Pali Fav - Tumblr Posts

Minho as Eros just does something to me.

Thank you, Mica, for the beautiful writing as always

Love Said To Soul | lmh

❝𝐖𝐡𝐨 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮?❞

↳ When the God of Love is tasked with humiliating a beautiful mortal girl, he finds himself much vexed to discover her immune to his skills. Determined to discover the root of the problem, he takes to mortal form and embarks upon a dastardly ruse that requires his getting close to her. The God of Love thinks he knows all. The God of Love knows nothing.

↳ Lee Know x female reader

↳ Enemies to lovers romance trope. A retelling of the Greek myth Eros and Psyche. College au, angst and conflict, developing romance and yearning, quest and high stakes, Greek mythology and frequent reference to gods/goddesses etc, fantasy and myth meets modern day, mild drug use, smut throughout.

! Explicit content, adult themes, 20.1k, suitable for 18+ readers only !

「Final part of the skz tropes collab w @yoongihan」 「main contents list」 「© April 2024 by jl-micasea-fics」

“Thus, my dearest son, I charge you with this quest.”

Minho knelt reverently before his mother, head bowed low. Rarely did he question her whims or ways, for what the Goddess Aphrodite coveted, the Goddess Aphrodite claimed, and may the Fates help anyone who stood in her way, kin or otherwise.

Still; this all felt too bizarre.

“May I ask why, mother?”

Aphrodite smiled gently, her eyes—an infinite silvery galaxy of lovers’ souls—trained to him. As self-assured as he was, even Minho’s composure wavered under the gaze of the most apocalyptically beautiful of the twelve Olympians.

“It just seems like an awful lot of trouble to go to for a mortal girl,” he hastily added.

“You are correct, dear child. It is awful trouble. Trouble that I would not have you go to if it had not been ordained that this girl’s beauty will inspire a cult of worshippers that will revere her as the most beautiful creature to ever have lived. As more beautiful than even the Goddess of Love herself. They will make to her sacrifices and votive offerings and pray to her as though she is divine. I cannot have that, child. There is a natural order to things, and we must maintain it.”

Minho supposed that was answer enough.

“Relay to me again what you must do,” Aphrodite said.

“I am to go to her bedroom while she sleeps, and take with me a hog.”

“The hairiest and foulest you can find,” Aphrodite added.

“Yes, mother. I am to shoot her with one of my arrows and ensure that the first thing she sees when she awakes is the beast.”

Aphrodite smiled, her golden skin shimmering under the vast, heavenly sun. “She will fall in love with the monster, thus disgracing herself and ensuring that her Fate shall never come to pass. No mortal shall ever worship a pig-lover!” She laughed, melodic and triumphant.

Compassion in his very nature, Minho could not help but feel a sliver of sympathy for the girl that, for all intents and purposes, was innocent. She could no more control the beauty she was born with than her Fate— now it would be a sad and lonely one. She would be reviled by other mortals and mocked by the Gods, and spend her life in misery.

But an order was an order.

“Go now, my son,” Aphrodite commanded. “Take your bow and quiver, and make without delay to the girl.”

“Yes, mother.”

Minho stood, bowed, and from his divine palace retrieved his golden bow and quiver of enchanted arrows. Forged by Hephaestus and blessed by his mother, the arrows could pierce the heart of any mortal or deity with true, unbreakable love.

Such was his onus, his purpose, his charge as Eros.

--

Minho always enjoyed visiting the mortal world.

It was true that his reason for spending much of his time there pertained to the never-ending demands of love’s machinations, but even on the days when he sought to take a small break, he lounged in the warm waterfalls and on the snowy mountains and near the pellucid oceans, marvelling at the luscious spectacles of Mother Gaia— a different sort of ephemeral elegance to that of his heavenly home.

Mortals entertained him endlessly; such funny, flighty creatures. They warred and fucked and loved and killed and worked so hard for ultimately trivial reward. He often wondered what would have become of them, had Prometheus never gifted them fire. They certainly wouldn’t have built up centuries of civilisation and developed what Minho now overlooked from a wisp of cloud: the University of Oxford. So far as he understood it, this was a place where mortals gathered to learn— a little like the Mouseion, which he was admittedly less familiar with than he ought to have been. More importantly than any of that, however: this was where his charge resided.

Securing his bow and stepping off the cloud, he drifted down and over the sprawling campus on plush, white wings. The cool midnight air flowed through his onyx hair; starlight kissed his deep, rich complexion. A peaceful glide to the ground it would have been, had the ghastly pig strapped to his back not squealed for the duration.

Landing softly on the dewy lawn, Minho wriggled his naked toes on the grass and looked around. The building ahead, domed and Victorian in grand architecture, was signposted ‘Goodhart’. Being the dead of night, there was no sign of life from any of the single-paned windows; just as he had hoped. Invisible as he was to mortal eyes, the pig remained very much discernible. Nothing like a floating farm animal to incite panic.

With a short, sharp hop he glided gracefully up and away from the grass to the top floor, three stories up. Through each window he peered into dark rooms in which girls softly slumbered, until he came upon one that wasn’t: she was sat at her desk, illuminated by the amber glow of a tabletop lamp. Before her was spread textbooks and notepads, pencils and post-its, an open laptop and cold mug of coffee. Minho watched for several moments. She scrawled something to a cluttered page, tapped her laptop and scrolled. She dropped her pen and raised her arms, stretching out her spine and shoulders with satisfying cracks. She yawned and checked the time, then groaned: “Oh, god.” Her head fell to the desk with a heavy sigh.

Minho had counted on her being asleep. This was due to take much longer now that she wasn’t. Resigned to a wait of indeterminate length, he perched on the rooftop ledge above her window, pig tucked between his legs as he laid back and gazed up at the stars and constellations that decorated the now cloudless sky. There was Hercules, favourite son of Heracles, raised up to the heavens by the Cloud Gatherer himself in honour of his father’s legendary labours. There was Aries, the ram to whom the most coveted Golden Fleece once belonged. There was Andromeda, the wife of the great hero Perseus, who saved her from an unthinkable fate at the hands of the foul sea-dwelling monster Cetus. And in admiring these constellations and recounting the tales of ancient times gone by, Minho drifted into a contented sleep.

It was warmth on his skin that stirred him to the twitter of birds and chatter of mortals. Opening his eyes and rubbing them of their crust, he—for a moment—forgot entirely where he was. Indeed, it was the sore twinge to his skin that firstly informed him he was on Earth, and secondly, that he had Helios to thank for the sunburn. Immortality does not equal invulnerability. With a mean glare skywards, he clambered to his feet and stretched out his joints, possessively checking his bow, relieved to find it still where it should be.

It was at that moment that a wailing screech pierced the air, most alarmingly offensive to Minho’s sensitive ears. More commotion stirred and drew him closer; he crossed the ivy-laced rooftop of Goodhart House with nimble proficiency, peering down at the lawn where it seemed a dozen or more students had gathered.

“What do we do?!” He heard a girl cry out.

“Kill it!”

“We can’t kill it, idiot. It’s huge.”

“W— Well, just, get rid of it!”

“How do you suggest we do that?”

“Call security! Call someone!”

Intrigued, Minho hopped from the rooftop and fluttered to a nearby oak on whose thick branch he gently perched. From the gathering of girls, a familiar squeal and snort erupted: Minho froze. With a stroke of bewilderment, he looked down between his legs, then back to the lawn.

Shit.

The girls screamed and parted from their tight cluster as a splotchy, hairy hog barrelled towards them, slavering drool that splashed them as it passed. Over the lawn it charged and across the campus to yet more cries of distant fear and panic, until it disappeared entirely from view. Aflutter with confusion and fright, the girls drew back together, as though expecting yet more horrid creatures to spring from the ground. Luckily for them, Minho was fresh out. In fact, he was just considering where he might obtain a second beast when from the Goodhart building lobby, a girl strolled out. Confidence in her stride and an easy smile on her face, she was rushed by the gaggle of girls, every one of them relaying to her with varying degrees of dramatics what had just occurred. Minho watched intently; she laughed and hugged them, offered assurances and validation. By no small feat she managed to calm them, after which she took her leave, jogging across the lawn and towards the path with books bundled in her arms. Minho followed, from treetop to rooftop across campus until she entered where he could not, disappearing from his sight into a grand school building.

His mother had been right, he thought. She was beautiful; that was, for a mortal girl. After all, Minho had indulged with deities and nymphs the beauty (and flexibility) of which mortals could not utter into words, and so yes; she was beautiful, for a mortal girl. Rather astoundingly beautiful, for a mortal girl. But that was neither here nor there. He had a quest to complete, and was now distinctly lacking the beast required to complete it. He would just have to find another and bring it back. If not a hog, then something equally as detestable.

Something that would appease mother.

--

In the small and dark hours, Minho returned once more to Goodhart.

Pleased this time to see that the girl was slumbering soundly, he braced himself on the sill of the window and pushed it carefully. It gave with no resistance, as did all things he impressed upon. He climbed through it and into the girl’s room, and found himself immediately taken with what he caught wind of: the sweet and tantalising scent of honey— a substance that had something of a catnip-like appeal to Gods and deities in all forms. Minho paused, his mouth watering. The room itself was of no remarkable make: he had visited the habitats of mortal girls before, their comforts and wants manifesting in soft things, light things, warm things, pink things.

In his hand the creature he plotted with stirred and unsettled; he opened his palm and hushed the spindly tarantula softly. Besotted, it twitched its mandibles and allowed Minho to place it at the foot of the bedspread, where it waited. With a grace of movement unique to the Goddess of Love’s offspring, Minho drew his bow from his back and prepared an arrow, aiming at the sleeping girl. This was usually his favourite part; the anticipation, the thrill, watching how his efforts panned out in those few and rare seconds after his arrow struck and the love searched for a home. Perhaps that was why his heart hung heavily as he took a deep breath and loosed the arrow; in this, there was to be no thrill. He acted solely in service to his mother, and while other deities would surely press that that was ample reward in itself, something inside him ached.

Ever sure in its path, the arrow struck the girl in her breast, setting upon her a heat that woke her immediately. She gasped and made a sound akin to a moan: Minho stiffened, struck by it. She rubbed her eyes and sat up, her sleep-warm skin and bed hair appealing to him in ways he had erstwhile made fun of mortals for admiring. Groggy but seemingly able to perceive enough, she blinked at the end of her bed; at the patient tarantula that sat there. She shook her head, rubbed her eyes again, grimaced and took another look. The tarantula shimmied its eight legs. Certain that his mission had been a success, Minho could bear to watch no longer; he moved to the open window, braced himself upon the sill.

“How on earth did you get in here?”

He turned back. The girl rose carefully from bed and retrieved the glass of water from her bedside, rushing to the window where he stood. A mere inch from him and yet completely unaware, she tossed the water over the sill, the streaming moonlight briefly bathing her face. Minho swallowed and watched as she grabbed a slip of paper from her desk. With care and precise technique, she slipped the paper under the spider, poised the glass atop it, and trapped it.

“You don’t belong here,” she said softly, moving back to the window; back to Minho. “Here, little one. Go home safely now.”

Stretching across him, she leaned out to a gathering of strong ivy that crawled across the close facia. She released the creature onto it, smiling as it clicked its mandibles and scuttled away.

Several things crossed Minho’s mind as he held his breath and waited for the girl to move away. The first was that something, somewhere, had clearly gone awfully wrong. What just happened was not the work of a woman obsessively in love with a horrible spider, but rather that of a pitying Samaritan. The next thing he considered was perhaps more confounding than his failure: he had broken into a clammy sweat, his heart pounded, his vision swum with her nearness. The God of love loves all, loves unconditionally, loves fairly. He does not fall in love.

Thirdly and finally, he thought the worst of all.

He had failed his mother.

Aphrodite was not to be failed.

--

“What is it that you mean to tell me, exactly?”

Aphrodite sat poised on her regal throne of curved ram’s horns and silk, her infinite beauty radiating beneath her golden skin and through her calm, silvery eyes. Her hair, braided intricately and woven with wildflowers, seemed to throb and glow with the very essence of life and love. Minho knelt before her and summoned his courage.

“I mean to say, mother, that I failed.”

Aphrodite brought her palm to her chin. “I do not understand, dear child.”

“I failed to curse her, mother. It just... It didn’t work.”

“So you said. Therein lies my perplexment. You said your arrow struck her?”

