of pajama pants and a baggy shirt.

"You know this guy?" the woman, Doyeon, questioned, pointing at Minho.

"He's the guy I'm doing the project with." You said, before clearing your throat and coughing in your elbow.

"Eesh, back to bed." Your roommate started ushering you back to your room and motioning for Minho to enter.

He closed the door behind him and put the food down in your kitchen but you pulled away from Doyeon and sat on the couch, arms out towards the man.

Doyeon looked between you for a moment. "I'll uh- Leave y'all to it-"

"Minho give me the damn food." Your eyes narrowed.

He smiled slightly and looked around your kitchen before finding a bowl and spoon with Doyeon's help. He got you some soup and carefully brought it to you.

You took it from him and took a cautious sip, eyes lighting up at the taste of it. "AH! Minho! You saved me! Doyeon's food was going to kill me!"

"HEY!" Your roommate huffed.

Minho laughed. "I'm glad you like it. You could've told me you were sick. We're par- friends no?"

You looked at him for a moment. "Yeah. My fault.."

He shook his head and handed you the folder. "Catch up Madam President."

You looked at the folder for a moment before looking at him, "I- thank you."

Minho somehow managed to suppress the smile that wanted to come to his face. "Yeah, whatever, just make sure you get better, taking notes is hard." He muttered.

You rolled your eyes.

After Doyeon went to bed, Minho persuaded you to also go to sleep, he made you take more medicine for your cough.

"You'll be back tomorrow or the day after?" he asked.

"The day after probably, in case I'm still contagious." You said softly.

He hummed. "I'll take good notes then."

You laughed lightly. "Thank you really.."

"The president can't fall behind because of an illness."

You smiled. "Idiot.."

He smiled gently. "Go to sleep, I'm going to leave before your friend jumps to conclusions."

You huffed a laugh. "Okay."

"Alright... Sleep well Y/nnie." He said as he left your room.

"Good night Min..."

Minho closed your bedroom door and made his way out of your apartment, making sure to lock the door before leaving. He leaned against your door as he closed it. "Dummy..." He muttered. "Relax it's good for you.." He said softly before walking down the hall to the elevator.

You did manage to come in to class the day after and you were immediately greeted by the student council in a bit of disarray because of the upcoming campus tour.

"Excuse me!" You clapped your hands to get the people's attention.

They all looked at you before Yuna jumped on you.

"OH Y/N I'M SO GLAD YOU'RE BACK!" She squealed.

"Schedule." You smiled at her.

"Yes ma'am!" She jumped into her her chair and spun for a moment before slamming her hands on her desk. "The high schoolers will be touring our campus the day after tomorrow, on Monday you have your speech in front of the administration and you have a scheduled meeting with a student later.

You nodded.

The people in the room stared at you for a brief moment.

"WELL?!" Jia shouted all of a sudden. "GET TO WORK WE CAN'T HAVE CHAOS WITH HIGH SCHOOLERS ON CAMPUS!"

The students started scrambling to get things done and you stood and went to history, greeting your teacher and apologizing for your absence before going to sit beside Minho.

"You're late." He smirked.

You checked your watch, you were three minutes later than usual. "You're suspiciously early."

"It's becoming a habit. You're rubbing off on me." He shuddered slightly.

You pushed him gently and he turned to look at you, as if asking you seriously just shoved him like that.

"I hope you don't rub off on me." You smiled.

Minho rolled his eyes.

Mrs. Jung started class and you kicked off quickly, you had to admit, Minho was a decent note taker.

After class you went to your office and fixed yourself a bit, waiting for the student who wanted to meet you. You opened your lip gloss and were in the middle of applying it to your lips when you heard a voice you dreaded to hear..

"Dolling up for me?"

You froze, looking at your mirror.

"Y/n?" Yeongsu said in a sing-song voice, you felt icky with how he drew your name out slowly, taunting you... "You haven't answered my calls, thought I'd pay you a visit." he grabbed the tiny cat figure you had on your desk.

You closed the mirror and looked at him. "Why are you here?"

"I got worried when I heard you were sick." He sighed, walking around your desk and kneeling, he tried to take your hand in his, "After all, you're my girl.."

You pulled your hand back roughly and glared down at him. "I am not yours. If you have nothing to talk about please leave."

Yeongsu cocked a brow. "I'm not one of your little student council members you can order around, Y/n." He stood.

"Leave." You said more firmly.

He reached his hand out to caress your cheek and you grabbed his wrist.

"Don't touch me," You said through grit teeth, "Leave now."

He stared at you for a long moment and you held your breath. Yeongsu pulled away and rolled his eyes, "You're still so uptight." he muttered, reaching into his pocket and taking out a cigarette. "That's fine," He looked at you. "I like it when you fight back."

You bristled.

He lit the cigarette and took a long drag, exhaling slowly. "If only they knew their perfect president ended up in my be-"

"Get out!" You shouted, springing from your seat so fast it hit the wall with a loud bang.

Jia opened the door to the office at that sound and stared in shock at Yeongsu.

He smirked taking another drag in the silence, exhaling and then whispering, "You're not all that amazing, Madam President."

You stared at your desk, trembling with rage as he walked out of the room.

"Y/n.." Seungmin ran in and stared at Yeongsu as he left before running to you. "Y/n-"

"Open the windows.." You muttered, the smoke choking you, no, the thought of that bastard choking you.

"Wh-" Jia started.

"Open a damn window!" You shouted before falling into your seat, burying you face in your hands. "Please..."

Seungmin ran to the side of the room and began opening the windows.

You took a few deep breaths, "Let's get ready for the tour..."

While finalizing the plans for the tour, Jia and Yuna left before you as most of the council did, you sent emails to the schools that would be coming and arranged for food for the students. You were so engrossed in your work you didn't notice the sky darkening and were only pulled out of your grind by the rumble of thunder.

You looked out the window as rain droplets started pelting against the window. "Crap." You looked around your desk for an umbrella and cursed as you found nothing in its usual spot.

You grabbed your stuff and shoved it into your bag before heading to the front of the school, you opened your phone about to call a cab.

"Y/nnie never has a ride does she?"

You turned and stared at Minho.

He smiled, holding up his keys.

In the car the only sounds there were was the sound of the window wipers and the quiet music on the radio.

"Let's go to my place, it's closer." He reasoned.

You looked at him. "Yeah, okay."

When you got to Minho's apartment he got out with the umbrella before going to your side and shielding you from the rain as you walked in. The elevator ride was quiet. Too quiet so you said, "We're going to keep researching."

"Yeah." He said, "Uh- My friends hang around here often. Don't mind them too much, they're a little um.. rowdy."

You nodded, "I don't mind."

Only when you got to the apartment you were surprised to see not one or two friends but three men and three cats.

One of the men looked up from something he was eating, "Minho, who's the girl?"

"Minho brought a girl home!?" A man with very chubby cheeks who you recognized immediately as Jisung poked his head out of a room, he froze when he saw you before laughing lightly and going back into the room.

"He did?!" A familiar voice said in shock.

You looked at Chan one of the fraternity presidents.

He looked at you, then Minho and back at you, "How did this happen?"

"RIGHT!?" Jisung called.

"We're here to work on a project!" Minho huffed, "Please.

"OHH!" The muscular man at the table looked a bit shocked for a moment. "We'll leave then, yea?"

"Yeah.." Minho rolled his eyes as Jisung and Chan came out of wherever they were and gathered their stuff.

As they were leaving the muscular man shouted, "USE PROTECTION!"

Your face got hot and you turned to the door.

"CHANGBIN!" Minho shouted.

"SORRY! Leaving now!" He called back before he finally left.

You looked at him. "Let's get to work shall we?"

He laughed slightly and motioned to the sitting area.

"Your cats are cute." You said as a dark colored striped cat came up to you.

"That's Dori." he said as you pet the cat. "Soonie." He motioned to a white and orange cat laying on the floor, "Doongie." He pointed at the last cat which was walking over to Minho.

"The names are cute." You hum as you let Dori run off.

"Someone called them old fashioned..." Minho rolled his eyes.

"Who?"

"No one important. Let's get to work."

For the most part you and Minho worked very diligently and then your phone buzzed, you gave it a glance before it buzzed again and you frowned turning it on its face to ignore it. It buzzed again and you huffed, grabbing the device.

You saw the instagram messages and rolled your eyes.

You hum and put your phone down.

"What?" Minho asks.

"Nothing." You shrug.

Parties with Hae-joo were... a lot... especially since Hae-joo was such good friends with Yeongsu.. 'For old times sake' worried you. Did Yeongsu put her up to it?

You jumped as Minho flicked your cheek. "HEY!"

"Pay attention." He rolled his eyes.

You hummed and looked back at your work.

"Is there any particular place you like?" Minho looked up from his computer.

"Not really no." You shrugged. "Maybe my bed."

He rolled his eyes. "The beach?"

"Never been." You said looking at your computer.

"HUH!?" he blinked in shock. "It's like an hour away!"

"I never have time I'm always working or sleeping. or both." You laughed lightly. "I didn't live too close to a beach when I was a kid either."

"I'll take you one day."

You stopped typing. "You serious? I don't need to go-"

"Its really pretty there. At the beach I mean.. especially at night."

You noticed the way he smiled slightly.

"Friend of mine took me and" He sat up and started typing. "It's just really nice."

"I'll consider visiting." You laughed.

That night Minho was scrolling on instagram when he got a message from Jisung.

The first thing Minho thought about was how the heck YOU of all people would actually go to a party like that.

The tour began early, the moment the high schoolers arrived you made sure everyone was on their best behavior. As you showed the students around the classrooms and lecture hall, you noticed him watching you from his seat in his accounting class.

Yeongsu was watching you as you told the high schoolers about the class before motioning for them to follow you out. You came to your history class and greeted Mrs. Jung, explaining the touring high schoolers and then you explained the class and it content and why it was a mandatory class.

"We'll continue now," You said about to leave, as you ushered the students out, Minho came down from his seat and grabbed your arm gently.

"Are you coming over later?" He asked.

