Maybe This Fic May Do It For Me - Tumblr Posts

svintsnghostsrecs

2 years ago

TASTE (18+!)

“What’s the second reason you find me so annoying?” You question, but Minho can’t just make this confession yet. Not here, not now. He’ll need a quieter place for that. “Let’s discuss this in the hotel room.”

SYNOPSIS: Your lazy plans on a free weekend get disrupted when your annoying boss orders you to join him at a business meeting in London. As if this wasn’t stressful enough, it occurs there was a booking problem when making the hotel reservation, leaving the both of you together in one room…

💵 GENRE: smut, a bit of fluff; nonidol!au, enemies2lovers

📜 WORD COUNT: 7.1k

🕰 CONTENT INFO: minho x afab reader; author!minho, ceo!minho, secretary!reader, set in london, they are both in their late twenties, minho our favourite tsundere at it again, reader has no filter when drunk, bestfriend!ryujin, colleague!seungmin

✨ CONTENT WARNING: mention of toxic relationship in the past/toxic breakup, mention of cheating, hard working and overworking, alcohol consumption, mention of food, a tiny bit of jealousy

🕯SMUT WARNING: (soft)dom!minho, sub!reader; slightly tipsy but consensual sex; fingering, oral (m receiving), piv, unprotected sex (pls don’t be stupid), marking, edging, cream pie, sir kink, praise kink, name calling (doll, good girl, angel)

🏷 AUTHOR’S NOTE: this is part of a series of different stories all taking place in different European cities, I’d appreciate you voting on the following forms by filling out this form! (Don’t worry, it’s all anonymous) with your participation, I am able to turn your ideas and wishes into more stories :) thank you! 🧡 also as usual, sorry for the repetition in the beginning, it’s still that weird glitch

Ambition. Authority. Coldness. Dedication. Hard work. Loyalty. No sign of mercy. Passion.

Bestselling author. Cambridge citizen but born and raised in Gimpo-si, South Korea. CEO of one of the most successful publishing companies. Millionaire at the age of twenty eight. Scorpio. Unmarried by choice.

‘Lee Minho’ is a mindset, more than just that. It’s everything all the upcoming authors want to be like and everything businessmen fear. Whatever he does, there aren’t any complaints coming from any side – even if some appear, they lack evidence due to his unbelievable connections.

He’s a lot. He’s everything. One entry in a dictionary will never do him justice.

“Ms Y/L/N, the papers have to be sent by midday. Be quick.”

He turns around again, after entering your office just mere seconds ago. He’s busy. You should be busy, too. But with the pressure he puts on you, it’s hard to focus sometimes.

Y/L/N Y/N [noun]

Assistant. Creativity. Dreamer. Empathy. Hopeless romantic. Optimism.

Cambridge citizen but born and raised in Norwich. Hobby writer. Literature major. Middle class at the age of twenty six. Secretary of the CEO of one of the most successful publishing companies. Unmarried and recently separated from her ex fiancé.

You have potential, you could be more and you know that. He’s overworking you, letting you do stupid tasks just to keep you busy, knowing he could fire you in the blink of an eye.

You’re on thin ice, you know that, too. There are lines of people waiting to work for him, especially young women, hoping for the fantasies Lee Minho writes about to turn true – with them as the protagonist.

“I will,” you murmur to yourself, since he can’t hear you anymore, back in his own office, whilst you continue to work.

Midday arrives sooner than you would have liked, still, you somehow manage to send those emails on time, just like he asked you to. It’s the same procedure everyday – he makes you come to work at 7:00, your short break follows at 12:00 exactly before you continue working from 12:30 to officially 3:30 and unofficially 5:30 most of the time.

You would have quit by now and you don’t know what’s still keeping you here – the high hourly wage, the company’s reputation granting you good luck on your CV or just the sheer phobia Mr Lee instils in you.

Maybe it’s an awful combination of all three, it doesn’t matter anyway. You’re stuck here, unless your boss decides to no longer extend that contract once it’ll expire next month. So you give everything. You do everything. You work your ass off.

“Do you want some of my tomatoes?”

Seungmin startles you, waking you up from your daydream or rather zoned out state.

“No, thank you. I’m not that hungry,” you reply, poking around in your own food as if you were trying to let out all your stress on your fried rice.

“They are tomatoes. They aren’t there to rescue you from starvation,” your colleague sighs after observing your posture and mimics some more seconds. The both of you have grown together over the past months you’ve been working here and you envy him for being in a different, higher position, doing tasks that actually seem meaningful.