“Yes, mother.”

“And yet she remained unaffected?”

“Yes, mother. She didn’t fall in love at all.”

“You must have missed.”

Minho looked up, about to voice his protest when Aphrodite spoke again, “The arrows of Eros cannot be defied. Whomsoever is struck by them must fall in love with the first creature they then see. That is, and always will be, the way of things.”

“But, mother—”

“You must go back down to Earth. Back to the girl. Make sure your aim is true this time.”

“Mother, it wasn’t my aim that was off, it was something else—”

“Are you suggesting there is a defect in Hephaestus’s weapon?” she asked. “Should we visit your uncle together and put this to him?”

Minho swallowed. “No, mother.”

Aphrodite smiled. “Very well then. It is decided. You shall go back to Earth and do a thorough job of things.”

Minho stood from his kneel, anxiety turning over in him. Whatever help he had sought to gain from his mother clearly wasn’t his to take, and so he would have to figure this one out on his own.

“And, darling?”

“Yes, mother?”

“Do not come back until the deed is done.”

Minho nodded dutifully, his heart sunk low.

“Yes, mother.”

--

Now, things were personal.

Not only had the mortal girl somehow resisted his arrows, embarrassed him in front of his mother—a woman whose opinion mattered to him above anyone—but she had also earned him effective banishment. There was no doubt in his mind that his mother’s warning was to be interpreted literally: he would not be allowed to return to heaven or his palace until his task was complete, and so what had begun as a run-of-the-mill task was now a quest of redemption. Minho simply despised working harder than he had to.

So, yes. This was personal.

The more he thought on it, the more he supposed his mother to be right. He must have missed. Yes, it looked an awful lot like he struck her clean in the breast— before this he’d have sworn his immortality on it. And yes, he had never been known to miss a shot, ever. And yes; she reacted as he had witnessed every other mortal react in the afterglow of the landing shot. But still. He must have missed. There could be no other explanation.

Resigned to a third attempt, Minho returned at night to Goodhart. This time, he would watch a while longer. He most definitely wouldn’t take to the (rather comfortable) rooftop and admire the constellations; this was serious business, and he ought to treat it as such. Gliding up to her window and perching on the exterior sill, he was surprised to see the room empty. It was late: late enough for most mortals to be going about their quaint evening routines, such as they were. The desk lamp was switched on and a gathering of clothes was strewn about the unkempt bed alongside an open, transparent toiletry bag. A closed laptop balanced atop the bedside table, where also rested stacked books of romance fiction. White, fluffy slippers peeked out from beneath the bed’s skirt, the small wardrobe door had been left ajar. It was curiosity that drove him to crack open the window, and from inside he once again caught the delectable scent that had so tempted him the night before: honey. It warmed him and made his mouth water, the sweet notes inspiring a rumble in his gut that he mentally hushed—as though it could be heard—when the door opened and the girl walked in. Robed in merely a thin towel, her hair wet about her shoulders, he held his breath and gawked. Something about her—something he couldn’t explain but most desperately wished to—was inexplicably appealing. On her entrance the smell of sweet nectar strengthened, and Minho widened the gap in the window to steal a stronger whiff. She shivered and wrapped her arms about herself, glancing to the window that, to her mind, was swinging loosely.

“Thought I’d closed you,” she mumbled, crossing the room and leaning again into Minho’s space. His heart thumped as she reached out to close it: confoundingly annoying, but what good was it to deny?

And then, something quite unfathomable happened.

She froze mid-reach, and stared at Minho.

--

You had never been the type to much believe in fairy tales, myth or folklore.

Being a student of the arts, you were aware enough that such tales were always a product of their time and culture, born to serve one purpose or another. Urban legends to keep folk from the woods at night, fables to sow the seeds of conformity, myths to elevate men to the status of Gods, for hubris and ambition does much to produce good literature.

So does insanity, for its part, and that was precisely what you felt to be stewing in as you looked upon the barely corporeal form of a creature—a man? —perched daintily on your windowsill. He was naked save for a thin white skirt that seemed not to touch him, but float about him. A broad and firm chest tapered to a svelte waist and thick, muscled thighs. Hair of impossible black framed features that you could not entirely comprehend for their beauty, and as though to that end, his face remained a blur save for the shimmering silver of eyes that stared back. A pair of feathery, white wings closed around and under him, and this, you promptly decided, could not be real. If you were to touch him, he would disappear. And so you reached out, hand trembling and warming the nearer you got, as though pushing your arm into a pocket of hot steam. The angel(?) watched, statuesque, and as the very tips of your fingers grazed the smooth upper chest that you were sure you would simply pass through, a pop erupted, as though piercing a vacuum. An extraordinary bout of colour bloomed and spread across his skin, the opaque veil giving way to an iridescent, dazzling gold that shimmered and sparked under the moonlight, yet where your fingers had touched was a deep, purple blotch— a scar on perfection. His features cleared and you saw him with perfect clarity: sharp yet feminine, strikingly gorgeous with plush lips and strong brow. Like nothing you’d ever seen; nothing that ever should be seen. Despite your wants you cried out in shock, recoiled, and slammed the window shut. The angel flitted from the sill, great wings beating gracefully as it hovered for but a moment, spun around, and darted away into the night.

Sleep did not come that night.

Nor did the angel, ever again.

--

She saw him.

She tried to touch him.

Never in all his centuries had Minho experienced such a thing, and were he not on such frosty terms with his mother, he would have turned to her for advice, for he found himself utterly confounded.

A mortal girl saw him.

Had a part of him somehow broken? Was she not mortal after all? Had there been some cosmic imbalance that simply happened to allow for the veil between worlds to thin with comically inopportune timing? Minho had no answers, and knew his frantic worrying would produce none. Thus, he resolved to a plan. The way he saw it, all attempts made so far had depended on his stealth and gentile as Eros, God of Love. Therefore, perhaps a different approach was called for; an approach that would put him in direct contact with the girl that he might work her out— he would have to if he hoped to curse her and appease his mother. Working in the shadows had earned him nothing but a headache.

It was time to step into the light.

--

The Oxford university cafeteria was not a place one went to eat their lunch.

No; the cafeteria was a grand old affair more fitting the pages of Hogwarts, and was treated as such. A hub of activity for passing students that would meet between lectures or seminars to spread the campus gossip like Burberry-clad town criers. It amused you to play a small part in it; you would listen when the girls from your house clucked and fussed over the slightest thing that, if nothing else, distracted from the general stresses of undergraduate life. Ever aware of the way you carried yourself—mother had made sure to drill that one down since birth—you received all news with a complacent smile, unaffected.

Such was the plan today— to pass through on your way to your next class, touch base with the latest triviality, and carry on your day. Yet as you stepped into the high-ceilinged cafeteria and looked around, something struck you as distinctly different.

The whole place was abuzz, humming with chatter and the excited exclamations. Students gathered tightly around the benches and tables, those newly arrived being swarmed upon by peers that sought to be the first to tell them the great news: news you would soon come into possession of.

“Hey!” Your good friend and classmate, Gina, called to you. “Over here!”

You rushed to her, backpack tight to your shoulder. “What on earth’s going on?” you asked. “Half the student body must be here.”

“Girl, you haven’t heard?”

“Haven’t heard what?”

“Oh my God—” She turned to the girl behind her, tapped her shoulder. “She hasn’t heard yet!”

The girl gasped. “You haven’t?! Everyone’s talking about it!”

“Talking about what?”

“I can’t believe you haven’t—”

“Gina.” You pinned her with a stern glare. “Tell me what’s going on.”

Gina drew closer, her voice no lower despite the closed distance as she said, “There’s a new student.”

“A... What? Is that it?”

“He’s not just any student,” she added.

“I heard his biological mother owns Gucci,” a nearby girl added.

“I heard he’s a self-made billionaire,” said another.

“You’re both wrong. He’s the Dean’s son,” Gina tutted.

You held a hand up, head spinning. “Wait. Time out. All this fuss is over a new student?”

“Gucci heir.”

“Billionaire!”

“Dean’s son—”

You rolled your eyes at the objecting chorus. “Whatever. He’s still just a student.”

Gina shook her head. “You clearly haven’t met him.”

“I don’t need to meet him.”

“Oh yeah?” Gina stared over your shoulder. “That’s too bad, because you’re about to.”

You followed her gaze, as did every other student present. The cafeteria burst into a fuss of noise, whispered elation and an air of giddy delight that infected even you with the way your heart pounded indiscriminately. Through a convenient gap in the crowd you looked across to the gently swinging double doors where a person had just entered: a man. A man that met your eyes as soon as yours did his, through tinted sunglasses that utterly failed to conceal the liquid mercury beneath. Under your skin bloomed a molten wanting unlike anything hitherto felt, and in the next breath, a dizzy spell of desire. Mid-length hair the colour of onyx and skin near unsettlingly flawless, it felt merciful to look away from him; to right yourself and steady your feet. Leather jacket tight about his broad shoulders, the man grinned and with no more than a single stride attracted to him the swarm of students that each sought to introduce themselves and make friendly, Gina included. At home amongst the chaos, the man took it all in and with apparent gratitude, unphased by the riot he incited. It took all possible strength to turn and briskly cross the cafeteria, the more distance put between you and them, the better.

Outside and with the summer sun offering a calming warmth of clarity to your head and shoulders, you diverted from the path to the lawn and stopped near a willow tree for breath. It had been all too much. All too reminiscent of your own experience as a naïve Fresher— how the ‘hottest girl on campus’ had been so violently hitched to her pedestal.

“Hello.”

With a shriek you whirled around: there he was. Sunglasses removed and sitting backwards on his head, silver pools of liquid metal pinned you from under strands of thick black.

“Wh— What?”

The man smiled; white, dazzling. “I said hello.”

“Hello?”

“Isn’t that what people say when they meet for the first time?”

You shook your head, scrambling for sense. The shadow of the leafy canopy above danced over the grass, disorienting. As though nature itself responded to his very presence as your peers did.

“But this...” You swallowed, summoned the nerve to look at him. “This isn’t the first time we’ve met.”

--

Minho’s ichor ran cold— a first for a man whose heavenly blood was perpetually warmed by divinity.

“We’ve never met,” he said flatly, as much to convince himself as her.

In truth, he thought she’d be purged of the memory of that murky evening by now, humans so fickle in their recollection. It had been over a week ago. She blinked, the dazzlement in her eyes such that it made Minho wonder if his mortal shell was sufficient in containing his glorious beauty.

“I know you,” she muttered. “I know your face.”

Minho’s heart throbbed.

“I thought it was a dream, but—”

Seeing an opportunity, he leapt at it. “Funny,” he smarmed. “People do like to tell me I’m the stuff of dreams.”

And just like that, she appeared to snap to herself. She grimaced and turned away, starting over the lawn.

“It’s rude to walk away from someone without even asking their name,” he said, keeping up with her.

“I already know your name.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes. It’s all anyone in the cafeteria was saying.”

He laughed. “You sound upset about that.”

“Not nearly as upset as I am about being followed.”

“You could always ask me why I’m following you.”

She stopped abruptly and huffed, “Why are you following me, Minho?”

Never had a mortal addressed him by human name— it felt somehow more intimate than the acts he’d indulged in a hundred times or more.

He cleared his throat, stood tall. “You’re the student superintendent for Goodhart, yes?”

She cast a wary eye over him. “I am.”

From his pocket, he retrieved a small, silver key with a wooden tag attached. The number on the tag read ‘307’.

“I’m moving in,” he beamed.

It was her turn to laugh; melodic and bright. Somehow cutting. “Goodhart is a girl’s only house,” she said.

“It was.”

“Excuse me?”

“It was a girl’s only house. Up until about six hours ago.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Cool. You don’t need to. I just need you to show me to my room. It’s this way, right?”

He started off over the lawn, hands in jacket pockets, thoroughly pleased with himself. With a little luck (and maybe an offering or two to his mother), things would continue to go according to plan. He’d have this mortal worked out and trussed up in love with a snake before teatime.

How pleased Aphrodite would be.

--

It was all so wrong.

How was it that a centuries-long tradition could be so readily abandoned for the sake of a rich boy that apparently possessed more connections than the London underground?

Walking briskly down the halls of Goodhart—halls that you had come to love for their quirky colourings and touch of lived-in neglect—you nursed the mortification that swirled about you. It didn’t help that every girl you passed looked on Minho with abject delight and warm welcomes; he was already at home in a place he had no business calling home.

