SKZ Chan Link Masterlist

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HOST REQUESTED: Lee Minho

«ONE NIGHT AT BACK DOOR COLLECTION MASTERLIST»

HOST PROFILE 🔸Name: Lee Minho 🔸Attracts: Tsundere & snark enjoyers, people who have a thing for thick thighs 🔸Characteristics: Shadow King [Needs revision: Mate, stfu you're my right hand at best. I'll write your description for you -Chris] 🔸Why patrons love him: He never directly shows affection. It makes an entertaining challenge for them to try and induce that. Dancer whore. Head game unrivaled. [@Chris: I work here, you know that right? -Hyun]

DOWN LOW

📜5.2K words | Approx. 22-min. read 🖤Lee Know x Reader 🚨Please see the series masterlist for general warnings: Striptease, Minho's thighs and veiny hands & arms, mouth-to-mouth drinking, praise kink, size kink, forced orgasm, sex toys, anal play (m receiving), vaginal fingering, squirting, unprotected sex, cumplay. 📻Accompanying soundtrack 💭Reblogs & comments are always appreciated and please keep in mind they are the ultimate motivation fuel. 🍮Like my content? Consider supporting my work with a pudding!

“LEE FUCKING MINHO!!!” 

You barged into the kitchen to find your roommate eating cereal and shoved the results of your stats midterm into his face.

“Look at this shit. Look at it!!!”

Lee Minho. Business major. Dance club president. The worse half of the campus whore duo along with that Christopher dude. Borderline narcissist. Your annoying-ass roommate addicted to working out and keeping his stamina at the maximum. He always walked around the apartment in his damn uniform—his plain, occasionally sleeveless t-shirts to flaunt those bulging veins all over his large hands and pumped arms, and those fucking shorts to expose his thighs and calves at all times. Being an October-born Scorpio, he called himself ‘King of the Fall’, and blamed his extreme homme fatalism as well as his entire insanity on his zodiac sign. 

“You got a C,” Minho quickly examined the paper and handed it back to you, “What do you want? Congrats?”

“Do you know why I got a C?”

“Because you didn’t study?”

“Because I couldn’t study!!!” you slapped his arm with the paper, “How many times am I gonna tell you to take your bimbos someplace else?!”

A good portion of his cardio activities included fucking people with complete disregard for the fact that there was another person living under that roof, or in the two-kilometer radius. Man, was he loud. Every time he brought someone over, you thought this was going to be the time your neighbors would call the cops for suspected murder. He didn’t fuck; he sent these girls to their graves, and they seemed to be thanking him for it.

And you never saw the same one twice.

“If I could, then I would,” he drank the remaining milk straight from the bowl and placed it in the sink, “But I can’t, so I shan’t.”

“THEN FUCKING SOUNDPROOF YOUR ROOM!” you flat out screamed at his face, “What the fuck these bitches see in you, I’ll never know.”

“Do you have eyes? I’m insanely hot.”

“You’re also insanely insufferable.”

“Whatevs, gorgeous. I gotta go to practice,” he grabbed his duffel bag and landed a playful smack on your ass, “Later.” 

The audacity of this motherfucker... Every single time.

It was a steep learning curve getting used to each other, which involved a lot of bitching, but you stuck together all throughout college. To your absolute surprise, Minho was actually capable of being a decent human being towards a select few. Except for his extremely high libido, he was a good roommate with more than acceptable culinary skills, and even a better friend. Despite his very quirky ways, he was there for you whenever you needed someone. To talk to. To vent to. A companion to sit in silence with. A partner in crime to look after the neighborhood cats with. And an absolute enabler.

Over the years, he racked up quite a noteworthy score in the buddy department, earning himself the title of a ride or die. By your graduation, you had partaken in so many wingman activities for him that you were basically known as his pimp. Time couldn’t do much to your bond; even when you went your separate ways, moved houses, took and quit several jobs, met and left people, both of you were always one call away from each other.

Ride or die.

For Valentine’s Day, you made plans with a bunch of friends to go get wasted somewhere on and exchange gifts with each other as ‘Secret Cupids’. Minho had suggested an open reservation for a night at Back Door would make a hilarious but on-point gift for the person you picked, and that night you were there to pick up your ‘official invitation’ from him because, you know, his goddamn secretive speakeasy shenanigans.

“Honey, I’m home!” you chirped walking into the lounge area. You expected the usual commotion to greet you, but you were welcomed by the ghosts of crickets and tumbleweeds instead.

“Whoa, it’s dead quiet. Where is everybody?”

“Auditioning for Cirque du Soleil,” Minho responded from the bar, immediately causing you to deadpan.

“Min…”

“Where the fuck do you think? Entertaining their patrons,” he gestured to the closed door leading towards the suite hall, “You took your sweet time. I was about to head home.”

You had seen Minho in his host attire before. He never wore off the rack. Brand-name suits custom-made for him in blacks, anthracites, and midnight blues, matching shirts inside that always revealed a piece of his honey skin to adorn with delicate necklaces, and a belt that hugged his waist that induced an intense desire to wrap legs around it. 

That night he just had baggy cargo pants on still with a belt, and a black zip-up top still exposing his chest very tastefully. No necklace this time, though.

“You don’t have a patron on V-Day, tiger?” you sat down on one of the stools and clasped your hands on the bar top, “Literally the most lucrative high holiday of your club?”

“I will if you pay me.”

“As if I could ever afford your ridiculously expensive ass,” you stole a handful of almonds from the bowl in front of him and pointed at the invitation, “Chris is gonna kill you after he finds out you gave me this out of your own pocket.”

“If he finds out,” Minho corrected you while drying the stemless glass in his hand with a washcloth, “I may be expensive, but it’s hella worth it. I can just give you the good stuff for free to get you hooked, you know.”

You didn’t need the confirmation because you already knew about the good stuff thanks to that thin wall you shared with him for years. You involuntarily snorted. 

Why bitches love Minho reason #2: All his sass is weirdly sexy.

“Seriously though, why are you the only one free?”

“My patron bailed on me last minute and got back together with her ex,” he placed the glass on a rack, “So I took over lounge bartending duties for tonight.”

“Yeah? What are you gonna do after this?”

“Head home. Hang out with Pudding or whatever.”

“I love that cat to death, but that’s so fucking depressing,” you blurted out and extended a counteroffer, “Why don’t you come hang out with us?”

“No thanks,” Minho replied curtly.

You didn’t really expect him to accept that invitation anyway because, unlike his fast days, Minho’s mingling tolerance dropped way low ever since he started socializing for a living. You examined his expressionless face and changed your plans for the night in your head.

“Tell you what,” you finally swallowed the almonds you’d been munching on, “I’ll be your patron tonight.”

“That’s for paying customers only, gorgeous,” Minho smiled, shaking the red envelope.

“HA! Remember your entire college life you spent as a freeloader in our apartment?” you slammed your fist on the counter, “It’s payback time, gold digger. Pay up.”

“When the fuck are you gonna let that go?”

“Never. Less talking, more serving. Get to work!” you ordered him while texting your friends you weren’t coming.

He was an annoying ass alright, but you couldn’t find it in you to leave him alone while the rest of his crew was having a good time under the disguise of work. You could at least keep him company for the sake of all those times your plans fell through, and he canceled his booty calls to hang out with you instead with the reasoning ‘Don’t feel like it. Their vibes were off anyway.’

Minho filled a highball glass with crushed ice and poured peach vodka all over it. When you made a move to grab the drink, he slapped your hand away.

“Nuh uh. If you’re gonna drink here for free, you’re gonna do it Back Door style.”

“Back Door style?”

He placed his elbows on the counter and leaned into you with that notorious smirk of his plastered to his face.

“Your lips aren’t supposed to touch the glass.”

You leaned into him in return, reflecting the exact shade of his smile back to him, and spoke with a voice as sultry as it came.

“Then I would like a swirly straw, please. Thank you.”

“You think you’re being so cute, aren’t you?” he didn’t budge and dragged the drink towards himself, leaving a moist trace on the bar, “I’m gonna be your glass. Take it or leave it.”

“Sure, and that’s definitely not your attempt to get out of giving me free drinks or anything.”

“I gave you an entire fucking night for free. Why would a bunch of drinks be my concern?”

This wasn’t your first rodeo with Minho’s teasing, but they had always been just words. Brazen declarations not meant to be taken seriously. In all your years together, that was the one line neither of you crossed to protect something valuable to both of you. The potential aftermath was just not worth it.

Yet that night, Minho looked at you with dead serious eyes, seemingly ready to risk it all.

“You’re fucking kidding, right?”

“Does this look like we’re hosting an open mic night?”

“This will mess up our dynamics really bad, tiger.”

“Maybe I wanna fucking ruin our friendship. Did that ever occur to you?”

Why bitches love Minho reason #3: His bluntness will make your heart throb as well as your clit.

“Fine,” you dared him, trying to assess how far he was willing to go, “Pour up.”

The only sound filling in that lounge area was the soft, quiet instrumentals emitting from the speakers and your heartbeat thumping in your ears. Minho grabbed the glass, took a large sip, and brought his face closer to you. Zero hesitation. In your mind, the second you made a move he was going to burst into laughter or say some shit to embarrass you, so you prepared your metaphorical knife at the ready in self-defense to tell him you weren’t buying it, but you did come closer to him, your eyes fixated on moist lips. More. A little more. A little more.

Then Minho closed the distance between you completely and let the cold liquid travel from his mouth into yours. You felt your entire body get shocked from head to toe.

The frost of the crushed ice versus the warmth of Minho’s tongue dancing with yours was such a delightful contrast. You didn’t know whether it was the vodka or his lips that tasted that sweet.

Once you swallowed, it should have been the end of it. One of you should have stepped back, but no one did. Both of you had already crossed that line, so you might as well have kept it up. For a good minute, you satisfied the curiosity of what kissing each other would feel like.

It felt like jumping from a cliff into the sea in slow motion on a scorching hot summer day.

You returned to reality once Minho’s voice echoed in your ears again.

“One more?”

You nodded with your eyes closed. He pushed the drink towards you so that you could be his glass this time. You trapped the refreshing liquid in your mouth, savoring the peach flavor, and before you could even make a move, Minho impatiently grabbed your nape to get a taste of his share. Like he couldn’t find a drop of water to quench his thirst the entire day. Like he couldn’t find a way to quench his thirst for you all this time.

“Did you like the presentation?” he asked when he finally managed to step away from your lips. The question made you chuckle.

“You being a slut for compliments just never gets old, does it?”

When you least expected it, he jumped over the bar counter with the agility of a predatory feline and swiveled your stool towards himself.

“Then time for a palate cleanser.”

That little game of sharing drinks immediately devolved into a very heavy makeout session embellished with quick inhales, soft, muffled moans, tongues clashing with each other, and hands trying to declare their independence all over each other’s bodies, wanting more and more and more. While drowning in the thick texture of lust he was coating you with, you were thinking about all those times you listened to Minho fuck people when you were roommates. They all left like an eighteen-wheeler ran over them the next day, and you had always wondered why.

Now you were beginning to have an idea.

Why bitches love Minho reason #4: He kisses like he fucks.

“Wanna get out of here?” Minho asked, completely breathless and panting.

“I wanna get in here, actually,” you stole a glance from the closed door in the distance, “Why don’t you take me to your suite? I wanna see what the big deal is about you.”

“So you are my patron tonight, huh?” he raised one of his perfectly shaped eyebrows and immediately changed the tone of his voice to the host mode, “What would you like to call me?”

“I’ll stick to my usuals. Pretty, sexy, all that shit that feeds your praise kink, you know?”

He couldn’t even keep that façade for five seconds. When you responded like that, he bit his lips tainted with a mischievous smile, and landed a slap on your ass. You laughed. You knew him better than everyone else, after all. It wasn’t something you made up in your mind; Minho had directly told you that during a drunk night.

‘Only you can get me.’

He handed you a bottle of champagne, grabbed one himself, and took your hand to lead the way to his suite.

“Come with me, gorgeous.”

Minho had called you that a million times before. It was one of your designated nicknames, but never once did it make you feel that ticklish inside to hear it. Possibly because he had never prefaced it with a knee-weakening kiss before.

You followed him to the silent hallway. It was actually kinda funny that you somewhat had your fingerprint on this place. Minho had informed you that the soundproofing idea was inspired by your incessant bitching during your roommate days, and if you didn’t already know how this club operated, you could swear there was nobody else in the vicinity engaging in copious amounts of debauchery.

He swiped his card on the door, and when you entered the room right behind him, your jaw dropped all the way to the floor. He quite obviously spared no expense to go all out for this space. A dining area at one corner of the room in front of a stunning city view, a ginormous couch that might as well have been a bed—quite clearly not there just for ‘lounging’ purposes, a colossal mirror installed right in front of it for who knows why, a shoji screen sliding door currently open to separate the area from the bedroom which contained an even more gargantuan bed and, surprise surprise, more mirrors on the ceiling and right behind the bedpost.

“Jesus fuck, Min! Just how much money are you making here?!”

“A fair amount,” he leisurely responded while removing the gold-colored wrapping covering the cork of the champagne.

“Nuh uh,” you immediately stopped him, “If you’re gonna pop that, then you’re gonna do it gorgeous style.”

“Which is?”

You took the bottle from his hand, shook it as hard as you could, and aimed it afar.

“Champagne showers, baby.”

When you popped it, you sprayed almost half the content on Minho like he was running under a sprinkler. Completely drenched, he grabbed the bottle back and emptied it on you as retaliation. Both of you laughed like idiots for quite some time, and when it finally died down, you watched him lick his lips while stepping towards you, checking you out from head to toe.

“We don’t need glasses for this.”

He wrapped one hand around your waist and started slurping on the champagne dripping down your neck while fondling your breasts with the other. The wetness you were covered with was nothing compared to what was oozing out of your folds.

“So, which one tastes better?” you whispered into his ear, “The vodka or the champagne?”

“You want my honest opinion?”

“As blunt as it gets.”

His little smirk still intact, he locked eyes with you, slipped his finger inside your underwear, and circled it around your clit a few times to collect your juices. He didn’t even blink when he licked your taste off his skin with absolute gusto.

“Your cunt,” Minho gave you your answer, “By a landslide.”

“I fucking love your hands,” you traced the bulging veins up his forearms with your fingers, “Have I ever told you what these are doing to me?”

“I’ll have an idea when I feel your tongue on me.”

Completely out of instinct, you bit on the zipper of his top and dragged it all the way down to expose him for you. Firm. Toned. Simply glorious. You slithered your fingers inside and slid his top off his shoulders. His naked torso was such an enticing sight that you kneeled in front of him as if in a trance and licked the champagne running down his pecs all the way up to his chest. He groaned at the sensation.

“Dance for me, pretty. I’ll make it rain on you,” you plopped down on the couch and stretched both your arms on the backrest, “Don’t you have like toys and stuff around here?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Am I not your patron? I can ask for whatever I want,” you stated the facts to him, “I would like a bullet vibrator with a controller please, and thank you.”

Minho cackled at how straightforward you were being and brought you your request from one of the drawers. When he handed you the box, you harshly pulled him down from his nape and whispered against his mouth.

“And I also happen to know what an attention whore you are. You’re gonna lose your fucking mind watching me cum to you dancing.”

You watched him draw a total blank and took the opportunity to kiss him again. You leaned back, nestled the toy inside your underwear, and clicked on the controller to start the vibrations at the lowest setting. 

“Now entertain me, sexy,” you contently exhaled.

As you opened the second bottle of champagne, Minho dimmed the lights of the room, put on a song almost as seductive as he was, and started dancing for you. Sultry. Erotic. But also hard-hitting. Precise. Like an absolute whore that was basically airfucking you. You spread your legs wider and downed the champagne straight from the bottle, wondering whether you could cum hands-free without a vibrator if you watched him long enough.

Why bitches love Minho reason #5: Watching him dance is the same thing as watching porn.

“Down low, baby,” you instructed your host, “Drop it low for me.”

He came closer to the couch you were sprawled on and continued with his smooth body rolls so close to your face that you could feel the heat radiating from his crotch. You could see how hard he got over watching you flinch with the vibrations inside you every once in a while, and if that outline was any indication, he was packing. You were dying to see it in the flesh. Your hands moved on their own to unzip his pants, but he stopped you with a firm grip on your wrists.

“Do the thing with your mouth again.”

You bit on the zipper of his pants this time, and as you were dragging it down, you felt him throb against you. You looked into his eyes while unbuttoning him. Minho held your gaze with his mouth open like he was utterly hypnotized, and let out a hiss when you finally freed him from his boxers. Your lips inadvertently parted when you saw how mouthwateringly big he was.

“Like what you see?” he brazenly grinned.

“Damn, tiger. What have you been hiding from me all this time?”

He was loving how much you seemed to enjoy the sight of him, and it was masturbating his ego big time, pun fully intended.

“How do you think I got this rich this fast?”

You couldn’t contain the urge to feel him any longer and gently wrapped your fingers around him. Minho’s excitement peaked through the roof when he felt your touch.

“Shit, blow me, gorgeous,” he breathily exhaled and slithered his fingers into your hair, “You know you want to.”

Well… It was true. 

Why bitches love Minho reason #6: His goddamn THIGHS.

You dragged your fingers on his magnificent thighs first as he clenched them for you. After years of admiring them in his shorts, they were right in front of your face now. You ended up kissing them. Making out with them. Taking gentle bites from them. 

And it was fucking sensational.

Hands clasped behind his nape, Minho stood tall in front of you and eagerly waited for you to take him in your warmth. When you finally wrapped your lips around his head, his eyes fluttered close.

“Oh, fuck yeah,” he threw his head back with a loud groan and looked down at you again, “Let me see you take it all. Take all of me.”

He kept guiding your head back and forth on his cock, absolutely relishing the way you were swirling your tongue around his thick girth. Every time you squeezed your lips, Minho felt more blood rushing to his crotch, and grew even bigger inside your mouth. How much he could last had always been a matter of pride for him, but if you kept working him like that, there was no way he wasn’t going to blow.

“No,” he suddenly stopped your ministrations, “No, not yet.”

He sat on his knees in front of you and gently pushed your chest for you to sit back.

“Open wide, baby. Show me how wet your cunt is under that dress.”

You did exactly as he said. Minho brushed his thumb on your underwear first and felt the moisture, extremely content with how ruined the piece of garment was. Then he slowly dragged it down and fully exposed your pussy for himself. His whole mouth filled with saliva just looking at your glistening slit. He descended between your legs to take the vibrator out of you and turned it off.

“This?” he licked the toy clean like a popsicle, “Nothing compared to what I can give you.”

When he latched his mouth to your clit, you tangled your fingers in his sweaty hair and guided his head on your pussy in an excruciatingly slow rhythm to edge yourself. You were absolutely losing it over how intensely he was pleasuring you. Minho was so fucking sexy no matter how disheveled he looked. He was actually even sexier because of how disheveled he looked. You watched him wrap his bulging arms around your thighs as he kept swirling that tongue around your clit with perfect pressure to ascend you.

“Like that. Just like that,” you melted into his mouth, “Run that tongue all over me.”

Why bitches love Minho reason #7: He eats pussy like he wants to induce blunt force trauma with pleasure.

You weren’t able to control how deep you were moaning, more so whenever you caught a glimpse of how mindblowingly erotic he looked between your legs in that mirror. Every time you said his name, Minho hummed against your cunt and increased the pressure of his tongue. You were getting more turned on. You were getting wetter. And he was pushing you more towards the edge one lick at a time.

“Jesus fuck, Minho, you’re fucking great at this!”

You felt him smile against your pussy. You were getting closer to your orgasm at record speed, but you wanted to feel him inside you.

“Come up and fuck me.”

But Minho didn’t stop.

“Min, please.”

He didn’t stop. He started licking you faster instead.

“Minh– Stop– You– Ins– Fuck!!!”

He wasn’t listening to you at all. On the contrary, he pushed his middle finger inside you and started fingering you frantically. That abrupt peak in pressure was too much too fast all of a sudden, and as you shut your eyes tight with a loud scream, you felt a wet release between your legs. When you eventually opened your eyes, you witnessed something dripping down Minho’s perfect fucking cheekbones. 

Your cum.

“Champagne showers, baby,” he climbed up to kiss you. 

At the end of that kiss, Minho looked at your lips, and then deep into your eyes. He had never looked at you like that before. You felt something tightening in the pit of your stomach.

Don’t cross that line. For years.

For what, exactly?

“Screw it. Let’s fuck.”

You pulled him in for a kiss again, and it got out of hand pretty quickly. You got rid of whatever piece of clothing was still hanging around your bodies, and you straddled Minho on that gigantic couch.

“Play with me,” he grabbed handfuls of your ass, “Fucking ruin me.”

An open invitation to set fire to his body in a red envelope? 

Oh, he was fucking doomed.

You attempted to sit on him, but even when you were that wet, you were struggling because of his size.

“Too big for you, gorgeous?” he tilted his head with a little smile, “Shh, I’ll stretch you real nice. You’re gonna become a perfect fit around me.”

He started his shallow thrusts to work you open as you continued to lower yourself on him. Minho almost combusted just watching himself disappear inside you halfway. Even that much felt so warm. So slippery. 

“Fuck, so damn tight,” he closed his eyes heaving a deep sigh, “I can barely move.”

When he finally bottomed out, a loud groan ripped from his throat. It felt like you were licking him inside you. As he kept moving, he was rubbing against your walls and massaging them so fucking deliciously that you couldn’t help your moans. He had no choice but to pick up his pace to make you moan louder for him.