“Do you wanna talk?” He offers now, sincerely. Seungmin tends to seem cold and unsocial when first meeting new people but from all the bar nights you’ve spent together after the end of yet another working day, he’s told you a lot about himself.

Well, the soju has told you a lot about himself and so did you, sharing your secrets with him. Maybe Seungmin and his friendship is another thing, making you stay here at the company.

“No, it’s fine. Maybe we can have some beer after work, if you’re up to it,” you suggest, still torturing the innocent kimchi on your plate.

“Actually,” he begins, “I will go on a date tonight, you know there’s this festival downtown.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry. I remember. With Taehee, right?”

Taehee works in the same department as Seungmin. He’s been head over heels for her since he’s first seen her. It’s cute, you’ve rooted for them and kinda motivated your friend to ask her out.

“Yeah, maybe we can have a drink tomorrow instead?” Seungmin asks.

“Yeah sure. I will have tomorrow and Saturday off, actually, you know, Mr Lee is going on this business trip,” you explain, almost crying happy tears in front of the whole cafeteria.

“Right, well, that’s cool then. Finally some rest for you, so we shouldn’t waste any time then.”

♡

“Another round, please,” Ryujin shouts through the bar, close to dragging the waiter to your table once he’s approaching you. He’s been annoyed by you for some hours now but you’re well paying customers – so who’s he to complain?

The next soju bottle meets the wooden table, lid crashing onto the floor once your best friend smashes the metal off, filling your glasses to the brim.

“To a calm weekend, dear,” she sings, harmonising with the clinging sound once your beverages hit one another. “A calm weekend without any asshole man bothering you,” follows from her lips, a bit drowned out as she’s speaking against the glass but still audible for you.

“Ryujin!” You scold her, nudging her shoulder but slightly missing it due to the level of intoxication you’re subjecting your body to. “What? I’m just speaking out loud what your little head is thinking, right?”

You sigh, sinking further down on the chair, before another shot of soju floods down your throat, warming up your belly from inside. “Yeah, you are. I’m exhausted.”

“You are. You deserve some rest, love.”

The ringing phone inside your pants’ pocket begs to contradict, when the shrill sound echoes through the bar, showing none other than your boss’s name on the display.

“Don’t pick up,” Ryujin pleads, rolling her eyes in disbelief once she reads who’s calling you.

“Maybe it’s important…”

Ryujin scoffs, crossing her arms in front of her chest, “Then he will call again. Put your phone away. He’s not paying you outside of your working hours.”

You nod, knowing if you don’t do it, she will snatch your device away instead. “First your stupid ex harassing you over the phone a few months ago and now, that you’re finally free, another man is possessing your mind.”

Her words cut deep but this doesn’t make them any less truer. You’re on the verge of your next mental breakdown whenever the sun rises, welcoming a new day, knowing it’s the same shit all over again. You need a break, you really do. After everything your ex fiancé has put you through, not only by cheating on you with several different women but also by making your phone explode by all the messages he’s sent you after the breakup, wanting to get another chance.

You’ve survived this stage, wounded, but you’ve survived it. This was the time your work performance suffered the most, this was the time Mr Lee still remembers, using it against you in every argument the both of you have. And you do argue a lot, mostly because each of you wants to have the final say in something.

“Another round?” Ryujin asks out of the blue or, well, you’ve just zoned out again. “Sure.” The liquid collides with the glass, until you find the transparent object in your hand, guiding it to your lips and the soju slides down so easily as if it was water.

Eyes still shut, you smash it back onto the table, almost as loud as the returning annoying sound. “Again?” Ryujin questions rhetorically. “It’s definitely important,” you interfere now, “you said if it’s important, he will call again.”

Your best friend rolls her eyes once more, arms already back at the position that makes her look like a sulky toddler, “Alright. But tell him to be quick. We have to drink more soju.” With the laughter that follows her order you’re reminded she’s not mad at you, Ryujin always only wants whatever’s best for you.

“Yup, Mr Lee,” you pick up, forgetting about all manners due to the alcohol flooding your whole body.

“Ms Y/L/N,” he begins, “do you have a minute?” You roll your eyes at Ryujin and she’s holding back everything, on the edge of shouting through that speaker. “Yeah, a bit busy, it’s 11 in the evening, you know that, right?”