You pointed down the third-floor hall from the top of the connecting staircase.

“Your room is down there,” you said. “On the left.”

Minho hummed. “Cool. Let’s go.”

“I have a lecture.”

You spun on your heel and started down the stairs, only for the man to jump into your path.

“Don’t you have to give me some kind of induction?” he pressed. “As the superintendent, it’s only right you tell me where the fire exits are.”

A hot whirl of irritation barely suppressed the urge to tell him where he could stick his fire exits: you forced a smile instead, and nodded.

“Right. Sure. This way, then.”

Heading down the third-floor hall with him in close pursuit, you began upon a cold realisation. Perhaps the onslaught of emotion had befuddled you enough that you completely missed what was easily the most horrifying thing of all this: room 307 was next to yours.

Minho was your neighbour.

You stopped outside 307’s door. “This is it.”

Minho grinned. “Excellent.”

He took the key from his pocket and unlocked it, stepping inside what was a typical space for university accommodation. A modestly sized room with nothing more than a desk and bed supplied. It fell to the students to make it theirs, so to speak. The white-framed window looked out to the summery lawn, just as yours did. He strolled inside, hands in his leather jacket pockets, peered out of the window and inspected the ceiling, the bed and then you. 

“Fire exits are at both ends of the hall,” you quickly said from the door. “And there’s an emergency escape connected to 301. Got it?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“There’s no curfew and, uh,” you cleared your throat. “No rules on who you can bring back and such. Just remember you’re not the only one who lives here.”

He scanned you coolly. “I’m well aware of that.”

“Good. Well, then.” With a curt nod, you went to leave.

“You’re 306, aren’t you?”

You stopped short, seized with disbelief. “What?”

“You live next door,” he repeated. “We’re neighbours.”

“H— How do you even know that?”

Minho shrugged. “Am I not supposed to know?”

Confounded, you were lost for words. He strolled leisurely around the bed.

“You’re popular on campus,” he said. “I hear people talking about you.”

“Really?” You scoffed. “I’m shocked you could hear anything beyond what everyone seems to be saying about you.”

“It’s funny,” he continued, ignorant of your remark.

“What is?”

“That they say so much about you without actually saying a thing.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Well,” he sighed, perching on the bare mattress. “They say you’re beautiful. Gorgeous, even. That you’ve got an ass to die for and a killer smile.” He raked his gaze over you. “You’re the hottest girl on campus.”

“They can say what they want, I really don’t care. I’m used to it.”

“Right. But it’s all so... vapid. Don’t you think? There’s no substance to it. Seems to me like not a single one of them actually know you. They just know you for what they see. They’re not interested in peering beneath the tight ass and lovely smile.”

You stared at a patch on the brown carpet.

“Is that their fault, or yours?” he asked.

“I’m done with this conversation,” you snapped, turning back to the door.

“I heard about the Fresher’s ball.”

You stopped and swallowed, heat warming your face. “The Fresher’s ball was a mistake.”

“Yeah. You would say that. Getting so drunk you made out with the entire rugby team?”

“That’s not true,” you snapped. “I got drunk, yes, and I know I made a fool of myself, but nothing like that happened. It’s just a nasty rumour.”

Minho shrugged. “Not for me to judge, darling.” He pursed his lips, then added, “Regardless, your peers seem to adore you. The way you look, anyway.”

“Are you done? I don’t know who the hell you think you are but my life is not a soap that you can just tune into for your own amusement. I don’t care what people say about me; I never have.” You turned away from him. “Leave me alone.”

And with an abrupt slam of his door, you left his room to rush to your own. In the solitude and quiet and after deep breaths taken to ease the dreaded panic that had begun to sink in, it was to your own irritation that tears pricked and streaked your cheeks. Nothing he had said was new; you were aware enough of the reason boys smiled at you and girls flocked to you, somehow hoping your acclaimed ‘beauty’ might rub off on them in however shallow a manner. Such had always been the way of things, ever since you were young. Overfamiliar uncles cooing at your pretty face, jealous aunts shunning you. High school friends lost to petty crushes that turned eyes on you, strangers that stared and whispered. You had hoped for a new start with the chapter of university, and for a while, things had been better. You’d been just another student of low profile, had kept to yourself, had protected your peace.

All until the damn Fresher’s ball.

One moment of weakness and indulgence in excess had ruined it: all eyes had a reason to turn to you as you revelled and danced with more suggestive intonation than you would ever have otherwise dared, and they hadn’t turned away since. Rumours abounded of your state and activity after the ball, ranging from those Minho had heard and of far more explicit affairs, none of them true. Unwilling to dig to the root of the whispers, you simply turned away from it, choosing above all else to carry yourself the way you had always done under lustful eyes: with quiet dignity.

Who was this man to throw all that in your face? To so brazenly trample on your boundaries? Whether Dean’s son or Gucci heir or self-made billionaire, it was clear he possessed an appalling level of entitlement, and was someone to be avoided. Just what he hoped to gain from such rash treatment of a stranger, you couldn’t be sure, but promptly decided it was not worth your energy to work out.

You would carry yourself the way you had always done.

--

The mystery of Minho’s identity prevailed for longer than you cared to acknowledge.

He hefted his wants around campus with reckless abandon, and by now it was certain that you were the only one mourning the all-female occupation of Goodhart House, for the other girls were nothing but pleased by the male addition.

Indeed, neither an eye was blinked nor a question asked as to his means of securing a place at Goodhart, much less Oxford on the whole. The man seemed to don the shroud of myth— every word passed around and about him painted a thrilling picture: he was everything the students wished him to be and more, for never once did he deny a rumour. An image forged in gossip is one susceptible to warping, and if Minho played into that, it was lost on the student body. Rather, he was welcomed with more abject favouritism than you had ever witnessed; you might have drowned in the second-hand embarrassment of your peers if not for the glowering contempt you stewed in upon for the fact that the detestable man was now your neighbour.

And yes, you were self-aware enough to admit a pull of attraction that you kept as close to your pride as your dignity. You’d rather be seen dead than join the gaggle of groupies that worshipped his every move and hung on his every word.

Thus far, you had done a stalwart job of avoiding him. A fortnight with no run-ins had confirmed that, inasmuch as you could tell, you had no classes together nor crossover seminars, no reason to interact. Yet through all this, the glimpses you would catch of his jet-black head and the trill of his laughter from next door provoked an unease: what was this familiarity you felt? Why were you the only one that seemed to notice how his eyes shimmered with the light of a cosmos?

Best to put it out of your mind, lest your mind put out of you.

On the Friday evening you nursed your well-loved copy of Wuthering Heights, contemplating between long paragraphs just what Heathcliff’s redeeming qualities were intended to be. While all for reading between the lines, it seemed to you that any virtue of character should not be so difficult to find.

Situated comfortably on the inner sill of your bedroom window and looking out, it was another fair night. The moon hung bright and clear over the distant woods and town of Oxford, the sky utterly clear of a cloud. Perhaps it had been a cloud that night, that you saw. A cloud in the form of an angel, sent to you by sleep deprivation and an overdose of caffeine.

A knock on your door drew your attention; supposing it would be one of the regular girls stopping by to regale you with their Friday night antics, you rushed over and threw it open.

How your heart seized in your chest.

Eyes of mercury assessed you from under damp raven strands.

“Good evening,” Minho said.

Too bewildered to much reply, he breathed a soft laugh at your dazzlement.

“May I come in?”

“What?”

“Can I come in?” he asked again, emphasising a glance into your room that reared a bout of self-consciousness.

“N— No. Go away.”

“I come with offerings,” he said, tapping the plastic Tupperware box tucked under his arm that had somehow gone unnoticed. “Fudge brownies. A little birdie told me they’re your favourite.”

You folded your arms defensively. “Did they now?”

Minho cocked a brow. “They were wrong?”

“N— No. I suppose not.”

He grinned, utterly disarming. “I feel like you and I got off on the wrong foot, so to speak,” he said gently. “I’d like to start again. Get to know each other. Clean slate. We’re neighbours, after all.”

“I don’t think—”

He held the Tupperware box up. “Please?”

You huffed an indignant sigh.

Might have to strangle a birdie or two.

--

Minho had no experience with human narcotics.

Indeed, the closest divine equivalent was the concoction of ambrosia, and that—if the Sky Father’s behaviour was anything to judge by—induced the sort of buzz that mortals gained from an excess of wine. There was no substance in heaven or on Earth that could so impact the Gods the way he had seen man-made narcotics impact humans; though he desired no such extremity tonight. He had simply taken the advice of those keen mortals that surrounded him, given when he had subtly enquired as to the real nature of his target: “She’s uptight, man. Super hot, but uptight. She needs to relax, smoke a little. It’ll help her unclench. Man, can you imagine her high? No, yeah, I know she doesn’t smoke, but like— She likes brownies, right? She always buys those little fudge ones from the cafeteria. I’d love to see her eat a moon cake. I bet she’d get totally wild, just like that one time at the ball.”

Thus, a plan emerged.

Stepping into her room was the first hurdle overcome: he had been fully braced for a door slam to the face. Instead, he found himself pleasantly surprised, and then somewhat concerned, for it was clear by now that that not even his mortal disguise could completely conceal his divine appeals from her. Where other mortals saw a dark and handsome man, she saw beyond it. The way she stared and how her heartbeat quickened told of it all. Worse still that he seemed to respond in kind— but no, he could not even entertain it. His visit carried a purpose, and that was to get to the bottom of what made her so special.

“Nice place,” he said as he looked briefly around, not to impress discomfort upon the girl.

“Thanks. It’s the same as every other in this building.”

Minho chuckled. She was possessed of a sense of humour, at least.

“You were reading?” he asked, idly flipping the cover of Wuthering Heights that sat on the bedside table. He hadn’t read it himself, but recalled the sister Muses’s boasts from the time of its inception: what promising devotees they claimed those Bronte’s would be.

“Yeah.”

“A touch on the heavy side for a Friday night, no?”

She shrugged, arms wrapped around herself. “I like it.”

“You read a lot?”

“I mean; yeah. English Lit student.”

“Ah. A romantic, then.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“All arts students are romantics, darling.”

He sat at the foot of the bed, Tupperware box in his lap, quietly pleased with how her heart sounded to have skipped a beat at the endearment.

“Join me?” he asked, tapping the space at his side.

She cleared her throat and swallowed, moving stiffly to the desk where she pulled out the chair. Minho watched in amusement, but did not contest. He snapped open the Tupperware box to the velvety rich scent of chocolate, humming in delight: a deity he might be, but just as susceptible to the serotonin of indulgent food. Neatly sliced brownies sat on paper towel, and he offered the box to her first. She eyed it warily.

“They’re just brownies,” he lied.

A purse of her lips and she contemplated something: whatever it was, it quickly passed.

“Thank you,” she sighed, dipping into the box and retrieving the topmost brownie.

“You’re welcome, darling.”

Minho helped himself to one, wishing almost that he could join the girl on the trip she was about to take. It’d be fun to witness, nonetheless. With inhibitions lowered and her true state of mind brought to the forefront, he’d surely discover what it was that blessed her so. What it would take to make her fall in love with the most horrible thing he could find. What he had to do to—

“Mhm.”

A small but sure groan of appreciation made Minho’s fine hairs stand on end: he paused his own consumption to watch her, her face aglow with warm delight. Chocolate on her lips begged to be illicitly removed; Minho swallowed, yearning thrumming under his skin.

“Is this why everyone on campus adores you?” she asked after a moment.

“W— What?”

“You bribe them,” she said, pointedly glancing to the Tupperware box.

Minho scoffed. “I don’t need to bribe people into liking me. It comes naturally.”

“Does your modesty come naturally too?”

“You know; you’re awfully abrasive with me. Did I do something to offend you?”

She shrugged, took another bite of brownie. “No. You’re not that powerful.”

He smirked. “Then what is it?”

“I suppose I just don’t understand.”

“Understand what?”

“You.” She licked her lips. “Nothing about you seems real. There are so many rumours about you and you don’t deny or correct a single one.”

He quirked a brow. “You think I should?”

“I think anyone that puts any value in their identity should, yes. I have a past. A home. I know where I came from and who I am. If I heard people saying otherwise, I'd want to put them right about it.”

She licked her fingers, one by one, the sweet and tempting chocolate coating her tongue. Minho crossed his legs.