“Let it out, baby. Scream my name.”

You were panting over Minho, feeling completely full inside you. He was stretching you just like he promised, molding you into a perfect sleeve for himself. Every time you clenched, the sensation was nothing short of you sucking him off.

“Minho!”

“I’m fucking losing my mind,” he dug his fingertips into your ass, “Why the fuck haven’t we done this before?”

He started fucking you more fervently while sucking on your nipples. You were overwhelmed. You felt so good. You felt fucking incredible.

Why bitches love Minho reason #8: Having sex with this beast is a religious experience.

“Down,” you pressed on his collarbones to signal him to lay down, “Open your legs for me.”

You instantly felt empty when he pulled out, but this couldn’t wait. You were burning with the desire to make him feel good in every way possible. You spread his legs apart and dragged your nails on his thighs again. You started placing kisses on his rock hard cock and made your way down to his shaft. Then lower. And lower. And all the way down to his entrance. He pressed your head towards himself to feel you more when you started licking into him to get him all slippery for you. You landed the coup de grâce when you placed the bullet vibrator inside him and pulled him up again to sit comfortably.

Why bitches love Minho reason #9: He’s so comfortable with his sexuality that you will wish it was him every time you fuck someone else.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, letting him comfortably pave his way into you again, and closed your eyes to focus on how he felt inside you.

At least you attempted to. But Minho didn’t let you.

“Look at me,” he touched your face, “I’m right here. Look into my eyes.”

There was something different in there. He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t audaciously grinning like he always did. He just looked at you with something akin to a tinge of hope. It was unusual. It was scary. It felt like looking into an abyss, and you didn’t know whether his eyes had a bottom. He made a sudden run for your lips, and melting in his mouth again felt like sinking in the deep end.

Minho started fucking into you with a newfound fervor while holding your gaze. He squinted his eyes every once in a while due to how intense his pleasure was but never really closed them. You watched him touch your lips with his thumb, part them, and shove it inside your mouth. A loud moan escaped his lips when you sucked on his finger because it felt like you were sucking him again. Thinking this was the perfect opportunity, you finally pressed play on the controller.

“God—damn, that feels fucking incredible!”

“I know,” you smiled at him this time, “And you’re at my mercy for once.”

Admitting defeat was categorically out of question for Minho. He started searching for a spot inside you like his life depended on it to make your brain short-circuit. And when he finally found it, you involuntarily clawed his forearms.

“There. Right there!” 

“You like it there, don’t you baby?”

Click.

“Ah, just like that. Don’t stop!”

“Fucking cream me, come on,” he clenched his teeth and pinned you in your place from your waist, “I need you dripping down my cock.”

“I’m so fucking close,” you pressed your forehead on his, “Deeper. Fuck me deeper.”

Minho slid his hands down and grabbed your ass to pull you even closer to him. You felt yourself getting impaled.

Click.

“Let go,” he managed to utter between his panting, “Let go, baby. Give me what’s mine.”

Click.

“Minho!!!”

“Kiss me.”

Click.

“If you press that shit one more time, I swear to fucking god I’m gonna cum inside you.”

Click. Click. Click. Click.

“FUCK, baby!!!”

That was not cumming; Minho straight up exploded inside you. Thick strings of his warm seed squirted all over your contracting walls, and he kept fucking his cum deeper into you while riding out both your highs. Once you managed to come down, you looked at each other super fucked out and disheveled. Then he stole a kiss from your lips out of nowhere.

“Since uh– your plans are already out the window…” Minho played with your hair averting his eyes from you, “Do you wanna like… I don’t know, come over? We can watch Netflix and stuff.” 

“Netflix and stuff,” you echoed him with furrowed brows and a smile.

“Yeah, and uh– and Pudding really misses you.”

Lee Minho. Business owner. Choreographer. A full-time escort. Still a borderline narcissist. Your annoying-ass friend who was suffering from severe emotional constipation and wouldn’t admit it at any cost.

You had to bite the insides of your cheeks to stop yourself from bursting out laughing. 

“So you’re asking me to come over just so that Pudding can see me,” you emphatically uttered, “Not that we can have sex all night or anything.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” he hid his face in the crook of your neck.

Why bitches love Minho reason #10: He has the most indirect ways to tell you he likes you.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

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This needs more reads now. So cute!!!

You Just Put the Dick in Your Mouth - Part 2

Kim Seungmin x Yang Jeongin

Word Count: 5681

Contents: blow jobs, very awkward!innie, very sweet!seungmin, inexperienced!innie, innie having self-deprecating thoughts, best friends to lovers

Previous | Next

“Hey.”

The voice made Jeongin jump and he spun around to see Seungmin standing in the entrance of the kitchen with his favourite mug. Jeongin thought he looked so cozy in his cream knit sweater, fluffy hair, and cute round glasses perched atop his nose. It was a pretty sight.

Even if Jeongin might have been avoiding Seungmin just a little bit the last few days.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk to Seungmin or hang out with him. He did, very much so. It was simply the fact that seeing Seungmin meant his brain replaying the sounds of his moans and the feeling of his hand in his hair and truly Jeongin couldn’t seem to get the image of Seungmin’s face as he came out of his mind. 

Not that he was trying to.

But all that was to say it was all just a little… distracting.

Keep reading

SKZ Jisung Link Masterlist

Letting Ji use your body how he wants

Dom Jisung links ;)

More to come ...

(If links are missing that were there before sadly they do not work anymore, for the Twitter account has been suspended)

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! lee minho fic recommendation ¡

s = smut , f = fluff , a = angst

neighbour minho and injured kitty [f] by @caseiloveu

word count: 1.8k

when he’s in a bad mood all he needs is you [f] by @rachalixie

zipper (part 1) [s,f] by @tasteleeknow

word count: 4.3k

summary: when your boyfriend asks you what you want for your birthday, only one thing comes to mind. you want to dress him in an outfit of your choosing

Keep reading

I am so invested in this series rn oml. You should be too person who sees this🧍🏿‍♀️🧍🏿‍♀️🧍🏿‍♀️

You Just Put the Dick in Your Mouth - Part 2.52

Yang Jeongin x Kim Seungmin

Word Count: 1885

Contents: innie’s self deprecating thoughts, cuddling, hurt / comfort, seungmin crying, best friends to lovers

Previous | Next

Jeongin was trying. Really, he was. But when he saw Seungmin he was just a little jumpy, just a little bit flustered and stuttery. He laughed a little too hard at Seungmin’s jokes while staying just a little too far away from him. He was sure at this point anyone who saw them interact would think he was a freak.

But he was trying his best and Seungmin seemed no worse for wear. If he noticed it, he was merciful enough to not call attention to it and let Jeongin sort himself out. It made Jeongin wonder if he had done this often with his friends. Did he have that much practice fooling around and then being utterly chill with people as if their dicks hadn’t become acquainted with the other’s tonsils?

He wasn’t in love with all of them.

Keep reading

I don't give a fuck about your friends - 𝔯𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱 𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢

𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭: lee minho x f.reader

friends to lovers

↳ Oh baby, take a look around I'm the only one that hasn't walked out, Im right here.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: angst, smut warning below the cut.

𝐚𝐧: part of a series called ohmami of short one shots inspired by Chase Atlantic songs. This one was inspired by Right Here. If you would like to be tagged in all stories for this series or a specific boys please fill out this form.

𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: unprotected sex, soft dom minho, rougher passionate sex, creampie, size kink, dirty talk, minho calls the reader the name Pretty.

It’s been a rough night to say the least. A night out with your friends went wrong. A bunch of drunk girls in the club is never a good mix, followed by watching a so-called friend makeout with your ex who you thought at one point you were gonna marry him. The sight of them kissing was like a bucket of cold water being dumped on you. Tears well in your eyes as you rush off to the hallway near the bathrooms. You fight back crying as you call the only person you want to see at that moment.

Walking back to the table where a few friends were, you let them know you were heading out. The buzz you had has faded away as a feeling of sadness takes over. Walking outside the cold air catches you by surprise. Taking a deep breath you wrap your arms around your body trying to find some warmth. You stand outside alone for all of five minutes when you see the only person you want to see walking towards. He’s dressed in gray sweats with a hoodie underneath and coat over the top.

You practically jog towards him, wrapping your arms around him, throwing yourself into his chest. There is a moment of silence as you cling to him. His hand gently rubs your back making you feel warmer.

“Thank you for saving me.”

“That’s what friends are for,” he presses his lips to the top of your head.

Pulling away he takes off his coat and holds it out for you. You know he’ll probably be cold walking back to his car but there is no use in fighting him. Pulling his coat on you immediately notice his eyes are focused on you. He steps closer to you resting his hand on your cheek. Ever so slowly be wipes away the stray tear that had slid down your cheek.

“You’re too pretty to be sad,” his voice was calm and gentle.

Arriving at his car he helps you in the passenger side before shutting the door. The drive back to his apartment is quiet. You can feel him looking over at you every so often as you wipe away the stray tears that keep falling. He hasn’t really asked you what’s wrong but you know he will.

You arrive at his apartment he shares with Jisung and you notice right away there is no sign of his roommate. Without thinking the moment he shuts the door you lean forward to kiss him just like you always do. You’re caught off guard when he pulls away the moment your lips touch. The small feeling of rejection stings but you know it’s because he knows you’re upset.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” He seems frustrated. You can’t blame him though. Recently anytime something has gone wrong in your life you always call him. He never tells you he can’t come to your rescue. He always does and every time no matter if it’s day or night it always ends the same way with you naked and spread out underneath him. He normally doesn’t say anything when you throw yourself at him. Peeling away your clothes as you desperately cling to him trying to make yourself feel better.

“Mae was all over Hyunwoo at the club. I looked out on the dance floor and saw my friend making out with the guy that broke my heart.”

He doesn’t say anything, he just takes a deep breath and steps closer to you. Minho hated Hyunwoo and after you got your heart broken he hated your ex even more.

“She’s not your friend if she would do something that she knows would hurt you.” His hand rests on your side standing close to you.

“I’m probably just being sensitive,” you sigh, wiping away your tears. “I have that trip with them next weekend. I know she wouldn’t intentionally do something to hurt me.” You're an absolute fool and you know it. Mae and a bunch of the other girls are selfish and you know deep down inside you need to cut them off. Minho has told you over and over again he doesn’t like most of your friends in that group and you know why. He doesn’t say anything for a moment instead he moves away from your hand and gently rests his hand on your cheek. His thumb swipes away the tears that are staining your cheek.

“Come stay with me next weekend. I don’t think you should go on that trip.” From the moment Minho heard that you were supposed to have a girls weekend he was instantly against it. He thought most of the girls that you had started hanging out with since college were fake. After seeing one of them make out with the man that broke your heart led you to believe he might be right.

“They’ll be upset if I cancel on them,” you sigh.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“‘Min they’re my friends. It does matter.”

“I don’t give a fuck about your friends. I’m the one who is always right here. They don’t treat you right. If they were true friends they would have seen you were upset tonight and wouldn’t have let you leave crying.”

“Min,” his words catch you off guard.

“I’m being honest. I don’t give a fuck about your so called friends. I just want you to be happy and I think being with me instead of them would make you happy.”

Even though your head is telling you that you should go on this trip, you want to listen to your heart and stay with Minho.

“What happens if I stay here?”

“We’ll figure out whatever we are.” He pushes his figures through your hair tilting your head back. His face softens as your eyes lock.

“We’re not just friends?” You’re not dumb you know you’re more than friends. If you were just friends you wouldn’t throw yourself at him any chance you get. If he was just your friend you wouldn’t daydream about kissing him.

He pulls back from you shaking his head. “I don’t fuck my friends.” He starts walking away from you heading off to his room. You’re caught off guard by his bold statement but it lets you know he feels the same way you do. Without thinking anymore you follow him. Walking into his room you notice the light on in the bathroom connected to his room. You wait sitting on his bed for him to walk back in. Walking back into his bedroom he pulls off his shirt tossing it in the hamper by his closet. He strips down to his boxers. You silently sit there watching him. You should have known at some point or another things between you and Minho would come to a head. You couldn’t go on sleeping together without talking about how you really get.

“Are you going to skip that trip?” He finally breaks the silence.

“I want to know what it’s like to be more than friends with you.” This is your way of telling him you aren’t going on that trip.

“Stand up for me,” he says walking towards you. You listen to him standing at the foot of the bed. “Those girls aren’t good for you. They don’t care about your feelings and I don’t like that.”

“I know they don’t.” You get sad again thinking about how your night went.

“Strip down to your underwear please.” He doesn’t normally boss you around when you sleep together. He’s always had dominant energy about him, but when you have sex he always lets you do what you want. Every time you’ve slept together it’s been when you’re upset or want a form of stress release. You realize you’ve been selfish and never really asked Minho what he likes or what he wants.

Standing there in just your underwear you reach out resting your hand on his cheek, “what do you want from me?” You ask.

“Anything you’re willing to give me. I want every part of you.”

“Minho I mean what do you want if you don’t want to be just friends?”

His hand rests on your bare side pulling you close to him. You take a deep breath taking in his closeness. “Pretty, I want to be your everything. I want to make you happy and show you what it’s like to be loved.” Leaning in closer he rested his forehead against yours.

“I want you to be my everything.” You didn’t want to just be friends. You wanted so much more with him.

His lips crash against yours and he kisses you like he needs you to breathe. His hands grip your soft sides as your lips move together.

Pulling away you both removed the rest of your clothes. Laying on his bed completely bare he sits between your spread thighs as he rubs his hardened length through your folds.

“Min put it in,” you practically whine wanting him inside you.

A smirk tugs at his lips as slowly pushes his length into you earning a moan. He moves at a slow pace letting you adjust to his girth. The groan that passes his lips as he bottoms out is intoxicating. Your hands reach for his wanting to hold on to him. He thrust into you at a firm but steady place. The blissed out look on his face makes you weak.

“Pretty, you’re so tight. Is my cock too big for you?” He loves to make you feel small. You weren’t a tiny girl by any means but the way he talks about his size makes your head spin.

With one particularly hard thrust makes you practically scream his name. A soft laugh passes his lips as he thrust hard again causing your breast to bounce.

“Min-“ you moan.

“Do you like it when I’m rough?” You just silently nod your head, unable to fully respond. He grabs one of your legs, putting it over his shoulder before he continues his pace. His finger toys with your clit knowing just the right way to touch you to make you scream his name again.

He keeps his steady pace leaving you a panting mess. One of your hands grip the cotton sheets next to you while the other grasp your breast. Your thumb drags across your sensitive nipple adding to the overwhelming sensation taking over your body.

“Fuck you look good touching yourself while you’re taking my cock,” he groans. His dirty words come close to pushing you over the edge.

“I’m so clo- clo close.” He’s left you a stuttering mess.

“Does pretty want to come?”

“Fuck,” you whine nodding your head.

“Do it then,” he says, thrusting harder.

Pulling your leg off his shoulder he quickly changes his position so he is hovering right over you. He keeps his pace as he leaves a trail of open mouth kisses from your chest up to your lips. The moment your lips together you moan into his mouth as you fall apart. Your walls flutter around him as a white hot wave crashes over you. He thrust into you over and over again as you ride out your high.

His thrust gets sloppier as he chases his own release. He comes painting your walls white moaning your name. He stays plastered on top of you riding out his release. Ever so slowly he pulls himself away from you. He sits back on his hunches watching for a moment as his release drips out of you. Reaching over to his nightstand where he keeps a box of tissues he always wipes his release before laying on the bed next to you. You’re absolutely exhausted and feel like you’re on the verge of falling asleep.

“Pretty?” He says pulling your sleepy body close to his.

“Yeah?”

“I meant what I said. I’ve always been right here, and I don’t want to be just friends.”

You smile nuzzling close to him, “Minho we’re definitely more than friends, and I’m glad you’ve always been right here.”

His lips gently press to the top of your head before you fall asleep in his arms.

Regarding taglist:

If you aren’t interacting with my writing outside of liking the new post I’m gonna have to remove your name from the taglist. You will also be removed if I try to tag you and your blog is listed as "invisible". If you've changed your URL and didn't let me know I will also be removing your name. I’m sorry for the inconvenience but my interactions outside or likes feels like it’s nonexistent right now. All of my taglist are still open though. If you request to be added to one via this form, I kindly ask for interactions in the form and feedback and reblogs. To be quite honest, those really encourage my writing.

break mine i'll break yours

pairing: chan x reader (afab) word count: 677 rating: 18+ warnings: mutual mind breaking. breeding. impregnation kink? tummy bulge. chan gets quite animalistic and im ok with it a/n: this blog is turning into a chan blog ..........

chan thinks he’ll fucking die if he doesn’t get closer to you. because having his face buried in your neck and his cock entirely sheathed inside your cunt is still impossibly far away. he grunts, forcing himself deeper, if it were even possible, certain he’ll be unsatisfied until you’re both basically sharing a body. he presses his nose against your neck and inhales sharply, obsessed with the way your sweat laden scent sends all the right signals to his crotch. his tongue runs against your skin, lapping up any moisture that’s available to him. 

he’s already fucked the life out of you — rather literally. but he holds onto his orgasm, opting to make you cum and cum and cum until you were nothing but a lifeless cock sleeve, laying back and letting him mercilessly pound you whilst your eyes rolled to the back of your head. 

“how you holding up there, pup?” chan breathes against your skin, rutting himself into you slowly now. 

your words come out mostly in mindless babbles. “cock,” you say, because you couldn’t say anything else. “cock!” you cry out, too far gone to be embarrassed by the state you’re in. 

“cock, yeah? what about my cock?” chan asks, using his hand to rock your hips against him. he pushes his ear to your mouth, “use your words, pup.” 

and, oh, you want to use your words, but there’s nothing there in your empty head. nothing but thoughts of cock and cock and more cock. you open your mouth and whimper, “i— i… cock,” is all you manage to croak out. you wonder if chan has broken your mind so bad that you’ll never come back. and you’d be happy to live as his little cum dumpster for the rest of your life. chan audibly moans as you try to speak, obsessed with the way he can break you. 

“god. fucking. shit.” he snarls, eyeing the trail of drool that spills from the corner of your mouth. “look at you, completely fucked out. like a good little puppy.” he glances down to where your bodies meet and almost blows his load straight into you when he notices the bulge in your stomach. he brings a hand to it, pushing lightly. “feel that, baby? look how full you are. fucking stuffed with my cock.”

you muster all your strength to crane your neck downwards, to see the object of chan’s sordid words. fuck, he wasn’t lying. you nod furiously at chan’s question. how could you not feel it when you were so fucking full of cock? “so— so full.” you choke out, eyeing the bulge that moves along with chan’s controlled thrusting. 

“so full already and i haven’t even filled you up with pups yet.” chan practically growls, majorly turned on at his own words. he throws two fast, hard thrusts into you, moaning loudly into your ear while you whine below him. “god. i wanna make you a mummy so bad.” chan continues, “wan’ fill up that fertile little cunt.” he pushes into you deeply, slowly, accenting his words with perfectly timed rolls. “would baby like that?” 

you nod your head, letting the hot tears spill from your eyes. “yes. yes. yes please.” you suddenly hook your legs around chan’s waist, locking him in place inside you. “please. cum in me. make me yours. give me your pups.” 

your words tip chan completely over the edge and you’re immediately reacquainted with the warm, full feeling of cum seeping into your cunt. chan rides out his orgasm, throwing his head back and moaning, probably louder than you’ve ever heard him moan before. his voice shakes under the weight of his release, and pitiful attempts at words are made. “fuck. shit fucking shit. fuck.” or something to that effect. 

chan’s face drops back down against your neck as he savours the aftershocks, he feebly attempts to suck in the saliva that pools out of his mouth and lands messily on your neck. 

so it seems like you weren’t the only one with your mind broken.

Someone requested leeknow twt links could you do one for hyunjin? :)

As long as I get a thank you<3 /jk :0

Hyunjin Links (18+)

Hyunjin moaning while fucking you<3 (seriously one of the hottest things I've heard)

Hyunjin giving y/n backshots in her apartment:0

Hyunjin fingering your other hole while you ride him

Riding Hyunjin with his favorite satin PJ shorts of yours.

Let me tell you... Hyunjin Links are so hard to find 🫣 Also let me tell you how easy it is to get distracted when this is the content i post😗

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Euphoria | Lee Minho

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: Minho and you definitely do not like each other. No matter what the tabloids say. He’s your friend who argues and bickers like no other but you also crave the taste of him on your tongue. You are people who sling insults at each other from your respective stages, only to find him later painting your skin with sloppy kisses. And that's something you need to work on.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Minho x Reader (female)

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 23.2K

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Actors AU, friends with benefits to lovers, explicit language, explicit sexual content, oral sex (both male and female receiving), finger fucking, secret relationship, mentions of past relationship and cheating, angst, time jumps

𝐀/𝐍: Hello! I have no control whatsoever. It's tragic. This fic exists because I woke up at 4 in the morning and promptly died over the idea when someone mentioned 'actors' and 'smut' together. It also happened to be when I was in Minho appreciation hours, and hence this monster. Reblog and share your thoughts if you enjoyed the fic!!

◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇

then

J U N E

He thrusts into you at an agonising speed, all grappling hands and searing mouth, while your fingers tangle in his hair. Part of you knows that you should not be doing this, not when just seconds ago you were screaming yourselves hoarse at each other, faces hot in anger as you went along with the same old song and dance.

“But I guess things like that are beneath people like you, right, baby?”