Minho is a bit surprised about your tone of voice, usually you don’t speak back at him in this way, only when it’s about literature related topics. “Y-Yeah, sorry for that, but it’s a work emergency.”

“What are you, a doctor?” You provoke him and even Ryujin senses it, her eyes almost falling out now. But luckily your boss ignores it. “My colleague called in sick for the business trip and everyone else is occupied with something else. You will go with me instead.”

You scoff, “The fuck I will do. I am on vacation.” Ryujin pours more soju into your glass once you gesture her to do so by pointing at the half empty bottle. “Ms Y/L/N, I will be ignoring the way you’re speaking to me right now since you’re obviously drunk. But you don’t really have a say in this in case you want to continue working for me next month.”

You scoff again, almost choking on your soju. But is this what you want? Do you really want to stay at his company, working and paying with your life, while your boss is the most unthankful creature on this planet?

You don’t know yet. You’re not ready yet to make the decision but you don’t want to regret any drunk choice. You can still make this trip a living hell for him, if you decide against staying there spontaneously.

So you give in, promising to be in front of the office building at seven tomorrow morning, like you usually are.

♡

It feels like winning the lottery that your drunk self remembered to pack sunglasses in your purse, making it easier to keep your eyes open. The sunbeams dart like little arrows through your skull, making you want to sit down for a second and you already fear the three hour car ride.

“Good morning, Ms Y/L/N,” Minho greets you, friendly as ever, his face showing zero emotions and it makes you wonder if he is a robot after all.

“Morning,” is all you’re able to let out, considering the vibrations your voice sends through your head, making you dizzy right again.

Your boss surprises you today when he offers to open the car door for you, directing you to sit down on one of the back seats before he walks around the vehicle to take the seat next to you. His chauffeur, you believe his name is Changbin, will drive you to your first destination – the Seven Sisters, located south from London.

You don’t understand what has gotten into Minho’s head to drive that far, if it was your choice, you would have stayed just in London but he keeps insisting on it, telling you he needs the view of the chalk cliffs for the current book he’s working on.

“You know there’s something called Google, you could have just searched for pics on there,” you suggest rather teasingly, keeping your eyes shut under the thick material of the glasses.

“Look, Ms Y/L/N, this is where we differentiate between a good and a better author. A writer should always aspire to live his ideas,” Minho explains, still no expression on his face but you can’t tell anyway.

You sigh, deeply, from your state of mind and non existent physical energy but also because it’s been thirty minutes of a car ride and he’s already getting on your last nerve again, “This is some privileged view, if you ask me.”

“Well, I didn’t ask you,” he counters and that’s how the next hours continue, the both of you ignoring each other, you suffering in silence and him working on another chapter.

“I need to pee,” you announce once the clock reads 9:30 AM. “It’s only another half an hour, can’t you hold it in?” Minho asks.

“No, I’ve had more than a litre of water, I can’t,” you tell him, completely dumbfounded he can’t even take a break on such an occasion. “Why do you drink that much within a few hours in the first place?”

“Because I have a hangover, if you haven’t already noticed,” you point out the obvious. And luckily he gives in for once.

♡

You don’t speak it out loud but you’re glad about Minho’s decision to visit the cliffs first. It’s impossible to describe the view, the effect those giant sights have on you and your mind, as you soak in every molecule of this moment. The contrast between the turbulent waves hitting the shore and the pale rocks, which are almost as big as mountains, leaves you speechless.

You’re glad Minho is busy with getting his inspiration, leaving you alone to yourself and allowing you to take a quick break. The atmosphere and fresh air does wonders to your physical state, your hangover by now almost gone.

The ride back to London is calmer than the one before, a quick nap helps you to get back to your strengths and a few minutes before you arrive at the business venue, Minho tells you it won’t be too exhausting going to that meeting, as he’s simply asking you (yeah, asking, you’ve heard that correctly, not ordering) to take notes of everything important.

Just like he’s predicted, the work day goes on and to your luck you learn a lot of new things, have the opportunity to meet aspiring people and at some point Minho even allows you to share some of your ideas. His coworkers are just as amazed as he is and you can see the pride on his face, when you tell them you work for him.

It’s all calm for once. It’s unusual. Something tells you it won’t last for too long.

Your assumptions turn out to be true once you perceive the way another young manager lays his eyes on your body, slowly trailing down your curves. But, at least, you don’t notice it, deeply absorbed in your current task of taking some more notes. Who does witness the other man’s action though is your boss.