“Tell me about them,” he said.

“Excuse me?”

“Tell me about your past. Your home. Where you came from and who you are.”

“We weren’t talking about me—”

“We are now.”

She blinked, swallowing the last bite of brownie and, once again, darted her tongue out over shiny lips. Minho followed the movement of it slowly, wondered how sweet she’d be to kiss, drew his attention back to her eyes where she, too, had been watching him. She cleared her throat abruptly.

“I, uh...” She shrugged a shoulder. “Well. I was born in a small village. There was nothing much to do growing up, so I read a lot. Too much, my mother used to say. She never really understood why I liked it, and I never really had the energy to explain.”

Minho nodded. “What did your parents do?”

“Mum was an artist. A sculptor, mostly, though she did paint too.”

“And your father?”

“I never knew him.”

“Never?”

She shook her head.

“Your mother didn’t tell you anything about him?” he pressed.

“Nothing I could have believed.”

“Such as?”

“It’s not even worth talking about—”

“Humour me.”

She hummed. “Well, she... I mean, you have to understand that Mum wasn’t a well woman. She had strange beliefs. Acted oddly. It got worse as she got older. Towards the end, not a thing she said made sense. She told me that...” She hesitated.

“Go on,” Minho encouraged.

“She said that my father was a god. As in; an actual god. He pursued her relentlessly, apparently. Sent her gifts and showered her with affection. Was obsessed with her. Eventually she caved and fell in love with him, then they made me, but he had to return to... wherever the hell he came from. I don’t know.”

Minho’s palms grew clammy; he set the Tupperware box on the bed. “I see.”

“I told you; she was completely delusional.” She stood and reached for another brownie, breaking a piece off and popping it into her mouth. “The story changed every time. Sometimes he came to her as a man, sometimes as a snake, or a stallion. For all her berating of my reading, she had a wicked imagination of her own.” She swallowed the brownie piece, broke off another. “I’m pretty sure he was just someone from the village. I really don’t care either way.”

Minho did not hear much of what was said after— he couldn’t over the rush of ichor that deafened him. It could not be true: it made no sense to be true.

“As for who I am,” she continued, oblivious. “I’m nothing special.”

“I very much contest that.”

She scoffed, breaking off yet more brownie and eating it. “You don’t know me even nearly well enough.”

“I’d like to,” he said.

She eyed him. “Why?”

“Why not? Can't we get to know each other?”

“Alright then,” she smacked her lips, set the brownie chunk aside and dusted her hands against each other. “Your turn. Dispel the illusion for me.”

Minho chuckled. What earlier cold dread had settled on him began to thaw.

“I could just feed you a pack of lies,” he said.

“You could.”

He held her gaze, the dim moonlight streaking her features.

“Swear that you won’t,” she muttered.

 Swear? To swear was to forge an oath; to forge an oath was divine. Under normal circumstances he would shy away from such a hefty obligation, but this...

“Alright.” He nodded. “I swear.”

With a slight smile, she asked, “Where’s home?”

“Far from here.”

“Where do you come from?”

“I was born in the mountains.”

“You swore you wouldn’t lie.”

“I’m not.”

She pursed her lips. “Okay... Who are you, Lee Minho?”

“I am the God of Love, sent to Earth by my mother Aphrodite to curse you for being too beautiful.”

She blinked, her shoulders drawn tight. A moment of tense silence passed, and in the next instant, she burst into laughter, doubling over herself on the chair. She cackled and guffawed until she cried, and Minho found himself not only enraptured with the sound of her joy, but elated at being the cause of it. If indeed, he truly was.

“It’s a zero for originality,” she whimpered on a laugh. “You can’t just steal my stories like that and twist them!”

Minho watched in amusement.

“Also— you promised no lies. That’s an even bigger zero.”

She picked up the last chunk of brownie she’d set aside, pushing it past her lips with a giggle that carried for long minutes as she chewed contentedly. She swallowed and sighed, brought her legs up to cross under her, swivelling gently in the desk chair.

“Imagine being the God of Love,” she mumbled. “Must be bloody awful.”

Minho hummed. “You think so?”

“Yeah. For sure. Imagine being surrounded by love all the time— every second of every minute of every day.” She shuddered dramatically. “Couldn’t be me.”

“But you are surrounded by love,” he said. “It takes many different forms, you know. Friends, family, faith.”

“Yeah. I guess.”

“Fornication.”

She coughed suddenly, looking anywhere but at him. Endearing warmth pooled under the simmering yearning that resided in Minho; how much longer he could keep it wrested, he wasn’t sure.

“I imagine being a God of Love to be great fun,” he said. “I imagine they might get into all sorts of mischief.”

“I don’t like mischief.”

“Everybody likes a bit of mischief.”

She shook her head. “Not me. I’d much rather—” She yawned. “I’d much rather live a quiet life.”

Minho hummed, watching as she wilted on her seat. She sat bolt upright on feeling herself sag, blinking rapidly.

“I don’t, uh...” She put a hand to her forehead. “I don’t think I feel very well.”

“What’s wrong, darling?”

“I...” She slipped her legs from under her, made an attempt to stand that ended futilely; Minho quickly rose and caught her weight. To restrain what burned in him; what the God of Love so easily took when the urges presented, was a goliath task.

“S— Sorry,” she mumbled, and tried to move from him, only to stagger once more.

“I’ve got you,” he said. “Want to lie down?”

“No. I just—” She gripped his arms tightly, let herself lean into his strong frame. The thin cotton of clothing under her hands seemed to fascinate her; she released the grip and, transfixed, began to stroke softly, her touch wandering from bicep to shoulder to chest. Minho hoped she could not feel the way his heart throbbed under her hand; she looked up at him, eyes glassy and rounded with adoration.

“You are... so pretty,” she mumbled, touching softly his cheek, his jaw. “So, so pretty.”

Heat flared under his skin, singing what sense he possessed.

“I thought you—” She grinned lazily. “I thought you were the angel. It came to me, you know. Right to my window. It was the prettiest thing I've ever seen. Then I saw you.”

He sucked in a sharp breath; much more praise and the swelling in his groin would not be so ignored.

She cupped his face with warm hands. “I don’t really like you. But I do like you. You make me—” She narrowed her eyes, blinked slowly. “You make me want to do things I’ve never even thought about before. Bad things.”

“Bad things?”

She nodded, then pressed a finger to his lips. “I’ll never admit that to you, though. Just so you know.”

The already abused thread of Minho’s self-control frayed and worried; he gently removed her hand, took her wrists in hold. To remove himself was the wise thing to do; she was not herself, and he was not so virtuous as to resist much longer.

 “It’ll be our secret, then,” he said.

“Mhm.”

“Why don’t you lie down for a bit, darling? You’re not feeling well.”

“I’m fine.”

“Of course. Just try it. For me.”

She shook her head, about to protest when in the next instant, a sallow and sickly look of panic came over her.

“I— I think I’m going to be—”

And with a short, retching heave, she threw up over Minho’s slippers, sweats and the rest of the brownies in the open Tupperware box.

There was hardly a shred of grace to be found in the rest of the evening, the responsibilities of caregiver taken on board. Minho cleaned both of them up, set the girl to bed with surprising lack of resistance on her part, and once sure that she was free of cramps and convulsions, retired himself to the roof of Goodhart.

Wired and utterly unable to sleep, he watched the constellations until he could think without the red mist of lust impeding him. In doing so, the cold realisation he had earlier felt on hearing her mother’s story returned to him. He would not have entertained it had the finer details not rung so true to a certain Olympian King and Cloud Gatherer’s famous behaviour. Indeed, it would certainly explain her invulnerability to his arrows and her uncanny intuition as to Minho’s nature: not much would escape a daughter of Zeus.

But then; if true, how had it gone unnoticed by Aphrodite? Surely she would know of the girl’s lineage. Surely all Olympians would know, for Zeus made no secret of his bastards and indeed, cultivated a long line of offspring from mortals, demi-gods, minor deities and nymphs all, much to Hera’s (equally as famous) wrath.

He would think on it, he decided. If nothing else, he was further along in working her out than he had been several hours ago, and with no thanks to the moon cakes. A stupid idea, to attempt to relax her through such unpredictable means in the hopes she might talk or reveal some mystery.

He would apologise tomorrow. Perhaps find her a gift.

All for the quest, of course.

--

You awoke feeling distinctly like a beaten piñata.

Your head throbbed steadily and a nausea lingered, rolling dangerously on your attempt to get up and out of bed. Trudging to the window, you threw it open and gulped in the fresh mid-morning air, warmed by summer’s sun and redolent of the nearby woods, earthen and faintly floral. A musk hung about your room; not one that was generally familiar to you, but it was reminiscent of the night before; of a sudden drowsy warmth and hands touching things they most definitely shouldn’t have. With a grimace and under the chill of mortification, you got dressed and tried to make presentable, quietly leaving your room and heading next door.

A deep breath preceded your soft knock: for a moment you thought it too soft to be heard, but it quickly opened to reveal a shower-fresh, modern-day Adonis— not even your sickly state could perturb the way you stared. A wet towel was slung over his sloped shoulders, the twisted ends hanging over curved pectorals. The rest of him was entirely naked, his skin still wet and catching the gentle light of the morning that shone in streaks through the half-drawn blinds. Dripping, dark strands framed rosy, handsome features. Veined biceps flexed as he held the door, and following the line of his body, you saw a wave of slight abs, svelte waistline, shapely hips, a fine dusting of hair that crept from his groin to his navel; a happy trail, so delightful as to make your mouth water.

As for what hung between his legs— well, it seemed to you on first glance that he possessed three of them.

Minho cleared his throat, apparently as mystified as you.

“H— Hi.”

“Sorry—” You snapped back to yourself. “Jesus. Sorry. I, uh— I’ll come back.”

“No, don’t. Just give me a second?”

He quickly disappeared, though left the door ajar, the sounds of rummaging and changing heard. When he reappeared, he was mercifully clothed in sweats and a black shirt.

“Come in,” he said.

“I... I really can come back if it’s a bad time—”

“It’s not. Come in.”

Compliance came courtesy of his authoritative tone, and in stepping into his room, you were surprised to see it so sparse. Aside from the wardrobe and larger than average bed, there was nothing that denoted even an ounce of personality; no posters, no books, no belongings. Nothing to suggest it was even lived in at all, if not for the presence of the man himself.

“I haven’t had time to decorate yet,” he said intuitively.

You nodded, though quietly doubtful, and wandered to the open window where at least you could call on the fresh air to keep you grounded. While clothed, he was no less dazing to be around.

“I just wanted to—”

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

You shrugged. “Not great.”

Minho, holding position at the other side of the room, looked downtrodden.

“Nothing a few paracetamols won’t fix, I'm sure,” you added lightly.

He shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

“What? I’m the one that should be apologising, I behaved like a—”

“You have nothing to apologise for. You were only like that because of me. It’s my fault.”

Confused, you watched as he came closer, raked a hand through his slowly drying hair.

“There was, uh...” He licked his lips. “There was marijuana in the brownies.”

Dumbfounded, you could only blink.

“I thought they might loosen you up,” he continued.

“Loosen me up?”

“It was a stupid, ridiculous idea. I know that. I’m so sorry. If I'd known how badly you’d react to it—”

“You drugged me!?”

Minho flinched. “I... I wouldn’t put it quite like that.”

“That's what it is, Minho. You drugged me. You fed me drugs without my knowledge or consent. I’ve never taken any kind of drug, let alone eaten it. You—” Too enraged to find the words, you gesticulated wildly. “Fuck. You.”

Storming past him with a succinct shoulder barge, Minho caught you by the wrist, an earnest apology on his gorgeous face.

“I’m so sorry, darling. It was never my intention to hurt you.”

A wave of bitter resentment accompanied the heat; you snatched away from him, summoning your courage.

“I’m not your darling.”

He caught your other wrist, persistent.

“You could be,” he said.

“Let me go—”

“You like me."

A concoction of embarrassment and want swam around you. “Looks like you can’t keep a secret, either,” you muttered.

And with that, he released you, his silvery gaze dropping in something finalistic; something defeated.

“Stay away from me,” you said flatly.

He did not stop your third attempt at exit, nor did he call on you for the rest of the day.

Nor the rest of the week.

--

It was difficult for a God to experience guilt.