You blinked a bit stunned, "No, I have to get ready for my meeti-"

He made a face, "We need to finish the project,"

"We have a few more days. It's fine." You smiled and pulled away.

"Is he your boyfriend?" One of the high schoolers asked.

Your mouth fell open, "I-"

Minho looked at you and smirked, "She's a very close friend, we're not dating."

"Oh," the student said.

You cringed as one of the girls gave Minho her number on a slip of paper. "Let's continue."

Minho looked at you and laughed lightly.

After classes you were in the student council office and you decided to visit Hyunjin in the dance studio. You opened the door and blinked a few times in confusion at someone fixing Hyunjin's stance.

"It's ugly." The person said. That voice was familiar...

"AGH! HOW!" Hyunjin fumed.

"Stand like this!" The person stood the supposed proper way.

"THATS HOW I W-" Hyunjin's mouth froze as he saw you.

"What?" Minho stared at you in shock for a moment.

"You like dancing?" You smiled slightly.

Hyunjin grinned devilishly behind Minho and tried to run away but the older man grabbed him and dragged him back.

"Yeah." He cleared his throat. "Is that a problem prez?"

You made a face. "No. Not at all. You should teach me sometime." You walked around a bit. "I just came to say hi... I'll go. Leave you guys to fix that."

Hyunjin tried to pull away from Minho who held him tightly by the forearm. "SAVE ME!" He mouthed.

You rolled your eyes and left.

At the party, it wasn't surprising that majority of the students were acting like it was a club, you squeezed through the crowd and looked around a bit.

"Ain't no way the president herself came to a party like this."

You turned and rolled your eyes at your friend Hongjoong, "Long time no see."

"How could you ever see any of us if you're always cooped up in that student council office?" A tall dark-haired man threw an arm around Hongjoong.

"You act like I'm there 24/7 Hwa." You laughed.

"We never see you anymore." He shrugged, "You don't want to associate with the riffraff of your past huh?"

"You aren't riffraff," You sighed, grabbing a soda from a table as you continued walking, "I just decided to grow up a bit."

The loud music shook the whole house and you felt it vibrating through you as you walked. You opened the soda can and took a quick sip.

"Y/N!"

You turned to the voice and smiled at Hae-joo, "Hey."

She hugged you, "Didn't think you'd actually come..."

"I didn't either, looking for a fr-" You stopped half way through your sentence and stared at Yeongsu, who was smoking in the corner with his guys, staring at you.

Hae-Joo's eyes followed yours. "He won't bother you, I made him promi-"

"Since when has he kept a promise." You took another sip of your soda.

"Come on, everyone's waiting for you." Hae-joo dragged you to the kitchen, all your old friends were there, laughing and smiing and drinking.

San was the first to notice you. "Y/N" He put down his drink and hugged you tightly.

"Hey! Hey-" You squeaked as everyone else piled on you.

"Give the girl a break. You'll crush her." Yunho rolled his eyes and smiled, "Good to see you."

You and your friends caught up when you noticed him as he walked in with Jisung and Chan. You left your friends for a moment and started walking over to him. His dark eyes met yours through the crowd and your heart skipped a beat.

He walked over to you and laughed slightly as he looked you over, "First time I've seen you dressed in something other than business casual or pajamas."

You made a face, "I'm not always dressed business casual."

"You always look uptight." He motioned to the crop top. "It's a good look on you."

Your face got hot and he looked at someone talking to him for a moment. You left Minho there and went back to your friends, you huffed as you noticed they were no longer in the kitchen.

You picked up your soda and took a sip after you finished the can you noticed that your head felt a little foggy like you were drunk. You stumbled slightly, it was a fucking soda. Unless.. you cursed under your breath, why had you left it unattended.

You stumbled and almost fell over, someone caught you and you were about to apologize when you saw the tattoo on his wrist and pulled away.

"Y/n, are you alright?" Yeongsu reached for you and you shook your head. You needed to leave, you needed to find Minho.

You pushed past the sweaty, dancing bodies and found tipsy Hyunjin and Chan.

"Y/n?" Chan stood, completely alert suddenly, "You drank?"

You shook your head, "Where's Minho?"

"I haven't seen him, do you need to lea-"

You pulled away and ran looking around you went up the steps and looked around at the drunk students, then as you entered a room you saw them. Minho, Jisung, and several other people you didn't recognize, you're heart stopped as you took in the position Minho was in.

A girl sat on his lap, taking turns with him at a cigarette. You watched as the smoke clouded up as Minho exhaled. The girl giggled and was practically rubbing herself all over him. Your breath picked up and you felt tears clouding your vision.

Minho looked at the door and his eyes widened slightly at the sight of you. Your eyes met and you shook your head before you took off running.

Minho came out of the room looking around the party. Where had you run off to.. You weren't the type to drink. At least he didn't think you were. You looked scared.

"Y/N!" He pushed past some people in the party then he heard someone.

"Y/N JUST RAN OFF!" a guy groaned.

Minho turned slowly.

"YEONGSU!" Hyunjin...?

Minho stared at his friend who had another guy by the collar.

"What did you do?" Hyunjin said lowly.

"My friend put something in her drink nothing bad-"

Minho saw red. "WHAT!?"

Hyunjin released Yeongsu and backed up as Minho stalked towards them.

Yeongsu stared at Minho, "What? You want to fight me? I didn't think she'd run out like th-"

Minho punched him hard.

You lay in bed staring at your ceiling as your phone rang for what felt like the hundredth time, maybe it was, you weren't counting.

"Girl.." Doyeon whispered as she walked into your room with (fav flavor) ice cream. "What happened?"

"Maybe I'm stupid, Doyeon..." You muttered.

Doyeon looked at your phone as it rang again, Minho's contact flashing across the screen. "Did he-"

"Him and Yeongsu aren't that different." You rolled away from her.

"Y/n.." Doyeon hugged you, "You don't need a guy, you've got me and Jia and Yuna... Hell even your guy friends."

You stared blankly at the wall.

"Y'know what, we're going to cheer you up, right now." She dragged you into a sitting position and opened the tub of ice cream, "The student council president is the strongest most independent woman I know, and she is the last person to beat herself up over a boy."

You stared at your friend. "Y-Yeah."

"Come on." She held up two spoons, "We can watch that show you wanted to try."

You walked into the student council office the following Monday and sat in your chair. "Yuna, schedule."

"We have a general meeting today and that's it." She said.

"Uh huh."

Jia's computer dinged. "You have a student meeting today."

"Schedule it for after lunch." You said, you walked into history class and turned in your paper on the Roman empire, you felt a twist in your gut, Minho wrote this with you.

You went to your seat and pulled out your computer, as class began you took notice of how Minho wasn't late... he never came.

You pushed down the worry in your gut and dragged yourself to lunch then the student council office. On your way you saw Jisung in the hall, he looked at you for a moment before turning back to the person he spoke to. You got into your office and stared at your phone, the notifications from Minho had piled up,you scrolled through the message notifications of "I'm sorry", "Answer", and "We need to talk".

You put your phone down as the door opened and you stared at Yeongsu. He smirked as he closed the door, "Heard your little boyfriend had a bit of trouble." You noticed the black eye he had.

Trouble... what trouble could Minho be in? "He's not my boyfriend," You said. "What can I do for you, Yeongsu?"

"Come on Y/n. Let's think logically here, you like when I do that." He walked around the desk and behind your chair. "Minho is in the same boat I am, maybe he's got a little heart. Maybe he's tryna crawl out of the pit we're in. But the same way you went to that party after you said you were done with us, he's fucking around with other girls because it's in his mind. You can take the person away from their habit. But you can't take the habit away from a person, Y/n..."

You stared at your desk. "What do you know..." You muttered as you looked at your phone on the desk. A notification from Jisung came on the screen.

"Huh?" he turned your chair to face him. "Think about it Y/n, you came back, you haven't changed deep down and neither has he."

"What do you know?" You looked up at him speaking a bit louder.

"Y/n."

"I'm asking 'What do you know?' what do you know about change that I don't? For you to educate me?" You stood and glared at him. "I'm different, I'm uptight, I'm reserved, I don't trust anyone! But I trust him. I've seen him change, I know he's not perfect, he's tempted all the time, he makes mistakes! He's human. He's more human than you will ever be." You pointed a finger in Yeongsu's face and said lowly. "So don't tell me he'll never be better. Leave." You pointed to the door.

Yeongsu stared down at you. "You think he's that good for you huh.."

Your eyes narrowed.

He didn't say anything more and left the room. You stood there and shakily exhaled before grabbing your phone and looking at the messages from Jisung.

You ran as fast as you could to the front of the school and called a cab, when it arrived the guy looked at you in the rearview mirror. "Where to?"

"Beach please.." You said frantically.

"Lady the beach is like an hour from here-"

You threw a wad of twenties to the front of the car. "Is that enough?"

The guy opened his mouth then closed it before turning on the engine again and looking at you, "Buckle up."

You gave him another twenty, "Make it fast."

When you got to the parking you waved the driver off and looked around, you ran to the sand and searched. You ran a bit and stumbled looking around you moved to get your phone and called Minho. It went straight to voicemail and you screamed running further into the beach looking for him, anything, his car, his jacket, anything..

You fell and gasped as you noticed that your heels were digging into the back of your ankle. You sat down and stared at your phone, the last message from Minho was from the morning. You took off your shoes and winced. Remembering how Minho had given you those slippers and told you to wear more comfortable shoes.

Your eyes filled with tears as you called him again, it went straight to voicemail. You were about to throw your phone into the sand when you heard the soft sound of sound shifting beneath someone's feet.

"Didn't I tell you to wear comfier shoes.." Minho said softly, he kneeled in front of you, taking your feet gently in his hands.

You stared at him, tears starting to fall from you eyes, "I was rushing.."

He looked up at your face and smiled softly. "You crying prez?"

You wiped your face and punched him. "I WAS WORRIED!"

"I thought you didn't want to see me anymore, I messed up, you wer-"

You kissed him hard.

He blinked in shock for a moment as you pulled away.

"Don't scare me like that!" You punched his chest again.

"I'm sorry.." He whispered. "For everything."