You arch into him with a soft murmur when he bites on your bottom lip, sucking it none too gently in his mouth and soothing the sting with his tongue. It sends frissons of pleasure down your spine, and you get to taste his moan, sweet on your tongue, as you pull on his hair.

“You’re just a self serving jackass, you know that Minho?”

His hands are heavy on your hips, gripping them hard as he lets his tongue lick into your mouth, and the two of you are all heat and fire, neither willing to give an inch. You can hear your blood rushing in your ear, blocking out everything but him, the feel of him, the smell, the way he presses his mouth against yours, hard and unyielding, and you have to hold on to him tight.

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

And that’s how you ended up here, backed against the cold metal wall of his trailer, because you deliberately came over to pick a fight having been too on edge all morning. Nothing calms you down like riling Minho up, but the tension that’s been coiling tighter ever since you met finally reached its breaking point today, leading to him pining you to the wall.

Or maybe you pulled him to you.

There was want echoed in both of your eyes, that’s for sure.

Either way, you were both equally as guilty even though this was wrong but you just pull him closer, let your hands run over the curves of his biceps straining against those ridiculous wizarding robes and give in, loving the way his teeth bite into your skin, the rasp of his hair on your cheeks. Minho kisses like he talks, confident, demanding and a little rough, and you might have whimpered a little bit when his hand came up to cradle your jaw, thumb brushing along the ridge of your cheekbone.

One kiss flows into two, then three, never once losing its intensity, never once losing its harshness and heat and ability to suck the air straight from your lungs. Teeth clack against one another, lips pressed together with a bruising force that makes you see stars, and when he slips his tongue into your mouth it tastes a bit like war and heartbreak, and you want more.

Three turns into four, and he pulls back a little, just the barest brush of lips against yours yet it still sends your heartbeat skittering, and his hand slips to your neck, fingers pressed on your thrumming pulse. Shockwaves seem to originate from that spot, and you let your lips part, just a little bit, in a silent gasp of pleasure.

Five is a whisper of breath, shaky and deep, and you let your hands linger at the nape of his neck, lightly scratching at his scalp in a way that has his nose brushing your cheek, tender and soft. You know how to make him moan with it, how to test that bit of control he never seems to want to let up, and you do it again.

The sixth is a punctuation mark, a full stop at the end of the sentence, sweet and succinct with clumsy lips before you both pull away with wide eyes and harsh breaths.

“Fuck,” he says, running a shaky hand through his hair as he takes a step backwards. It leaves you feeling strangely cold, but you don’t pay too much attention to that, not when fuck seems like the understatement of the year for the mess you have gotten yourselves into here.

Your eyes meet his and you echo his words, because really, what else can you say.

* * *

before: 12 months ago

M A Y

“No,” you say, contemplating, smothering yourself with a pillow just to end this conversation.

On the other end of the line, Liv sighs in a way that you can tell that she’s pinching the bridge of her nose in exasperation. “Come on, Y/n. This is a good opportunity.”

“I don’t want a good opportunity,” you say, flopping onto your stomach, “I don’t want anything other than to be left alone. If I go back out there the tabloids will eat this shit up.”

“It’s been six months. Surely people aren’t going to remember that now.”

“Pretty sure people are going to have a hard time forgetting the fact that my ex boyfriend outed me on the red carpet and then broke up with me then and there. In front of the press. On the red carpet,” you emphasise. “My mascara was running down. I was turned into a meme.”

“A lot of celebrities are turned into memes,” Liv points out unhelpfully, and you pull a pillow across your face. “Look, everyone has their ups and downs in this kind of work. Get used to it.”

You scrub a weary hand down your forehead. “You should host a seminar on pep talks, Liv, I’m sure people will learn a thing or two.”

There’s a bit of shuffling around on the other end of the phone and you hear the muffled sound of a door closing. When she speaks, Liv’s voice is the softest you have ever heard it. “You need to start putting yourself back out there, Y/n. These things happen and yeah, it’s mortifying and you want to crawl under a rock, but you’re stronger than that.”

You blink several times, actually pulling your phone away to check the caller ID to make sure, yes, that is in fact Liv, your hardass manager. “That might have been the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” you say, a smile tugging at your lips, “Careful, I might cry.”

“Fuck off, Y/n,” she grunts, and the smile widens. “So, will you at least give it a chance?”

Hesitating for a moment, you contemplate the idea. “I could always just move to the countryside and become a dairy farmer instead of going back to acting. I have enough money to do that. You could find a new, competent client who doesn’t have a crisis every other week,” you say slowly.

You can practically see Liv raising a single brow, a look of pure skepticism on her face. “Imagine what the tabloids would say about that,” she says, “Since that’s apparently your basis for making decisions these days.”

“They’d call me a butch, and then let me fade into obscurity with my ten cows,” you answer promptly, and receive a grudging huff of laughter in return.

“Fine, I’ll give you that one,” she says, “Now back to the point at hand, do you agree or not?”

You bite your lip, hugging the pillow close. It would be nice to get back out there, you guess. Despite all the drama, you really do love acting, and while these past few months have been a nice break, you don’t know how much longer you can go without having anything to do. Finally, with a long, drawn out exhale, you relent, “Fine. You can send me the specifics and we’ll see.”

You are not even done with your sentence before you hear the ding of your email notification and you startle out a laugh. “Jesus, were you waiting with your finger on the send button or something?”

“I was confident that I could break you,” she says, smug, and you breathe a laugh again. “It’s just the audition package, but I think you’ll really like this show. It’s a cutesy, no bullshit type sitcom.”

“You know me well.”

“Let me know by tomorrow. I’m giving you twenty four hours to make a firm decision,” she says before hanging up.

You can’t help but roll your eyes at her actions. Liv is a great manager, but she’s definitely got a flair for dramatics.

… And knows exactly what kind of role would be perfect for easing you back into the industry, you grudgingly admit.

It starts off like another one of those generic crime investigation shows where you play a damn good detective who doesn’t play well with others until she meets her new partner, an unknown actress.

Liv was right. It’s the right amount of charming while still keeping with the grittiness that comes with crime shows nowadays, and your character – as well as your yet to be known partner – shuts down at least three instances of perceived sexism in just the first episode.

And you may be reading into things, but you are pretty sure that the two detectives have a thing for each other. A subtextual thing. God, you hope it’s a thing.

It’s a really good show.

Not only is the writing well done but the characters are pretty fleshed out and developed for a pilot episode and you are already tempted to call back Liv with the affirmation that yes, you are willing to go in for the audition. The only thing that’s holding you back is the smug look that you can picture all too well on her face at the news.

You last seven hours, caving after you have had dinner and Liv sounds just as self satisfied as you imagined.

Turns out the reading is in a few days time and Liv says, “I’ll drive you up there myself. I don’t trust you to not run away because of cold feet.”

You sigh, “As always, your faith in me is astounding.”

“We’re driving up the day before and booking a hotel. Start getting your shit together, Y/n.”

And you do, unearthing whatever you think would be suitable enough for being thrown back into the spotlight. If it was up to you you would just wear sweats all day. The morning you were scheduled to leave, you are awoken by an incessant pounding on the door to your apartment at 7:30am.

Not even bothering to throw something over your night slip dress, you stomp over and yank the door open with a belligerent, “What the fuck.”

“Why aren’t you dressed?” Liv demands, placing her hands on her hips. You glare at her weakly through your post sleep haze. Of course Liv would be looking runway ready at 7:30 on a Wednesday, both hair and makeup immaculate as she judges you for looking like an overgrown sewer rat. You are only mildly upset about it.

“You do realise it only takes like two and half hours to drive up to Seoul right? And that the audition is tomorrow?”

Liv merely grunts, and shoulders past you into the living room, though not before shoving a warm thermos in your hands. “Shut up, drink this, and get dressed.”

Unscrewing the cap, you're immediately hit with the scent of fresh coffee, and a strongly brewed one at that. “Seriously?” you ask, eyeing the dark brown sludge Liv likes to drink. She goes through at least four cups a day and you aren't quite sure how she’s still living.

The other woman just gives you a shark-like smile. “Bottoms up,” she smirks as she throws herself down onto the armchair.

You grumble but do as you are told, only to gag at the first taste of it in your mouth. It’s bitter and horrible and you're pretty sure your heart stutters over itself before beating double time.

“That’s disgusting,” you wheeze, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes.

Liv barely glances up at her phone. “I don’t care. Get dressed.”

You briefly consider drawing out your shower, but you're fairly certain that Liv wouldn’t hesitate to barge in and drag you out herself so you keep it quick. Mostly. You probably could have spent a couple less minutes shaving your legs but oh well. What’s done is done, and Liv hasn’t expressed any desire to harm or maim you as yet so you consider it a win.

By half eight the two of you are trudging down to the carpark, your duffel bag swinging lamely between them.

“If this goes badly I’m going to go back to my original plan of rearing llamas in South America,” you warn, pulling open the door to the passenger side with far more force than necessary. You throw your duffel in the backseat, having it land haphazardly on the floor.

Liv smoothly slides into the driver’s seat and the car hums to life. “I thought you were going to be a dairy farmer?” she asks lightly, passing over one of those heavy bran muffins you like to eat. You make a face but accepts it nonetheless. Asking Liv to stop at a Starbucks to pick of breakfast will only result in a stink eye and another bran muffin thrown your way.

“I changed my mind. Llamas have more personality than cows. Plus the paparazzi will never find me as an obscure livestock owner in the Andes.”

“I’m glad you’ve thought this through,” she says wryly, and you just smile at her, taking a huge bite out of the muffin.

You regret it instantly. It tastes like sadness and despair.

You don’t do much at the hotel, getting separate rooms and Liv leaves almost immediately to… do whatever it is she does on her downtime. Probably making a necklace out of human remains or something.

You dick around for a little bit, channel surfing before landing on an old episode of Charmed and then making the decision to hesitantly open up your Twitter account to scroll through your feed. You don’t go on often, especially because of these last few months, only tweeting when Liv says you need to make sure the world knows you are not dead, and even then it’s just a retweet of something, like one of those cute kitten vines.

You go through the writers’ room account, familiarising yourself with the producer and director before you catch yourself and stop. You could not get the role. You know that this industry is more luck than talent. You shouldn’t get attached.

It doesn’t stop you from looking up the studio though, learning that they’d be shooting on the same block as several other shows including some pretty well known ones. Homeland Studios is home to shows like Star Kingdom, Reign and Rebellion, and The Wreckage, just to name a few. It’s just a subtle reminder that it’s expected to do really well, and you swallow heavily, anxiety settling in the pit of your stomach.

When it’s time for you to go to the actual audition, you are a veritable bundle of nerves, to the point where Liv has to grab you by the shoulders to take you to the studio.

“This is a bad idea,” you say, hands clenched tight enough that yor nails dig crescents in then inside of your palm. “Maybe I shouldn’t get back into this just yet. Maybe we should go back home.”

“Maybe you should shut up,” Liv says mildly, switching lanes to head for their turn off, and you just nod, meek, settling down in your seat and trying not to think of everything that could go wrong.

None of those things happen of course; in fact, the audition surprisingly goes well enough.

You somehow manage to get in the mindset of your character and deliver your lines almost flawlessly despite the fact that you felt like you just came off a rollercoaster. The executive producer, Mr. Jung, is impressed at the end of it, and the room is all smiles when you are done, stumbling back out into the arms of a waiting Liv.

“See?” she smirks, “You did just fine.”

“I’m going to throw up,” you declare, and Liv just rolls her eyes.

Later that night Liv shows up to your room, a bag of Thai takeout in hand while you are aimlessly scrolling through your phone.

“Can you believe that there are articles on this already?” you ask, glaring at the luminescent screen. “I thought this was a closed audition? How do they have pictures of me?”

“Never underestimate the power of the paparazzi,” Liv says sagely as she begins to unload containers. You eat in silence, sometimes a quip here or there about an article that popped up. The pictures are blurry at best, which many say means that it’s just a hoax. That’s a good thing, in your opinion. The last thing you want is to ease back into the water only to have a sea monster drag your down kicking and screaming.

When you’re finished, Liv puts aside her container and looks at you, determined. It’s intimidating to say the least.

“You should start looking into apartments,” she says, blunt as always.

You are taken aback. Out of all things you expected her to say, this wasn’t even on the list. “What's wrong with my apartment?” you frown, “I like it.”

The look you get in return suggests that you are stupid for asking a question like that. “Well for one it's a good three hour commute from there to the studio.”

If anything, that just makes you frown deepen. “You're acting as though I already have the part when I’ve only gone in once.”

At that, Liv is suspiciously quiet and it makes you narrow your eyes. “What? What aren't you telling me?” you demand.

Another beat of hesitation and then, “They specifically contacted me with the role. They want you to take the part.”

That makes you even more confused and you ask, “Why would they do that? I haven't been acting for a while and I doubt that I'm good for press at the moment.”

There's a sigh from Liv before she unwillingly says, “They cast one lead already and she specifically asked for you to be her co lead.”

“Who is it,” you ask, voice flat and eyebrows raised expectantly.

Liv lifts her chin to meet your gaze, as though squaring up for a fight. Well, it’s not necessarily out of the ballpark just yet. “Shin Ryujin,” she says at last, and you are certain you can hear the screeching of brakes as the world stops.

Neither of you speak while you digest this information until you glare at her and almost spit what you have to say, “Are you fucking kidding me? You want me to team up with my ex boyfriend’s ex? The ex who dumped me on the red carpet? What the ever living fuck, Liv?”

She sighs again before saying, “I knew you would react like this, that’s why I didn’t tell you.”

You slump backward into your pile of pillows. “The tabloids are going to come for me, you hear that? They’re going to come and ask me a million different questions and turn me into another meme. The opportunities for this are endless.”

“Relax, you’re making this worse than it needs to be.”

Your voice is muffled through the layers of pillows, but you are certain Liv can hear you when you say, “Tomorrow. I’m flying to South America tomorrow to start my yet to be named llama farm tomorrow.”

now

M A Y

A bottle of lavender and citrus shampoo has never looked that intimidating to you.

You probably spend a good five minutes under the stream of water just staring at the thing since you first noticed it. Your hair is already soaked all the way through, and the bodywash – his bodywash, the one that makes you smell like pine trees and musk – has swirled down the drain ages ago, but you can’t stop staring at the green and purple bottle sitting so innocently in the shower caddy.

It’s the exact same brand you use, the one that only the beauty store a good fifteen minutes from here sells, and you know that it’s stupid to get all worked up over a simple bottle of shampoo, but you can’t help it, not when it makes your stomach flip like that, not when you find yourself swallowing several times.

The shower door clicks open and you jump, almost slipping if it weren’t for the muscled arm that shoots out to grasp you.

“Whoa, careful,” Minho says, voice trembling with mirth as he pulls you into his chest. You feel the hotness creep up your chest, and he notices it too, dropping a finger to your breastbone, tracing it all the up your neck. “You trying to drown in here, baby?” he asks with a quirk of an eyebrow.

“Just got sidetracked,” you say sweetly, thanking every deity you can think of that your voice doesn’t shake. You smirk and let your eyes run unashamedly over his bare form, the sinews of his neck, the hard ridges of his stomach that taper into a sharp vee at his hips. You love to stare at his naked body, love how it’s a study in sharp lines and angles that you wish to trace first with your fingers and then your teeth and tongue.

Minho doesn’t miss the way you are watching him, and he steps near you under the spray of the shower with a halfway smirk, letting it flatten his sex mussed curls.

“Well,” he all but purrs, and you shiver, letting your hands trail across his broad frame. He leans in to bite your ear while his thumbs brush over the tight bud of your nipples. “How about I sidetrack you a little more?”

Your hands spasm on his shoulders at his words, nails digging into corded muscle and he drags his teeth down your jaw.

“It’s your water bill,” you breathe, already rubbing yourself against his hardening cock, and he huffs a laugh into your skin.

Placing a kiss at the hollow of your throat, he mumbles, “It’s worth it,” and the grin that was budding across your face falls flat, stomach twisting awfully again.

You grab his hand from where it’s playing around with your breasts and drag it down to the the junction of your thighs, widening your stance slightly. “Less talking and more of this,” you tell him in a no nonsense kind of voice, his fingers taking their place on your clit, “I’m not getting sidetracked as yet.”

He misses the emotions that played across your face before, for when he finally looks up, it’s to meet a challenging eyebrow and a playful glint in your eye. He laughs again, pressing his forehead against yours and lets his fingers trail across your folds, parting them and spreading your wetness around and your eyes flutter shut, head tilted back.

“Yes ma’am,” he says, and then he’s kissing you, soft and deep while his other finger drums on your clit.

You try to put all thoughts of that damned shampoo bottle out of your head, god you try, and it works for a while, letting yourself get caught up in his fingers and tongue.

His fingers dipped in your heat, collecting all the slick that had gathered there before he dragged them back to your clit, swollen and throbbing in need for him. You allowed yourself to lean into Minho as he kept you pressed close to his body, planting small kisses at the top of your head.

It was intimate enough for you to freak out, intimate enough that it shouldn't come under whatever arrangement you and Minho had. Any rationality slipped from your mind when Minho tipped your head back to capture your lips in his.

Your eyes fluttered shut, your body falling completely into his embrace. His lips felt so fucking soft, gliding against yours smoothly, a little chapped and raw, yet so fucking perfect against yours.

You sighed into the kiss and Minho’s tongue licked your lower lip, the simple sensation sent heat straight to your core when he caught them in between in his teeth, slightly nibbling on them. You craved this feeling more than anything in the world. Nothing could compare.

“Fuck” you breathed, and he bit your lower lip, tugging at it, breaking the skin hard enough to draw blood. All you could do was let out a breathy moan, which came out as more of a whine. Your fingers grazed the nape of his neck, digging crescents into the soft skin and his overwhelming scent completely indulged you.

For a moment you forgot about his fingers until he pushed you against the shower wall, plunging two fingers into your soaking, greedy cunt waiting for him, where he belonged.

"I've barely started, baby," he cooed at you, lips meeting yours again to match the intensity of his fingers.

You couldn’t feel it in yourself to be embarrassed, you just wanted him to touch you.

“Please” you whined, and he increased the intensity with which his fingers were rubbing against your walls, a delicious pace that you were far too guilty to be both indulging in and craving for.

“M-Mnho…” you spoke, faltering at your words as he explored you.

“Feels good?” He asked, out of breath, leaning to press kiss under your ear. His tongue was languidly tracing a path along the side of your neck.

“Yeah…p-please. Fuck, don’t stop…” you moaned as he fucked in and out of you with his finger. The small kisses, the way his fingers owned every inch of you, the way his thumb rubbed circles on your swollen nub, everything was too much for you to take. You threw your head back, trying to contain yourself, unsure if you will ever get enough of this, ever get enough of him.

“Fuck, you’re always so wet for me. Are you close already?” He mumbled, watching you.

“Just fuck me” you breathed, of course, Minho isn't one to make any of this easy for you.

“I know, baby. Your cunt can't be left untouched,” he chuckled.

“Go faster, please” You pleaded, leaning backwards to rest your head against the shower wall. You know for a fact that if it wasn't for his hands steadying you, you would barely be able to hold yourself up.

Minho knew how to push you to the edge, he knew how to curl his fingers just right inside you, his dark gaze on you, hot and determined. It was all too much.

“Please, don’t stop,” you said, knowing very well he won't.

“Don’t worry, baby. I'll make you feel so good,” he said, finding your mouth again with his own. You were far too fucked to kiss him back properly but that didn’t stop him. His fingers moved so fast inside you and his tongue explored your mouth at the same time. “Always so tight,” he mumbled, making you clench around him.

You didn't bother to reply, feeling the pressure finally build up, a tightening coil settling deep in your belly. You could hear how wet you were by how fast his fingers pulled in and out of you.

“Faster…I’m so close” you panted, feeling everything inside you build up and Minho listened to you, increasing his pace, fingering you at an insane speed, his fingers curling inside you so well.

He pulled you in for a kiss, and just then, you came, the knot uncoiling and you let out a loud moan, into his mouth. You came with repeated moans of his name and incorrigible words, and he helped you ride out your high, kissing your neck, his fingers still inside you as your thighs trembled.

"Fuck, Y/n, you have no idea how beautiful you are." You breathed out a laugh, your eyes fluttering close. “I could watch you come a hundred times.”

"You’re that great."

"Yeah? Let me wash all that grease from your hair."

Your stomach twists when he offers to wash your hair for you, an unsettling amount of domesticity in the suggestion, and you move to capture his mouth in a frantic kiss that catches him off guard for a second before he can say something else.

Soap gets in your mouth, but you ignore it in favour of kissing him harder, hands drifting up to grip his own hair, slippery between your fingers, and you stumble back into the wall behind him, his hands flying to grasp your hips.

The water beats down on you fully now that you have his back against the wall, and his hands squeeze your hips, fingertips digging into the flesh of your ass, causing you to groan in his mouth. The soap suds drip down your back, and you try your best to ignore it, focusing on the warmth of his mouth, the hardness of his cock trapped between your bodies, pressing against your stomach, until the water runs clean, and that’s when Minho growls, fumbling to turn off the tap and hauling you up against him, dripping wet.

You shriek a little when he lifts, carrying you the short distance to his bed and dropping you down on the edge of it only to kneel between your open thighs, shouldering them apart.

A hand darts to his hair, grasping it when he nuzzles the crease where your hip meets your thigh, stubble chafing in the most wonderful of ways against your skin, and it brings a smile to your face, all previous worries long gone because this you can do. Sex is just sex. This is what you signed up for all those months ago.