Minho, being a creature of compassion and with love built into his very existence, found that it tarnished everything he hitherto enjoyed about the mortal world. As though being forced to swallow his pride and admit that he had made a mistake was not bad enough, there was the added realisation that he had acted detrimentally to his own quest— she would not even look at him, let alone allow him to get close enough to make amends, to lower guard, to give him opportunity to strike.

And so ensued a cold war of sorts, her avoidance of him going to such lengths as to involve her temporary removal from Goodhart House to stay with a friend on the other side of campus. This ‘Gina’—the girl upon whom she’d imposed—struck Minho as a fickle creature, susceptible to gossip and vapid trends and student body politics insofar as their theatrics. Not a good influence, he ultimately surmised, but nonetheless his target appeared fond of her. Trusted her. To that end, Minho saw an angle. A new opportunity. One that he somewhat wished to have happened upon before he decided on the use of narcotics, but hindsight would do him no good now.

It was as Gina left her last class of the day that Minho sought to introduce himself.

“Hello, darling.”

He was met with the typical starry-eyed wonderment, the blushing and quickening of heartbeat that all betrayed her delight at being so approached by trend #1— if Minho played into that, he was no sorer for it. Neither was he spoiled for choices, which posed his reasoning for offering to escort her to her dormitory, whereupon the worst simply had to happen.

On the stone steps of the grand, old building waited his target, her beauty seeming more so dazzling since he had been denied the sight of her. On seeing him, however, she rolled her eyes and muttered a curse, storming towards her friend.

“What the hell are you doing?” she hissed at Gina.

“Lovely to see you too,” Minho smarmed.

Gina startled, seemingly offended. “What is with that tone? I know you two aren’t on the best of terms—”

“The best of terms? He drugged me, Gina.”

“Right, so you keep saying, but like...” She glanced at Minho fondly, then shrugged. “He hasn’t drugged me.”

Dumbfounded, she stared at her friend, then at Minho. What pain he saw there perplexed him— it shouldn’t have felt like a betrayal, for there was nothing so intimate between them to betray.

“Minho was actually just offering to take me out for drinks tonight,” Gina said. “You can come if you want.”

“No way.”

“Alright, well, I’m not going to stand here trying to convince you. We’ll be at Cherub’s if you change your mind.” With that, Gina whirled on the spot and started off. Minho lingered.

“Aren’t you going with her?” she snapped.

“You should come.”

“And third wheel your date? No thanks.”

“There’s enough of me to go around,” Minho grinned, more amused than serious.

“What a gentleman you are.”

“I like to think so.”

“Do you like to think you’re the kind of gentleman that drugs the dames before he has his way with them, too?”

Minho flinched. “That’s not how it was. I just wanted to—”

“Loosen me up. Because I'm such an uptight bitch. Yeah, I get it.”

“No. Because you confound me. That’s all.”

She almost laughed, clutching her books so tightly the skin of her knuckles drew thin and tense.

“Do you have any idea how ridiculous that sounds? It makes no sense—”

“Come for a drink with me. I’ll make it make sense.”

She huffed a deep breath. “I can’t. I have plans.”

Minho quirked a brow. “With Heathcliff? How exciting.”

“It— It’s infinitely more exciting than spending a second longer with you, actually” she stammered.

Minho laughed. “That’s simply not true, darling.”

“How many times; I’m not your darling.”

“But you want to be.”

“Oh my god.” She spun on her toe, marching back up the steps. “I’m going inside.”

“I’ll see you at Cherub’s, then,” he called.

“Leave me alone, Minho!”

“Never,” he whispered as she shoved into the building.

And suddenly, things looked up.

--

Not your finest moment, to tiptoe into a bustling Cherub’s with your proverbial tail between your legs, dignity waving you off at the door.

He said he’d make it make sense: that’s what you clung to the entire way here, for there was so much about him—the things he did and said—that didn’t add up. You imagined what it might be like to understand him instead of loathe him as you peered between gatherings of students in search of him and Gina. About as typical a student union bar as one might imagine, Cherub’s was home to beer-soaked carpets and sticky seats, outdated seventies décor and mismatched lighting. Cheap and (not so) cheerful, it did just the trick for instilling a quick buzz, yet its nearness to accommodation meant that said buzz devolved to debauchery more often than not.

Heathcliff was, you rather thought, far more exciting.

You had vowed after the Fresher’s ball never to drink unless circumstances were dire enough to call for it, and so your detouring to the bar should have said something as to the state of your nerves, whereupon you ordered a vodka and tonic. With a weak smile at the tender, you gratefully took the almost-cool glass, a sip of the fizzy concoction neither unpleasant nor particularly enjoyable. It would take the edge off, in a moment.

“Drinking alone?”

The voice behind your ear startled, the glass slipping from your grasp only to be caught deftly by another, not so much as a drop spilled. Minho smiled warmly, ever radiant against the surroundings. Almost unsettlingly so, for all near eyes were trained to him, and in turn, you.

He brought the rescued glass to his glossed lips, a perfunctory sip followed by a sharp grimace. He set it on the bar and slid it away, out of reach.

“Excuse me, I paid good money for that—”

“My condolences,” he sighed, raking slim fingers through silky, dark strands that framed shadowed eyes of liquid silver.

He flagged down the tender with a wave. “One pornstar martini and a Glenfiddich, straight. No ice. Make the martini virgin.”

“A virgin pornstar martini?”

“I am a collection of paradoxes, darling.”

Your heart pounded; hopeless as it was.

The drinks arrived promptly, and Minho took them in hand.

“Where’s Gina?” you asked, realisation of her absence coming perhaps a touch too late.

Minho smiled. “Come on.”

He led you through the student bodies and to the rear of the venue, where a booth table went unoccupied. A folded piece of A4 card with ‘RESERVED’ scrawled on it adorned the polished table; you poorly stifled a laugh.

“They reserved a table for you? At Cherub’s?”

Minho nodded, sliding into the opposite seat and setting the drinks down. “I asked them to, yes.”

“It’s a student bar, not a five-star restaurant. Honestly. Who are you?”

Minho settled, a serene smile on his lips. “I believe we’ve had this conversation.”

You rolled your eyes. “Right.” And took the cocktail glass. The pink concoction finished with a half pomegranate slice smelled sweet and fruity, yet distinctly lacked the tang you wished it had.

“This didn’t have to be non-alcoholic,” you weakly complained.

“Mhm. Well. I’ll not be guilty of the same thing twice,” he replied, swirling whiskey around his own short glass. “Besides; you don’t strike me as a drinker.”

“Do I strike you as the drug taker?”

Minho’s gaze fell. “No.”

You hummed and sipped your drink. In truth, giving him a hard time was beginning to lose its novelty. Not only did you wish to move on from the whole thing, but it was getting harder to withstand the clear guilt in his mesmerising eyes. Whatever his intentions had been, they most certainly were not malicious, which ought to count for something, you thought.

“I’m still sorry,” he said.

“I know.”

“I’d very much like to make it up to you.”

“How?”

Minho opened his mouth to speak, but in place of his alluring tone came a high-pitched screech of your name; you startled and looked to Gina, who was barrelling towards the table.

“You came!” she cried, shoving hastily into the seat beside Minho; he scooted aside as best he could, but was already trapped. She linked an arm through his, settled into his side, utterly at home. She looked you over incredulously.

“I didn’t think you’d show. You know; I actually can’t even remember the last time I saw you out,” she said, her thick, glossed lips sticky with reflective residue.

You forced a smile. Ignored how their apparent familiarity made your stomach twist. “Yeah. Me neither.”

“I’m always telling her she should get out more,” she continued, this to Minho. “It’s like she’s allergic to socialising.”

“I’m not allergic to it, G. I just prefer to—”

“Sit in and read, I know. Hey— I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. You do you, babe. I just find it funny that the only time you actually make the effort to come out is when you know a hot guy is going to be around.”

Your face flamed with heat— why did this martini have to be so horribly prudish? You stared into it, adequately mortified, for she wasn’t entirely wrong in her observations, and that only raised questions as to your character too difficult to answer in the light of day. Or grunge of bar, for that matter.

“You’ve got it all wrong, darling,” Minho intervened lightly. “I insisted on her coming so I could buy her a drink in apology for the... incident. The timing happened to be right for her. That’s all.”

Gina rolled her eyes. “Sure. Whatever.” She unlinked her arm from his, fanned out the ends of her short hair from the collar of her leather jacket. “I’m going to get a drink.”

She planted a brief kiss on Minho’s cheek, and slid gracefully out of the booth. Your heart catapulted to your throat, where it stayed until Minho spoke.

“We, uh—”

“I don’t want to know,” you quickly said.

“There’s nothing to know, darling. She’s just... exceptionally forward.”

“Don’t call me darling—”

“I call everyone darling.”

“I know,” you hissed. “Why do you think I feel so bloody stupid that it makes my heart race every time?!”

A moment of comprehension crossed you both, and where your realisation of emotional confession brought him to a slow smile, it brought you to cold despair.

You stood quickly, gathering yourself. “I shouldn’t have come; this was such a bad idea—”

A swift grip on your wrist stopped your panicked exit.

“Don’t leave.”

“Minho—”

“There’s so much I have to know about you,” he said, pinning you with a softening gaze. “So much that I don’t understand. So much that infuriates me, so much that intrigues. You’ve caused me so much trouble, but even so, there’s something that I... Something about you that makes me just—”

“Everything okay over here?”

Gina’s flat question javelined the moment; you looked to her, saw her unimpressed eye trained to where Minho held you still. She upturned her lips in a sneer, the three drinks in her hand trembling.

“You couldn’t just let me have this, could you?” she snarled at you.

“Gina—”

“Every single fucking time, it’s you. It’s always you. Every boy I've ever liked or that’s ever shown any interest in me— They always fall for you. It’s like you can’t stand to see me happy.”

Gutted with guilt and confusion, you snatched your wrist from Minho.

“It’s not what you think, at all. We were just—”

“You might be beautiful on the outside,” she spat. “But inside, you’re a fucking monster. Everyone will see that one day.”

Minho rose from his seat. “That’s enough,” he snapped, glowering. “She takes no blame in this. She takes no blame in anything you accuse her of. It’s her fate to—” And he stopped himself short, as though stumbling back from a precipice. He straightened himself and took a deep breath.

“It’s not her fault,” he said acerbically.

Gina pursed her lacquered lips. “Right. So, it’s yours then? That's what you’re saying?”

Minho shrugged. “Perhaps I manoeuvred in such a way as to ensure you got me close to her, yes.”

Your gut turned over with hot nausea.

“What does that even fucking mean?” Gina balked, anger wrinkling her. “Sometimes you talk like you’re from a different planet, I swear to God.”

Minho sniffed, then smiled. He licked his lips, and said plainly, “I used you to get to her, darling.”

Gina’s jaw slacked, then tightened. It seemed she understood, this time, and perhaps you saw the next thing coming from a mile away: she swore and brutally tossed the three drinks she held straight at Minho, soaking and swilling his head, face and chest with sticky, sweet alcohol. The man took it well, for all his surprise, and swept his hands down his face stoically.

“You two are made for each other,” she hissed, and with that, turned tail and stalked away.

All eyes in near vicinity watched in tense silence as you, unable to even think beyond the molten mortification of it all, did much the same. Perhaps Minho called after you, and perhaps a small part of you wished to stay and console him, yet the larger part of you seethed with disappointment, for he had once again demonstrated himself to be less than half the man you ever wished to be so attracted to.

Minho, for all his obvious and daunting appeals, was not a good man.

--

Minho was starting to believe that the Fates had something against him.

Every attempt he made to get close to her ended in unmitigated disaster, and as if that wasn’t headache enough, he was now forced to acknowledge that what burned in him when he thought of the mortal girl was not simple curiosity: he craved her.

This called into question everything he knew: his quest, his mother’s wishes, his own existence as the God of Love, for as has been established, the God of Love loves all. He does not fall in love. Until he does.

 Perhaps it would simply be easier to out the truth of it all. Yes, it would shatter her mortal logic and push her to the limits of her comprehension, but what was the alternative? To continue wresting his own desires until such a time as he imploded? There was only so much one could take, even for a God, and Minho felt the tether of his patience rapidly diminishing.

Whatever he decided to do, he could not do it under these circumstances. He would have to, once again, make amends. Somehow.