You stared at him for a moment before hugging him tightly. "I hate you."

He smiled and hugged you back. "I love you, too.."

Minho picked you up on his back and carried you back to where he parked his car. He got you in and drove to a small convenience store, buying you bandages for your feet and some slippers. He sat you on a bench outside and carefully put the bandages on the blisters on your feet.

You watched him for a while. "Who was that girl..."

"Which girl?" He looked up for a moment.

"The one who was on your lap." You muttered.

He looked up at you. "Y/n," he looked apologetic. "I don't even know her..."

You smiled slightly, "So she isn't important?"

He smiled. "Were you jealous?"

"NO!" You looked away, cheeks burning.

"I like someone a lot more than a random hoe.." He put the slippers on your feet.

You spun to look at him. "Who?"

He rolled his eyes and stood, bending to be eye level with you. "You, Madam President." He kissed your forehead gently.

You stared at him.

"It's late, let's go back, hm?" he helped you to your feet and led you back to the car.

You finally checked your phone after it buzzed for what felt like the millionth time.

"Do you want to go back?" Minho looked at you, before looking back at the road, "We have class tomorrow."

"I already turned in the paper." You said, putting your phone down. "We can go back tomorrow.."

Minho looked at your hands on the console, "Yeah..." He reached over and took your hand in his, giving it a soft squeeze.

You walked into the student council office to see Jia and Yuna talking to Yeongsu.

He noticed your presence first and quickly got up. "Y/N!" He walked over to you, reaching for you.

You took a step back. "Explain." You looked at the girls.

"We thought he'd know where you were." Jia said.

"Where were y-" Yuna started.

"With me." Minho walked in and smiled at Yeongsu.

Yuna and Jia stared at you.

Yeongsu opened his mouth to say something but stopped as Minho put an arm around you.

"You are?" He stared at Yeongsu.

Yeongsu closed his mouth and walked out.

Seungmin looked at Yeongsu walking out as he walked in, took in the sight in front of him and rounded on his heel. "Good luck with that."

"I KNEW IT!" Yuna pointed at you two.

You rolled your eyes.

"Coffee?" Minho whispered in your ear, "You don't want to be late."

"Why so uptight?" You raised a brow at him.

He rolled his eyes and smiled as he dragged you out.

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 if your name is in blue i can't tag you very sorry

@asahisimpnation, @seolarsonlyloveisyou, @leeknowsnot @oddracha @bubblespop

@palindrome969 @armystay89 @bubblerizz @igetcarriedawaywithyou @hot-emotional-mess

@seungminindabuilding @ot8 @Rylea08

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sunboki · 4 months ago

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⎯ the adults are busy. ⟡ featuring lee minho

in which the mornings with Minho can be silly and suggestive all in one. primarily silly.

“Oh no, this isn’t good..”

Those words specifically fall from your lips in a muffled manner. Your eyes flicker up to the man you currently lie atop of, and it’s stupendously hard trying not to crack a smile.

It’s so easy to adore Minho, with the happy, barely perceptible crinkle at the corner of his eyes a telltale sign a smile hides beneath the covers.

A morning where neither wanted to rouse, too groggy from both the.. rendezvous of last night and your laziness in general.

A dangerous duo, truly.

So now, with your teeth occasionally nipping at his bottom lip, you exhibit an adamancy only found in the man before you—habits of his you’d picked up throughout the years together.

An adamancy occurring after you’d made a bet you’d never stop kissing him.

Literally.

“Mmph- you’re-“

The words are caught when he tips his head, lips puckering in a nearly comical way you’d have laughed at if it weren’t for the nonstop, sugary sweet pecks he presses to your own lips.

Silly. It’s all so silly.

And you cherish every second.

“Let me kiss you more—“ He whines like a child, the needy side of him peeking through hard to resist. In which results in you mirroring his puckered mouth while he kisses and kisses and kisses till your head is dizzied.

Ah.

Like a sixth sense, Minho’s head whips to your right where, without you even slightly noticing, Soonie stares where he’d hopped onto the mattress, evidently unimpressed.

“The adults are busy,” He mutters, pointing an accusing finger at the kitty, earning a simple flick of the tail and Minho’s narrowed eyes in response.

“Busy?” You begin sarcastically, becoming the new subject of Minho’s feigned glare.

“Mm.”

Another thing you don’t notice? His leg linking with yours until you’re physically flipped over in response to his rolling to the right, eliciting a shriek of surprise.

And in an instant do you come to notice the rather compromising position, with his chest pressing to your back, lithe, veined hands gently lifting your shirt, nosing at your neck.

“We will be, hm?”

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adelusionforyourthoughts · 6 months ago

Text

lee know comforts you after a break up (plus a little more)

tw: swearing, reader mentions their ex taking anger out them, breaking up, throwing stuff at reader (doesn’t hit them), minho threatening their ex

an: THREE DAYS? BACK TO BACK? i know, i’m a miracle worker. i’m hoping to keep up this writing streak now that i actually have ideas and plans for writing!

if you like what you see and want to read more of it, you can find my masterlist here!

and as always, don’t be a stranger!

#cass doesn’t shut up #skz lee know #skz x y/n #skz x you #skz x reader #skz smau #skz lee minho #lee know smau #lee minho smau #lee know x reader #lee know x you #lee know x y/n #lee minho x reader #lee minho x y/n #lee minho x you

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estellan0vella · 6 months ago

Text

More Than Enough Time: L. Mh Lee Minho x fem!reader (College AU)

WC: 11.6K

CW: Anxiety, Menace Jisung, Secret Simp Minho

General Masterlist SKZ Masterlist Part II

The room is alive with the sound of clinking glasses, murmured conversations, and the occasional burst of laughter that slices through the warm air of the grand banquet hall. The dim, golden glow of chandeliers drips overhead, casting a soft light across the elegantly dressed guests.

You sit at the round table, nervously smoothing your hands over the silk of your champagne-coloured gown. Every so often, your fingers toy with the sapphire-encrusted hairpin holding your hair in place, a gift from your grandmother. It's more than a piece of jewellery; it's a talisman tonight, something to cling to.

Beside you, Jisung, your best friend, fidgets in his seat, drumming his fingers on the table. He's dressed in a sleek black suit that contrasts nicely with his hair, but despite the confident exterior, you know he's just as anxious as you are. But for once, it feels like your nerves are trying to outdo his.

"Fuck, why did I agree to this?" Jisung mutters under his breath, glancing at you with wide eyes. "I swear to God, Y/N, if I have to stand up there and give a speech, I might just throw up all over the stage."

You force a chuckle, though it feels weak in your throat. "Join the club. I feel like my stomach's doing backflips. What if I trip in these shoes? What if I can't say anything at all and I just stand there like a fucking idiot?"

Jisung snorts, giving you a sympathetic look. "We're both fucked."

Across from you, Bang Chan, the Alpha Phi fraternity president, leans back in his chair, sipping on a glass of whiskey. His black hair is slicked back, giving him a polished, suave look that almost distracts from the fact that he's one of the rowdiest guys you know. He gives you both a grin that's way too confident for your liking.

"Relax," Chan says. "You guys are gonna crush it. You wrote that article like badasses, now just get up there and take the damn award."

Jisung glares at him. "Easy for you to say, Mr. Football Star. You literally thrive on people staring at you."

"Exactly," Chan grins wider. "Which is why you should listen to me."

You shift in your seat, glancing around the table. You're surrounded by Alpha Phi members tonight, all of whom seem a lot more comfortable in their skin than you feel in yours.

Hyunjin sits next to Chan, looking ridiculously perfect as always. His long black hair falls just past his shoulders, and he's tapping his fingers rhythmically on the table while staring off into the distance. He's receiving an award tonight too, for something in the arts, and though he looks calm, you can see his jaw clenching every few seconds.

"Stop staring at the program," Hyunjin mutters to you without even glancing your way. "It's not gonna change."

You blink, realizing that you've been staring at the folded piece of paper in front of you, the one listing all the awards for the night. Yours and Jisung's, The Innovative Journalism Award, is still about fifteen minutes away, and the waiting is fucking killing you.

"Fuck," you whisper under your breath, more to yourself than anyone else.

Felix, sitting on the other side of Jisung, notices your stress. He gives you a soft, warm smile, his freckles standing out against his fair skin. "You'll do fine, Y/N. We all believe in you."

"Yeah," Jeongin chimes in from the end of the table. His hair falls slightly into his eyes as he leans forward, resting his chin in his hand. He's getting an award too, something for fashion design. "We all know you're the smartest one here, so just relax, okay?"

You nod, but the knot in your stomach refuses to untangle. It's not just about the award. Sure, winning an award for the article you and Jisung wrote, a deep dive into the theory that Jack the Ripper might have been a woman, is huge.

It's the culmination of months of research, late nights, and too many cups of coffee. But the idea of standing in front of a room full of people, having all eyes on you, waiting for you to say something intelligent... it's suffocating.

Minho, who's been quiet up until now, finally speaks. He's seated directly across from you, his deep cherry red hair gleaming under the soft light of the chandeliers. "You'll be fine," he says simply, his voice calm and steady. "Just breathe."

You meet his gaze for a second longer than you intend to, feeling the weight of his words. Minho is always like this. Quietly confident, never too loud or overbearing. He's the type who can make you feel like everything's going to be okay, even when you're pretty fucking sure it's not.

"You make it sound so easy," you mutter, breaking the eye contact and taking a quick sip of your drink, trying to focus on something else. Anything else.

Hyunjin shifts beside you, his gaze flickering to the stage. "It's easy for Minho because he's never nervous. Must be nice to be so fucking chill all the time."

Minho shrugs, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly in a half-smile. "Just a talent, I guess."

Jisung rolls his eyes. "Well, share some of that talent with us because I feel like I'm about to shit myself."

There's a round of laughter at the table, but you can't join in. The knot in your stomach tightens as the minutes tick by. Your hands, now resting on the table, feel clammy. The silk of your gown is suddenly too heavy, clinging to your skin in a way that makes you feel trapped. You know no one else can hear your heart pounding, but it feels deafening in your own ears.