And, let’s say, he doesn’t quite welcome it. One of his own piercing stares at the other are enough for his colleague to stop, whilst you’re so unaware of everything.

Still, Minho is able to handle this little distress on his own – convincing himself the whole situation makes him mad because it’s a matter of respect the other one is lacking and not caused by his own jealousy.

Some minutes later his anger has left his body, calmness greeting him again. But the comforting feeling doesn’t last long, especially once you get to the hotel after the long meeting, exhausted from a long day.

“There must have been a mistake,” the woman at the reception stammers, scrolling through the files on her computer.

“How can you double book a room?” Minho asks her, rather rhetorically but otherwise he would snap and causing a scene is the last thing he would want right now.

“I’m deeply sorry, sir, of course you won’t have to pay for either of the rooms and our company will send you a voucher.”

Your boss soon realises there’s no use in discussing, after all you need a room for tonight and you need it right now, as he’s too tired to look for another hotel, even though you’ve offered to do so, “Alright. Just give me the keys.”

The woman does as she’s told, trying to keep a friendly face. Minho almost snatches the electronic card out of her hand and storms to the elevator, not even bothering that he’s carrying his own luggage now, completely ignoring the porter.

He’s furious. You’ve never seen him this angry, blood boiling in his head, jaw clenched together. Why on earth is he behaving like this just because of a stupid mistake?

“I will sleep on the floor,” you offer, hoping it will ease his mind. The room is spacious enough, a few blankets on top of one another will do, you’re sure.

“The fuck you will do, you’re sleeping on the bed and I’ll just see where I’ll stay,” he hisses.

After working for Minho for a few months now you’ve learnt that he’s not necessarily the friendly type of person. He expects a lot from you, he takes you for granted and he’s in general very cold when it comes to interacting with people.

But not even once in those four months has he cursed in front of you before or more specifically, at you.

By now, the atmosphere is so tense, you could cut it with a knife. Neither of you has said something, even though it’s your turn to speak. You try to breathe out a word, but no syllables make it past your lips. So you decide to simply nod.

Minho pays little attention to you anyway, busy with tossing his luggage around, before he disappears behind the bathroom door. The thin walls allow the sound of splashing water to echo to you.

“I need a drink,” Minho announces once he’s finished with getting his face clean, getting closer to you again. His suit jacket lands on one of the coat hangers, while he’s busy with getting his shirt off, hastily opening each button one by one.

Well – you would complain about him being unprofessional, undressing himself in front of his secretary, especially since Minho always honours these norms, talking about his high morals whenever he has a chance.

But pushing him further into anger is the last thing you want to accomplish now; when you meet his eyes through the mirror, you stand by that decision.

And it takes every tiny piece of sanity inside of you, not to let your gaze snap down to his toned chest and stomach, now on full display. It’s not a new built desire, if you’re honest. You’re not blind – Minho would be the most attractive man you’ve ever crossed paths with, if he wasn’t so strict and cold.

“What are you waiting for?” He helps you out of your daydream, “Change into something more fitting for the occasion, so we can leave for a bar.”

Oh. That is a plot twist you haven’t quite put into your calculations.

By now, his upper body is covered again, a tight black shirt clinging onto his skin, a suit jacket thrown on top of it.

“O-Okay, I’ll be quick,” you promise, grabbing some clothes from your bag before you disappear in the bathroom.

♡

Patchouli scent lingers in the air, once you enter the bar – a bit unusual, now that you think about it. But once you take a few more steps into the gloomy area, you realise Minho hasn’t brought you to some random place. The cushion on the chairs and couches drenched in a variety of the darkest shades of red wine adds to the atmosphere and your plan of getting absolutely drunk, the second day in a row.

You’re dragged along by none other than your boss leading the way, deciding to sit down on two of the cozy chairs located next to a window. To your surprise, he helps you sit down, playing all gentlemen and you know it’s pretence – Minho has brought you to the utmost poshest venue he could find in London so it’s probably inevitable to behave like this.

“One martini for the lady and a whiskey for me,” your boss calls for the bartender, who immediately remembers your order without a need to write it down. Dressed in an elegant black suit, the man exits your space again, leaving you alone with Minho.

If you thought the atmosphere back in the hotel room was unbearable – welcome to the end level of discomfort. “So, Ms Y/L/N,” Minho begins, “if there’s a bunny clan and a cat clan – which one would you join?”

What on earth? What is going on inside his head?