What small silver lining there was to this whole mess came in the form of her moving back to Goodhart House, presumed discomfort between she and Gina resulting in such separation. Minho knew well what part he’d played in that, but in truth, couldn’t bring himself to feel entirely bad about it.

Two nights later—he had learned that mortals valued their space—saw him timidly knocking on her bedroom door, an uncharacteristic bout of nerves swirling about him. Moments passed before she answered, her vacant expression drawing grim on the sight of him.

“What do you want?”

The afternoon sunlight streaming through the window appeared to halo her, a warmth resonating from her person and within her room that set upon Minho a steady yearning; he could take her in his arms so easily, make her feel things no mortal man could.

Instead, he licked his dry lips, and from behind his back, produced the object he’d been concealing. She glanced at it, brows knitting together.

“What the hell is that? A twig?”

“I couldn’t find an olive branch.”

Just like that, the subtlest of curves to her lips ignited hope. She quickly reset herself into a deep-set frown.

“You’re an idiot,” she said.

“I am.”

“Gina and I aren’t speaking because of you.”

“I know.”

“You used her.”

“I did.”

“I mean; why did you have to be so—” she huffed. “You could have been nicer about it.”

“She knew what was happening,” Minho shrugged. “Sugar coating it would have only wounded her further.”

“You can’t just use people, Minho.”

Minho quirked a brow. “But it worked, didn’t it?”

“What?”

“It worked. You’re talking to me again. You’ve done nothing but talk to me since the minute you saw me with her, in fact.”

She dropped her gaze, wrapped her arms around herself. “You let her believe you liked her.”

“I do like her,” Minho replied.

“Oh.”

“Just nowhere near as much as I like you.”

A small puff of breath from her sweet lips seemed almost to indicate disbelief, and Minho supposed that until now, he’d made no such clear indication of his feelings. Suggestion and vague inference, perhaps, while he tried himself to understand what he battled with, but such roundabout behaviour was not in his nature.

“I like you a lot,” he said softly.

She shook her head. “Stop.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“It’s not— I don’t know. I can’t do this.”

She moved to shut the door, but Minho caught it quickly, stepping inside.

“You won’t even give me a chance to explain?” he pressed.

“I can’t. You don’t get it. Gina likes you. She was so upset about the whole thing, and you’re just— You don’t care at all. If anything, you seem proud of it. I can’t be with someone like that.”

Minho crowded her, for while her mouth said one thing, her body said another. Against the near wall she shrank, the rampant thump of her heart so alluring as to draw him near until barely a foot of space rested between them.

“You’re lying to yourself,” he said. “You claim that you can’t be with someone like me, but you know it as well as I do, darling; there is no one like me. I am the epitome of what you’ve always craved, and pretending otherwise will only push you to madness.”

“Minho—”

“As for the girl,” he interrupted softly, still so near. “She was a means to an end, yes. And you are correct; I am proud that my course of action bore fruit. I would do the same thing again, given a choice.”

She shook her head. “That’s the problem. I told you already; you can’t just use people.”

“I can do whatever I damn well please, and so should you. You have that right.”

“Not if it hurts other people.”

“And what of hurting yourself? Why sacrifice your own happiness for someone that doesn’t value you? Calls you names? Thinks you no more than a heartless monster? You might consider her a friend, but I assure you darling, she holds no such fondness towards you. Who do you think it was began the slanderous rumours that circulated after your Fresher’s ball?”

Pain flashed in her watering eyes; a truth that perhaps she had always quietly known brought to the surface.

“This abstinence from me only serves to hurt you.”

She cast a contemptuous glare cast up at him. “You don’t know what you’re saying,” she snapped. “You don’t know the first thing about me or what I'm feeling.”

Minho pressed in close, strong arms either side of her head. He hummed softly, “I hear how your heart cries out to me. See how your womanhood swells the closer we are; I only wish you’d give it to me, darling. I’d take such good care of it.”

He felt a shiver barely suppressed as she relented, melting by the second. Words of honey in her ears warmed her from within; Minho might die if he couldn’t taste.

“I wish to undo you and put you back together, one delicious, wet molecule at a time,” he said gently, nosing her soft lobe, then along her jaw. Her breaths devolved to soft pants, each one redolent of sweet nectar that further maddened him. “I’d defy the heavens themselves if it meant I could spend a single night with you.”

--

Minho had once said that arts students were hopeless romantics: he seemed none removed from the vagaries of waxing poetic himself.

You would have given it more thought if not so tightly strung with desire for the man that had, by some cosmic or divine will, worked his way into your bedroom. You knew nothing about him— that much had not changed. Neither had it changed that you detested how he carried himself, how he seemed so aloof to the most basic of kindnesses, how confidence and self-assurance came so naturally to him while it constantly evaded you.

It made no sense that a man like him could desire a woman like you, yet here he was, in your space, hot and firm, whispering such sweet and magical words as to make your head spin and your heart throb.

“Your desire for me is so strong, I can taste it,” he said breathlessly; a statement of fact offered as such, and you weren’t of the mind to deny it.

“Will you admit it?” he pressed. “Return my sentiments?”

Your weak nod told it. “Yes.”

He drew his lip between his teeth, a quick glance cast down your frame. “Am I permitted to touch you?”

“Yes.”

He held a cautious hand over your heaving chest. “Here?”

You nodded; his hand swept to your tummy, still at a hover. “Here?”

“Y— Yes.”

He hummed, then held over the curve of your waist, no contact made and yet electricity flitted between the inches. “Here?”

“Anywhere,” you breathed, defeated, a wreck. “Touch me anywhere. Everywhere. Please.”

Minho grinned, the silver ripple of his eyes flashing smug victory. A hand under your chin tilted your head back to present wanting lips, and when he kissed you, all else faded from existence. Near painfully soft was the first explorative brush, the man inclined to feel out your acclaimed desire— when you curled a grip to his shirt, he indulged you deeply, locking plush lips with yours and taking what he—unbeknownst to you—had already decided was his to covet. Bursts of white-hot delight rendered you breathless and dizzy, and when he broke off, you thought only of more.

“Swear to me that you’ll be mine,” he said, voice a thick and husky rasp.

“Minho...”

“Swear it,” he pressed. “Or this goes no further.”

The quiet promise was made in all but an instant, “I swear,” but even tight in his arms it was akin to stepping from a cold and slippery cliff; you felt to be falling, rescinding all control and handing it to this man that you knew nothing of, but craved like water to a dying man.

With a groan of delight, Minho swept you from the wall and about to the bed, where he laid you down and followed your form. Having no such experience with intimacy save for what the pages of your novels told, your expectations were none. The wanton urges held dominion, your chastity looking on in resigned approval as he smothered your neck and throat with attention, lavished your body with his touch, stripped you of all that hindered his touching your skin. In the warm light of the late afternoon, you laid naked beneath him, bared and as vulnerable as ever a soul may be. Minho looked at you, his gentle eyes seeming more so infinite with the awakening of intimacy; soft, patient hands canvassed your skin— waist, hips and thighs. Gentle, moist lips worshipped you at fingers, toes and lips, such reverent attention that swelled your heart to near bursting.

“You’ve never laid with a man before?”

A giggle bubbled out before you could stop it. Minho cocked his head questioningly.

“S— Sorry,” you mumbled. “No. I haven’t. But…” You hesitated, wondered on the timing, then asked anyway. “Did you have to ask me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like a nineteenth century suitor,” you laughed.

Minho grinned and shook his head, seemingly embarrassed. “Sorry,” he chuckled. “I forget sometimes.”

You ran your hands over his. “Forget what?”

For a long moment, he merely admired how your fingers slotted together. He opened his mouth as though to speak, but instead took a deep breath, and smiled once more. “Nothing.”

His kiss this time was insistent, but gentle. The exchange soon forgotten, work was made of stripping him, the act itself seeming dreamlike the more of him was revealed. Skin smooth and flawless, the complexion of which was so deep and rich a healthy glow, it made you shy to touch it. Clothing removed and tossed aside, the naked sight of him was entirely reminiscent of something— something you could not quite put your finger on, but that nagged at the back of your mind.

He returned to you, all silken warmth and firm in the right places. Between your open legs he settled, your inhibitions melting with his attention— kisses and careful touches, each one further devolving until he could no longer exact patience. He touched you where most you ached, assessing your every expression.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he whispered, lips to lips, soft ministrations over your naked centre eliciting groan after whimper. Slow and controlled, he rubbed you, then parted you to run a finger through the wetness. He shuddered and drew tight, a firm kiss pressed to your mouth.

“So beautiful,” he mumbled, wet digits circling you once more. “You’ll make the perfect companion.”

Too far gone to give much consideration to the perplexment his words instilled, you could only cling to him and wave the ride of euphoria as it flooded you, one molten lash after another. Was it normal to be so immediately aroused by so minimal a touch? Normal to feel like body might split from soul after only minutes of such stimulation?

“Don’t fight it. I’ll guide you through it, darling.” He kissed your bared throat. “Mhm, just like that. Give yourself over to it—”

“Ngh, Min, please—”

“Yes, fuck.” He quickened his motions, a gentle but rapid flurry of sensation against your throbbing centre. Thighs parted wider still for yet more of what he gave, you writhed in desperation, panted like a possessed creature, gave in to what he beckoned out of you. With a cry of delight and no shred of a complex, you trembled violently through the orgasm, felt yourself coming undone on the man’s fingers. Minho hummed and kissed your cheeks, your chin, your forehead, ever patient until the violence had subsided and only your tender panting remained. He ran a soft, light finger through your dripping sex. 

“You’re ready for me,” he muttered, and closed the gap between your bodies.

Spent but still yearning, it seemed almost too natural to open to him and trap him between your thighs. Minho smiled as though with pride, angling himself just so that the formerly observed ‘third leg’ could be seen from your laying position— a most intimidating sight, but one that had you clenching around air. Minho took himself in hand, the girth such that even he struggled to maintain a whole grip. A slow drag from his base and over thick, smooth shaft to blushed tip, and he sucked in air through his teeth, let slip a gravelly groan.

“Can you take me, darling?” he asked softly. “All of me?”

Your weak nod in place of words seemed somehow to dissatisfy him, but all the same, he kissed you tenderly. Tracing the line of his body with trembling hands as he aligned himself, the breaching prod stretching you, you drew tight with a gasp. Minho hissed and the silver of his eyes swirled intensely, each inch that he sunk seeming to exacerbate it; pebbles to rock pools.

“S— Slowly,” you pleaded, the warm soreness of his entrance only just beginning to turn dull ache. “Please.”

“I have you, darling. Trust me.”

Fully sheathed and with his hips cradled tightly to your body, he began to move a slow pace. Such bizarre sensation to feel so thoroughly full, almost sated, on the brink of being driven mad.

“Okay?” he breathed, weight on his arms to better assess you.

You nodded. “Yes. K— Keep going.”

Drawing his lip between his teeth, he maintained the motions, the mattress beneath you creaking its rhythmic complaint. Transfixed to where your bodies connected, Minho’s attention diverted, you explored the curious shimmer to his skin as he moved— perhaps it was the fading sunlight, the evening rolling in with its tricks. It seemed as though tiny rivers of silver moved beneath his skin and through his veins, each one snaking beautifully up his arms, over his shoulders, down his chest to— His chest. How had you not noticed it until now? Amidst the otherworldly perfection there sat the smallest of blemishes, faded purple and gently rounded. Proof that he was indeed real, for over the latter minutes you might have begun to doubt it.

Heart pounding and rapidly approaching yet another crisis of heavenly delight, you brought your middle and index finger together, and by instinct, pressed them to the spot that was now not only familiar to you, but that joined the fragmented pieces of puzzle.

It was a perfect match.

Minho, seemingly oblivious, grunted your name, his rhythm now devolved to a frantic rut. He collapsed atop you, held your warmth close, the smooth drive of his thickness made blissfully easy by the second orgasm he gifted that in turn brought on his own— he shivered and clung to you, words of praise and nonsense both flitting from his bitten lips.

The afterglow was as intense and intimate as the act itself, for Minho gently attended to you, putting you together as he so expressed a wish to. He kept you near to his side, curled up, and whispered stories that you soon forgot in contented, restful slumber.

What you would not soon forget, however, was the truth newly discovered.

The angel had returned to you.

--

Minho now profoundly understood what it was the mortal poets clamoured so desperately to capture.