You glance at the stage again, watching as the current award is being presented to some group for their contributions to environmental science. You're not even paying attention to the speech, just counting down the minutes, waiting for your turn. You can feel it creeping up on you. The anxiety. The tightness in your chest, the shallow breaths, the overwhelming need to get the fuck out of this room.

Suddenly, it's too much. The noise, the lights, the heat. You need air. Now.

"I—uh—I need to use the restroom," you stammer, pushing your chair back.

Jisung glances at you, concern flashing in his eyes, but he nods. "You good?"

You nod quickly, too quickly. "Yeah. Just nerves."

Before anyone can stop you, you're on your feet, weaving through the tables and out of the banquet hall. The moment you step into the hallway, the cool air hits your skin, and it's a relief, but only for a second. Your heels click against the marble floor as you make your way down the corridor, your breath coming in shallow gasps now.

You find a small side room and slip inside, closing the door behind you. The silence is almost jarring after the noise of the banquet hall, but you're grateful for it. You lean against the door, pressing one hand to your stomach and the other to your forehead. The room feels like it's spinning, and you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to focus, trying to breathe.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you whisper to yourself, feeling the panic rising in your chest.

You yank the sapphire hairpin out of your hair, letting your carefully pinned-up style fall apart, the soft strands brushing against your bare shoulders. The pin feels cold in your hand, a grounding sensation, but it's not enough to stop the wave of anxiety crashing over you.

Your stomach twists painfully, and you press harder against it, as if that will somehow make it stop. But it's not working. Nothing's working.

You lean over slightly, bracing yourself on your knees, trying to remember what the hell you're supposed to do in moments like this. Breathe. You're supposed to breathe. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Simple. Easy. Except it's not.

Back in the hall, the crowd shifts with anticipation as the MC steps up to the podium, smiling widely at the gathered guests.

"And now, the recipients of this year's Innovative Journalism Award. For their brilliant work on the investigative article delving into the theory that Jack the Ripper may have been a woman, please welcome Han Jisung and Y/N L/N!"

There's a pause. Jisung's heart nearly jumps out of his chest as he hears your name. He looks over to the seat you left empty minutes ago, feeling the weight of everyone's eyes turning to him.

"Fuck," Jisung mutters under his breath, pushing his chair back and standing up.

The nerves that were already gnawing at him double in intensity. His best friend isn't there to share the load, and now, he's completely on the spot. He glances over at Minho, who's been silently watching him.

Minho, though still seated, leans over slightly. "Where the hell is Y/N?"

Jisung runs a hand through his hair, his heart racing. "She, uh... she went to the restroom or something. She's been freaking out all night. I think she might be having one of her moments, man."

Minho's expression darkens slightly with concern, and he pushes his chair back. "I'll go find her."

"Wait, wait," Jisung hisses, grabbing Minho's wrist as he's about to stand. "What the fuck do I say to them up there?"

Minho glances toward the stage where the MC is starting to look a little confused, waiting for someone to approach. "Make up some bullshit. Tell them she had to take a phone call or something, just so they don't start asking too many fucking questions."

Jisung frowns, his anxiety doubling. "Dude, I can't do this shit on my own."

Minho's eyes soften for a second, something almost rare to see from him. "I know. But you've got this. Just give her the credit she deserves, take the award, and make sure someone films it so she can see it later. Chan will do that. I'll make sure she's okay."

Jisung clenches his fists for a moment, feeling the pressure crushing him. The thought of going up there alone, without you, makes him feel like he's about to pass out. But when he looks into Minho's eyes, he knows he's right. You're the priority right now.

"Alright," Jisung says finally, his voice tight with nerves. "Just... just make sure Y/N's okay, alright? You know how she gets with this kind of shit."

"I'll handle it," Minho nods, his voice low but firm. He claps Jisung on the shoulder. "Now go get the fucking award."

Jisung exhales sharply, watching as Minho slips away from the table, moving swiftly through the hall. He takes a deep breath, feeling the weight of what he has to do next.

"Chan," Jisung mutters to his friend, who is still seated at the table, looking between him and the stage.

"Yeah?"

"Film this for Y/N, alright? Minho's going to find her."

Chan raises an eyebrow but nods, pulling out his phone without a word. Jisung swallows down the rising panic and heads toward the stage, his steps feeling heavy as the crowd watches him.

Minho doesn't waste time as he leaves the banquet hall, moving swiftly down the corridor. His steps echo softly in the quiet hallway, the muffled sounds of the award ceremony still filtering through the door behind him.

He's seen you spiral like this before, and his heart tightens in his chest. You're tough as hell most of the time, but when the anxiety hits, it hits hard. Minho knows that look in your eyes all too well. The panic, the overwhelming urge to escape. He's watched you, time and again, try to fight it, to shove it down, but sometimes, it's just too much.

You're not the type to cry during these moments; that's not how your panic works. Instead, you go silent, withdraw, pull yourself in so tight that it's like you're trying to disappear. Minho's learned to recognize the signs, the little tells. Like how you start fidgeting with your hair or that sapphire hairpin you always wear when you're stressed. The one that belonged to your grandmother. It's your good luck charm, though tonight it seems like it's doing little to stave off the rising storm inside you.

As Minho searches for you, he opens door after door, moving quickly but not frantically. His mind stays focused, methodical. He doesn't need to be panicked; that won't help you. He knows you well enough to know where you'd go in moments like this. Somewhere quiet, somewhere empty.

Finally, he reaches a small room at the end of the hallway, and when he pushes the door open, he sees you.

You're pacing back and forth, your gown swishing gently as you move. One hand is pressed to your forehead, the other to your stomach, like you're trying to physically hold yourself together. Your breathing is shallow, quick, and your eyes are wide with that familiar look of dread.

Minho's heart breaks a little as he watches you. You look so vulnerable, so unlike the confident woman you usually are. Yet, at the same time, there's something undeniably beautiful about you, even now. Even in the middle of your anxiety, you manage to carry a grace that makes his chest tighten for entirely different reasons. But now's not the time for that.

He steps into the doorway and knocks gently on the frame. "Hey, sweetheart," he says softly, using the nickname he's reserved just for you.

You look up, startled at first, but then you see it's Minho. A small, shaky breath leaves your lips. "Hey, Minho," you murmur, your voice quieter than usual.

Minho takes a few steps into the room, closing the door behind him, sealing off the rest of the world. "You doing alright?" he asks, though he already knows the answer.

"Yeah... I'm fine," you lie, but the strain in your voice gives you away. "I just... I don't want to go up there."

He nods, stepping closer to you, not crowding your space but just enough to make sure you know he's there. "I know," he says quietly.

He reaches out, gently placing his hand on the back of your neck, his fingers lightly brushing the soft skin there. His thumb traces over your pulse point, and he can feel how fast your heart is racing.

"It's okay. Jisung's up there right now, telling them you had to step out for an important phone call. No one's gonna make a big deal about it."

You blink at him, processing his words. "He did?"

"Yeah," Minho confirms, his voice soothing. "Chan's filming it too, so you'll still get to see the moment you're credited for the work. Don't worry about it. You don't need to put yourself through that shit."

You let out a small breath, your shoulders sagging with relief. The pressure in your chest eases slightly, though the tightness in your stomach remains. Minho's thumb continues its gentle rhythm on your neck, grounding you, pulling you back to the present.

Suddenly, Minho pulls you into a hug. His arms wrap around you, firm but gentle, and he presses his cheek against yours. The warmth of his body, the solidness of his embrace, catches you off guard for a second, but then you relax into him. He smells like something warm and comforting, and you breathe it in, your arms coming up to grip his shoulders as you rest your head against his.

He holds you tightly, his cheek still pressed against yours, and rocks you slightly, back and forth. It's the same thing he does for Jisung when he's panicking, the pressure of the hug helping to suppress the nervous system, calming everything down.

Minho doesn't say anything for a while, just keeps holding you, his cheek brushing yours, his thumb still moving gently on the back of your neck. His breathing is calm, steady, and before long, you find your own breathing starting to match his.

The scent of your mango and passionfruit body spray lingers in the air, and Minho can't help but smile a little to himself. He's always adored that scent on you. It's light and sweet, just like you, and being this close to you, holding you like this, it makes his heart pound in his chest. But he pushes those feelings aside. Right now, it's about you, not him.

"You're crashing with Jisung at the frat tonight, right?" Minho asks after a moment, his voice low and calm.

You nod against him. "Yeah, that was the plan."

Minho pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands still resting on your shoulders. "Let's get you back then. Fuck these fancy assholes. You earned your award, you don't need to torture yourself by staying here. Take those torture devices off your feet, too. They're not doing you any favours."

You glance down at your stilettos, your brows furrowing. "I should've worn wedges. I hate these fucking shoes."

Minho chuckles softly, shaking his head. He crouches down in front of you, his fingers already working on the small buckles of your stilettos. "Next time, wear the wedges. I know you prefer them."

You watch as he carefully unbuckles your shoes, slipping them off your feet one at a time. His movements are gentle, and something about the simple act of him helping you out of your heels brings another wave of calm. He stands back up, holding your shoes in one hand, giving you a small smirk. "Better?"

"Yeah," you murmur, wiggling your toes against the cool floor. "Better."

Minho slips his suit jacket off and hands it to you. "Here, put this on. It'll help with the cold when we head back."

You take the jacket, pulling it over your shoulders. It's too big, but the weight of it is comforting, and the scent of his cologne clings to the fabric, making you feel a little more secure.

Before you can say anything else, Minho pulls out his phone and quickly dials a number. He holds the phone up to his ear, waiting for the other line to pick up.

"Yo, Felix," he says when the call connects. "I'm taking Y/N back to the frat. She's okay, but she needs to get out of here. You guys good?"

There's a muffled response on the other end of the line, and Minho nods. "Cool. Tell Jisung I found her, and we'll meet you all back at the house later." Another pause and Minho chuckles softly. "Yeah, I know you were planning on ditching after Hyunjin and Jeongin get their awards. We'll see you guys then."