“Excuse me?” You decide is the only plausible reaction for such a bizarre question.

“It’s about intuition, simply answer it,” your boss orders again. But you decide to reply, hoping this isn’t part of his decision making to keep you at his company.

“I-I don’t know. Bunny? I like both animals,” is the first thing you come up with. What’s this about? You’ve always assessed Minho to be a weird guy, struggling with social interaction – after all he doesn’t talk much, prefers writing down his thoughts for future books.

But still, this answer isn’t enough, “Yeah, me too. But this wasn’t the question.” One of his eyebrows is raised, indicating he’s still unsatisfied with your part in this conversation. You’re honoured a few additional minutes, when the drinks arrive.

“Okay. Bunny. Yeah. I still choose bunny,” you make your final decision.

“Not surprising at all,” Minho chuckles to himself, while taking a sip from his whiskey.

“Why is that?” You’re the one to raise an eyebrow now in confusion, not really understanding where he’s getting the idea from a rabbit would fit you more.

“It describes your personality quite perfectly, symbolising sensitivity for instance,” he explains, placing the beverage back on the table.

“You think I’m sensitive?” You ask before grabbing your own drink, letting the liquid run down your throat until you realise Gin Tonic would have been a better choice, but there was no decision given in the first place.

“Hell, yes. You’re the most sensitive person I know.” He doesn’t even sugar coat it, even letting out a laugh. “It’s easy talking when you’re literally a block of ice,” you sneer back at him.

Minho shoots a strict glare in your direction, eyes squeezing tight. “Cats. I’m choosing cats.”

“Not surprising either,” you let out, crossing your arms in front of your chest, allowing your cleavage to leave even less to his imagination – as if it didn’t already take the man across from you enough moral stability to stay sane by the look of your outfit, a tight black dress combined with dark stockings and morello red tinted lipstick.

“W-Why is that?” He manages to ask.

“An introvert that leaves places whenever they feel like it,” you describe the personality of both a cat and your boss.

“You know, cats are a good lesson to teach social interactions and consent,” he counters, taking another sip from his drink but deciding midway to just down the whole glass. “I can’t contradict that. You know, what I’ve said wasn’t meant in a bad way,” you reassure him.

“Oh. Yeah, as if. Keep convincing yourself.”

Another drink later, another few topics all escalating in both your voices increasing in volume resulting in the other guests shooting suspicious glares in your directions later, you find yourself in yet another argument with your boss but this time it’s different.

You’ve passed the trivial topics and themes a long time ago and it feels as if Minho finally gets a bit more comfortable speaking about personal issues, even though it’s not to your advantage.

“You know there’s two reasons why you annoy me so much at work,” he says blatantly out of the blue, currently three whiskeys deep into the conversation, trying to keep up with your immaculate speed of drinking.

“What’s number one?” You ask him, keeping your eyes fixated on his own – filled with fury and a small sprinkle of irritation.

“I am a bit scared of what you’re capable of, I must admit. Your skills, your ideas, your creativity – it’s crucial for a businessman like me,” he finally confesses the thoughts he’s suppressed for so long.

“A businessman like you? I thought you’re a virtuous author,” you bicker, bringing the glass – of now Gin Tonic, you’ve convinced him to order that half an hour ago – to your mouth that’s decorated with a smirk.

“I’m afraid I used to be. I’ve lost that youthful optimism somewhere on the way– and, Y/N, we’re more similar than you think. I’m afraid you’ll end up the same way.”

“Selling my soul to the devil?” You blurt out.

“Do you think that’s what it takes?” An eyebrow raised again, Minho inspects your face in search of any hidden sarcasm. “To be honest, no. This would mean I’d have to sell my soul to you, which I already did when applying for this job.”

Yeah, the alcohol definitely helps you loosen up around him again and for now it guarantees you the effect it always has – not worrying about the consequences of your words and actions.

“Is this how you perceive me?” Minho questions further, placing his chin in the palm of one of his hands, slightly tilting his head.

“Well, yes, when we’re speaking of Lee Minho, the author. I’m not quite sure about Lee Minho, the private person,” you try to save yourself out of your self made mess.

“You think I’m a heartless monster, don’t you?” With his mouth slightly agape you witness his tongue touching his upper teeth and, you can’t tell why, this significant view of him makes your heart race faster, shooting an exciting sensation straight down to your core.

“I wouldn’t go that far, sir, maybe you’ll just need to come out of your shell for once and realise not everyone wants bad things,” you stammer, not quite sure if it’s working.