“Insatiable,” you tell him, tapping his cheek.

He noses at you again, this time dangerously close to your centre where you can feel his breath brush against your cunt and you shiver, waiting.

“Your fault,” he mumbles, too busy peppering your mound with light kisses.

“I wasn’t done in the shower,” you say, laying back with a sigh as he licks up your slit gently. “You distracted me.”

“That was my plan,” he says unabashedly, using his thumbs to hold your folds wide open in front of him, everything on display. Minho looks up at you with a boyish grin, “You’ll have plenty of time for that after,” he says, and keeps eye contact with you when he seals his mouth over your clit, and really, what can you say to that?

‘After’ turns out to be nearly an hour later, rinsing the combined stickiness off your skin while he changes the sheets. Your hair is long dried, a halo of frizz around your head, and a cloud of lavender scent following you wherever you go. It still makes you feel uneasy, the level of intimacy you are at now, far higher than when this entire thing started, but you make a gargantuan effort to push it away. You could just be overreacting. You have a tendency to do that sometimes.

You step out into the living room in just a ratty t-shirt of his to find him lounging on the couch in sweats, a documentary playing on the TV while he nibbles on a slice of pizza. His glasses sit lopsided on his nose as always, and it makes your heart swell with fondness.

“Ryujin’s tweeting about us again,” he says, without any preamble, “Apparently she thinks we are going to burn the building down if we are left unchecked.”

You immediately unlock your phone and open up the app, spotting the tweet at the top of your timeline, and you snort. “What an idiot,” you say fondly, “Although I’m somewhat offended that she thinks we’ll destroy the complex.”

“I know right? Come on Ryujin, we’re not monsters,” he says with a dramatic roll of his eyes, “Obviously if I wanted to get back at you for something I’d just trash your apartment. I’m not going to inconvenience the entire building just for our feud.”

“What a gentleman,” you say wryly, slumping down on the couch next to him, and he prods you with his toes.

“We should take a selfie,” he says after wiping the grease off his hands, “To show her that we’re definitely still alive and everything’s intact.”

“I’m sorry, did you just say to take a selfie? You with me? Minho? Please tell me you’re okay.”

“You’re a bit dramatic at times, has anyone ever told you that?”

“Only several times a day.”

He rolls his eyes again and reaches out for your phone, pulling up the camera app. “C’mere,” he tells you, sitting up so that his shoulder brushes against yours. You readily move into frame.

“I can’t believe you’re actually doing this,” you say, “I feel like I should being taking a photo of you taking a selfie with me, you know, to record this historical moment-”

You only stop talking when you hear the sound of the camera going off and looks up to Minho, not even bothering to hide his smirk.

“You did not just do that,” you say, shooked just a bit, “I was talking!”

“Well if you won’t shut up and pay attention,” he teases only to have the camera go off once more.

Now it’s your turn to cackle at the look on his face, and you pat his cheek lightly. “Karma,” you say succinctly, and there’s another sound of the shutter that makes you huff. “Alright enough of that. Give me back my phone.”

He holds the phone out of your reach, grinning. “Just one more. And then you pick whichever and post it to um-” he wrinkles his nose as he tries to find the word and you can’t help but giggle.

“Instagram?” you prod him, and he makes a face, nodding in assent. “Honestly, you’re weird. Stop acting as though we would be the first actors to post a selfie together."

“Shut up,” he grumbles, knocking into you with his shoulder before lying back down on the couch. His eyes drift shut. “Just make sure that in whatever you post up, you get my good side.”

“You don’t have a good side.”

“Rude,” he says, though there’s a smile tugging at his lips that causes one to appear on your face. You never thought that the two of you’d get here, even when you started fucking, and now you did, and it leaves you warm and fuzzy inside, this friendship you have developed with him. It also fans the flames of your anxiety, wondering if you should just stop having sex entirely before it permanently screws up your friendship into something irreparable.

It doesn’t stop you from posting the picture though, turning off all notifications and throwing your phone on the coffee table before wedging yourself between the back of the couch and him to watch whatever it is he found on Netflix for them. His arm ends up around you, and you snuggle into it, perfectly content for the time being.

before: 12 months ago

M A Y

Shin Ryujin hasn’t changed since the last time you saw her.

Of course, you have only seen her twice before, once at the afterparty of an awards show where you had possibly the most uncomfortable conversation of your life, and the other time when you found her sitting on your – their? – ex boyfriend’s lap.

She is still the perfect mixture of cute and hot, all cute features and sharp edges that cut a pretty damn beautiful figure. She’s still bubbly and lively, eyes impassively trained on you for the moment you enter the room, and she still makes you feel nervous, mortified and uncomfortable all at the same time.

You get the part, to no one’s surprise, but the actual cast listing hasn’t been released yet, not until they have all gone through a table read.

Unfortunately, as if life loves playing these little, mortifying games with you, you are placed in the seat next to Ryujin and it’s awkward to say the least. It’s still early with half the cast not here as yet and there’s only so much fake texting you can pretend to do before it becomes noticeable.

Finally, you crack, turning in your seat to say, “So. This is awkward.”

She lifts a single perfectly manicured eyebrow. “What, most friendships don’t start with you realising you’re not dating the same two timing scumbag as someone else?” she asks, keeping a perfectly straight face.

“Is that what we are?” you ask, perhaps a bit too quickly, “Friends?”

Ryujin scrutinises you a little bit, as though expecting there to be some sort of alternative motive, and you wonder where all her extraversion energy has dissipated or if she was always like this. Then, Ryujin must not have found any twisted meaning behind your words because she leans back with a half a smile and says, “Yeah, Y/n. We are friends.”

You try to bite back a smile but you probably don't succeed, especially since Ryujin shoots you a sly, sidelong look and gently knocks her elbow into yours. You mimic the motion, knocking back into her in return before frowning as another question comes to mind.

“Why did you request me to be your co-star?” you ask falteringly, “We have only met twice, and one of those times happened to be with you and my ex were naked in bed together.”

“Good times that was,” she says with a wry twist of her lips. She turns so that her whole body is facing you and worries her lip between her teeth. “Honestly, I don't know. I mean, I have seen your stuff Y/n, you’re good at what you do and what happened all those months ago-” You stiffen and you know Ryujin notices as she slows her speech, “-was pretty shitty. But you can get back up again eventually and if this was the opportunity for that, then why not?”

“It was the least pretty shitty thing, it was a pretty mortifying experience,” you point out and Ryujin laughs.

“Yeah I figured. Getting outed and broken up with within the span of seven minutes? Ouch,” she winces and you are pretty sure you end up gaping at her. She leans over and taps your mouth closed with a ‘click.’ “Take it from me,” she says, resting a hand on her arm chair, “One bad experience doesn’t mean you have to hide away forever.”

You stare at her for a beat longer before a shaky smile unfurls itself across your face. “I like you, Shin Ryujin,” you declare and get a smile that’s all teeth in response.

“Good,” she nods, “Because hopefully we are gonna be seeing each other a lot for the next few months.”

And with one last shared grin, the directors and producers enter the room, the room filled with all the actors for script-writing, calling them all to silence to begin the table read.

It goes surprisingly well if you do say so. The cast is fun and quirky, each of them bringing something new to the table and there’s something about firing off quick witted banter with Ryujin, both of you smirking just a little while you do so, that just seals the deal for you. For the first time in a long you actually feel truly at home. Acting has always been something which put you at ease, and despite the bigger picture demanding more than what just interest can fulfill, the idea of associating bad memories to your passion wasn't the best.

“Hey,” Ryujin calls out when it’s all over and she’s walking over to catch a cab, “Wait up.”

You slow to a stop, turning to look at her as she catches up. “What’s up?”

She comes to a stop in front of you, shifting her weight from one leg to another and fingers the end of her ponytail. “Where are you staying?”

“Huh?”

“You’re from Busan right?” she asks, and you nod once, “So you need a place to stay while we’re filming.”

Right now you are still living out of your duffle in the single hotel room. Liv left a few days prior, once she was sure that you weren't going to run, and you have been on your own since, not even sparing a thought about your housing predicament.

“Fuck,” you groan, raking a careless hand through your hair, “I forgot about that. And we start shooting in a week, dammit.”

She smiles at you, the same sharp one as before, but you can see the nervous tightening around her eyes. “Well actually,” she begins, hesitating slightly, “I have a spare room. If you’re interested that is.”

It takes you a few seconds to realise that you’re gaping at her, mouth hanging open just a little and you hasten to shut it. “What – are you sure?” you sputter, “Because you don’t have to; it’s totally fine, I could just-”

“What?” she interrupts with a raised brow, “Live in a hotel room until you find somewhere to rent? Sounds fun.”

“Ryujin, I-” you falter searching for the right words. “Why?” is what you come up with in the end, looking up at her beseechingly.

Her face softens infinitesimally. “You look like you could use a friend,” she says, “A real friend. Someone other than your agent.”

There’s a bit of a sting hidden beneath her words, and you find yourself scuffing the loose gravel with the toe of your shoe. She’s not wrong; you have been in this industry for ages and while you have had acquaintances here and there, none of them had ever been able to quite move into the friendship category.

“You don’t even know me,” you warn, “I could be a terrible roommate.”

She shrugs. “Hey, if that idiot had the balls to date both of us and then cheat, we must have something in common, right?”

It gets a smile out of you. “I guess so.”

“So. You up for it?”

You duck your head for a moment to hide what must be a truly ridiculous grin. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m in.”

The two of you shake on it and two days later you move in with her. At least unofficially.

It’s a bit of a hassle getting everything together; you have to find your way back down to your old apartment considering Liv was the one who drove you up here in the first place, and then figure out what to pack in your car to tote back up to your new place. It’s in doing all of this that you realise the sheer amount of crap you have come to own. Really, you have no idea how your wardrobe didn’t explode before because you have a truly frightening amount of clothes.

At the end of it, everything works out for the best.

You and Ryujin spend the day before you’re scheduled to start shooting unpacking your things in the spare room and it’s… fun. You haven’t had this much fun in a long time, enthusiastically singing along to trashy pop music playing over the radio while the two of you unload box after box. It turns out Ryujin's spare room was a lab of sorts, all sorts of knickknacks and tools spread out.

“They were going to go back in storage when I started working again anyway,” she says, brushing off your concern as she dumps them into her previously empty boxes, “Relax Y/n.”

When it’s all said and done, the two of you find yourselves sprawled off on the sofa, watching some sort of mindless reality TV show while you split a pizza. As far as days go, this one is a veritable success, and, watching Ryujin trying to balance straws on her nose while they lounge around together in their pyjamas, you think that you made a good choice.

M A Y

Your first day on set is… interesting to say the least.

The couple of scenes you do go well, the cast is just as amicable as before and the crew is a riot. Not to mention you are slowly coming around making friends with a handful of other people around you. It makes you feel like you have somewhat successfully navigated your adult life.

That isn’t what makes it interesting though; no what makes it interesting is your run in with some overweening asshole while you were still in your car.

There’s a tap on the glass which causes you to jump, and when your head snaps towards the source, there is a man standing right by your door, frowning. He’s fairly handsome, with caramel skin and bedhead, extremely attractive, and you swear that you know him from somewhere but you can’t put your finger on it. You don’t dwell on it though, because he’s standing outside your car, arms crossed over his – admittedly broad – chest and looking thoroughly put out.

“Can I help you?” you ask, polite, after rolling down the window.

The man doesn’t seem to have any regards for manners however as his upper lip curls into a sneer and he says, “You’re in my parking spot, miss.”

You blink. You're fairly certain that this spot didn’t have anything labelling it as reserved when you pulled into it. So, like any person would do, you step out of the car to check. As you suspected, there’s nothing there saying that it belongs to anyone else and you whirl around to tell him as much.

He just scoffs at you in response. “Listen, I know you’re a newbie and all but that’s been my spot for the last two and a half years, so if you could kindly fuck off, it would be much appreciated.”

“Wow, a real gentleman, aren’t you?” you hiss, and then make a point about pressing the button on your keys so that your car locks with a cheery chirp. “This is the first time I’ve seen you all week so maybe you should be the one kindly fucking off.”

“All week, hmm?” he says, eyebrows raising, “Funny because in my two years of being here this is the first time I’m seeing you so.”

The way he says it makes it seem like you are the one at fault for taking an unmarked parking spot. It causes your hackles to rise and you find yourself sniping, “Well maybe if you spent less time being a diva and more time trying to be punctual, then maybe you’d have your precious parking space!”

His eyebrows seem to have disappeared up his hairline. “A diva?” he sputters, before glaring at you once more, “Please. As if you’re one to talk, miss.”

“I have no idea what you mean,” you huff, before stomping your foot and saying, “And stop calling me miss, dammit! You don’t know me.”

“I know your type,” he drawls, and his lips twist into a smirk. The change in his expression is going to give you whiplash, you’re sure of it, what with the way he keeps going from angry to smug. He presses on, “Whiny girl trying to make it big. Thinks that the world has fucked her over and she’s out to show them that she’s more than just a pretty face.” You can’t help but wince as his words hit a little bit too close to home, and his smirk just widens. “If the glass slipper fits, Cinderella. Try not to break it.”

“Are you always this much of an asshole to strangers?” you fire back after a moment of hesitation, “Or am I special?”

“What do you think?”

“I think,” you sniff, hiking your bag up on your shoulder, “That you’re a dick and I hope someone spills hot coffee on that pretty face of yours.”

And with that you turn on your heel, stalking off to stage four where you are set to begin shooting today. He yells something indistinguishable from behind you and you don't even bother to turn around, just flip him off over your shoulder.

You stomp on to the set, seething over the altercation until Ryujin calls you out on it with a, “Who pissed in your coffee?”

“Haven’t had any as yet,” you reply, slamming your bag down on the table and reaching for the pot of the aforementioned drink.

“No wonder you’re glaring daggers at everything that moves. Coffee is essential, Y/n. It’s our ambrosia.”

That gets a smile out of you and you feel the tension slowly start to work its way out of your shoulders. You quickly fix your cuppa to suit – two sugars with the barest dab of milk – and take a huge sip, sighing as it washes down your throat. “I can believe that,” you say and take another sip. “But it wasn’t my caffeinated – or lack thereof – self that brought this on. Just some asshole in the car park.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I feel like I know him from somewhere so he’s probably an actor too, but god, he’s such a dick. I wanted to punch him in the face.”

“Wouldn’t put it past you. We all know you have got a mean right hook.”

You felt the heat creep up your neck and face. “I’m sorry, if that asshole had the gall to try and get back with you at your movie premier you’re telling me you wouldn’t punch him?”

“No, I’d kick him in the balls and take a picture to use as the newest reaction photo. Caption: when you get hit by the feels.”

You snort a laugh and drain the rest of your coffee. “I better head to hair and makeup. I have a feeling they are going to need some time to tame this into some form of neatness,” you say, gesturing to the tangle of your hair thrown together in a sloppy bun at the top of your head.

Ryujin nods, reaching for a peach. “I should probably do the same. After we are done we can raid craft services before Felix and Jeongin get to it.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

After that, everything is smooth sailing and you easily push the incident from your mind, getting into character as you call them on set. You shoot three scenes that day, and you and Ryujin learn how to fire fake guns. It’s fun, and when you’re done, Felix suggests that they all head for celebratory pizza at Lia’s around the corner. You feel right at home with them, with all of your co-stars, as you chat and trade stories over weak beer and greasy pizza, and when you and Ryujin stumble back home later, you pretty much just collapse into bed, only toeing off your shoes.

The rest of the week goes by quickly, and on Friday you are the only one who needs to go in, leaving Ryujin at home watching cartoons curled up on their couch with a bowl of soggy cereal. It’s easier than you expected, having her as a roommate. You are both still careful around each other, but by each passing day the walls are slowly being chipped away.

“Want me to pick up anything on my way back?” you ask while slipping on your shoes.

She shakes her head. “Nah. Don’t forget though, I invited Minho over later. I can’t believe you’ve been here a week and you haven’t met him yet.”

“You mean your imaginary friend who lives down the hall?” you tease.

“He’s not imaginary,” she insists, laughter colouring her voice, “I don’t know why you keep insisting he is.”

“Probably because you keep referencing him but I’ve never seen him.”

“Because he’s working somewhere else in the meantime. He left Monday evening.”

“Uh huh,” you say, still sceptical, “Sure. I’m going now. Say hi to your other imaginary friends for me!”

You hear a loud, “He's not imaginary, dammit Y/n!” as the door shuts behind you and you can’t help but grin to yourself as you jog down the stairs.

* * *

Work is a bit boring today with most of the cast not there. You are needed for two scenes with a couple extras, one fake fight where your stunt double is doing most of the work, and then the resulting interrogation scene. It’s nice, but dull, and you take to snapchatting Ryujin various pieces of set equipment until you flip her off, not answering anymore after she presumably switches off her phone.

You get to leave early when your scenes are done, and stop off at the bakery around the corner to pick up some pastries before heading home.

Their voices can be heard through the door as you toggle the lock, and you can't help but bite back a smile when you hear Ryujin bark out a laugh.

“Honey I'm home,” you announce as you fling the door open, kicking your shoes off in the hallway.

There’s a muffled, “In here!” coming from the kitchen as well as the tantalising waft of spices that has your stomach growling.

The first thing you notice as you round the corner is the guy standing by the stove all messy yet neat hair and deliciously broad shoulders, stirring the pot while Ryujin goes on about something and your mouth waters for more than one reason. The second thing you notice when he turns a bit, giving you a glimpse of his side profile, is that he looks shockingly familiar. That one is fleeting however, only to be replaced by the third and final thing, when Ryujin finally sees you standing on the edge of the kitchen.

“Y/n!” she yells out in greeting, and when the man turns around, giving you a good look at his face, your jaw actually drops.

Because standing there in the middle of your kitchen, looking surly as ever is the parking space asshole.

Seriously, what the fuck.

“Y/n,” Ryujin says again, sliding off her perch on the counter, “This is Minho. The one who you thought were imaginary.”

“I wish he was imaginary,” you mumble under your breath.

“What was that?”

“I said we have met,” you correct yourself with a tight smile and that’s when his lips curl up in a lazy smirk.

“That we have,” he drawls, shoving his hands in his pants pocket. He nods at you in acknowledgement. “Miss.”

“Douchebag.”

Ryujin is looking between the two of you, perplexed. “How–” she falters, eyebrows creasing together.

“He's the carpark asshole,” you say, flat, and that’s when Ryujin laughs, loud and bright, bouncing off the kitchen cabinets.

“Nah,” she smirks, patting him on the shoulder, “Just a regular asshole.”

“Thanks Ryujin.”

She whirls around to face him, smacking his bicep lightly. “I can’t believe the girl you were complaining about was Y/n. And Y/n,” she says, cutting a glance back at her, “Why didn’t you tell me it was Minho? I would have helped come up with some more colourful insults for him.”

“Again, thank you Ryujin.”

You feel your cheeks get warm and you duck your head, saying sheepishly, “I uh, I didn’t exactly recognise him at first.”

You don’t have to look up to know that the pair is gaping at you. Well, Ryujin is gaping at you, that is. Minho on the other hand is still trying to be cool and pretend that he’s not bothered by your admission.

“...Seriously?”

“It’s not like I watch the show okay?” you defend yourself, “I only know about it in passing.”

“Yeah, but he was on like every news outlet for the first year of it because of his fuck ups.”

“Why am I friends with you again?” Minho asks to no one in particular and you both ignore him.

Ryujin is still frowning at you, looking at you a bit suspiciously. “You really didn’t know?”

“Trust me, if I knew who he was and that he was your friend, I wouldn’t have said half of those things,” you sigh, using both your hands to push your hair back. You look at Minho properly for the first time since you realised who he was, and he’s just as stupidly hot as before. It makes you frown. “So does being friends with my roommate mean that I’ll have to see you around here often?” you ask, and his grin turns wicked.

“Something like that,” he shrugs, being deliberately vague, and turns back to the stew bubbling away on the stove.

Next to him, Ryujin rolls her eyes and says, “He lives down the hall and he’s usually over most nights if our schedules permits it.”

You feel your eyes flicker close of their own accord. “Great,” you sigh, and then they snap open almost immediately. “Wait, he lives here?” You look between the two of them before pinching the bridge of your nose. “What, is there some sort of celebrity quota the complex needs to fill or something? Is James Franco gonna pop up downstairs while I’m getting my mail?”

“Why James Franco?” Minho butts in mildly as he turns the gas off, “Why not Dave? He’s obviously the better Franco.”

“Oh my god, shut the fuck up.”

“Both of you shut the fuck up,” grouses Ryujin, stretching up to get the bowls from the top cabinet. The floor squeaks as she moves and you all wince.

“Need wheels for walking, Ryujin?” he asks, elbowing her out of the way to grab the bowls and he starts ladling the food into them.

“Nah. I just forgot to see about it this weekend,” she says, setting the table. You remain standing there in the kitchen, awkwardly holding the box of pastries. “Got sidetracked with a new show and all, this floor is still irritating though.”

“Uh huh,” he says, before his eyes drift over to you and he lifts an eyebrow, “What, you just gonna stand there all day, sweetheart?”

You jump, startled, and throw a weak glare at him. “No. Shut up,” you reply, placing the box on the counter and grabbing the cutlery from the drawer. Ryujin pops open a bottle of wine and soon enough you are all sitting in silence, eating. You have to begrudgingly admit that whatever it is he made ('Galbi Jjim,’ he had said, and the word sounds clumsy in your mouth) tastes amazing. Of course, you’re not going to tell him that; he’s already got a big head and you don't need to feed his ego even more.