He hangs up the phone and tucks it back into his pocket, turning his attention back to you. "Alright, let's get the hell out of here."

Without waiting for you to argue, Minho crouches down, turning his back toward you. "Get on."

You blink in surprise. "What?"

"Get on," he repeats, glancing over his shoulder at you. "I'm giving you a piggyback. Your feet are gonna hurt like hell if you walk back barefoot."

You hesitate for a second, feeling a little self-conscious, but the look in Minho's eyes is so earnest, so full of quiet understanding, that you don't argue. You slip your arms around his neck, and he hooks his hands under your thighs, lifting you up with ease. The weight of the world seems to fall away as you rest your chin on his shoulder, your arms wrapped loosely around him.

As he starts walking, you close your eyes for a moment, letting the cool night air hit your face as you exit the building. The campus is quiet at this time of night, only the sound of Minho's footsteps echoing softly on the pavement.

"Feel better?" he asks after a few moments, his voice soft.

"Yeah," you whisper, resting your head against his shoulder. "Thank you, Minho. I just... I couldn't handle it in there."

"I know," he replies gently. "And that's fine. There's no point in torturing yourself for an award you already earned. You don't need to prove anything to anyone."

You nod against him, feeling a little lighter with every step. The anxiety that had been clawing at your chest earlier is slowly dissipating, and you can focus on the steady rhythm of Minho's breathing, the warmth of his back against your chest. He carries you across campus with ease, his hands never faltering as he supports you.

"You know," Minho says after a while, his voice cutting through the quiet, "next time you feel like this, don't wait until it gets so bad, alright? Just grab me, or Jisung, or any of us. We've got you."

You smile slightly, your fingers curling a little tighter around his shoulders. "I'll try."

"You better," he says, a teasing note in his voice, though there's still that underlying sincerity that makes your heart warm. "Because if I have to chase you down in the middle of every fancy event, I'm gonna start charging you for these piggyback rides."

You laugh softly, the sound feeling good in your chest. "Deal. I'll make sure to pay you in pizza."

"Now we're talking."

The rest of the walk is quiet, comfortable. You can feel the weight of the night lifting off your shoulders as you approach the Alpha Phi house. By the time you reach the front door, you feel almost like yourself again, thanks to Minho and his steady presence.

When he finally sets you down in front of the house, he gives you a small smile. "See? Not so bad, right?"

You nod, smiling back at him, feeling more grateful than you can express. "Not so bad at all."

Minho grins at you as he unlocks the door to the Alpha Phi house, holding it open for you to step inside. The familiar warmth of the frat house surrounds you, a stark contrast to the cold, fancy banquet hall you'd just escaped from. The moment you cross the threshold, some of the leftover tension in your body melts away.

"Come on," Minho says, his voice low and relaxed, the same voice that had been grounding you since he found you spiralling. "Let's get you something to drink."

You follow him down the hall toward the kitchen, the soft glow of the house's lights making the space feel cosy, almost like home. The tension from the evening still clings to you a little, but Minho's presence beside you is like a steady anchor, keeping you from drifting back into panic.

When you enter the kitchen, Minho heads straight for the fridge, glancing over his shoulder at you. "What's your poison tonight? You look like you could use something strong."

You laugh softly, settling onto one of the barstools at the island, adjusting your floor-length gown so it drapes neatly around you. "Surprise me."

Minho pulls out a bottle of pineapple juice and a bottle of vodka from the fridge, giving you a wink before he grabs a couple of glasses from the cupboard. He makes quick work of mixing your drink, pouring a generous amount of vodka into the glass before topping it off with juice.

He slides your drink across the counter, the clink of the glass against the marble catching your attention. "Vodka pineapple for the lady," he says, raising his own glass. "And a double JD for me because, fuck, we've earned it."

You chuckle, taking the glass and sipping it. The sweetness of the pineapple juice mixed with the vodka goes down smoothly, and you feel some of the remaining tension in your chest loosen. Minho takes a sip of his own drink, watching you with a soft smile.

"You know," he says after a moment, leaning against the counter, "if it helps at all, you were definitely the most beautiful girl in attendance tonight."

You feel heat rise to your cheeks at his words, and you can't help but smile. "You're full of shit, Minho."

"I'm serious," he insists, his eyes twinkling with amusement but also sincerity. "The moment you walked into the hall in that dress, I'm pretty sure every guy there forgot why the fuck they were even attending. It was all eyes on you."

You shake your head, sipping your drink again to hide the fact that his words make you feel more flustered than you care to admit. "Well, I'm not so sure about that, but thanks."

Minho smirks, taking another sip of his drink before his gaze softens again. "It was also pretty fucking sweet how Jisung's pocket square and tie matched your dress."

You grin, finally letting out a genuine laugh at that. "Yeah, he insisted. Said best friends and co-journalists have to match, so everyone knows we're the shit."

Minho chuckles, shaking his head in that fond, almost exasperated way he always does when he talks about Jisung. "Of course he did."

You're about to take another sip of your drink when you suddenly remember something, and your smile falters. "Shit... I forgot my hairpin in the room."

Minho doesn't hesitate. "Don't worry about it. I'll text Chan, and he'll grab it for you before they leave."

You nod, a little relieved. "Thanks. I'd hate to lose it. It was my grandmother's."

Minho pulls out his phone, already typing a message to Chan. As he sends it, he leans against the counter again, taking another long sip of his drink. "So," he says, his voice casual, "to be completely honest, I was supposed to read your article, but I never got around to it. You know, being a veterinary science major kind of takes up all my fucking time."

He's lying, and you have no idea. Minho read that article the moment it was published, studied every word like it was the most important thing he'd ever laid eyes on.

He remembers the excitement in your voice when you first started talking about the project with Jisung, and he couldn't help but get curious. So, yeah, he read it, but he doesn't want to give that away. He wants you to light up and tell him about it yourself, to see the passion in your eyes as you explain your work.

Your face brightens at his interest, and you lean forward slightly, resting your elbow on the counter as you take another sip of your drink.

"Oh my God, you're missing out," you say, your voice already more animated. "Jisung and I have this theory that Jack the Ripper was actually a woman. A midwife, to be specific."

Minho raises an eyebrow, feigning curiosity. "A midwife? That's a hell of a theory. Go on."

You nod, excited now, the exhaustion from the evening momentarily forgotten. "Right? Think about it. A midwife would have had access to all the knowledge needed to perform those surgical cuts on the victims. And during that time, no one would've questioned a woman walking around in blood-covered clothes. She could've been out at all hours, and people would've just assumed she was delivering a baby or something."

Minho swirls the drink in his glass, watching you intently as you explain. "That actually makes a lot of fucking sense. Victorian sexism would've worked in her favour."

"Exactly!" you exclaim, your eyes lighting up. "Back then, no one would've suspected a woman. They were too focused on looking for some deranged man, and the police reports were all written from a male perspective. They overlooked so many possibilities simply because they didn't think a woman could be capable of something so gruesome."

Minho takes another sip of his drink, his gaze fixed on you. "That's pretty fucking brilliant. What about the eyewitness reports, though? There was at least one person who claimed to see a man near one of the crime scenes, right?"

You nod, already ready to dive into that part of the discussion. "Yeah, but Jisung and I argued that just because someone was in the area doesn't mean they were guilty. There are always people wandering around in cities, especially in a place like Whitechapel during that time. Plus, eyewitness testimony is notoriously unreliable, especially in the dark, in a chaotic place like that."

Minho's lips curl into a small smile as he watches you. You're practically glowing now, completely immersed in the subject matter. This is exactly why he brought it up.

Seeing you like this, seeing you so passionate, it's what he loves most about you. Though he'd never admit that out loud. He sets his glass down and leans in a little closer.

"So, basically," he says, keeping his tone light and teasing, "you're saying Jack the Ripper might've just been an extremely intelligent, sadistic woman who knew how to avoid suspicion by playing into society's sexist expectations."

"Exactly!" you say again, nodding enthusiastically. "It's just a theory, of course, but it fits so many of the facts. And honestly, it makes a lot more sense than half the other theories out there."

Minho chuckles, shaking his head. "I'm impressed. That's some seriously clever shit. I'm pissed I didn't read the article now."

You smirk, taking another sip of your drink. "Well, you can still read it. It's not going anywhere."

"I will," Minho says, though he already knows it word for word. "You and Jisung killed it."

Your smile softens at the compliment, and you feel that warmth in your chest again. The same one that always seems to appear when Minho says things like this. He has a way of making you feel proud of your work, of reminding you that you're capable, even when you don't always believe it yourself.

You glance down at your glass, twirling it in your hands. "Thanks, Minho. It means a lot, really. It was... it was a tough project, but we're both really proud of how it turned out."

"As you should be," he says, his voice soft but firm. "You've always been fucking brilliant. That's why it pisses me off when you get in your head about shit."

You laugh softly, though there's a note of vulnerability in your voice. "Yeah, well, getting in my head is kind of my speciality."

Minho's expression softens, and for a moment, the teasing drops. He steps around the island, standing in front of you as he leans on the counter, his hands resting on the marble surface.

"Listen," he says, his voice lower now, more serious. "I know tonight was rough, but don't let it get to you. You've already proven yourself, not just with the award, but with everything you've done. And you've got people who have your back, alright?"

You blink, a little surprised by the sudden shift in his tone. Minho's always been good at saying the right thing, but this feels different. You meet his gaze, and there's something there, something you can't quite place. It's intense but not overwhelming, grounding in a way that makes your chest feel warm.

"I... yeah," you murmur, your voice softer. "Thanks, Minho. Really."

He doesn't say anything for a moment, just holds your gaze, and then he breaks the moment with a small grin. "Now, how about we ditch this heavy shit and enjoy the rest of the night? We've got the whole house to ourselves for a bit."

You laugh, nodding. "Yeah, sounds like a plan."

Minho taps the counter. "I'll top up your drink."

The door to the Alpha Phi house swings open, and the sound of footsteps fills the hallway as the rest of the guys file in after the awards ceremony. You hear Jisung before you see him, his voice cutting through the noise with its usual mixture of excitement and concern.

"Y/N!"