On the other hand Minho feels awful – not only about the fact you don’t enjoy his presence but also about the way his head starts spinning and the most sinful thoughts enter it whenever you call him by this specific form of address. Of course, in a work space you’re supposed to but for now there’s no need.

“And number two?” You dig deeper, downing the rest of your drink, now at a tipsy state. It was predictable your body would tolerate a higher level of alcohol tonight, considering you’ve already practiced yesterday.

“Excuse me?”

Minho is caught off guard, completely absorbed in his daydreaming, whenever his vision slowly glides down towards your chest and the curves that aren’t hiding behind or under the table.

“What’s the second reason you find me so annoying?”

But Minho can’t just make this confession yet. Not here, not now. He’ll need a quieter place for that.

“Let’s discuss this in the hotel room.”

♡

“Minho, spill it already, what’s the second thing that’s making me so annoying, hm?” You whine, making your way out of the elevator, as Minho is already hastily stomping in front of you, fiddling with the key cards in his hands.

“It’s ‘sir’ for you still,” he announces, once he’s managed that task, entering the spacious room. He kicks his shoes off and goes straight for the bathroom, closing the door shut.

You toddle behind him, carefully taking your high heels off, before you get closer to the room he’s currently occupying, “Sir, please, tell me…”

In an instant, the door swings open again, revealing a furious Minho, hair disheveled, as he throws his suit jacket onto the sofa. Correction to earlier – this is probably the most angriest state you’ve ever experienced him to be in.

“You want me to tell you, huh?” He provokes you, as he takes slow steps towards you, brushing his fingers through his strands. You visibly gulp, unsure how to react but your body is taking over that task by illustrating your nervousness all over your face.

His breath almost lingers on your face by now, hot and heavy, finding your skin and lightening it up, “You want me to tell you how annoying it is that your ideas are better than mine? That my secretary would be more successful, if she was given the chance?”

“That was the first reason you’ve mentioned, Min– sir.”

The man in question approaches you even further, taking his time with it, until your back crashes into the cold wall behind you. “Yeah, you’re right, there’s another problem, that’s making all the time spent together with you so annoying.”

Faster than you’re able to realise, your face is caught between his fingers, your cheeks being squished together embarrassingly in the process. A few seconds later, he lets go again, but instead places his hand right next to you, caging you between his whole body and the tapestry behind you.

“Wanna know the second annoying thing about you?” He teases again, even though you both know by now how this story will end. His other hand starts caressing your curves, following your eyes trailing down your body until they stop at your hips, so he’s able to pull you closer to him.

“Hmm, please tell me,” you manage to let out and it’s a whisper so quiet, he barely notices it.

“Why do you think I’ve always made you work so hard?” He asks now, all of a sudden, you think. At least you can’t see a connection to your assumed annoyance – but you’re not of sound mind anymore, making it hard to judge.

Instead, your eyes keep flickering from the smirk decorating his lips to his dark eyes filled with lust. The desire of his hands roaming all over your skin, pleasuring every cell in your body with his touches grows with each second.

“Why is that?”

Minho chuckles, leaning a bit forward, so his lips are at the same height as your ears, making it easier to speak or rather murmur, “I’ve needed to keep you busy, darling, so I don’t jump at you and bend you over the next surface in my office.”

“Is that so?”

His mouth wanders down your jawline now, leaving soft kisses on your skin which soon turn into pleasurable bites, an attempt to mark you as his – one of his preferences you will learn to adore.

“Hm, it is,” he continues, disconnecting his lips from your neck, “and you know what’s the worst part? I’ve hired you because of your skills. All of this came as an additional package, making everything harder.”

Quite literally.

His hands are finding their way to your hips again and when your eyes meet his you get aware that he’s searching for something, looking for something in yours – until it hits you. He’s waiting for your sign to keep going, your permission for him to saunter into your deepest desires.

And by now, every molecule in your body screams for him, so you don’t let him wait any longer, “You know, we’re not in your office. Technically, I won’t disturb you from work here.”

“Y/N, you have to be a bit more specific. What do you want?”

You take a deep breath, placing your arms on his shoulders, as you start playing with the hair on the back of his head, “I want you to ruin me, sir.”

The mixture of whiskey and gin isn’t as bad as you’ve imagined and even if it was – nothing can drown out the taste of his lips attached on yours. The grip on your hip tightens, as he starts exploring your mouth with his tongue, dancing together with yours in an attempt to fight for dominance.