You do however need him to feed you and Ryunjin more; his cooking is leagues better than whatever you and Ryujin can manage to put together.

When dinner is over and you have suffered through the appropriate amount of smalltalk, you finally give in and ask, “So how did this,” you gesture between them, “Happen?”

Ryujin cackles and it unnerves you just a bit.

“We hooked up after the incident,” Ryujin shrugs unashamedly. Minho shrugs but you notice a hint of redness creeping up his neck. “I woke up to this asshole sitting in my kitchen drinking my coffee–”

“Your shitty coffee,” he interjects and she elbows him in the stomach.

“–going through my apartment plans–”

“She wanted to move to the south side,” he snorts derisively, “Can you imagine? She wouldn't survive a week down there with the health junkies.”

“This is my story shut up,” Ryujin says without any heat behind her words, “But yeah, there we were, the random guy I hooked up with giving me real estate advice while he stood half naked in my kitchen, and the next thing I knew, I was signing the lease and he was helping me move in here..”

“Do all your friendships begin this weird?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest and trying to hide an amused smile.

She winks at you. “Only the good ones,” she says, and that gets a laugh out of you.

You offer to do the dishes after while they set up shop in the living room, bickering goodnaturedly over whose turn it is to pick something to watch on Netflix. You can’t stop your eyes from straying though, looking over at him ever so often for some strange reason.

* * *

Minho is an enigma.

On one hand, he seems like the type of person you wouldn’t mind having as a friend. His humour isn’t quite as dark as Ryujin’s but it’s drier, and he says almost everything with his lips curled up in a smirk, not to mention they have most of the same views on certain topics. That doesn’t stop the two of you from arguing all the time though; at the studio, at the apartment, it doesn’t matter where, you always find something to disagree over.

“You guys are ridiculous,” Ryujin says, rolling her eyes. You were running through lines on your break when Minho appeared, immediately throwing himself on the couch next to you, despite the fact that there were several other seats available.

“You are ridiculous,” you sulk, jabbing him in the ribs with your elbow just because.

Minho reacts like the mature adult he is by sticking his tongue out at you and swatting your thigh easily. “I’m just here to say hi to my friend Ryujin while I’m on lunch,” he says, loosening his tie, “Dunno what the princess’ reason is though.”

“I work here,” you reply, flat. “You’re literally on set where I work. Where else would I be?”

“Jesus, you guys are a headache,” sighs Ryujin when you and Minho start bickering once more, although you can hear the love peeking through. Somewhat.

“It’s his fault,” you mumble, and he tugs on your hair.

Ryujin groans again, swatting you both with her rolled up script. “The two of you are children,” she announces, ignoring your indignant yelps of pain.

It doesn’t help that Minho always seems to be around. He spends most of his lunch breaks on your set, dragging Hyunjin over with him, and then spends most of that time antagonising you. When you’re not filming, he’s over on your couch, needling them into watching the most boring movies ever, and you’re certain that the only reason Ryujin hasn’t kicked him out yet is because he makes them dinner most nights.

“Don’t you have your own apartment?” you somewhat grouse as soon as you spot him lounging on the couch one Sunday morning. You have just woken up, still squinting suspiciously at everything, and it’s not fair that he still manages to look so good that early in the morning. It accounts for about 30% of your bad mood.

Minho just gives you a quick up down, a hint of smirk making itself known and you refuse to fidget, refuse to pull down the shorts you know are riding high on your thigh, refuse to brush back the tangled snarl of hair partially obscuring your vision. “But if I was in my apartment then how would I see your beautiful face, sunshine?”

You don't even dignify that with a response, just trudging your way across the room into the kitchen where Ryujin is already sitting at the table, gulping down coffee like it’s her job.

“Does he ever go home?” you ask, rummaging around the fridge for some milk. “How’d you even put up with him before?”

She just shrugs. “He’s been around more often now that you’re here” she says offhand, and you glance sidelong at her, stopping mid stretch for the cereal box.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” she shrugs, but she can’t quite hide the smug little smile pulling at her mouth. “Nothing at all.”

You are fairly certain that it’s something, so you press on, “Come on. Obviously you meant something with it. What aren’t you telling me?”

Ryujin slumps back in her chair with a roll of her eyes and pitches her voice low so that it doesn't carry. “Look, he used to visit before, yeah, but since you’re living here now, he’s coming over every day and actually leaving his set to come to ours. What do you think might have caused the change of heart.”

You narrow your eyes at her. “What are you insinuating, Ryujin?”

“You know damn well what I’m insinuating, Y/n.”

“I know that it sounds like a load of bullshit because-”

“Because it’s so implausible that Minho might like you?” she cuts in with a raised eyebrow, “I’ve known that boy for a while. There’s something going on with him. There’s something going on with both of you, and when it finally happens, I’m going to say I told you so.”

“Please,” you scoff as you drown your cereal in milk, “Nothing is going to happen between us.”

J U N E

“Fuck,” he says stumbling back. His eyes are wide and frenzied, lips red, and you're fairly certain you look the same way.

You run a shaky hand through your hair, possibly making it even messier but you don’t really care, not when you have bigger things to worry about like the fact that you just kissed Lee Minho while in the middle of arguing with him.

“Fuck.”

He breathes out a shaky laugh, fidgeting with the tie around his neck. “Pretty sure I just said that.”

“It deserves to be said again because – fuck.”

“Eloquent aren’t you?” he mutters, looking everywhere in the room but at you and you feel a frown tugging down the corners of your mouth.

“This never happened,” you tell him, taking a step closer and forcing him to look at you. “And this is never going to happen again. Got it?”

A muscle ticks in his jaw, eyes hard when he finally meets your gaze. “Whatever the hell you want, Y/n,” he says with abit of an edge, and you nod once before stalking out.

It’s only once you’re out of sight- of him, the trailer and everything else – tucked away in a dusty corridor that leads between studios, do you lean against the wall, breathing shakily as you brush the pads of your fingers across your lips, still tingling.

“Never again,” you mutter, already feeling the migraine building at the base of your skull.

now

M A Y

There’s sunlight streaming through the blinds, and you groan, throwing an arm over your eyes as you move further away from Minho. It’s warm, even with the air conditioner on full blast, and your body is sticky with sweat underneath the light linen blanket. You kick it off with a huff, hoping that maybe you can finally lapse back into a state of blissful unconsciousness, but it’s to no avail.

The bed vibrates with unheard chuckles and you crane your neck to throw a glare at him from over your shoulder.

“Shut up,” you groan. He's ridiculous, lying spread out on the bed without a stitch of clothing to his name, skin all pale and carmel smooth while his hair is a tousled mess. It's upsetting how good he looks, and you shove your face in your pillow so that you don't have to watch him a moment longer.

He just laughs again, this time louder and shuffles closer, ignoring your mewl of displeasure as he pulls his body flush against yours. “Good morning baby,” the coos in your ear before placing a line of sloppy kisses down the side of your neck.

You squirm in his arms, trying in vain to bat him away, but he just laughs again, letting his hair chafe against your skin as he grabs both your wrists and pins your hands above your head, sending a pang of want through you.

“Asshole,” you mutter, even as you tilt your head back to let him suck softly on your pulse point. The hand holding your wrists together applies a bit more pressure to them and he presses more firmly against you until you whine. “It’s hot,” you complain.

His teeth grazes your earlobe when he shifts, and you sigh, relaxing into him. “Mmm, that you are,” he says into your skin, free hand moving to palm your breast. Your lips part in a silent moan when he squeezes it, thumb flicking over your nipple, and he ruts against your ass, letting you feel him, already hard and hot.

“I’m all sweaty and sticky,” you warn, though your protests are getting more and more feeble by the minute, especially when he nips at your jaw gently, hand leaving your chest and moving south to brush across your clit.

His responding hum reverberates through you and you whimper as his fingers tease your cunt. “Well, let’s see if we could make you sweatier and stickier,” he says, and you have to huff out a laugh, startled and bright, because he’s ridiculous .

“What an – oh,” the rest of your sentence is replaced by a moan when he easily lifts your leg, hitching it over his hip, and slides in, all hot and heavy and perfect.

You whimper again when he grunts into your neck as he bottoms out, and you stay like that for a moment, just basking in the feel of each other before he finally starts to move.

He can only give you short, shallow thrusts like this, but more than makes up for it by using the pad of his thumb to rub gentle circles on your clit. You grind back against him, wrists straining against his hands, but he doesn’t let up, no matter how much you ask.

Then he’s hitching your leg up higher, changing the angle inside of you that has you seeing white, almost choking on your tongue as you spasm against him, wanting him to reach you deeper.

“Fuck, Minho, right there,” you beg, turning your head blindly in search of his lips, and he obliges you, giving you a kiss that’s more tooth than lip, but you still whimper, teetering on the edge.

Sweat gathers across your bodies, and you can feel your hair sticking to your temples, to the back of your neck, and he makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat when you inadvertently clench down on him. He finally lets go of your hands, only grabbing hold of your thigh, keeping it in place as he repeats the motion from before that has you seeing stars.

“Better?” he asks, voice strained, and all you can do is nod, too busy panting to string actual words together. You clutch on to the pillow when he does it a third time, free hand darting back down to pinch your clit, needing something to anchor you to reality.

“I’m so- I’m so,” you almost sob, thrashing, and his laugh is low and gravelly behind you, lips fastening to your pulse point and causing you to cry out. “Minho.”

He soothes you with sweet nothings muttered in your ear, but it does nothing to quelch the burning need inside you. Only when his fingers bear down on your clit too, thrusting in as deep as he can go, do you keen loudly, walls fluttering around him as you come.

It takes both of you by surprise, the sheer intensity of it, and for one brilliant, mind numbing moment, everything goes blank, and you just feel as though you're blissfully floating in space, electricity pulsing beneath your skin.

You come back slowly, your harsh breaths mingling with his as he softens inside of you, and he squeezes the fleshy part of your stomach gently before rolling onto his back. You go with him, twisting so that you now lie on his chest, sweat soaked skin sticking together, too lazy to actually go and clean up.

Minho pets the hair away from your face and pecks you on nose, laughing when you wrinkle it in response. “Morning,” he drawls again, hand trailing up your spine. “We should probably get up.”

You hum noncommittally, letting your head droop forward on his chest with a sigh. “I’m not moving for at least another hour,” you tell him, and he chuckles again, brushing his lips across the crown of your head. “Don’t let it get to your head” you tack on when you notice him crowing, and he pinches your thigh in response.

* * *

It’s Friday.

You have spent almost an entire week at his apartment, shirking your responsibilities in favour of playing house with Minho.

The intimacy should be too much: staying several nights in a row, cuddling with him after sex while he does things like that, but you can’t find it in you to muster up the energy to care, not when your blood is still roaring in your eyes and sheets have yet to cool.

“We've got time,” you think you hear him say through the fog settling in your mind, squeezing your hand, before you finally drift off.

before: 10 months ago

J U L Y

You get a late invite to the Seasonal Con.

Only Ryujin and you are going, along with the producer, and it’s not even a real panel, just a screening of the pilot episode to a group of maybe fifty people, and then fielding whatever questions the crowd might have.

It’s your first major event ever since you stumbled back on the scene two months ago and you're equal parts excited and terrified.

“Hey,” says Ryujin, nudging you gently as you turn out the sheets. You are both staying at your apartment instead of renting a hotel, since it’s only a half an hour drive from the convention centre. “Relax,” she says, “It’s not like we are going to be dealing with a lot of press or anything. Just smile and look pretty.”

“Easy for you to say,” you mumble under your breath, and this time there’s nothing gentle in the way Ryujin elbows you.

* * *

The morning that you are scheduled to go to the Seasonal Con, you are mostly fine. You get up and help Ryujin make pancakes for breakfast, then you shower and do your makeup, donning a cute sundress, and even going as far as to make sure your hair is in some semblance of order and that your makeup perfectly suits your dress.

You are fine.

Ryujin has to press her hand against your thigh to stop you from shaking your leg.

You throw her a thin smile in return. “What, you’re not gonna buy me dinner first?” you try to joke, but even you can hear how weak it sounds, and Ryujin gives you a meaningful squeeze.

“You got this.”

And she’s right. Mostly.

The screening is fine, the audience seems to be genuinely interested in the show, and they even garner more than a few laughs which probably made you disproportionately happy, but whatever. You are glad people are liking something that you helped to make. You do get asked a few questions later on, just a handful of things about the show that your producer answers mostly, and afterwards, a couple fans ask for pictures and autographs.

It’s all very textbook, but you breathe a sigh of relief once it’s all over, wringing out your shoulders.

“See?” says Ryujin with a grin as you walk out of the hall. The adjacent hallway is mercifully empty, free of any onlookers for a few moments. “You made it through.” You have got the rest of the day to yourselves and while you would rather go home immediately, Ryujin convinced you to stay a little while, just an hour or so.

“I guess it wasn’t that bad,” you concede, and Ryujin nudges you until you duck your head in a grin. “Fine, okay, it was fun. Jeez, you have pointy elbows.”

She just smiles angelically at you, and ducks out of the way before you can tug on her ponytail. “Everything’s better with Shin Ryujin around,” she announces.

“That is your new tagline, Ryujin?” a voice drawls from behind the two of you and both of you come to a stop.

You immediately recognise the speaker and your eyes fall shut as you take a calming breath, tilting your head heavenwards. You do not need this right now, especially not when your day was actually starting to look up. Ryujin on the other hand has no qualms about whipping around with a grin, saying a cheery, “Hey Minho,” in greeting.

He nods in acknowledgement before sidling alongside you, and you still have your eyes wrenched shut. “Y/n,” he says, lightly hip checking you.

That’s when you open your eyes, giving him a clinical up and down. He looks good as always, wearing a leather jacket over a soft tee with a faded Hogwarts insignia on it, and his cap is lurched lopsided in a way that is certainly not adorable. You think it might be a Pokemon one, but you don't want to spare him the extra thought.

You purse your lips. “Asshole.”

Minho chuckles, holding the door open for you as you enter the main part of the convention centre. People are swarming all over the place and while no one outright stares at them, you begin to feel the anxiety creeping back up your spine and quicken your pace, Ryujin right at your side.

“Hey, I’m just being nice,” he says, jogging to catch up with them.

“Fuck your nice.”

“Someone’s hostile today,” he frowns, staring down at you. His eyes flit over to Ryujin and he asks, “What’s up with her?”

“I’m right here you know,” you snap, “You don’t need to ask other people when I’m literally standing right in front of you.”

“Easy baby,” he soothes, a hand coming down to rest on your shoulder. There’s still a dip between his eyebrows as he appraises you carefully, and you look away, feeling a flush of hotness creep up the back of your neck. Behind you, you can feel Ryujin shaking with silent laughter.

“Leave me alone,” you say, shrugging off his arm and stalking off. You don’t get very far before the other two catch up to you, Minho catching you by your wrist this time.

He opens his mouth to say something – no doubt another snide jab at you – but is interrupted by a girl, clutching her phone tightly and staring at him in wide eyed amazement.

“I’m sorry, but can I get a quick photo please?” she says in a rush, “I’m a huge fan of your show!”

He presses his lips together in a line, giving you one last look, before turning to the girl with a charming smile. “Sure,” he says, posing for the selfie, and the next thing he knows, there’s a whole crowd around them, asking for autographs and pictures, blocking them in.

Honestly, the only thing that stops you from taking off then and there is Ryujin’s hand resting on the crook of your elbow through the entire ordeal. Besides, almost all of them are for Minho anyway. Hardly anyone spares them a second glance.

They must have been standing there for over five minutes before he says, loud and clear, “Sorry guys, I have to get to lunch, but I’ll be doing a signing at two if you want to come over.”

There’s general murmurs of disappointment from the crowd and they start to thin out. But, before they leave completely, Minho curls his arm around your shoulders with a, “Come on, love,” that sends a hushed whispers throughout the crowd and the tingle that was prickling under your skin moments before slams back into you, full force, no doubt faltering your public image.

Ryujin is all out cackling behind them and the moment you are all out of the public eye, you plan on ripping her a new one for her betrayal.

“You’re such a dick,” you hiss at Minho, trying to escape his hold. He just pulls you even further into his side and ducks his head to whisper,

“I’m doing you a favour.”

You try to ignore how warm and solid he is, how he smells like cinnamon and pine trees, but it’s proving to be difficult. “Yeah, well, you can shove your favour up your ass,” you mutter, and he throws his head back, barking out a laugh.

“You’ve got a real gratitude problem, you know that?” he says, almost bitterly.

“No, just a you-problem,” you retort in a saccharine voice.

“Easy kids,” says Ryujin , not even bothering to hide her smirk. “Be careful. You never know what this is going to look like to the outside eye.”

“There’s only one way murder can look to the outside eye, Ryujin,” you say, and he just scoffs.

“I try to do one nice thing for you and what do I get?” he says, mostly to himself, finally letting his arm slip off your shoulders as you near the end of this hall. “Not even a thank you. Last time I will try to help you.”

“Good I don’t want your help,” you snap, pretending that you don’t miss the heat and heaviness of his arm around you. Your fingers brush together when you walk though, and neither of you make any attempt to create some space between yourselves.

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

“Oh my god, you’re like an old married couple,” says Ryujin exasperatedly and you both turn to glare at her.

“Shut up, Ryujin,” both of you chorus before snapping your glares over each other.

“Jesus,” she mutters with a roll of her eyes. “I’m just saying, keep acting like that and people are going to assume things.”

Minho makes a derisive sound in the back of his throat. “Please,” he says, leading them down the corridor, presumably where the rest of his cast is hanging out, “Don’t be ridiculous.”

* * *

Your phone barely even rings once before you’re swiping accept, not even sparing a glance at the caller ID. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” she deadpans, voice scratchy with disuse.

On the other end of the phone, Liv sighs, a common reaction to dealing with your mishaps. “What happened yesterday?” she asks again, already sounding tired. That’s how you know this is a big problem, because Liv never sounds tired in the morning.

“Nothing!” you say, flailing wildly, “Seriously, we were arguing as usual. That’s it. Nothing about that screams romance.”

“So he didn’t call you ‘love’?” she asks dubiously.

You hesitate, biting your lip. “Well, yes,” you relent, “But he always calls me something ridiculous. It’s meant as an insult not a pet name!”

Liv seems to ignore you. “And did he put his arm around you?”

You hesitate again. “...Yes.”

There’s another sigh coming from her end of the phone, and you screw your eyes shut as you wait for the verbal smackdown.

“Come on Y/n,” Liv starts, “You’ve been in this business long enough, you know how the public perceives things. Especially things like this.”

You swipe a hand through your tangle of hair – damaged from all that damn hairspray – and toss it up in a slipshod bun. “Can’t you skew it?” you ask, “I’m not involved with him, I do not want to be involved with him. At all. Forever. Never in my life.”

There’s silence on the other end for almost a full minute before she says slowly, “We could just let it all blow over. Dating rumours crop up everyday.”

You lift your eyebrows. “Are you suggesting that we just leave it alone?”

“It should disappear by itself. After all, this is the first time someone alluded to your relationship with Minho as anything but professional. A lot of people are probably going to flat out deny it,” she tells you. “Let the internet work it out for itself. You’ll be old news by yesterday.”

“One can only hope,” you say, shoulders slumping. “Why did I come back to this hell hole? Why didn’t I start my hopefully lucrative llama farm?”

“Goodbye Yn.”

The phone goes dead and you pull it away to glare at it. “See, my llamas would put up with my bullshit Liv. They wouldn’t abandon me because of it.”

It’s only a few minutes to eight, but you can’t go back to sleep so with a disgruntled full bodied sigh, you roll out of bed to get started on breakfast. They have only been here for three days so far, driving back up tomorrow, so you are fully aware that the fridge is woefully scant, even with the groceries they picked up on the way. There are some eggs left over though, so you scramble them, and makes some toast to go with it.

You have given into temptation, scrolling through your Twitter feed as you wait for Ryujin to wake up, sipping on your coffee. It’s not terribly bad; it’s the most notifications you have had in a long while, and most of them happen to be the same question repeated over and over in a multitude of ways: Is there something going on between you and Minho?

Your fingers itch to answer them, or maybe even just vaguely tweet something but you resist, thinking of what Liv would say if you somehow made matters worse. You are saved from being a torment to yourself only a few moments later when Ryujin stumbles in the kitchen, heading straight for the coffee pot.

“What?” she asks once she’s inhaled half a cup and is now awake enough to notice you glaring at her.

You just groan and slide your phone across the table to her, before dropping your head onto your arms. When Ryujin reads the headline she snickers, absolutely delighted.

“You called this upon me,” you say, your words muffled by the tabletop. “You fucking called this on me.”

Ryujin pets your hair aimlessly, doing more harm than good. “Look on the bright side; it’s Dispatch. No one takes it seriously.”

“My Twitter feed is like 99 per cent of people asking me if Minho and I are dating. Or having hate sex.”

“Obviously it’s the latter.”

“Obviously it’s neither.”

“Oh come on,” she says, throwing her hands up, “You’re telling me that a little bit of hate fucking isn’t going to fix this-” she makes some sort of weird gesture with her hand that you can’t even begin to comprehend, “-this whatever it is going on between you two?”

Your traitorous mind jumps to the kiss, the way he felt so hot and solid beneath your hands as he pushed you against the wall, the way you let your fingers tangle in his hair, and a shiver runs down your spine.