It was with alarming clarity that he realised he had undertaken his duties as the God of Love with no real concept of what love actually was or could be— such a spectacular thing could not be wrested into something simple; something bite-sized and digestible. All his life he had been casting his arrows and looking on warmly as mortals embraced and made love. He heard their romantic declarations and loving promises with the sort of fond understanding a parent might have for their babbling toddler, and gave it no more consideration than that.

How naïve and foolish he had been. How much he’d missed out on! He dreaded to even think of it now, and cursed his aloofness to the power of what he so easily commanded. Love, he had realised, was the whole point. Powerful enough to fell entire kingdoms, but gentle enough to soothe the most septic of wounds. Wondrous and warm yet cutting and cold, the faces of love were mortally unpredictable, and therein laid its allure.

Minho looked to the future; he had failed in his quest, that much was without question, and could not return to heaven if he wanted to. His mother’s wrath would be terrible, and he was aware enough of his own strengths to know that a conflict with Aphrodite would sign off on his demise, blood or not. And all of that was without the terrible considerations of what she might do to his beloved.

There was nothing for it. He had to do something, and there was no way around it being drastic.

No way around any of it, now that the God of Love was in love.

--

Had you been informed several weeks ago that you’d be engaged in an illicit affair with a man you started out detesting, you’d have cried insanity.

Still; that was the truth of things, and waking next to him after what constituted your first night with any man was not half as terrible as you might once have believed. You had marvelled, mostly. All over again. That he had wanted you at all was mystifying, but when he awoke to find you right where he’d left you, he had proved his want all over again.

A week continued just like this, with not so much discussion as heated, stolen moments. You pleaded that what you were doing be kept under wraps, for the attention he commanded was not something you sought. Begrudgingly, he had acquiesced, but made it known that one day he would show you off to all who came within distance.

This night, he reposed under the stream of pale moonlight that shone through your window; following exertions you had slept straight through the evening and to the small hours. The smooth curve of his lean back disappeared beneath your sheets, his muscled leg hung out and over the bed. Plush lips utterly relaxed and face framed by silky strands of raven black, it struck you once again just how—while unthinkably beautiful—very normal he looked like this. Only when he opened his eyes and mouth did it become clear that he existed on a plane above and beyond other simple people, and while unsure of the finer details, the quirky qualities he possessed had begun to vibrantly outshine those things about him that once irked. He was boastful, yes, and terribly proud. He spoke before he gave much (any) thought and had little regard for consequences, both for himself and those around him.

But he was the very spirit of adventure. Thrillingly spontaneous and occasionally reckless, he dragged you out from under your books and away from your comfort zone, making it so that he instead became a security blanket, for wherever he was, there was safety. The wild promises he made ranged from a lifetime of wealth and happiness with him to taking you around the world. Well intended, of course, but ultimately too fantastical to ever truly believe. Whatever this was and for however long it would last, it wasn’t so wrong to enjoy it.

Led by the hand of desire, you reached out to touch him. A gentle trace down the slope of his shoulder and over the curve of his smooth back, firm under your fingers. You thought of the first time you touched him, before you’d even spoken so much as a word to each other. How he seemed the most beautiful creature your dreams had ever chanced to conjure, for that was what you’d believed him to be— a being born of pure gold, floating on magnificent white wings.

But this man was no dream. He was something else entirely.

A soft murmur of breath, and Minho’s eyes cracked open slowly. Calm pools of silver looked upon you, stirring with love. He smiled softly.

“Who are you?” you whispered.

His smile faded, yet he did not move. He blinked sleepily, slowly.

“You know who I am,” he said quietly. “I told you.”

“The God of Love?”

He nodded, just barely.

“Sent here to curse me for being too beautiful?”

He nodded again.

“By your mother?”

“The Goddess Aphrodite.”

The room was silent. There was no urge to laugh. No stroke of cold disbelief. No terrible fear or suggestion of mockery or anything other than a wave of acceptance, bathed in cold, silver light.

A God.

He was a God.

“Why me?” you whispered.

Minho puffed a soft breath through his nose. Amused, perhaps, by your immediate acquiescence.

“I’m nobody,” you added.

He lifted his head from the pillow, propped himself up by elbow. “Do you truly believe that, or are you being modest?”

You blinked at him, the truth of it in your eyes. He sighed gently, took your hand across the bed.

“You are the most beautiful woman to ever have lived,” he said quietly, running his thumb over your knuckles. “Kind of heart and exquisite of soul, you outshine everything and everyone around you. You were born of a God—”

“What?”

“So I suspect, anyway. I intend to find out for certain. But I do not think your mother was entirely mad with her stories.”

You balked at him. “You’re saying she was telling the truth?”

“Perhaps. A version of it, as she remembers it. Mortal memories are ephemeral things. Regardless, your beauty is divine, and that cannot be disputed.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“I’m not,” he chuckled. “Had you lived several thousands of years ago, it would have been you that all of Greece warred over and that the Trojans bled to defend. You are fated to be revered and worshipped for your beauty, more so than even that of my mother’s. This is why she sent me. To shoot you with my arrows and curse you to love something so foul it would disgrace you and push you into a solitary life.”

You swallowed over the disbelief— for all your readiness to hear him out, you found yourself stumped.

“You are invulnerable to my arrows. You see beyond the veil of my mortal disguise. You were able to touch me in my true form. Only divine blood could grant such boons.”

“How do you know I'm invulnerable?” you asked, and on his torn face saw the obvious truth of it. You mumbled a quiet, “Oh.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Talk about a lucky escape.” You tried to laugh, though it was a bittersweet reveal. He was only doing as instructed, you supposed. Things were different then, too. He didn’t know you. Didn’t love you.

Keen to change the subject, you did just that.

“Your mother—”

“Aphrodite.”

“R— Right. Aphrodite.” You cleared your throat. “Why would she want to curse me like that? If what you’re saying is true, it’s hardly my fault.”

Minho shrugged. “The Olympians care little for semantics. I love my mother, but she is as susceptible to vanity as anyone. It wouldn’t be the first time that jealousy has driven her hand.”

“But—” You leaned into him. “This is the twenty first century. Things like that don’t happen anymore. I mean; revering and worshipping, or whatever.”

“Don’t they? What are celebrities and influencers if not modern-day Gods? Politicians if not modern-day kings? Wealth and fame might no longer be measured in cattle and heroic deeds, but it is as attainable today as ever it was, and the power it bestows can be terrible. Armies rallied at the tap of a button. Lives ended at the publishing of a post. Times are different, yes, but fundamentally, mortals will never change.”

An element of truth to his words, you shrunk back against the pillows, head spinning. To suppose that it was all real was one thing— to suppose that it was all happening to you, was another.

Minho kissed your hand softly. “Don’t fret, darling. You are perfectly safe with me.”

“How can that be true? You just told me that Aphrodite has it in for me. That Aphrodite is real. That all the Gods are real.”

Minho hummed. “It’s a lot to absorb, I know. But it is fact. As the world changed and mortals developed beyond what even we predicted, we were lost to them. They turned from us. Nobody prays to us anymore. There are no sacrifices or festivals. Our names are told in stories and that is our legacy. We—our flesh and blood and everything that makes us—are myths.”

He whispered the last word, a sadness in his eyes that tugged insistently at your heart. You leaned back to him, pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

“You feel real enough to me,” you mumbled.

Minho smiled slightly. “I am glad of that.” And turned into you, a palm on your cheek bringing you back for a firmer kiss. With a soft gasp that turned moan on the sensation of his slick tongue slipping into your mouth, you fell willingly into the hazed content that the God of Love seemed so exclusively able to invoke. Dragged across the bed until tucked underneath him, he shadowed you from the moonlight, raven locks tickling your cheeks. Keen hands slipped down your body to tenderly part your legs, the suggestion of his arousal prodding thigh until he, quite familiarly and with a chaste kiss to your throat, sunk inside you. Clinging to his broad shoulders and moving with the man, for you had come to know the paces he enjoyed, Minho filled you gently and slipped away with each controlled thrust. Silver eyes told a maelstrom of truths and sadnesses that his long years of life had portended, and by the gradual incline of coming undone at his ministrations, you saw them all. He watched your descent into euphoria, and you saw them all— the lovers, the souls, the stories, the worlds that had been touched by Eros’s arrows, generations of lives built on their enchanted tips, civilisations birthed and ended by the snap of his bow string. An existence spent between heaven and Earth of unspeakable loneliness propelled by gratification of servitude brought you to hot tears amidst the release of crisis.

And you saw that he would have been alone in perpetuity, were it not for you.

--

Minho had a plan.

The beginnings of a plan, anyway, which he thought ought to count for something.

He could not call on any of his aunts or uncles for aid without alerting Aphrodite to the state of things, and so he turned his thoughts to what he could do. The things he possessed. After only moments of consideration, he broke into absurd and near hysterical laughter. How foolish he had been, once again! How could he forget?! Of all the things to slip his mind and fall into obscurity!

He had a palace.

Eros’s famed sky palace of jewels and gold— that was what he possessed. That was where he could go, for it was too removed from heaven for Aphrodite or any of the other Gods to be bothered making the journey. They would be left alone there. It was perfect.

The idea had come to him at high noon— a most inconvenient time for ideas to spring upon one. Unable to bear a second’s delay, he burst out of Goodhart and sprinted across campus, drawing heads and attention from all he passed. When he reached the lecture hall, he swept from room to room, offering breathless apologies to the bewildered occupants for his intrusion on finding her in none of them, much to his irritation. It stood to reason that the last he checked should be the place he found her: she looked up from her notebook, mortification freezing her from neck to forehead.

“Excuse me.” Minho flashed a dazzling smile at the Professor, who for all his usual nettlesome temperament, stood flabbergasted.

He strode confidently across the hall and through the projector’s beam, his shadow casting over the bullet point analysis of Austen’s pathetic fallacy. All eyes followed as he approached her and made quick work of closing her notebook, plucking her pen from her hand and grabbing her backpack.

“I’ll just be taking this one,” he said to the Professor, taking her wrist with a gentle tug.

“What the hell are you doing?” she hissed, the eyes of her peers scalding her back.

Wordlessly, he stole her from the lecture hall, and said not a thing until they were out of the building and on the sun-warmed lawn, where he yanked her into a strong embrace.

“M— Minho!”

“I have it worked out, darling,” he said excitedly. “I have it all worked out!” He relinquished her to arm’s length, her flustered state inspiring urges that he swallowed down. “I know where we can go.”

“Go?” she repeated, confused. “Why would we go anywhere?”

“We can’t stay here. We spoke of this last night. My mother is—”

“You said you’d protect me from her. You didn’t say anything about needing to go anywhere.”

“I thought that was implied, darling. I assumed you understood.”

“Understood what?”

“That yes, I will do my utmost to keep you safe, but not even my power can match that of Aphrodite. If she discovers my betrayal, she’ll stop at nothing to hunt us down.”

The fluster of her condition gave way to dreaded realisation; Minho saw it in her eyes, the panic.

“There is one place we will be entirely safe,” he quickly said. “Somewhere she nor any of the other Olympians can set foot.”

“Where?”

“My palace.”

“P— Palace?”

Minho nodded in earnest. “Yes, darling. It is protected, its gates open only to me. We will want for nothing there. We can be together, undisturbed.”

She looked around, as though lost. “But I...” Her voice was weak. “I can’t just leave everything. This is my life.”

“I am your life now, darling. There’s nothing here for you.”

“Nothing here for me?” Her features drew tense and she stepped away from him, shrugging off his touch. “You're saying all this is pointless? Everything I've tried to achieve is worthless?”

“N— No, I simply mean that—”

“I know what you mean. I have no-one to miss me if I should disappear.” Her bottom lip trembled, she wrapped her arms around herself. “And what if I stayed? Would all those worshippers you promised me show up? Would I have something then?”

Minho’s heart ached impossibly; how careless he had once again been. One would think him used to the fragility of mortal hearts by now.

“It’s too late,” he said sorrowfully. “My love for you is a betrayal to my mother. If you stay, she will subject you to terrible punishment before anything ordained for you ever happens. If you come with me...” He reached out to her tenderly, a hand on her trembling shoulder. “If you come with me, I can spare you that fate. You do not have to engage with me or love me in return, but I hope that you will at least allow me to make reparations for taking you away from all you know. I can give you a most beautiful life. I can show you such things as your books will never describe. I can dedicate myself to you, soul and all, and be whatever you wish me to be.”