The moment he spots you sitting calmly at the counter, his eyes soften with relief, but his feet don't slow down. He rushes over, crossing the room in a few long strides, and immediately starts fussing over you like a mother hen.

"Shit, are you okay? You should've texted me or something. I would've ditched and come with you."

You can't help but smile at the sight of him. Jisung's still wearing the matching pocket square and tie that he insisted on wearing to match your champagne-coloured gown, though his suit jacket is a little rumpled now from the event. His hair sticks up in odd directions, no doubt from running his fingers through it a thousand times since you left the hall. He looks stressed, but the sight is comforting in its familiarity. You let him fuss, knowing that this is just what he does. What you do for each other.

"I'm fine, Ji," you assure him, though your voice is soft. "Promise."

Jisung's eyes narrow slightly, his hands gently squeezing your shoulders as he bends down to wrap his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on top of your head. "No, you're not," he mumbles, his voice quieter now, almost like he's talking to himself. "It felt wrong up there without you. I fucking hated it."

You reach up and pat his arms, which are still wrapped around you, a small smile playing on your lips. "I'm sorry."

Jisung shakes his head, pressing his cheek to your hair. "No, I should've ditched with you. You know I hate leaving you alone when you're feeling like that. I shouldn't have left you with Minho, that stinky prick."

"Oi!" Minho's voice cuts in from across the kitchen, where he's leaning casually against the counter, drink in hand. He looks amused rather than offended, a teasing grin on his face. "Who do you think you're talking about, you cheeky fucker?"

You giggle at the exchange, and Jisung, ever the dramatic one, tightens his hold on you as if Minho's words have personally wounded him. "I'm talking about you, you smelly asshole," he says, sticking his tongue out at Minho while burying his face further into your hair, clearly unbothered by his friend's retort.

Minho rolls his eyes but says nothing else, instead taking another sip of his drink and shaking his head in mock disbelief. He watches the two of you with a small smile on his lips, though there's something else lingering in his eyes. Something softer, more careful. He doesn't push the banter further, choosing to stay quiet for now.

The door opens again, and Chan enters the kitchen, looking as polished as ever despite the long night. He's still got his suit jacket on, though it's clear he's ready to relax as he pulls out his phone, glancing around at the group.

"Oi, Y/N," he says, catching your attention. "You left something behind."

Chan reaches into his blazer pocket and pulls out your grandmother's sapphire-encrusted hairpin. Relief floods through you as you realize you'd completely forgotten about it being in a bubble of comfort with Minho. You reach out to take it, but before you can, Minho steps forward and gently takes it from Chan's hand.

"Here," Minho says softly, his voice lacking the usual teasing tone as he approaches you. "Let me."

Jisung watches the exchange with narrowed eyes, his arms still wrapped around you. He doesn't say anything, but you can feel the tension in the way his body stiffens slightly as Minho steps in closer.

Minho's touch is gentle as he slides the hairpin back into your hair, taking care to make sure it's secure. His fingers brush against your scalp, sending a soft shiver down your spine, but you ignore the feeling. When he's done, he gives you a small smile, his eyes lingering on yours for just a moment longer than usual.

"Perfect," Minho says softly, stepping back.

Before you can thank him, Jisung immediately shoos him away, his hands fluttering in the air as if to physically push Minho aside. "Alright, alright, back off, Romeo. I've got it from here."

Minho rolls his eyes again, but there's an amused smirk on his face as he steps back toward the counter, grabbing his drink. "You're so fucking possessive, Ji."

Jisung doesn't bother responding to that, instead wrapping his arms more securely around your shoulders as he glares at Minho's back. You don't miss the way Jisung's grip tightens slightly, though he's still careful not to make you uncomfortable. He's always been overprotective when it comes to you, but lately, it's been more intense. Especially when it comes to Minho.

"Chan, have we got anything to drink?" Hyunjin's voice cuts through the tension as he and Jeongin finally make their way into the kitchen, both of them looking ready to relax after the long night.

Chan nods, already pulling out glasses from the cupboard. "Yeah, yeah. What do you want? We've got plenty left from the last party."

As the group starts grabbing drinks and chatting amongst themselves, Minho silently pours you another drink, setting it in front of you with a small smile. You notice that he doesn't say anything, just gives you a look that says he's checking in without being too obvious about it.

Jisung, meanwhile, is still fussing over you, his arms around your shoulders like a security blanket. He doesn't let go, not even when you shift slightly in your seat to take a sip of your drink. He stays close, watching you with worried eyes as if he's waiting for you to show any sign of distress.

"Ji, I'm okay," you assure him again, though your voice is soft. "Really."

He huffs, not fully convinced. "Yeah, well, I'll be the judge of that."

Chan finishes pouring drinks for everyone and turns to the group with a grin, raising his glass. "Alright, before we get too fucked up, let's do a toast. To Jeongin and Hyunjin for their awards, and of course, to Y/N and Jisung for killing it with that award-winning article."

The group raises their glasses in agreement, and Minho tilts his glass toward you, a grin tugging at his lips. "Cheers to Y/N," he says softly, his eyes meeting yours.

You smile back at him, feeling the warmth of his gaze settle over you like a comforting blanket. It's moments like this, when he's not teasing or throwing sarcastic comments, that you feel a strange connection to him, something that you can't quite put your finger on. But before you can dwell on it, Jisung pulls you closer, pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head.

"To us," Jisung mutters, his voice soft in your ear. "But mostly to you."

You chuckle, clinking your glass against his. "To us."

The rest of the night passes in a blur of laughter, drinks, and the comfortable warmth of being around friends.

Eventually, Jisung drags you up the stairs, leading you through the dimly lit hallway toward his room. After the long, chaotic night of the awards ceremony, and the endless rounds of small talk and congratulations, this is the sanctuary you need. Being around Jisung, your best friend, feels like hitting reset on a night that left your emotions tangled.

"Come on, let's chill," he says as he pushes open his door. His room is just as messy as always. Clothes scattered on the floor, textbooks stacked haphazardly on his desk, and the faint glow of those stars you stuck to his ceiling two months ago.

You flop onto his bed beside him, both of you lying side by side, staring up at the ceiling. The stars glow faintly in the dark, their soft light casting a surreal calm over the room.

"Remember when you made me put these fucking stars up?" Jisung says, his voice half-teasing, half-nostalgic. "I thought they were gonna look stupid, but..."

"They're kind of nice, right?" you finish for him, smirking. "See? You should listen to me more often."

Jisung snorts. "Yeah, well, don't get used to it. This is like, a one-time thing."

The comfortable silence that follows is filled with the distant hum of voices from downstairs, but up here, it's just the two of you. It's moments like this, with Jisung, that you appreciate the ease of your friendship. There's no need to fill every second with conversation. Just being here, next to each other, is enough.

You close your eyes for a second, letting the tension from the night melt away. But then, Jisung, ever the one to break a peaceful moment with something unexpected, speaks up again.

"You know," he starts, and you immediately know there's something coming. His tone is a little too casual. "I was thinking... maybe I should set you up with Felix or Chan."

Your eyes snap open, turning your head toward him, caught completely off guard. "What?"

He's lying there next to you, staring up at the ceiling like he didn't just drop a bombshell on you.

"I'm serious," he continues, his voice still annoyingly nonchalant. "They both think you're amazing and beautiful. Felix especially, he's been crushing on you for ages."

You blink at him, unsure whether to laugh or be genuinely surprised. "Uh... I don't know, Ji. I mean, maybe, but I'd have to think about it."

Jisung shrugs, still staring at the ceiling like this is no big deal. "No pressure. I just think you and Felix could be really good together. He's sweet, thoughtful. Plus, he thinks you're like, Aphrodite-level beautiful."

You snort. "Aphrodite? Really?"

"I'm dead fucking serious," Jisung says, turning his head to look at you. "I've heard him talk about you. The dude practically melts when you're around."

You can't help but smile a little at the thought. Felix has always been a close friend, but you never really thought about him in that way. He's easy to talk to, kind, and funny in that understated way of his.

"I don't know," you say, rolling onto your back again, staring at the stars. "Felix is really sweet, but has he ever actually said anything? Like, to me?"

Jisung shakes his head, waving the question away like it's a minor detail. "No, but come on, he's shy. Attraction is the start, right? You two have good chemistry, and he's definitely into you."

You bite your lip, unsure of how to respond. You've always been close with Felix, and while the idea of a date with him doesn't sound bad, it feels unexpected. Like something you hadn't even considered before tonight.

"And Chan?" you ask, more to fill the silence than because you're seriously considering it.

Jisung shrugs again. "Chan's great too, but he's more focused on school and music right now. I think Felix is the better choice if you're looking for something real, you know?"

You can't help but laugh at how serious Jisung sounds. "Since when are you the expert on my love life?"

"Hey," he protests, sitting up on the bed and crossing his arms. "I'm your best friend. I know you better than anyone, and I know what's good for you."

You roll your eyes. "Right. Of course, you do."

"I'm just saying," Jisung continues, grinning now, "one date with Felix won't hurt. See where things go. If it works out, great. If not, no big deal."

You sigh, leaning back on your elbows. He's persistent, you'll give him that. But there's something about the way he's pushing this that makes you wonder if there's more to it than just wanting to set you up with Felix.

"Okay," you say finally, letting out a deep breath. "Fine. One date won't hurt."

Jisung beams at you, clearly pleased with himself. "Fuck yeah. I'll talk to him tomorrow and make sure everything's set for tomorrow night."

You raise an eyebrow, sitting up fully now. "Wait, tomorrow night? You're already planning this?"

"Yup," Jisung says, completely unbothered by your incredulity. "I'll talk to Felix in the morning. He's probably just waiting for an excuse to ask you out anyway."

"You're ridiculous, you know that?"

Jisung just grins, leaning back on his hands. "You love me."

You roll your eyes but smile despite yourself. "Yeah, yeah."

The room falls into another comfortable silence, the distant sounds of the guys downstairs still faintly audible. You stare up at the stars again, wondering what tomorrow will bring. Felix is sweet, and he's always been a good friend. Maybe this date could be something more.