Never one to miss anything, Ryujin narrows her eyes at you. “Unless you already did that,” she says slowly, taking in every bit of emotion that flits across your face.

“I didn’t,” you say, dropping your gaze to the worn and scarred tabletop. “But I did kiss him.”

“I knew it!”

“It was a one time thing that we both agreed to ignore,” you’re quick to point out, and Ryujin just snorts.

“Yeah. Right. Okay,” she says, “You can miss me with that ‘one time’ bullshit.”

“Ryujin!”

“What?” she shrugs, “It’s true. There’s obviously something there.”

“There’s nothing but hate and animosity there.”

“Again, I point you towards hate sex.”

“How about I point you towards the door instead. God, you’re worse than the internet.”

Ryujin holds her hands up in surrender. “Alright, let’s not get too crazy,” she says, although her smile is still far too smug. She takes another sip of her coffee. “But, just let it be known that I still reserve the right to say I told you so when it does actually happen.”

You just groan, letting your head fall against the table.

A U G U S T

Still though, you can’t help but think about Ryujin's words.

It’s not your fault okay? Ryujin just managed to make your mind conjure up some very…interesting scenarios for you over the last couple of weeks.

You can no longer look at Minho for, every time you do so, you can only picture the feel of his mouth on yours and wonder if it’s just as good at other things as it is as kissing, can only wonder what else those hands of his can do, can only wonder if he is as good as Ryujin slyly told you he was.

It’s turning you into a mess to be honest, which is why, a few weeks after they returned from Season Con, you find yourself blurting out, “Ryujin thinks we should fuck,” as soon as you are left alone in your trailer with him.

You wait until he’s taken a sip of water to say it, and you’re rewarded by him hacking his lungs out.

“Pray tell,” he wheezes, “Why does Ryujin think we should fuck?”

You shrug. “She says that it will help us get along better. You know, once we get rid of all that unwanted sexual tension. Purely platonic fucking and we can actually stand to be in the same room as each other.”

“Right,” he says, and there’s something a bit off to his voice. You look up almost immediately, frowning, and catch the tail end of some unknown emotion flitting across his face. He hitches an eyebrow when he catches you looking. “And what do you think?”

“What do you mean ‘what do I think’?”

He shrugs. “Do you think it’s a good idea?”

You don’t understand how he can be so blasé about discussing it, not when you are already three steps closer to looking like an alarmed porcupine.

“I think it could be worth a shot,” you say, as casually as possible with your chin held high.

Across from you his mouth curves into the most sinful of smiles and he looks at you through hooded eyes. “You wanna fuck me, Y/n?” he murmurs, voice dropping several octaves, and it’s all you can do to not squirm in your seat, warmth settling heavy and wonderful in your stomach.

“It’s just a thought, okay? Ryujin might have definitely been onto something and who knows maybe it could work if we just fucked once and got it out of our systems I mean-”

“Hey Y/n?” he says, interrupting your steady stream of nonsensical babble, and you exhale shakily.

“Yeah?” He’s much closer than you remember him being, and when you look up, almost to the point where you can count each individual eyelash, you look elsewhere.

“Shut up,” he murmurs, and then his hand is wrapping around your jaw, bridging the gap between the two of you.

His mouth is just as you remembered, hard and warm, tongue flickering against yours as he pulls your body to him. You make a soft sound of surprise in the back of your throat, and your hands immediately dart to his hair, feeling the silky strands sift through your fingers. His thumb traces your cheekbone as he sucks on your bottom lip, and when your nails scratch at his scalp, he lets it go with a soft sigh of pleasure, kissing you even harder.

“Just to be sure,” you pant once you break apart and he starts sucking kisses down the column of your throat, “We’re doing this right?”

“If science says it’ll work then there’s no harm in giving it a shot,” he rasps against your skin, moaning a little when you pull on his hair.

“Ryujin said it, not science.”

He mutters something too low for you to hear as he kisses his way down to your cleavage. “Ryujin is basically science,” he tells you, looking up from your chest, “I’m taking this off,” he tugs at your camisole.

“I’d be more pissed if you didn’t,” you say, helping him pull it off. You arch up into him with a whimper when he suckles your breast through your bra. “Fuck, Minho,” you moan as you reach behind you to undo the clasp, needing to feel his mouth against your skin now.

His other hand skims across waist, leaving a trail of warmth in its path as it heads towards the snap on your jeans, and he deftly opens it with a twist of his fingers, wriggling his hand inside. “Hope this is alright,” he says, fingertips just ghosting across your underwear as he leans down to swirl his tongue around your nipple.

It takes you three tries to formulate words in your head, and even then all you manage to say is, “Very alright,” trying to tilt your hips to get more friction, feeling the heat of his palm through the thin scrap of fabric.

Only once you have said so does he dive right in, fingers slipping beneath the flimsy material of your underwear to stroke you and you both swear.

“Fuck Y/n,” he swears, leaving a trail of sloppy kisses from one breast to the other as his fingers trace up your slit, “You’re dripping. How long have you been thinking about this?”

He sinks blunt teeth into your sternum until you whine. “A – a while. Ever since Ryujin brought it up the first time. And then you show up today – fuck ,” you cry, hips jerking up when his index circles your clit, “Do that again. Please Minho.”

He chuckles, pressing a smacking kiss to the outside of your breast, and repeats the motion, rubbing his thumb on your clit until you whine again.

“You have been thinking about this for what? The past half an hour while I have been sitting right next to you?” he asks, accidentally butting you in the chin as he tries to bite at your collarbone. “Shit babe,” he flicks your clit again, “Bet you’re all worked up, huh?”

“Minho, please.”

“Were you thinking about this the whole time?” he presses, rising up so he can get a good look at your face, your mouth just slightly parted while your eyes keep on fluttering, struggling to stay open. He slows his motions until you make a soft plaintive sound in the back of your throat and he can’t help but bend down to kiss you, sweet. “Come on, Y/n, tell me what you were thinking about,” he lets his teeth graze over her earlobe, “I wanna know, baby.”

“Your hands,” you whine, trying to get him moving again. He has to pin your hips to the couch to stop you from wiggling all over the place and it sends another flare of want through you. “I was thinking about your hands and – and–”

“And what?” he coaxes, letting his fingers ghost across your entrance. You jerk with it, pleasure curling at the base of your spine. “And what else Y/n?”

“Mouth. Your mouth, Minho.”

His lips curl up in a halfway smirk, pleased, and he presses a single finger into you, just barely. “You want my mouth on you, baby?” he asks, “You want my mouth on your sweet pussy?”

You clench down hard at his words, eyes screwed shut, and you feel the warmth flood your face as he laughs lowly.

“Please,” you murmur, and you feel his lips just barely brush across yours before pressing down more firmly in a soft exploratory kiss. He removes his hands, and you whine at the loss of contact, until he breaks the kiss, sinking to his knees before you.

“Whatever the hell you want, baby,” he says as he slowly peels your jeans off. He litters featherlight kisses up your leg, mouthing his way across the crease where your leg meets your hip. And then, without warning, he leans forward, nuzzling his face against your lace covered pussy, and you squeak in surprise. His hands come up to grab your hips, steadying you, and he repeats the motion, this time letting his teeth graze against your clit through the pathetic excuse for underwear, letting you moan.

“So fucking wet,” he mutters again, a hint of awe colouring his voice, and you flush hot, trying to get him to put his mouth on you for real.

He does away with your underwear quick enough, leaving them in a sad little crumpled heap on the table next to the couch, before ducking back down to lick a fat stripe straight up your centre that sends your pulse skittering.

One of your legs hooks behind his shoulder as he steadies himself, and the hands pinning your hips flex, lifting you closer to his mouth as he laps at you with long licks, making an enthusiastic sound in the back of his throat. There’s nothing slow and gentle about it, very little finesse to be found, but it still has you curling your toes and keening loudly, especially when he slips one, then two fingers in, scissoring you wide open so he can truly fuck you with his tongue.

It doesn’t help that Minho seems just as into it as you are, low groans pressing into your flesh, the vibrations of it doing all sorts of things to your body.

His mouth is even better than you thought, and within minutes, you’re pulling on his hair when he sucks your clit in his mouth, high pitched whimpers crawling out of your throat as you clench down hard on his fingers, coming with a broken gasp of his name that has him grunting into the side of your thigh.

He groans when you pull him up, and you lick the taste of yourself out of his mouth while tugging on his stupid robes. He’s still fully dressed in costume while you are laid out wantonly before him.

“Off,” you command, nibbling on his lip.

Minho pushes you away gently, stealing one last kiss before starting to undo the million and one clasp that holds his costume in place. “Condom?” he asks, voice pitched low in a way that makes you shiver. He can’t seem to look away from you, eyes dark with want and you bite your lip.

“I’m supposed to have one in my bag,” you say, stretching for it, “Hurry up."

“You always this bossy?”

“You always this slow?”

Your fingers quickly find the foil packet, and you rip it open as fast as you can. He’s finally naked by the time you turn back around, and you push him down roughly on the couch, climbing onto his lap. He’s all lean muscle, broad and firm beneath you, and you can’t help but run an appreciative hand down his chest as you fix him to your liking.

Minho chuckles, palming your ass as you settle on him. “You are bossy, huh?”

You smile at him sweetly, wrapping your fingers around his cock and feeling him twitch in your palm. “I just know what I want.”

There’s a muscle ticking in his jaw that you just want to bite into as he nods, leaning back with a satisfied grin. “Then by all means, Y/n.”

In another time you would taste him, drop to your knees and take him in your mouth, but right now you just want him, already too keyed up from before to do nothing else besides give him one last squeeze and then roll the condom on, quickly sliding onto him in way that has you both groaning.

“God, Y/n,” he shudders, already sounding wrecked. He squeezes your hips again, leaning up to mouth at your breast, and you gasp, rocking down on him.

It takes you a few moments to find the rhythm, and even then it’s still sloppy and hot and oh so good in a way that you find yourself digging your nails into his shoulders. He keeps his mouth on your breasts, and each tug of your nipple sends a shock wave of pleasure directly to your cunt, and you throw your head back with it, moaning.

As you both near climax, your moves get more and more frantic until Minho grabs hold of your hips, pulling you down forcefully, your clit catching on the bump of his pelvis each time, and you come with a broken moan, slumping against him. It triggers his own release, and he thrusts up into you, once, then twice, before tensing up beneath you, coming with a low growl as he sags into the couch.

For a moment there’s nothing but the sound of your harsh breathing, and you sigh into his neck as the sweat cools on your skin.

“We should probably clean up,” he mumbles, eyes still closed and you nod, slowly sliding off of his dick, moaning a little when your cunt gives a feeble little flutter. He just groans unashamedly, staying right there slumped on your couch, arm thrown over his eyes, until you throw his pants at him.

“Get dressed,” you tell him, slipping into your bathroom to clean up. Your skin is coated with a thin layer of sweat and he made a total mess of your hair, but you pay no attention to it, giving yourself a perfunctory rub down with a washcloth before slipping back into your clothes.

When you return, he’s almost ready, fidgeting with his tie. He didn’t bother to do anything with his hair, but it’s not like anyone would be able to tell the difference.

You take a deep breath. “So.”

“So.”

“Think we got it out of our systems?’

He shrugs. “Maybe. I don’t know. Only time will tell I guess.”

“Right.”

You stand there awkwardly for a moment, neither of you willing to meet the other’s eye until Minho blurts out, “I feel like I’m supposed to shake your hand or something. You know, properly close the deal.”

It gets a giggle out of you. “Didn’t realise we were making a business deal here.”

“Well, you never know,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets with the barest glimmer of a smile. “The handshake makes sure you know that it’s one and done.”

“Oh, of course it does.”

Another bout of silence falls over the two of you during which you just stand there, smiling at each other like a pair of loons until Minho clears his throat.

“I should, uh, probably get going,” he says, raking a hand through his curls as he squeezes past you to get to the door, and you nod.

“Right.”

“Right.”

He turns around just before he leaves, mouth open to say something else, but he ends up just shaking his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “See you around, Y/n.”

now

M A Y

You should have left already. Instead you are lying on the couch, spooning with one Lee Minho as some mindless cop drama plays out on TV. It’s becoming a habit.

“Can you do that with your gun?” he asks, voice dripping onto your skin like honey. One of his hands has found its way under the sweatshirt you stole from him, resting heavily on your stomach.

You barely even glance at the screen. “I can barely even keep a good grip on my gun,” you confess. “It’s always falling all over the place.”

He hums in response before you lapse back into comfortable silence for the rest of the show. You are more than content to lay there, feeling his warmth all around you, his breath stirring your hair, his heart beating against your back.

It’s nice.

Eventually you do have to leave, glancing at the clock on the wall before saying, “I should probably go. It’s getting late.”

Minho makes a soft, plaintive sound in the back of his throat and pulls you closer. “Or you could stay. Ryujin’s flight doesn’t get in for another three hours. You have some time to kill.” His hand skims across your stomach, light, and you actually find yourself considering it.

With a shake of your head you sigh, “No, I really need to get going. I still need to pick up dinner before you get here. And make it look like I was actually living in the apartment these past few weeks.”

He chuckles at that, nosing the nape of your neck. “Point,” he says, even as he tightens his hold on you, reluctant to see you go. “Or we could take a nap, order pizza and forget about cleaning in the first place. You know, like what we’ve been doing everyday for the past week and a half.”

You snort, batting his hands away and finally sitting up. “Right. And then what will I tell Ryujin when she asks why the apartment’s been abandoned for a month?”

He’s silent, causing you to glance at him while you stretch out your arms. Minho is never one to shy away from telling you what he really thinks, and his sudden apprehension has you tilting your head quizzically. Eventually he looks back up at you for a brief second, and then sets his jaw, fingers trailing across your skin distractedly.

“You could always tell her the truth,” he hedges, hand tightening on your waist and you freeze mid stretch.

“Why?” you ask, narrowing your eyes at him.

Minho shrugs, still overly casual and unable to meet your gaze. “I mean, we’ve been sneaking around for a while now. Aren’t you tired of it?”

“No,” you say, slowly, “Because we both said that this was a one time thing, and when it wasn’t, we both agreed not to mention it to anyone. For both our sakes.”

“Well, things have changed now, haven’t they?” he says, crossing his arms over his chest, “We’ve been doing this for nine months, Y/n.”

“We’ve been doing this on and off for nine months, Minho.”

He ignores you, pressing on, “You can’t tell me everything's the same, especially not after December,” and when he finally looks up at you, your stomach drops.

Ever so slowly, you stand up, stepping away from the couch and out of his reach. The TV is nothing more than white noise in the background.

“Actually, I can,” you say, voice brittle, and he freezes.

You never used to hook up at home, you never used to stay over, you never used to share inside jokes and smiles, tweeting and subtweeting each other, posting selfies together for the world to see.

“Because this has been kept separate from the rest of our lives in a neat little box.”

He sneaks kisses from you sometimes when he comes over to spend the evening with you and Ryujin, holding your hand under the table. You get asked questions about each other at cons, and you distinctly remember that one time he told a fan that you were ‘only a fucking amazing and a phenomenal actress who he’s glad to know.’ You have a drawer of your clothes in his wardrobe, but you still choose to steal his.

“Nothing has changed, Minho, not for me. Not between now and last fucking August.”

You think about the shampoo bottle he keeps in his shower for you, the herbal tea he stocks in his cupboards. You think about how you have memorised his favourite songs, can rattle off his favourite passages from any book to the way he won’t eat ice cream unless it’s in a cup with the cone crumbled into it.

Minho sits on the couch, unmoving except for the clench of his jaw that has the muscle popping. “So I guess that’s that then?” he asks quietly, looking up at you, face blank.

You nod once, your chest feeling too tight. “Yes,” you reply, just as quiet and weak as before, and then turn on your heel to leave. He doesn’t say another word, not even when you shove your feet in your shoes and walk out, the door closing behind you with a soft snick.

You fumble with the key to your own apartment, the too long sleeves getting in the way and you end up swiping furiously at the frustrated tears that have inexplicably gathered in your eyes. Once inside, you brace yourself on the counter, taking deep breaths as your vision blurs for one startling moment, trying to ease the pain in your chest.

Your eyes are still too bright when you pull away, but you steady yourself, pulling off his sweatshirt and throwing it in the dark recess of your closet before starting to clean, trying to get your mind off of things.

It works, somewhat, but later, once Ryujin is home and safely bundled in bed, you sit with your phone in your lap. Minho is the second person in your inbox, right under Ryujin’s flight confirmation, sending you a stupid pick up line a few hours ago. You open up the chat and slowly types out your message with shaking fingers.

Y/n: i think we should stop seeing each other

His response comes seconds later.

Minho: fine.

The words from before have left a bitter taste in your mouth that, no matter how hard you try, you can’t get rid of it. It’s the taste of a lie and heartbreak all rolled up in one, and this time you can’t rid of the tears with just a few swipes.

before: 5 months ago

D E C E M B E R

“What,” you say flatly, still staring at Ryujin, with your arms crossed.

The other girl just smiles at you. “You heard me.”

“What I heard was that you want me to take your place at the award show next week because your dislocated disc is giving you trouble. The very same award show that you were attending with Minho,” you say, still terribly unimpressed, “Surely I heard wrong.”

“No, you heard correct. And I already cleared it with Liv. She thinks it’s a good idea, especially since the show is doing so well.”

“You talked to Liv ?” you sputter, “Why the fuck would you do that?”

Ryujin shrugs, looking entirely too innocent from where she’s laid spread out across your couch. “Because I know that you wouldn’t do it if I didn’t bring in the big guns. I’m covering all my bases.”

“Goddammit Ryujin.” You scrubbed a weary hand across your face.

“So is that a yes?” she asked, phone already in hand, “Because I can’t wait to let the internet know about this. Your shipper fans are going to lose their minds.”

You can just imagine, and you groan, pinching the bridge of your nose. Liv’s solution of ‘letting things blow over’ had backfired stupendously and you are certain that at this point everyone and their mother wanted to see you date Lee Minho.

“I fucking hate you.”

“I’m taking that as a yes.”

* * *

That’s how you find yourself a week later, being ambushed by a team of make up artists as they help get you ready for the night while Ryujin sits off to the side with an oversized bag of crisps, flat out cackling at you.

“I really fucking hate you,” you grit out, trying to at eye her while one of the make up hands fix your eyebrows.

Ryujin just laughs again, wincing a bit as she shifts herself on the chair. On one hand, you know that her back has been giving her trouble these past few days, especially because of the cold weather and shooting, but on the other, you really hate her for making you do this.

“You should see your timeline right now,” she snorts, “Everyone is so frenzied.”

“I’m going to beat you to death with a curling iron.”

She just blows a kiss at you, continuing to chortle while you scroll through your phone. “The general consensus is that you’re either going to tell the world you’re finally dating, or let everyone know that you’re pregnant and Minho’s the baby daddy.”

“The only thing keeping me sane right now is picturing stabbing you multiple times with a mascara wand,” you hiss, yelping when someone pulls on your hair a bit too roughly.

“Look on the bright side,” says Ryujin , “At least you too get along now. Somewhat. And I can promise that Minho is an absolute joy to be around during these things. He’s almost better than a hip flask.”

You’re glad that Ryujin’s not paying attention to you, for she would have caught how you can’t maintain an eye contact at the mention of Minho and your relationship.

Turns out that sleeping with Minho couldn’t be a one time thing.

Who knew?

It’s not a regular thing, but you still do it often enough that you’re no longer snapping each other’s heads off, but instead engaging in playful banter.

It’s nice. Somewhat.

You would just like everyone to know that it only started up because he’s just really, really good with his hands.

And mouth.

And…everything else.

You are jerked out of your reverie by a knock on the door, and Ryujin practically flounces over to open it, a massive shiteating grin spread across her face as she does so.

“Minho!” you hear her say, bright and happy, “Come in. She's still not ready yet; give her a couple more minutes.”

“You’re awfully perky for someone who claimed to be in debilitating pain,” he says, sounding suspicious.

“It’s the painkillers. Come sit!”

You catch a glimpse of him as he passes in front of your door and well. Your jaw doesn’t quite drop, but it certainly comes close to doing that, and your cheeks just heat even further.

Minho looks really good in a suit.

Like insanely good.

Ryujin darts back into the room, and, after taking one look at you, she bursts out laughing again, even as she throws herself on the bed. She’s having far too much fun with this, and you kind of want to throw something at him.

“You so want to hit that,” Ryujin whispers, smug.

I am already hitting that, you almost say, the words on the tip of your tongue, but you easily swallow it down, schooling your face into a scowl.

“If you mean take a frying pan to his face then yes,” you nod, and then wince again as a hair pin digs into your scalp.

“All done,” says the girl, before spritzing perfume on you. You almost choke on a cherry blossom scented cloud, and when it passes, Ryujin is standing by the door, grinning like the cat that caught the canary. You may or may not have deliberately stepped on her good foot.

“Come on Cinderella,” she says, linking your arm through yours once you stand up, “Let’s get you to the ball.”

“I hope a spider crawls in your mouth when you’re sleeping tonight.”

You do manage to school your face in a pretty neutral expression when you enter the living room, and it seems as though Minho was preparing himself beforehand, as he barely reacts to your appearance, only giving you a cursory look up and down. The only tell is the bob of his adam’s apple when he swallows, and you bite the inside of your cheek to keep from looking too smug.

“Do I meet your standards?” you can’t help tease him, and his eyes snap up to yours, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“I guess you’ll do,” he sighs dramatically, and offers you his arm.