In the meantime, his hands are already busy finding their way towards the hem of your skirt and once they brush the fabric, you let out a quiet whine, moaning directly against his lips. The created vibrations send strings of pleasure through Minho’s body, making him long for more.

“You look absolutely astonishing in this dress, but I need it off– now.”

His wish is your command, still, you take your time pulling the black satin over your head, leaving you standing there in your stockings and underwear – the morello tinted lipstick scattered all over Minho’s lips and neck.

“So beautiful,” he hums against your skin, as his lips work their way down towards your breasts, cupping one of them through the lingerie. You instantly understand the order, getting rid of your bra as well, giving him better access. His tongue switches places with his fingers, circling one of the sensitive buds now.

And as if this wasn’t overwhelming enough, his other hand travels upwards between your legs, slightly grazing over the drenched covers. When Minho disconnects his mouth from your body, you let out a small moan.

“Doll, you’re always so good at taking orders at work – why don’t we find out if you can be a good girl when it really matters, hm?”

Your head is spinning, pure dizziness filling your brain, making you lose your last tiny piece of sanity, when his fingers push the soaked panties aside. Your eyes roll back caused by the utmost feeling of sensuality he’s granting you, once a single digit slides into you, instantly making your walls quiver around it.

Another moan escapes your lips, but Minho deadens the sound by placing his mouth on yours – it feels suffocating in the best way possible, as if his rough kisses are the oxygen your lungs crave. A squelching sound echoes through the room, when he adds another finger, gliding in and out of you.

“Such a good girl, just like I’ve expected,” he says, once his lips leave your own, as his gaze is now fixated on your hypnotised visage. But the most embarrassing part of it all is the fact you can already feel the rope inside your lower stomach tighten, on the verge of snapping and in the heat of the moment you say, “Could have happened so much sooner, if you’d just been a bit more honest about what you want, Minho.”

Wrong option, Y/N.

He immediately pulls his fingers out of you, licking them clean with his tongue and a loud ‘plop’ following. “First of all,” he begins, caging you between his body, his arm and the wall behind you again, “you’re not in the position to judge here, okay?” You hastily nod, all over again charmed by his eyes darting into your own.

“Second of all, it’s still ‘sir’ for you, you get that?” He announces further, leaning so close, that he’s able to squish your cheeks with his fingers again. “Y-Yes, sir,” you reply, deeply mesmerised by his actions.

In the blink of an eye, he doesn’t only let go of your face but also makes his way towards the bed until he falls down on the soft cushion. When your eyes flicker down to his trousers, you get aware of how hard being in a room with you actually is for him. Even though the black fabric seems to hide most of it, you can still witness the bulge pressing against the clothing.

You're still standing there, freezed, when two of his fingers order you exactly what he’s pictured so many times. Making your way towards him, he stops you with a gesture, “On your knees, angel.”

Not needing to be told twice, you drop to the floor, crawling on the carpet, stockings brushing over the scratchy material, probably destroying the thin material but that’s the last thing on your mind, when you look like this, following his orders all obediently.

It’s pathetic, it absolutely is and he agrees, you can tell by the smirk decorating his face, making you feel even more embarrassed. “Go on, come here.” Being on eye level with his clothed crotch now, you look up at him with big eyes, unsure if he will guide you through it.

“You’re a good girl, aren’t you, Y/N?” You eagerly nod, keeping your gaze fixated on him – this way, your vision doesn’t catch Minho freeing himself from his trousers and underwear but once your eyes shoot down again, you observe his cock for the first time – a bit above average length and the head glistening with precum, indicating you he’s wanted this all along as well.

So you live up to his desires of behaving like a good girl and start placing the sweetest kisses on his upper thighs – making a mental note to ask him for permission to ride them another time – all while your hand makes its way up towards his length, seizing around it, before you start pumping him a few times.

By now, your lips have traveled near where your fingers are currently busy and you decide to break the ice by licking a long stripe at his shaft. Minho lets out a way louder moan than you’ve ever expected him to do, indicating you’re doing everything right.

“Please– don’t be such a tease,” he whispers, gripping the hair at the back of your head, making your head snap up in the process. “You’re the one begging now, hm?” You counter, copying the smirk he’s had a few minutes ago.

“Shut up,” it overcomes him now. He’s had enough of it – not of your behaviour per se but of the tension that’s been between the both of you right from the first encounter.