But before you can think too much about it, Jisung speaks up again.

"Felix is seriously into you, you know," he says, his voice softer now. "He hasn't said it outright, but I can tell. You're the kind of person he'd fall hard for."

You glance over at Jisung, wondering where this sudden emotional shift is coming from. "You're really sure about this, huh?"

Jisung nods, his expression more serious now. "Yeah. I just want you to be with someone who sees how fucking amazing you are. And Felix is one of the few guys I know who would treat you the way you deserve."

There's something about the way he says it that makes your chest tighten. Jisung has always been protective of you, sometimes to the point of being overbearing, but it comes from a place of genuine care. You know he just wants the best for you.

"Okay," you say quietly, more to reassure him than anything else. "If you're that sure, I'll give it a shot."

Jisung breaks into a grin again, clearly relieved. "Good. Trust me, you won't regret it."

What neither of you knows is that Minho is standing just outside the door, his jaw clenched, fists curled at his sides. He's heard every word of the conversation, and it's taking everything in him to not burst into the room right now.

Minho knows exactly what Jisung is doing. He's pushing Felix toward you because he doesn't trust Minho. And it pisses him off more than he can even articulate. Jisung thinks Minho is going to break your heart, that he's just some player who doesn't care. But Jisung has no idea how hard Minho's fallen for you, how much he's been holding back because he's been waiting for the right moment to tell you.

And now, hearing Jisung practically set you up with Felix? It's infuriating.

Minho grits his teeth, leaning against the wall as he listens to your conversation. He could go in there, stop this whole thing, and tell you how he really feels. But he knows Jisung won't make that easy. Jisung will fight him every step of the way because he doesn't think Minho is good enough for you.

But Jisung is wrong. Minho knows he is.

He'll prove it. One way or another.

The restaurant is buzzing with the soft hum of conversations and the clinking of cutlery. You and Felix walk through the dimly lit space, a hostess guiding you to a table near the window. The atmosphere is intimate, maybe a little too intimate. The soft glow of the candles on the table reflects off the wine glasses, making the whole thing feel like the date Jisung had envisioned.

Except, it's not.

You tug at the edge of your black mid-thigh blazer dress, adjusting it slightly as you sit down, your thigh-high stiletto boots brushing against the leg of the chair. The sapphire-encrusted hairpin in your hair catches the light, just like the sapphire necklace resting against your collarbone.

Your grandmother's heirlooms feel like a protective layer tonight, a way to steady your nerves even though Felix has never been the type to make you feel anxious.

Felix slides into the seat across from you, and for a second, you take in his outfit: black slacks and a half-buttoned white shirt, his hands adorned with chunky silver rings. He looks good. And that, combined with the fact that you're both dressed like you're on the cover of a fashion magazine, only adds to the absurdity of the situation.

"Okay," Felix starts, his eyebrows raising as he takes a long look around the room. "This is fucking weird, right?"

You breathe out a laugh, feeling the tension melt slightly. "So fucking weird. What the fuck was Jisung thinking?"

Felix leans back, shaking his head. "I honestly don't know. He cornered me, said something about how I think you're beautiful, and then put two and two together and somehow got ten."

"He's been pushing this since last night. Something about how we'd be 'perfect' together. I guess he thought your opinion on my looks was enough for a love story."

Felix laughs, and the sound is warm and genuine. "Well, to be fair, I do think you're beautiful. I have eyes, don't I? But that doesn't mean I've been harbouring some secret crush on you."

"Thank God," you sigh, leaning back in your chair with relief. "So we can just treat this like a regular friends' dinner?"

Felix raises his glass of wine, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "To a friends' dinner."

You clink glasses, the soft ting sounding like an agreement between the two of you. Already, the night feels lighter. The weirdness of it all slowly dissipates as you both sip your wine and settle into familiar conversation.

"So," you say, gesturing around the restaurant, "if this is supposed to be a 'friends' dinner,' let's make the most of it. What's new with you? Still managing to ace all your classes while simultaneously being everyone's favourite stress baker?"

Felix grins, his eyes sparkling as he leans forward. "Of course. My cookies are keeping half the campus sane, honestly. The other half's still in denial."

You laugh, knowing all too well how Felix's baked goods have gained a sort of cult following around school. He's practically famous for them.

"Speaking of which," he continues, "I made those macadamia nut ones you like the other day. Jisung stole half of them before I could bring them over."

"Typical," you say, shaking your head. "I'll have to fight him for the rest. You know how much I love those."

The conversation flows naturally as you both dive into your usual back-and-forth. The wine loosens you up a bit, and soon enough, you're laughing loudly with Felix, completely relaxed. It feels like any other hangout, the weird pretence of a date"falling away.

The waiter comes by to check on you, refilling your wine glasses as you both finish the first bottle. Felix eyes the bottle in the waiter's hands, then glances at you, a mischievous smile spreading across his face.

"You know," he says, his voice lowering as if he's letting you in on some grand secret. "We could get a free bottle of wine right now."

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. "Go on."

Felix grins like he's thought of the most brilliant plan. He slides one of the many rings off his fingers, stands up, and before you can even process what's happening, he gets down on one knee in front of you.

The people at nearby tables glance over, curious, but Felix ignores them, focusing entirely on you.

"Y/N," he says in an exaggeratedly serious voice, holding up the ring like it's some priceless artefact. "Will you make me the happiest guy in this restaurant and marry me?"

The wine has quelled any anxiety you might've felt earlier, so instead of feeling awkward, you decide to play along.

"Yes!" you exclaim dramatically, sticking out your hand for him to slide the ring onto your finger. "Of course, I'll marry you!"

The tables around you erupt into applause, people clapping and cheering as if they just witnessed the most romantic proposal of the century. Felix stands up, a smirk on his face, and the waiter, looking entirely caught up in the moment, hurries over to offer congratulations.

"Congrats!" the waiter says, looking genuinely excited. "Let me get you two a complimentary bottle of our finest wine to celebrate."

You barely hold back your laughter as the waiter rushes off. Felix slides back into his chair, grinning from ear to ear.

"I can't believe that worked," you say, shaking your head in disbelief.

Felix raises his glass again, this time with a proud look in his eyes. "To my fake fiancée and free wine."

You clink glasses again, still giggling as you drink to your ridiculous plan. Just when you think it couldn't get better, a couple from a nearby table leans over and says, "We've got your bill tonight. Congrats again!"

You and Felix exchange wide-eyed looks, barely managing to hold back more laughter. "Holy shit," Felix mutters under his breath. "We just hit the jackpot."

As you drink your newly acquired bottle of wine, the night only becomes more fun. The awkwardness that had hung over the evening at the start is long gone, replaced by pure enjoyment. You and Felix settle back into conversation as the restaurant continues to buzz around you.

"So," Felix says after a sip of wine, his gaze drifting toward the sapphire and diamond necklace around your neck. "Tell me about the heirlooms. That necklace and the pin. They've gotta be worth something, right?"

You nod, tracing the edge of your necklace absentmindedly. "Yeah, they are. My grandmother left them to me. She had a lot of money."

Felix leans forward, intrigued. "I had no idea. So, like, how much are we talking?"

You smile, not bothered by his curiosity. Felix has always been straightforward, and you appreciate that about him. "Well, she was a CEO. She raised me after my parents died, so I inherited pretty much everything. I've got shares in her company and in the other businesses she invested in."

Felix's eyes widen slightly. "So you're rich."

You shrug, sipping your wine. "I guess I am."

"Damn," Felix says, leaning back in his chair with a grin. "Jisung never mentioned that part."

You laugh softly. "Yeah, I don't go around announcing it. I'm not really the 'rich heiress' type, you know?"

Felix nods, understanding. "Makes sense. Still, that's kind of badass. You've got all this wealth and power, and you're still just you."

You smile, feeling the sincerity behind his words. "Thanks, Lix."

The conversation drifts after that, touching on light topics as you both finish the second bottle of wine. The restaurant is still bustling, but it feels like you and Felix are in your own little world, enjoying the absurdity of the evening.

After a while, Felix leans back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head. "You know why Jisung set us up, right?"

You raise an eyebrow, your mind still pleasantly buzzed from the wine. "Because he's an idiot who can't read people at all?"

Felix snorts, shaking his head. "Besides that."

You tilt your head, genuinely curious. "No, enlighten me."

Felix grins, but there's something knowing in his eyes. "Well, I'll let you figure that out for yourself. I won't ruin the fun."

You roll your eyes, playfully smacking his arm. "You're such a dick."

Felix just laughs, finishing the last of his wine before setting the glass down with a satisfied sigh. "Hey, I'm just saying, Jisung had his reasons. You'll figure it out eventually."

You shake your head, still smiling as you lean back in your chair. The night has been a whirlwind of laughter, fake proposals, and more wine than you expected. Whatever Jisung's reasons were, you're just glad the evening turned into something fun instead of the awkward mess it could have been.

Felix pulls the car up to your apartment complex, the quiet hum of the engine filling the comfortable silence between the two of you. . It had turned into a night you didn't expect, but somehow, it felt exactly right.

Felix glances at you as you unbuckle your seatbelt. "Well, that was fun."

You chuckle, shaking your head as you gather your bag and open the door. "So much fun. I don't know how we pulled that off."

Felix's grin is playful, his silver rings catching the dim light. "What can I say? We make a pretty good fake couple."

You laugh again, stepping out of the car and leaning back in through the open window. "Goodnight, Felix. Thanks for the... whatever that was."

Felix smirks. "It was an unforgettable friends' dinner. You know, one for the history books."

"Goodnight, Lix," you repeat, still grinning as you wave.

"Goodnight, Y/N," he replies, watching you head toward the building.

As you walk to your apartment, you feel lighter than you have in days. Felix always has that effect on you. He makes everything seem easier, less complicated. The night could've been weird and awkward, but it turned out to be exactly what you needed: fun, simple, and completely free of stress. Jisung's matchmaking might've been misguided, but at least it had resulted in a memorable night with one of your closest friends.