“Have her home no later than eleven, Minho!” Ryujin calls out as you are both walking out the door.

He flips you off behind his back. “Fuck off, Ryujin,” he bites out, succinct.

Her laughter follows you all the way down the hallway and you grumble, “She’s a goddamn menace,” while hiking up your dress to walk down the stairs.

“That she is,” he nods before looking sidelong at you. “You look nice.”

Your heart picks up pace on its own accord. “Thanks. So do you.”

“Thanks,” he says, and you can’t mistake the the humour in his voice. You elbow him in the rib and he laughs. “What? What did I say?”

“You’re a dick,” you huff, still trying to calm your traitorous heart, and that just makes him laugh louder.

“The car should be here in a moment,” he tells you as you come to a stop in the empty lobby. You just hum in response, glancing around aimlessly until he says, “Hey, Y/n?”

Before you can turn to look at him, he’s cupping your jaw, pushing you up against the wall and kissing you sweetly. You make a sound of surprise in the back of your throat, but then you’re kissing him back, just as slow, one hand tangling in the hair at the base of his neck, while the other fingers his tie, and he breathes a soft sigh of relief, pulling you flush against him.

When you pull apart, he rubs his nose against your cheek gently, mumbling, “You look really nice,” and swipes a quick peck to your cheek before pulling away, slipping his hands in his pockets and rocking on his heels.

You are fairly certain the whole neighborhood can hear your heart stammering at this point, but you still reach out for his arm, looping yours through it as you say, “You look really nice too, Minho.”

The boyish grin he gives you makes your heart stutter in your chest, and then he glances at his phone. “Come on; car’s here.”

He helps you into the backseat before slipping in himself, and then lets his arm rest on the small area of your back the entire drive there. You take advantage of it, leaning into his warmth, and you feel him trace mindless patterns on your waist in response.

“You have some lipstick,” you say, noticing the smudge of it on his mouth. He swipes at it with his hand, but misses the spot completely and you reaches up, thumb rubbing the corner of his mouth. “I got it,” you mutter, getting it out completely, and he presses a kiss to your temple in turn.

“Thanks love,” he says, looking at you impossibly soft and you feel warm all over, very different from the first time he called you "love".

You don’t have time to dwell on it though, because soon enough you are pulling up to the venue where the event is being hosted and you are being blinded by the flash of cameras.

The whole walk down the red carpet is a blur in your mind, filled with cameras and questions and the warmth of his arm hooked around yours as he leads you through. You stop only once or twice for pictures, and you paste on a wide grin for those, posing next to him until his arm hooks through yours again, pulling you inside.

The awards themselves are boring, intended mostly for crew members, but Minho keeps you from nodding off with his hand on your thigh the entire time, tracing maddening patterns that you feel even through your layers of skirts.

“Stop that,” you hiss while Chan continues to drone on onstage. You catch his wrist and he flips his hand over, linking your fingers together.

“If we sneak out no one is going to notice,” he mumbles under his breath, “This thing is boring at fuck, and I haven’t had you in over two weeks.”

Despite the flash of heat his words send through you, you say, “And who’s fault is that?”

“Hey, what am I supposed to do? Tell them not to shoot offset because then I wouldn’t get to fuck you?”

“Don’t be crass.”

“It’s true,” he mutters, glaring up at the stage. “Chan doesn’t know when to shut up. I could make it worth your while instead.”

“You know, Ryujin told me that you made these things fun and I needn’t bring a flask, but I’m starting to think that I should have smuggled it in anyway.”

Even in the dim light you can see the shine of his teeth as he grins. “Hey, I’m offering to make things fun and you’re turning me down.”

You turn to run a critical eye over him and he stares back, unflinchingly, his irises more black than brown, and positively irradiating lust. “Hmm. Fine, maybe later. Now behave,” you hiss.

The grin just widens and he leans in close, letting you feel the warmth of his thigh as it presses against yours. “Oh baby,” he sighs, untangling your hands, so that he can go back to teasing you. You manage to repress a shudder when his fingers press against the dip between your thighs through your dress. “You don’t want that.”

Miraculously, you manage to get through the entire programme without drawing too much attention to yourselves, though you do go through quite a few glasses of champagne, especially when you show him that two can play at that game, palming him through his slacks in a way that almost made him choke the first time.

You get out of there as soon as it’s done, escaping fairly unnoticed through the throngs of people, and he goes down on you, quick and messy, in a cramped utility closet, far enough from the hall that you can be as loud as you want. After you repay the favour, giving him a lazy handjob before switching to your mouth when you realise that you have nothing to clean up with.

Neither of you remember to stagger your entrances back into the hall, and slip in with your fingers still tangled together, your dress obviously crumpled and a telltale redness blooming on the apples of Minho's cheeks. To anyone paying attention, it would be clear as day what you were up to, but you are lucky enough that you only garner one or two looks in passing. Minho stays glued to your side, hand heavy on your hip the rest of the night, and when it’s time to leave, he slings it around your waist, keeping you close.

You make out for a while, trading soft sloppy kisses in the back of the car all the way home. He tastes a little bit like champagne, all bubbly and sweet, and you melt into him, carding your fingers through his unruly hair.

“Had fun?” he mumbles against your cheek, exhaling heavily when you bite his jaw. He gropes you in retaliation, and you squeak.

You pull back far enough so he can see your truly outrageous smile. “I guess you made it worth my while after all,” you muse, and he chuckles, pulling your mouth back to his.

He walks you up, arm slung around your shoulders, holding your heels in the other, and you bury your nose in his bicep breathing him in. When you reach your door, Minho lets his arm fall, reluctantly, and presses a kiss to the crown of your head. It’s chaste and sweet, and starkly different from any other kisses that you have shared these past few months during your on and off hook ups, and even though you’re somewhat drunk, it still feels like a turning point.

“See you later, Y/n,” he says, with a slight wave of his hand and by the time you gather your bearings to tell him the same, he’s already clicking his door shut.

Ryujin is still up when you walk in, face illuminated by the blue light of her phone screen, and she grins like a shark that’s caught blood.

“Don’t,” you say, slumping against the door. You try to tamp down on the giddiness to avoid suspicion, but Minho left you feeling like you are floating on air.

Her grin just widens and she turns the phone towards you. “There is going to be so much fanfiction written about you two tonight,” she snickers, “You two have been trending on Twitter for almost an hour now,” and you just flip her off, heading to your room.

You throw yourself on the bed with a contented sigh, grinning into your pillow.

later

J U N E

Despite being back in the spotlight for well over a year, you still don’t do very well with interviews.

Most of those in the beginning were what you expected: what happened between you and your ex boyfriend, where did you go for six months, and are you sure you are not in any relationship right now?

Then Minho started getting incorporated into your interviews as well.

If you had a nickle for how many times you have been asked if you were dating, you’d have enough money to buy a small island where you might be able to escape him once and for all. If you wanted to, that is.

It took you a while, but eventually you managed to accept interviews, no longer panicking at the sight of one, but for some reason today you’re on edge, trying not to fidget as you sit on the lime green sofa opposite an annoyingly peppy interviewer.

When she deviates from the script however, you realise that you have had good reason to have been tense all morning.

“So what’s happening with you and Lee Minho? It’s been quite a while since we have seen any interactions between you two.”

It’s been four weeks and three days to be exact, the numbers jumping to the forefront of your mind almost immediately.

Next to you, Ryujin stiffens, all but baring her teeth at the interviewer in a snarl, vastly different from the times when she used to kill herself laughing.

You don’t know exactly what happened between you and him, but you figured out enough when Minho stopped coming around as much, and you started making excuses to avoid seeing him.

You take a shaky breath and flash the peppy woman a tight smile, the closest to a ‘fuck you’ you can give and says, “We’re just friends, that’s all. And we’ve been busy these past few weeks. Not as busy as Ryujin though. She just did this amazing movie…”

Thankfully no one questions your completely unsubtle segue and Ryujin is more than happy to take the pressure off of you.

What’s happening between you and Minho? Well, you still have his sweatshirt crumpled into a ball and hidden in your closet. You have exchanged maybe five words a piece at most, and he still has a drawer filled with your things over at his place. You ran into each other on the last day of filming, your cars parked next to each other, and it reminds you of that first day when you almost had a yelling match right there in the parking lot. Instead, he just nods and gives you a wide enough berth so you wouldn’t even brush against each other as he gets in his car.

You miss him, something which shocked you to the very core when you realised it a few weeks back, and you have never wanted to kick yourself as much as you did then for throwing everything away.

What’s happening between you and Minho?

Who knows; you fucked it up.

later

J U L Y

This year, Seasonal Con is more eventful for two reasons.

The first being that your show has an actual fandom now – a real, honest to god following, larger than you would have thought possible, who are so involved with the show that it’s both amazing and a tad bit scary. Not to mention those who want your character and Ryujin’s to get together.

“We have shippers,” Ryujin had informed you gleefully one night, and you distinctly remember groaning out loud before cursing to high heaven because you have had enough shipper madness to last a lifetime. Possibly even two lifetimes.

The second reason is a bit of a harder pill to swallow.

You got invited to the fan favourite panel on the last day.

And so did Minho.

Who the event supervisors thought would be nice to put next to you for an hour in front of hundreds.

If you get out of this weekend alive, you are going to thank every god and deity you can think of.

Ryujin is understandably worried once you get the news, immediately coming up with a variety of ways to get out of it. “You could fake sick, or pretend to lose your voice,” she rattles off, “Or maybe you fell down in the shower the night before and broke your hip-”

“It’s fine,” you interject, squaring your shoulders. You try to smile at her but you are pretty sure it falls flat. “What’s the worse that can happen?”

She doesn't seem impressed by that answer because she replies, “You and Minho air your dirty laundry for the entire world to see.”

“That’s not going to happen,” you say resolutely.

“At this point I don’t put anything past you two,” she mutters, and you nudge her with your toes.

* * *

The day of the actual panel, you take Liv’s advice and try to meditate in the morning in hopes of calming yourself. It helps a bit; you are not quite as jumpy as you could be, but you are still definitely on edge, clutching your purse like a lifeline as you navigate the halls on your own.

The waiting room is mostly empty, with just a few people here, but that’s not what you pay attention to, eyes immediately landing on Minho, hunched over his phone in the corner.

Your heart squeezes in your chest.

You really, really miss him, didn’t realise just how much of an impact his presence alone has on you.

Before you know it, your feet are taking you to him, and you carefully sit next to him on the loveseat, wiping your palms on your skirt several times.

He doesn’t notice you until you clear your throat, to which he stiffens, very slowly looking up, eyes guarded.

“Hi,” you say, quiet, tucking an errant curl behind your ear.

“Y/n,” he nods, impassive as ever and you feel your throat clog up.

You worry your bottom lip for a moment and see his hand twitch, as though he was about to pull it free. “I, um – can we talk?”

Minho just stares at you for a good minute or so, to the point where you’re struggling not to fidget. Finally he just scrubs a hand down his face and hisses, “Now? You want to talk?”

“I-”

“It’s been an entire month, Y/n,” he says bitterly, shifting away from you, “What could you possibly have to say after an entire month, that we won't work out anything that was between us?”

Your eyes burn and you stare at your hands clenched tightly in your lap. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, voice catching on the end of it. You can feel him staring at the side of your head, and you press on. “I’m sorry I was so abrupt with everything, and I… I miss you, Minho.”

When you finally muster up the courage to look back at him, his eyes are squeezed shut, pained.

“Don’t,” he manages to croak out and you jerk back as though you have been hit.

“Min-”

“We’re gonna talk about this later,” he tells you after taking a deep breath, “You don’t get to do this right before we do a panel together.”

You nod meekly. “Okay.”

The next hour is the longest hour of your life. You slip on your public persona mask easily enough, smiling and laughing, and answering your questions as coyly as possible, but on the inside you are a mess. A shaking, confused mess.

After the panel is over and all requisite photos have been taken, Minho grabs hold of your wrist and pulls you along behind him. You follow without a word, barely sparing a thought for the shutters you hear going off as you weave through the crowd. That’s a bridge you will cross when you get there. Or you might just avoid it all together. What’s one more thing to the whole ‘Y/n and Minho’ story, right?

Only when you end up outside at the pick up area do you ask, “Where are we going?”

Minho doesn’t even glance over at you. “My hotel I'm staying at. It’s only five minutes away, and a lot more private than a spare room at a convention centre.”

You stare down at your feet, “Okay,” you say, and then follow him in the cab that pulls up.

The short ride to the hotel is tense, and you find yourself biting on the inside of your cheek to keep from speaking after firing off a quick text to Ryujin. Minho still doesn’t look your way, choosing to glare at the window instead, jaw clenched tight, even when you are dropped off, he just jerks his head in the general direction with a gruff, “Follow me.”

Once the door to his room has clicked shut, he turns to look at you, face impassive and arms crossed. “You wanted to talk? Then talk.”

You take a deep breath.

“I’m sorry about before,” you start, “I – you’re one of my best friends here, Minho, one of my only friends here besides Ryujin, and I was so fucking scared when you – I don’t have the best track record when it comes to relationships, and you – you’re too important to me to lose, so I’m sorry, and it was my fault we got in this whole mess in the first place, and if you forgive me, can we still be friends at least? I miss you.”

You say all of it in one go, and by the time you are through, you're heaving. Still, when he opens his mouth to speak, you hold a palm up and continue, voice wavering, “I just- I really fucking miss you and I’m so, so sorry.”

The words just hang there for a moment while you lean against the wall.

“You through?” he asks with a quirk of an eyebrow. When you nod, he says, “You’re a pain in the ass–”

“Charming.”

“–who’ll argue with me about every fucking thing under the sun no matter what-”

“Oh stop it, I’m swooning, Minho.”

“You gonna be a little shit the whole time, or can I say my piece?” he asks mildly, and you feel stupid. When he’s certain you are no longer going to interrupt, he throws himself back on the bed with a groan, throwing an arm over his face. After a few seconds of silence, he confesses, “Ryujin called me out in like two weeks,” voice slightly muffled by his bicep, “Apparently my crush on you was painfully obvious.”

What?

You must have said it outloud because then he’s craning his neck slightly to glance at you, and you just feel like a dense idiot even more, picking your jaw up off the ground. “But you,” you sputter, “You were such a dick!”

He’s groaning again, hiding his face, but if you look closely you can see the tips of his ears tinged red. “I was into you. Am. And terribly so.”

“You never said anything.”

“I didn’t want to fuck it up. Which, I realise is what I might have done the moment we agreed to continue having sex with each other, but I was just…so eager to have you in any way I could, even if it meant pretending that I wasn’t pinning away.”

“But…why?”

“Why what?”

You bite her lip, scuffing the toe of your sandal against the carpet. “Why me?”

Minho just gives you a little shrug, smiling helplessly. “Because you are you,” he says, easy as nothing, and those four little words make all the air in your lungs leave with a whoosh, causing you to stumble back against the wall in order to stay upright. “You had me on my ass within seconds with your no bullshit type attitude and I just…I don't know. You threw me for a loop.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” he says, messing with his hair. “You – God, Y/n, didn’t you realise? You had me. Every single thing you did just bewitched me, I couldn’t look away, and then I started to get to know you, all of you; the bossy little you who likes to order me around and sleep until noon, and prefers green tea to black, and I…I fell in love with you,” he breathes, tearing his eyes away from yours to stare up at the ceiling, “I don’t know how, or when, but I just- I’m in love with you.”

If his previous statement made the air leave you, then this one makes you feel lightheaded and faint hearted all at the same time. The word ‘love’ echoes throughout your head and you feel a bubble of happiness growing in your chest, and you slip down the wall a little as you try to make sense of the rest of his words.

He chuckles nervously when a few moments pass and you haven’t said anything as yet. “Please tell me if I just fucked up this whole new ‘friendship’ thing so I can take it back. Five second rule applies here, right?”

It startles a faint laugh out of you. “It’s been more than five seconds.”

“Five minute rule then?” And you laugh again, this time louder, and then you are crossing the room to meet him, clumsily climbing on top of him and bracing your hands on his chest.

“You goddamn idiot,” you huff as he grabs your hips, steadying you, “I’m in love with you too.”

The smile that unfurls across his face could crack it in two, absolutely blinding, and you shriek when he sits up suddenly, one hand moving up to cup the back of your neck while the other pulls you into his chest, lips ghosting across yours.

Then he’s kissing you soundly, lips chapped and eager, and it’s messy, the two of you grinning far too widely to make anything work.

“Oh, thank god,” he rasps into your skin, forehead pressed against yours, and then he’s kissing you again, slower this time, and deep, and you just hug him tighter, licking the joy from his tongue, or maybe having yours intermingle with his because you are just so fucking happy, you feel like you are going to float away.

“Hey,” he mumbles against your lips, caressing your cheekbones when you make a move to get you and him to lie horizontal, “Slow down. I’m not going anywhere.”

You squeeze his forearm. “I know, I just,” you drop your head in the crook of his neck, and he pets you, letting his fingers tangle in your hair. “I just missed you a lot, that’s all.”

His responding smile is achingly soft, and a little shy, and he slowly presses you into the bed, kissing you sweet once more.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmurs again, and your heart is bursting at the seams at this point.

“Good,” you sigh happily, trailing a hand down his back, feeling the movement of his muscles as they tense and flex beneath his shirt. You hold his face between two palms and look him dead in the eye when you say, “I’m not going anywhere either.”

Minho grins, soft, and when he leans back down to kiss you, you can feel the love bursting from every cell in your body, flooding you with warmth and sunshine from the inside out, making your toes curl.

You are in love with him, and he with you, and nothing on this earth could ever top that.

◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇

---

BC THERE'S SOMETHING ABOUTTTT CHA BABY THAT MAKES ME WANT TO GIVE IT TO YOU😨 KEEP IT IN THE CLOSET😆 (I'm sorry if this was not the inspiration but the title and the fact that closets are involved. Michael Jackson's in the closet)

make your move, set me free

pairing: lee minho x afab!reader

warnings: smut🔞!!!!!!!!, monster in the closet!minho, childhood friends to lovers but with a twist!, time jumps, like .2 seconds of mentioned jealousy, light angst, masturbation (f), voyeurism, unprotected sex, minho’s ribbed monster dick, horn sucking (???? you’ll know when u get there), horn rubbing (again, ???), monster creampie!

note: here he is! sorry it took so long, but life has been kicking my ass lately lmao. if this is bad….. just shhhh for my well-being. anyways, i do hope you enjoy!!! also just as an fyi… minho’s dick is shaped like the bad dragon sleipnir :-) also also let it also be known that idk what the hell he is like he’s just a thing i just made up shit really

the first time you met lee minho, you were six years old.

met is a strong word, considering the fact that you were laid shivering and scared in your bed at three in the morning. you always slept through the night, but recently you’d been continuously woken up at odd hours due to the noises coming from your closet.

it started with the creak of your closet door. you opened your eyes and rolled onto your back to reach for your teddy bear that you must have lost during the night. it wasn’t until you were about to fall back to sleep that you heard what must have woken you up in the first place. your head perked up from your pillow at the sound of your closet door slowly creaking open. you stopped breathing, gripping your teddy bear close to your chest as your heart pounds.

you don’t hear the noise again for a few minutes. maybe it was just the air conditioner? sometimes it makes weird noises, and your mom always complains about it. your head settles back onto the pillow when you hear it again, this time, with a whispered call of your name.

you can’t help but gasp, chest heating up as your heart pounds faster. you sit up in your bed before you can stop yourself, staring directly at your half opened closet. why did your parents have to put your bed right there? directly in front of the closet. your mom always makes sure the door is shut before she leaves your room to go to bed; you definitely didn’t open it, but somehow the pitch black interior of the closet is looking right back at you.

your eyes are adjusting to the dark now. the nightlight in the corner helps you to see, but it doesn’t provide enough light for you to see inside the closet. you can’t make out the shape of your clothes or shoes… you can’t see anything.

until you see red.

glowing red. two bright red eyes turn themselves into three and make themselves known to you, and that’s all it takes for you to scream.

“m-mommy!” you shriek, pulling the covers over your head and hiding your face against the plush of your teddy bear. you stay hidden until the light clicks on, and you feel your mother’s warm arms wrap around you. you slowly lift your head from under the blankets and look up at her with teary eyes. she coos and wipes your tears, soothing down your wild hair.

“what’s wrong, sweetheart? did you have a bad dream?”

“mommy, shhh,” you bring a finger to your lips to quiet her. “there’s- there’s a monster in- in there. in my closet,” you whisper, pointing a finger conspiratorially at your now closed closet door. did your mom close the closet door when she came in?

“is there?” she asks back. you nod. “i know just what to do. can you be brave and wait here while i go get something?” you really don’t know, but your parents’ room is right down the hall. you finally nod your head again, and your mom plants a kiss to your hair before she scurries out of the room. your eyes stay locked on the closet door until she comes back with a spray bottle in her hand. she sits down beside you on your bed.

“i’ve been hoping i wouldn’t have to use this,” she sighs, showing you the bottle. “here, it’s monster spray. i got it from the store a couple weeks ago just in case. see! it,” she turns the bottle around to read from the back, “‘repels monsters, ghosts, goblins, and other scary creatures away in one use!’”

huh, that might be able to work. she stands up from the bed and makes her way to the closet.

“be careful mommy,” you whisper, gripping the blanket tighter in your hand. she takes a deep breath and cracks open the door, immediately shoving her hand inside to spray around. once she’s done, she shuts the door again.

