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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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