“Sir, why don’t you make me?”

That’s all he needs for permission, guiding your head towards his length now, as you part your lips and welcome him in your mouth. He fills you so nicely, it makes your thoughts wonder for what he has in store next, your walls clenching around nothing by the idea of it.

Steady motions of bumping your head up and down make Minho let his own fall back, as your tongue lays flat against the shaft but switching its movements. You let out slurping sounds but they’re drowned out every time his cock enters you a bit deeper, triggering your gag reflex in the process.

You’re practically drooling all over him and Minho senses his upcoming high by the way his hand has troubles keeping your head in place – if he doesn’t stop you now, he’ll end up spurting his seeds down your throat and even though he adores the idea of it, he’s a gentleman after all who wants to make you cum first.

So, against all his urges, he pulls your head away, leaving your mouth empty, as you stare at him with confusion all over your face.

“Good girls deserve a reward, don’t they?” Your expression instantly changes, filled with excitement, when he orders you to lie down on the bed, stomach facing the mattress. When you turn around to get rid of your stockings, a naked Minho stops you, “No, leave them on.”

“Okay, sir,” you say, whilst getting back to your previous position. The weight of the bed shifts, once Minho settles himself behind you, aligning his cock with your soaked cunt, ready to be used by him.

“You sure about this?” He wants to know, holding your hips close to him, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. “I’ve never been this sure in my life.”

And so it starts, he enters you in an instant, just to pull out again. Then, another time, his cock slides into you, filling you to the brim and once you’ve told him, you’ve adjusted to his size, he starts with a steady rhythm.

Your head meets the pillows once you decide to let him guide you through the movements. While one of his hands stays at your lower body, the other one finds its way up to your neck, keeping you in place, as he sharply pounds into you.

“Wanted to fuck this pussy for so long, god, so tight and warm…”

Face buried deep in the pillows, you still manage to let out a moan, similar in volume to those of Minho and the fact that he’s so vocal about this situation turns you on even more. The both of you know it’s just a matter of time, completely overwhelmed by the sensations ruling over your bodies.

And Minho senses it, not just from his own helplessness but by the way his thrusting movements receive responses in the form of your walls tightening around him. So, he decides to bring the hand that’s still located on your hip towards your stomach and down between your legs instead, finding your clit in an instant with two of his fingers.

The circling motions guide you towards your sweet relief, whines echo through the room, but Minho slows down all his movements when he feels you get a bit too close, knowing he’s in need of a final plea, “Beg for it, angel, I know you can do it.”

“Fuck– sir, please,” is the maximum of syllables you manage to pronounce.

“Not enough, doll, not enough,” he tells you again, encouraging you by slightly speeding up the pace again.

“Sir, please– let me be a good girl and cum all over you–“

So he masters his thrust, whispering a quiet ‘go on’, when he bends over so his lips align with your ears. It’s all you need as permission, before stars fill your vision and the tingling sensation spreads through every cell of your body, lighting up your veins, as your head starts spinning.

Minho helps you ride out his high, getting closer to his climax as well and now it’s your turn to praise him, “So good, sir, please– fill me up, mark me as yours.”

Normally, an evil smirk would have decorated his face now, but he's far too gone, however managing to speak, “Take it, you’ve asked for it, so fucking take it all, doll.”

And so his own high follows. Your walls clench around him, milking him empty, until the last drop of his white juices stick to them. The both of you need some time to catch your breath and when Minho pulls out of you, the mixture of your liquids run down your inner thighs. Still, he’s fast to push them back in with his fingers, shortly overstimulating your sensitive body.

It all happens so fast, but once he’s cleaned you and made sure you’re okay, Minho sinks down next to you on the bed, pulling you closer to him.

“I have to admit,” he begins, “you were right, we should have done this sooner.”

You smile at him, eyes getting heavy from exhaustion, “Well, you know where my office is, Mr Lee.”

Dont forget to vote on the form which member you want so see next in the “Stray Kids in European Cities” :)

🖇 TAGLIST: @heelover5 @chimmycupcake @avyskai @chrissybang @svintsandghosts @hwan-g @straywrds @abiaswreck @thisisnotstraight88 @jeyelleohe @skzho

Tags :

not even a minho stan but like 👀 maybe this fic may do it for me but also love the fact the name of the fic is taste we really do be simps for eight men for valid reasons tan i absolutely love this 🕷️: so well done and the confession? TOP TIEr fic recs

1K notes View Post