“it says we have to give it ten seconds to activate. can you count for me?” you start counting as soon as she asks, going up to twenty for good measure. “that should definitely work. okay, sit back. let mommy check.”

your mom once again opens the closet door, this time fully, and she gasps. you gasp in response. there’s nothing in there; that must mean the spray worked! she moves your clothes this way and that, double checking to make sure it’s safe.

“i don’t see anything in there, do you?” she asks. you shake your head. whatever that was, it’s gone. your closet is back to normal. all you see are your clothes and shoes plus a couple of your winter clothes on the top shelf.

“you killed it! it really worked!” you cry, climbing out of bed to hug your mom tight. “can i- can i sleep in your room tonight? in case it comes back…”

“of course you can, sweetie, but here.” she hands you the spray. monster masher. “you keep this in here, okay? so the next time you see a monster, you know what to do. you can always call me for backup if you need.”

the next night, you’re still scared. it happens just like it did the night before, but this time you have the trusty monster masher on your nightstand. you hear the closet creak open and hold your breath, making up your mind that you’re not going to call for your mom this time. you’re big; you can do this. at the first whisper of your name is when you decide to slowly reach for the bottle, hoping that whatever is in your closet won’t see you.

you slowly slip from the bed, sticking close to the wall and tiptoeing to the closet. your hand is shaking where you grip onto the spray bottle. you’re sticking close to the door hoping that whatever is inside can’t see you from the side. you take a deep breath just like your mom did last time, steady your hand, and reach it into the mouth of the closet to spray as fast as you can.

you don’t want something to grab you and snatch you inside, so you quickly pull your hand from the closet and shut the door, remembering the instructions your mom told you and counting to ten. fifteen for good measure.

the first thing you hear is sputtering from the inside. you run to your light switch and turn it on before opening the closet door, and what’s inside surprises you.

it’s a boy, knelt on the ground and scrubbing his tongue with the sleeve of his shirt. he’s no ordinary boy though, you can tell.

at first, you notice the light purple hue to his skin. his eyes are a deep black; there are three of them, and tiny horns sprout from the tip top of his head. he looks a little fuzzy too, and definitely not as scary as he did in the dark.

“ack!” the boy cries, still swiping at his tongue. “wha’ i’that?!” you spritz him again and he flails, slapping the bottle away from you. “hey, stop it! i’m not a bug.” he finally sits up straight and glares at you, and his eyes flare bright red.

you gasp at that, taking a step backwards and tripping over a toy you left on the floor in front of your bed. you land with an oof!, cradling your wrist after you land on it hard. the boy scoots out of the closet and points to your hand.

“are you- are you okay?”

“please don’t eat me!”

he glares at you again. “if i wanted to eat you i woulda already.”

and that is history.

at sixteen, you’re still dealing with the monster in your closet. you’ve learned many things about him in the ten years he’s inhabited your space.

his name’s minho, he’s your age, and you’re his assigned human. that sounds stupid. you didn’t believe him at first, but he showed you the paperwork. where you go, minho will follow. his assignment to you is a serious one.

after those fateful nights all those years ago, you’ve surprisingly become quite good friends. you’ve had plenty of time to get to know each other. after all, he’s in your closet every night. he can come and go as he pleases and you can send him away, back to whatever monster realm he came from, but he always comes back. he’s gone to and from on his own free will, you’ve never had the urge or need to send him away.

one thing you’ve never been able to piece together though is what lee minho actually is. minho’s told you before that he doesn’t even really know himself. he’s more of a… thing. kind of like those mutt dogs, but he’s a monster instead. you’ve looked on all types of websites. blogs, forums, encyclopedia pages, but you could never find any answers to quell your curiosity. it’s okay though, however nosy you are doesn’t change the fact that one of your closest friends is a monster that halfway lives in your closet.

speaking of friends, one of yours inhabiting your room right now.

it’s not that minho’s jealous, he has other friends of his own. like changbin, a short and bulky zombie who clicks and chomps his teeth whenever he’s hungry and has a too-loud laugh. or chan, a werewolf with kind eyes and a tail that wags way too hard when he’s happy. you’re definitely not his only friend, but he doesn’t like when you have sleepovers with yours. and no, not just because you talk about your stupid crushes.

you’ve been sitting on your bed for the past hour, chitchatting about some wooyoung character that your friend thinks you’d look super cute with.

minho rolls his eyes, resisting the urge to thunk his head back against the wall of your closet. his horns have hit a growth spurt though recently, and he knows he’d put a hole in your wall by accident if he did. the final straw for minho is when you both lay down to sleep.

“would you go out with him if he asks you?” your friend questions, propping herself up on her elbow to look at you one last time before you both go to sleep. minho straightens up at that. he strains forward, as close to the closet door as he can get without bumping into it with his horns, and listens for your response.

“i- i mean, i dunno? maybe? i’d have to think about it, i guess,” you say. minho makes a face. his lip curls slightly in disgust, and the soft peach fuzz on his body bristles at your answer. that’s it, he’s heard enough. he’ll just have to wait until you fall asleep.

much to minho’s pleasure, it doesn’t take too much longer.

he starts his typical routine when he focuses and hears the evenness of your breath and your friend’s. it’s always a crack of the door. minho sits up on his knees and places one finger to the door, pushing it open slightly and reveling in the creak of the old wood. he knows you’ll wake up soon, he’s just not sure about your talkative and annoying friend. he gives the old door one more slow push, and it creaks again.

he’s a little disappointed in how used to him you’ve gotten because you barely even roll over at the noise of the closet door slowly opening. the same cannot be said for your friend, however. minho smirks as he hears her breathing catch in her throat and heart rate pick up. now that he knows she’s awake, minho’s about to enact the next step in his routine. come to think of it though, he doesn’t really remember her name.

instead of whispering her name in the dark like he usually would, he decides on the next best thing.

he whistles.

it’s a slow thing, starting out high pitched and ending on a lower tone, and minho has to try hard to keep from laughing when he sees her head whip to the closet.

still whistling that haunting little tune, minho creaks the closet door open once more and moves his head closer to the opening of it, finally allowing himself to let his eyes shine ruby-red. the rest of his body is hidden by the darkness of your room, but he knows that his eyes are visible.

minho hears your friend shake you awake and cover your mouth.

“oh my god, i think- someone’s in your fucking closet,” she whispers, head turning back to the closet and met with glowing red.

“oh jesus christ,” comes your muffled response. you fling the covers back and march over to your closet, hitting your light switch on the way there. you open the door and shove your clothes to the side, hangers screeching on their rack, dutifully smothering minho with your clothes and pushing him to the corner. he flails and his horns clatter against the wall.

“shit, haha- um! sorry, my boots fell. there’s- there’s nothing in here, see? look.” you move out of the way, showing your friend the inside of your closet. you shuffle through your clothes so that she can see the back. hidden by the wall, minho peaks around his face-full of clothes and stifles his laugh when he sees you do jazz hands at your friend. you catch sight of him and once again roughly shove your clothes back into his face and he flips you off.

“no, i swear. i swear i saw something glowing in there! and- and i heard whistling?”

“oh, i have a, um. jacket! a jacket… with sequins on it? you know what i mean? sometimes it catches the light from the window. and our air conditioning makes some really weird noises sometimes at night. yeah, um. sorry, no- uh, no whistling here!”

your friend laughs, slapping herself on the forehead. “you think i’m crazy, don’t you? maybe i should go home… i think i just- i might need to sleep in my bed tonight, you know?”

you sigh and shut your closet door so that you can sit beside her on the bed.

“definitely not crazy, i promise. here, let me help you get your stuff. i can walk you to your car too.”

you say goodbye, shutting the car door for her and telling her to text you when she makes it home. when you make it back to your room you stop in front of your door to collect yourself.

“what the fuck is wrong with you?!” you whisper yell, opening the closet door and looking down at minho. “you can’t just-! you can’t just do that, minho!”

he pushes your clothes off of him, stands up, and rolls his eyes, getting up from his spot in the corner and rubbing one of his horns.

“that hurt, asshole. there’s a hole in your wall now by the way.” minho sits on your bed and looks at you expectantly. when you don’t sit beside him immediately he pats the bed beside him and raises his eyebrows. you huff and plop down next to him.

you’re both quiet until you decide to speak up.

“why’d you do that? you’ve never done that before. you can’t just- just go around scaring the shit out of everyone that comes to my house! what if she saw you? like really saw you?”

“she talked too much,” comes minho’s response. you make a face at that.

“she did not!” you retort, smacking him on the shoulder. he doesn’t even flinch.

“she did so! all she talked about was that- that wooyoung guy and it was annoying me,” minho grumbled. you raise your eyebrows and scoff, nodding your head.

“oh. oh i see.”

“oh what, you freak? see what?!”

“you’re jealous, minho! you didn’t want her talking about wooyoung because you’re jealous!”

“you were right earlier,” minho says, leaning closer and lowering his voice. “she’s not the crazy one. that’s you.”

minho laughs when you grip onto his horns and shake his head like a bobble head. he flashes his eyes back at you playfully.

“there’s nothing to be jealous of. you’re mine. i have the paperwork to prove it.”

you didn’t think he would react this way.

the two of you have argued before, sure, you’re bound to have a few spats with someone cohabitating your space for ten plus years. it’s never felt as big as this though. this feels like more than an argument.

“i thought you’d be happy for me? we talked about how much i wanted this, minho. i can’t just stay here forever, why are you being like this?” you ask. you’re hurt. more hurt than you’ve been in a long time. minho saw firsthand how much effort you put into finding your first place to live on your own; he even kept you company and gave you his opinions on each apartment while you looked at their websites.

“that’s not- don’t put words in my mouth. of course i’m happy for you!” he doesn’t look happy though. “you worked so hard, and you deserve it. you deserve to finally have a place of your own. you know that’s what i think.”

“no i don’t know that, minho. i can’t know that if you don’t tell me. what’s wrong then? why are you so upset? you- you encouraged me to apply every time!”

“it’s just real now, it’s real. i don’t- did you ever think that i don’t want to go? i have to go with you. i have to follow you wherever you go, and i don’t have a choice!” the tips of his ears are turning a deep shade of purple and his eyes flicker from black to ruby. “i don’t get a fucking say in that! this may be your home, but it’s mine too, and i don’t want to leave.”

“then don’t. you don’t have to come with me if you don’t want to. i can’t- i can’t just stay here the rest of my life. i don’t want to, that’s not an option for me. i’m sorry minho, but i can’t.”

“you know that’s not how this works. i have to go with you, remember? i can’t stay here no matter how bad i want to! i’m tethered to you.”

“i can’t help that! i didn’t make the rules! it’s not my fault, and i’d fix it for you if i could!” you cry, sitting on your bed and putting your head in your hands. when you look at him again, your eyes are teary. “maybe you should go home, minho. your real home. i think i want to be alone now.” you can’t look at him when you say it.

minho opens his mouth and shuts it, nodding at the ground. by the time you look up again, he’s gone.

it’s been about a month since you moved into your new place, and you’re half convinced you’re never going to see minho again. you haven’t seen him since you left your parents’ home; this is the longest you’ve gone without seeing him in years. you miss his presence, but you know how stubborn and hard-headed he can be. you both are. despite that, you know he’s hurt too.

what makes it even worse is that you two were never able to put a name on what you were to each other. it always felt like there was something more under the surface of your friendship. you both felt that way, and you knew that. despite his exterior and matching sarcasm, minho was always affectionate and kind with you. his stay in your closet might have originated with the sole purpose of scaring you every night, but that’s been a lost cause for nearly a decade now. he was quick to hold your hand and squish your cheeks and was even your first kiss in high school. he held you when you cried and went out of his way for you when it seemed like no one else would.

it was easy to fall for minho. he is easy to love and easy to want. his absence from your life is glaring.

getting your new apartment set up was a lonely affair. your parents and some friends helped move you in and get things settled, but your trinkets and clothes and pictures are up to you. hanging up the last of your summer and fall clothes was when it hit you that you’re really alone. no roommate, no parents, no closet monster.

however lonely you might be is coming in handy now. you haven’t gotten off this much in years. you haven’t been able to much with minho staying in your closet, but you’re diligently catching up on all you missed.

the buzz of your vibrator is muffled by the comforter you’re laying under, and you shiver as you cum for what feels like the hundredth time that night. you’re finally starting to sweat, so you throw the blanket off, baring yourself to the fairy lights and four walls of your new bedroom. you shudder weakly one last time, holding down the power button on your vibe and turning it off.

you know you’re not done yet, just taking a break.

as your body takes notice of the chill in the room, your nipples harden. your fingers tap at them for a moment, and in no time you’re ready to go again. the toy you were previously using finds its way back to your cunt, and you turn it on its lowest setting to work yourself up again. it’s easy to do, you’re just so sensitive.

“f-fuck, fuck! minho, i can’t- please,” you cry, head shaking back and forth. you can’t contain the noises coming from your mouth no matter how hard you try, and your hips buck and buck against your hand.

if you had any presence of mind you’d hear the tell-tale sound of your closet door creaking open over the buzzing of your toy; you’d see three ruby-red eyes peering at you from your sea of clothes.

your body wracks with tremors as you bring yourself to your climax once again. your vibrator is soaked, fingers sticky wet. your thighs and the sheets under you are faring no better. you place the vibrator on your thigh to rest and bring your fingers to your cunt to lightly rub at your clit.

“m-minho, my minho,” you mumble. your clit’s so swollen and slippery wet against your pruney fingers. now that your toy is turned off and you’ve calmed down, you’re able to hear the closet door. you’re not even ashamed, just needy, and you focus your gaze towards the door. you know it’s him.

“my jagi,” minho responds quietly from the doorway. his eyes are locked on your face rather than your bare body. it makes you smile.

you reach for him and he comes to you as always. minho climbs onto your bed and wraps you in his arms like you’re not stark naked and sweaty, like he doesn’t smell your arousal.

“you’re here,” you say, caressing his horns as he bucks them lightly against your forehead. “i didn’t- i didn’t think you’d come back.”

“you called for me. you said my name, silly. i’ll always come when you call.” minho nuzzles his nose against yours.

“missed you. i missed you so much, minho.” your arms wrap around him and he rocks you slowly from side to side. minho’s hand slides down to your hip to squeeze the warm, soft skin.

“i missed you, jagi. i was so bored!” he cries, dramatic. “i can see that you certainly found a way to occupy your time.” his eyes flick down to your chest and right back up to your eyes. you grab one of his horns and pull at it to make his head shake and he laughs.

“you be quiet! i’m just… making up for lost time, i guess.”

minho hums. he lowers his face so his nose is only a breath from yours. “i hate that i missed the show,” he whispers. you bite your lip and situate yourself in minho’s strong arms, turning over slightly so you’re on your back so you can slowly spread your legs for him. minho’s hand follows the movement of your thighs, and he grunts when his fingers finally touch the silky wetness that sticks to the inside of them.

“you- you didn’t miss it. i wasn’t done yet,” you breathe. you arch your hips towards him and he finally meets your lips with a kiss. your second kiss, this one much more intense than its predecessor. it heats up quickly, a clash of lips and teeth and tongue. minho’s tongue is longer than yours, a little rougher, but definitely not unwelcomed. his palm kneads at your thigh as his tongue flutters against yours. “touch me, touch me please, minho.”

“greedy thing. i am touching you, jagi.” he cocks his head and it makes you huff. before he can say anything else, you grab his hand and bring it to where you’re craving him. despite how brazen the action was, you’re still sensitive from your previous orgasms, and it makes you hiss. minho’s small fingers play with your cunt as if he’s done it countless times before. you’d laugh if it didn’t feel so damn good. minho knows you better than anyone; it’s not a surprise that he’d just get it from the beginning.

“ahh, shit,” minho mumbles into the sweaty skin of your neck. “so soft. ah, such a wet pussy. how many times did you cum before you called for me?” he rubs at your clit with the pads of his fingers for a moment before bringing them to his mouth to wet. at his first taste of you he grunts, quickly bringing his fingers back down to your cunt.

“u-um, three, maybe? i think? fuck, minho please. i need you to take your clothes off! why am i the only one naked?”

you know minho, you know he wants to tease, but he surprisingly wastes no time in shucking his shirt over his head and pulling his pants down his legs. he goes for his boxers but stops.

“look, it’s a little… ah, how do i say this? different? special?”

you laugh at that. “hello? fucking- special?! minho you have horns on your head and three eyes, i don’t think your dick is going to scare me.”

minho shrugs and laughs with you, finally dropping his boxers and showing you what’s underneath. you’re right, it’s not scary, but it’s not like anything you’ve taken before. it’s thick, ribs and ridges and layers galore with a bulbous head. you bite your lip, reaching out to touch him with gentle fingers. your hand wraps around him and he grunts, lightly thrusting into your fist. it’s already oozing steadily from the tip, making the slide easier for both of you.

“oh, minho, that’s going to feel so good in me,” you breathe. you know it will. minho climbs between your legs and spreads them wide, eyes focusing on where you’re ready and leaking for him. he scoots forward on his knees and grabs the base of his cock, guiding himself to the slit of your cunt. your arms twitch when you feel the texture of him for the first time as he slowly grinds on you; minho’s already got your eyes rolling and he just started.

“oh my god, that feels so f-fucking good. it’s s-so! ‘m s-still sensitive,” you whimper. the ridges on his thick cock rub against you just right. “you’ll make me cum again.”

“yeah? mm, i think i’d like that,” minho hums. he takes both of your ankles in his hands and spreads your legs wider, fucking his cock against the slit of your cunt. there’s barely any friction because you’re so wet. that’s lost to minho though, he doesn’t seem to mind at all, much too busy watching the way your puffy clit catches on the mushroom tip of his cock.

“don’t you want to fuck me? please, see, ‘m ready for you,” you say, bringing your fingers down to your cunt to spread yourself open for minho. “tight too. promise.”

“you promise?” he raises his eyebrows, and his gaze flicks up to your face. “you promise your little cunt’s tight for me?”

you nod your head.

“let me come find out then,” minho hums. he taps the head of his cock one last time against your clit and smirks when your body jolts under him. minho guides his cock to your hole, slowly rubbing the tip against it as a taste of what’s to come. your eyes roll as the thick head slips into your cunt.

“yesss, jagi. you’re so relaxed, that’s perfect. just open up for me, let me in, that’s right. oh, you feel so good around me,” minho breathes. his head hangs low and his arms shake slightly where they’re holding him up.

“b-big, ‘s big, minho, fuck,” you cry. your pussy makes a downright filthy noise as minho thrusts fully into you, and you cover your face with your hands. minho tuts.

“talking to me,” minho mutters, smirking. his hands are quick to tug yours away from your face, holding your wrists together on your stomach. “don’t hide from me, you look at me when i fuck you, hm? keep those pretty eyes right here on me.”

you nod quickly, willing to do almost anything for him at this point. you can’t stop touching him, the cool peach fuzz on his body feels so good against you. minho’s not much better. he can’t keep his hands still either, gliding up and down your body. gripping your thighs, squishing your tits together, holding your hands. he’s missed you.

before you know it, you’re clutching onto his horns while he fucks you into the mattress.

“minho, please! fuck, more. please give me more?”

“i’ll give you everything. you’ll have everything you could ever want,” minho grunts. he complies with your request, fucking you so that you’re almost being pushed up the bed. you really might be if it weren’t for the grip you have on his horns.

“gonna make me cum. g-gonna cum on your cock, minho.”

“yeah? baby, jagi. cum. cum for me now.”

it doesn’t take long with you so sensitive, and soon you’re cumming for what feels like the hundredth time tonight. it might as well be with the way your body is quivering in minho’s hold

“fuck, cumming just for me. pretty, pretty baby.” minho slows his movements, but you wrap your legs around his waist to pull him closer.

“keep going. fuck me ‘til you cum. i can take it, i’ll be good.” that’s all it takes for minho to gather himself again and work back up to his prior pace. his eyes flash red, and they quickly focus on your chest. your chest is bouncing with the force of his thrusts, and he can’t keep his mouth off of them any longer. minho leans down and sucks one of your nipples into his mouth, tongue flicking and teeth nibbling at the little bud.

your grip on his horns slackens for a moment as you throw your head back, but soon you find yourself pressing kisses to them while minho has his fun with you. before you know it, you’re sucking on one like you would his fingers or his tongue or his cock. the curved appendage glides perfectly into your mouth with minho’s head ducked, the slide easy thanks to your spit. you bob your head on it as best you can while on your back, and it has minho panting into the sweaty skin of your chest. one of your hands clutches his shoulder as the other rubs up and down his other horn, stimulating it while your mouth is occupied with its twin.

“i’m- fuck. no one’s ever- oh, jagi. i’m cumming, cumming in this little cunt, shiiiit.”

minho pulls back, and his horn slides from your mouth. you slurp as much of your spit back into your mouth as you can as minho takes hold of your cheeks so that he can see you face while he cums. he’s quiet, short gasps leaving his mouth and stomach caving as he pumps you full of his cum.

he slouches down on top of you when he’s finished and you kiss his head. soon your positions are switched, and minho lays on his back while you curl up beside him.

“you know we have to talk,” you whisper, kissing his chest. minho hums quietly in response and takes hold of your hand that’s resting gently on his stomach.

“tomorrow. we’ll talk tomorrow, hm? just lay here with me tonight.” he brings your hand to his lips and kisses your knuckles.

you snort at that. “have you ever even slept in a bed before?”

“i’m about to,” minho laughs. he stretches his legs and wriggles down until his head is resting more comfortably on the pillow beneath him. “mm, i think i might like this better than the closet.”