You unlock your door and step inside, immediately kicking off your boots with a sigh of relief. Your apartment is quiet, a stark contrast to the lively restaurant you just left. It feels good to be home, and you head straight to the kitchen, still feeling the buzz of the wine as you pour yourself another glass. The cool liquid slides down your throat, grounding you after such a surreal evening.

As you set the glass down on the counter, you reach up to take off your sapphire necklace, your fingers brushing against the cool metal. You remove the matching hairpin, carefully setting it down next to the necklace before turning your attention to the silver rings on your fingers. You begin slipping them off one by one, the rhythmic movement soothing after such an eventful night.

But then, there's a knock at your door.

You pause, glancing toward the front door with a furrowed brow. It's late, and you're not expecting anyone. Curiosity piqued, you set down the last of your rings and walk toward the door, glass of wine still in hand.

When you open it, you're greeted by a sight you weren't expecting: Minho, standing in the hallway, his expression unreadable, but there's something intense in his eyes.

"Minho?" you say, your voice a little surprised. "What are you doing here?"

He looks at you, his eyes scanning your face, then down to your lips. "Did you kiss him?"

You blink, confused. "What?"

Minho takes a step closer, his voice more insistent. "Did you kiss Felix?"

The question catches you off guard. You feel your heart skip a beat, and suddenly, you're not sure what to say. "No," you answer honestly, "I didn't kiss Felix."

Minho exhales sharply, like he's been holding his breath. "Okay... okay, good."

You raise an eyebrow, still confused by his sudden appearance and his line of questioning. "Minho, what the hell is this about? Why are you asking me about Felix?"

Minho meets your eyes, his gaze unwavering. "Because I still have a chance."

"A chance?" you repeat, feeling even more lost in this conversation. "What are you talking about?"

Minho runs a hand through his hair, clearly agitated, but not at you—more like at the situation. His voice softens when he speaks again, though there's still that intensity behind it. "I lied."

You tilt your head, frowning slightly. "What do you mean, you lied?"

Minho lets out a frustrated breath, looking almost embarrassed for a moment. "About your article. I said I didn't read it, remember? When we were in the kitchen last night, after the awards thing? I told you I didn't get around to reading it."

You nod slowly, still not sure where this is going. "Yeah...?"

"I lied," Minho says, meeting your gaze again. "I read it the second it was published. I've read it more than once, actually. Like an embarrassing amount of times. I said I hadn't read it because I saw how stressed you were about everything, and we were alone, and I knew if I asked you about it, you'd light up. And I wanted to be the one responsible for that."

You stare at him, the weight of his confession sinking in slowly. Minho, always so cocky and teasing, is suddenly standing in front of you, admitting that he'd lied just to see you happy. The realization hits you harder than you expected.

For a moment, you're at a loss for words. "Minho..."

He takes a step forward, closing the space between you, and his voice is quieter now. "Can I come in?"

You nod, stepping aside to let him in. Minho walks into your apartment, the atmosphere between you shifting. He turns to face you, his expression serious, more vulnerable than you've ever seen him.

"I like you," he says, his voice steady. "Like, I really like you. And Jisung knows that. He hates it because he thinks I'm going to break your heart, but I'm not. I swear, I wouldn't do that."

You feel your pulse quicken at his words, your mind racing to catch up. "Minho, I..."

He holds up a hand, cutting you off gently. "You look so fucking beautiful right now, and it's really distracting me. So I'm going to kiss you, if that's okay."

Your breath catches in your throat, but the answer comes easily. "Yeah, that's okay."

Minho doesn't waste any more time. He steps forward, closing the distance between you, his hands gently cupping your face. His lips meet yours in a kiss that's soft at first, tentative, as if he's waiting for some kind of permission. But then you kiss him back, your arms wrapping around his neck, and the kiss deepens.

Minho's hands slide down to your waist, pulling you closer until there's no space left between your bodies. The kiss is slow but intense, each movement deliberate, like he's savouring the moment. You can feel the heat radiating off him, his grip tightening slightly as his hands roam over your back.

You break the kiss for just a second, gasping for air, but Minho doesn't let you go far. His forehead rests against yours, his breath warm against your lips as he speaks.

Minho's forehead rests gently against yours, and the air between you is thick with tension. Your heart is racing, every nerve on edge, and just when you think the silence will swallow the moment, you feel a giggle bubbling up from your chest.

It's ridiculous, the whole situation. The intensity of the kiss, the way Minho's hands feel so warm and grounding on your waist. You pull back just slightly, enough to catch your breath and give him a mischievous look.

"Oh, by the way," you say, trying to keep a straight face, "Felix and I got engaged."

Minho blinks, clearly caught off guard. "Huh?" He stares at you, confusion clear in his eyes, as if trying to piece together whether you're serious or not.

You can't help the laugh that escapes. "Yep," you nod, keeping up the act. "I'm set to marry Felix. So, congratulations, we're now having an affair."

Minho's brow furrows for a second, and then realization dawns on his face. A grin spreads across his lips. "Oh, so that's how it is, huh? I'm the dirty little secret now?"

You smirk, feeling a little more daring. "Exactly. I'm cheating on my fiancé with you. How scandalous."

He hums, his thumb tracing slow circles on your hip. "I don't mind being the side guy. Adds some spice, don't you think?" He leans in again, his breath ghosting over your lips. "Just keep this between us, yeah? Don't want Felix to find out."

The playfulness between you two eases the tension, and you laugh softly, completely forgetting about everything else for a moment. You're about to respond when, out of nowhere, the door to your apartment swings open with a loud bang, making you both freeze.

"No! This is exactly what I was trying to prevent!"

You and Minho quickly step apart, your heart racing for a different reason now. Jisung looks at the two of you with wide, panicked eyes, like he's just walked into his worst nightmare. His hands fly up in the air as he groans dramatically, pacing a few steps.

"This is exactly why I set you up with Felix!" Jisung exclaims, pointing an accusing finger at Minho. "I knew this would happen! And now he's got his STD-riddled claws into you!"

Minho's jaw drops in disbelief. "Okay, hold the fuck up," he says, hands raised in defence. "I have no STDs, and I'd really like to clear that up before we go any further with this conversation."

You take a slow, deep breath, pressing your lips together to hold back a laugh. Jisung, however, is far from amused. He looks like he's about to have a full-on breakdown as he turns to you, his face full of concern.

"Listen to me," he says, his voice urgent. "He's going to break your heart! Minho doesn't do relationships—he just flirts and messes around. He's like a... a... heartbreaker! A professional one!"

Minho rolls his eyes, stepping closer to Jisung, clearly fed up. "Oh, for fuck's sake, Jisung, I've liked her this entire time, and you know that!" His voice is sharp, filled with frustration. "You're the one who set her up with Felix, knowing damn well how I feel!"

Jisung glares right back, crossing his arms over his chest like a protective barrier. "I did it because I know you, Minho. You're all charming and smooth when you want something, but then you bail as soon as it gets serious. I'm not letting that happen to Y/N."

You shake your head, walking over to grab your glass of wine from the counter. The tension between Minho and Jisung has been building, and now it's finally spilling over. You sip your wine, deciding that the best course of action is to stay out of it and let them bicker it out.

Minho takes a deep breath, his frustration visible. "You think I'm going to hurt her? Jisung, you've got no idea how hard it's been trying to be patient with this shit. You set her up with Felix like some overprotective dad, and now you walk in here acting like you're the fucking saviour of the day."

Jisung's face turns redder, and he steps forward, eyes blazing. "You're my best friend, and so is Y/N! I've seen what you do to girls, and I'm not letting you do that to her."

Minho doesn't back down, stepping forward as well, the space between them shrinking fast. "You think I'm like that with her? Do you even know how long I've been waiting to make a move, only for you to play matchmaker with Felix?"

Jisung's mouth opens and closes like a fish, clearly lost for words.

You, on the other hand, take another slow sip of your wine. The back-and-forth between them is almost entertaining. They're like two kids fighting over a toy, except this time, you're the toy, which is both ridiculous and hilarious.

"Look," Minho says, his voice a little calmer now but still firm, "I'm not playing around with her. I've been serious about this, and the fact that you think I'm just going to fuck her over pisses me off."

Jisung throws his hands in the air again, clearly exasperated. "Of course I think that! You're Minho! You don't do relationships!"

Minho rubs a hand over his face, clearly trying to stay calm. "God, you're an idiot sometimes. This isn't just some hookup, okay?"

Jisung doesn't seem convinced. "You expect me to believe that? After everything?"

At this point, you've had enough. You walk over to Jisung, wine glass still in hand, and without a word, you pour the rest of the wine into his mouth. He tries to protest, but you give him no choice. He swallows the wine, sputtering slightly as he looks at you in surprise.

"Go sit in the living room," you say, pushing him toward the door with more force than you probably should. "We'll deal with you later."

Jisung stumbles into the living room, still flustered and clearly not done with the argument. But before he can say anything else, you shut the door and lock it, effectively trapping him inside.

Minho watches the whole thing unfold with an amused smile. "You know it's going to take him about an hour to realize he can unlock that from the inside, right?"

You shrug, turning back to face him with a grin. "That gives us about an hour of peace."

Minho's smirk widens as he steps forward, his hands sliding around your waist again. He pulls you close, and the heat between you reignites instantly. "There's a lot I can do in an hour," he murmurs against your lips, his breath hot and teasing.

Your heart skips a beat as you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him even closer. "Oh yeah?" you whisper, your voice daring.

He kisses you again, this time with more urgency, and you melt into it, your body pressing against his. His hands slide down to your thighs, and in one swift motion, he lifts you off the ground. You instinctively wrap your legs around his waist, holding onto him as he carries you through the apartment.

"Bedroom?" he asks between kisses, his voice low and filled with need.

"Second door," you manage to say, your voice breathless.

Minho kicks open the door to your bedroom, not bothering to turn on the lights as he carries you inside. The door swings shut behind you with a satisfying thud, and with that, the world outside ceases to exist.

All that matters now is the heat between you, the feel of his hands on your skin, and the promise of what's to come in the next hour.

Minho kicks the bedroom door shut behind him, and in that moment, you know that an hour is more than enough time.

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