Tears streaked her cheeks, each one a dagger to Minho’s composure.

“You will never be alone again,” he whispered. “This, I swear to you.”

--

Why were you even thinking about it?

The earth-shatteringly handsome God of Love—Eros himself—loved you. He wished to take you away to his sky-dwelling palace, where he would serve you until your mortal days gave out. He wished to dedicate himself to you. How many women could claim to be on the receiving end of such implacable devotion? How many women turned away from it, especially when the love was reciprocated?

Thus you asked yourself the question again— why were you even thinking about it?

The conflict that raged within you was that of head and heart. On the side of romance and such emotion as brought you to tears, your heart cried out. ‘Go with him,’ it pleaded. ‘See all that he’s promised you. Take a chance on the extraordinary. Be the main character, just this once. You can never go back to life without him now— how it hurts to even imagine it. Only immovable darkness is left in place of such radiant light, and his light is what you must stay in forever. You love him, foolish girl. Go with him!’

On the side of reason and familiar doubt that was in some ways easier to hear, your head told other truths. ‘Run from him,” it commanded. ‘It is madness to believe any of this. What you saw that night was a hallucination; you were overtired. Overworked. He lies to you. Recall what he did to you. He plays on your vulnerability and would have you tripping over yourself for some impossible fairytale that cannot be real. It cannot be real. Screw your head back on, foolish girl. Run from him!’

With a night spent alone you hoped to come upon some form of clarity, but instead spent the long and empty hours tossing and turning, floating between despair and joy. You were at a crossroads, and the next decision you made would forever change the course of your life.

Go, or stay.

Live, or suffer.

Love, or mourn.

--

By the guiding, formless hand of the West wind, Zephyrus, Minho always found his way to his sky palace.

It would be a fruitless task to try to explain, in mortal terms, just where the palace was located. Not even Minho could, had he tried. That was why he needed gentle Zephyrus. Rather, it existed on a plane between those of heaven and Earth, in a pellucid sky of cloudless wonder that cycled through dreamy days and starry, moon-filled nights. The palace seemed always as though to be drifting along, warmed by streams of hot, shimmering air that kept it afloat. Its jewel-encrusted and gold-plated high walls caught the brilliant peaches and pinks of sweet Eos, Goddess of the Dawn. A reflective moat of the clearest still water kept the palace enclosed, magnificent fish and regal sea creatures having made their homes there. Great birds with feathers of virgin white and onyx black soared the length of the battlements and swooped through the palace arches, attracted by the glittering structure. It mattered not how many times Minho visited. It always took his breath away.

He looked at the girl bundled in his arms, her eyes still tightly closed, her head still buried in his chest. His white wings enclosed her safely, kept her from Zephyrus’s inherent chill.

“Won’t you look, darling?” he asked softly.

“No.”

He stifled a chuckle; how endearing she was.

“This would be one of those wonderful things I told you about.”

She cracked open one eye, just barely.

“You’re perfectly safe,” he assured her.

With a swallow and a timid nod, she turned her head out to the view, and Minho saw immediately how her eyes welled up with tears as they caught the rising light. He dared to imagine Eos might be making a special show of things, just for them, for the sky was ablaze with a rich and vibrant beauty the likes of which he’d never seen. Oranges and deep pinks melted into variegated crimson, the horizon seeming as though to glow. The palace was iridescent with life, it walls and towers reflecting and refracting the dawn in such a resplendent spectacle of colour, Minho was sure she would never forget this moment.

She maintained silent awe until Zephyrus had safely escorted them to the palace steps: the West wind twirled and whirled around them, hugging her warmly before departing, much to her delight. She kept close to Minho as the joy wore off, her fear of the near edge demanding it, yet it was her resolve that warned her from holding his hand, from taking comfort.

Such were her terms.

Such was Minho’s pain.

--

Take a chance on the extraordinary, your heart had said.

So it was that ‘extraordinary’ fell catastrophically short of describing what it was you now looked at: an opulent crystal palace at home in the sky, a testament to all things fantastical and impossible. The majesty of it was almost enough to take away from the inherent unease of being so high up; if this was even high, for it hadn’t escaped your notice during the journey that you hadn’t so much travelled up as through. Through what, you were surely unqualified to say, but what was certain was that this place was so removed from what you knew to be true of physics and gravity—indeed any temporal rule—it was pointless to think on it too much.

Minho had indeed promised to show you incredible things, oblivious that he himself was one of them. His feathery wings closed on his back, his raven hair fluttered in the warm breeze. He led you up the crystal steps to a vast arched gateway manned by—you rubbed your eyes—floating spears?

“Don’t be alarmed,” he said intuitively. “They will do you no harm. They’re here to protect us.”

As you passed by them, adequately mystified, the spears hopped and jerked as though in salute, their steel tips polished to a fine, sharp edge. Over the glass drawbridge he took you, a river of water so clear running beneath, you could see every pore of your own reflection in it. Creatures swum in the calm currents, fish and eels and octopi, their scales and skin of such stunning purple and deep green, it amazed you to look at. As you approached the tall and gilded palace doors, they opened before you, a swarm of floating brooms and mops and hat stands and trolleys and all other manner of furniture descending upon you with swift elegance.

On your fright, Minho held a hand up. Everything stopped, and sprung to attention in a neat, formal line.

“Darling.” He turned to you. “These are our attendants.”

You blinked at him; your head was beginning to hurt.

“They are invisible to our eyes,” he added softly. “It was my wish that we be left to our own devices. Entirely undisturbed. Just the two of us.”

“So there are... people? Holding those?”

Minho nodded. “Of a fashion, yes.”

You looked around him to the patient line, where mops fluttered and trolley wheels spun in anticipation. You weren’t sure you wanted to know what ‘of a fashion’ even meant.

“I would have had us here alone, but the palace takes some looking after,” he said. “Not to mention your own needs to be attended to.”

“I can look after myself. I don’t need—”

“Please.” He moved as though to take your hand, but stopped himself short. The strength with which such a small thing smarted seemed ludicrous, yet you held no grounds for complaint. He was only doing as instructed.

“I would like to make sure the very best care is on hand for you. Allow me that,” he said quietly.

At your small nod, he turned away, wings unfurling gently as he entered his palace. The peach light that so radiantly streaked the sky haloed him and made him a breathtaking vision. Was a God truly so different from an angel?

The palace interior was as extravagant as the exterior, its vast halls encrusted with sapphires and aquamarine, pearls and diamonds, emeralds and topaz all trimmed with gold. Wall sconces of blue flame bathed all in a glorious light, the high ceilings finished with intricate murals so lovingly painted, it made your heart ache to simply look upon the heavenly scenes they depicted with Eros at their centre.

Escorted dutifully by the same two floating spears that had seen you inside, Minho guided you through the winding halls. He held them at the door he had led you to with no more than a look.

“These are your private chambers,” he said once inside. They were homelier than what you’d thus far seen, finished with soft furnishings, blankets and comforts and a more natural tone of light offered by long windows and an open fire. It was the fire that you were in the midst of admiring, when a dainty teacup flew up and in front of your face, bringing you to a shriek.

“Your attendants will keep you here,” Minho laughed. “Forgive them. They’re excited.”

The teacup rattled on its saucer, as though in agreement.

“It has been some time since anyone’s resided here,” he added.

Residing here. You were to live here. In this place between places, with a thousands-year old God. It seemed that only now this fact began to dawn on you, for a chill realisation swept over and extinguished the bewilderment that hitherto kept you together.

Minho watched you carefully, distance maintained as he stood at the door. You looked through the grand window, out over the endless sea of multicoloured sky.

“You promised me an answer,” he eventually said.

Your heart sank.

“I know.”

“Will you give it?”

You chewed your inner cheek, tracing the lines of wispy cloud that floated by.

“I have shown you the palace,” Minho said. “I have respected your boundaries of affection, despite how it pains me to act as though we are no more than friends. I have revealed my true form to you. I have done everything you’ve asked.”

“I know.”

“And so? Is your mind decided?”

Exasperated, you turned to him. The God of Love with so sorrowful a look of distress on his handsome face, it made you want to weep.

“My mind has been decided all along,” you said simply. “How could I ever say no to you?”

His silvery eyes lit up. “You mean...?”

“Yes,” you laughed. “I’ll stay.”

Without a second thought, the God of Love on his great, white wings surged across the space and caught you in his strong arms. He braced you against the pristine glass in an embrace of ignited passion, the gasp you emitted was devoured by his hungry mouth.

“How you infuriate me,” he mumbled between kisses, the slick of his tongue wetting your lips. “You have no idea the depth of the madness you would drive me to.”

“I needed time,” you breathed. “To get my head straight, to process it all.”

“I know, darling. I would have given you all the time that time itself possessed if I could.”

You kissed him gently. “Liar.”

He grinned, and with a low chuckle enclosed you in his magnificent wings, the feathers reaching around and curling under you to lift you from the ground. Poised on them as the most comfortable of elegant chairs, the God so close in your space and stood between your open thighs, it became soon apparent the type of mood that descended on him. An inferno of want tainted the silver of his eyes, his deep, gold complexion shimmering with the lust that made Eros so feral as to tear your shirt open and relieve you of your jeans, all that he might touch your skin— finally. Secured in the space of his heat, helpless but to succumb, the dainty cloth that hovered about his hips was torn away to reveal the intimidating girth of what he offered, sprung proud and hard. Lightheaded and too aroused to think much of consequence—you weren’t strictly here alone, after all—you clung to the slope of his shoulders as he aligned himself and with a sharp intake of breath, steadily sunk inside you. Groaning through the sensation of fullness, your delight was caught by his mouth on yours.

“You were made for me, my love,” he whispered. “It is you and I, until the end of time.”

“Minho—”

“Hush, dearest girl. Let me pleasure you the way your tender heart so deserves. Let me serve you as I crave to. Nothing makes me feel so alive as when you allow me inside you like this, sweet thing. Feel me, darling. Feel all of me.”

Sealed with a kiss, the God of Love thrust himself upon you, the slick drive made so much easier by your own steeped arousal. Yet it was not simply lust that brought you to gasps and the stinging tell of tears— to accept such pure and unconditional love, to accept that it was offered so readily, to accept that a creature so objectively perfect as him could be possessed of affection for you— sky palaces and jewels and divine landscapes could not compare to that impossibility.

So it is, the start of your new life.

So it was, in years to come, that the Goddess Aphrodite forgave her errant son and welcomed the mortal girl, gifting to her immortality on her wedding day.

So it ever shall be, that the tamed Eros and his beloved spend their sun-warmed, endless days reigning over love’s intricacies, granting to mortals the divine bliss they themselves found in one another.

One precious heart at a time.

thus marks my last offering for the skz tropes collab! i really hope you enjoyed. this was by far my favourite of the bunch. if you could be kind enough to comment or even buy me a coffee as thanks for the 20k read, i would be super grateful. mica x

𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚, 𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜, 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙢𝙚 >

𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙖 𝙣𝙞𝙘𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙? 𝙨𝙖𝙮 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙠𝙨 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚 ♡ >

𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙘𝙠 𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙠𝙯 𝙧𝙤𝙢𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚 𝙩𝙧𝙤𝙥𝙚𝙨 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 ♡ >

---

Group Texts* - 3rauncha (Stray Kids)

+ bonus *drabble, NSFW

Besties with Benefits series masterlist

Follow up to this post, also this and this due to some references made. Not required for comprehension though, just added flavor.

EDIT: slutracha and piperacha have been posted as follow-ups

Pairings: 3racha x bestfriend!f.reader Word count: 6.9k [not including 6 screenshots] note: unedited, I hit post instead of save draft, oops, but now you get pure porn a few days early, happy weekend! lol TW: Suggestive and explicit content, swearing, mentions of Bubble, pet names [reader is called bunny, baby, jagi/jagiya, lamb, babygirl, sweetheart], lingerie, fingering, spanking, biting, oral sex (m. & f. receiving), face-fucking, protected sex (condoms, birth control pill mentioned), choking, creampie, cum eating, multiple orgasms, vague reference to subspace, exhibitionism/voyeurism, praise kink, degradation, breeding kink, Daddy!Chan, slight Sub!Jisung if you squint

The elevator dings, signaling your arrival on the eighth floor. Tucking your phone into the outer pocket of your coat, you step out into the corridor, high heels clicking on the tile as the bottom of the coat flutters around your calves. You’re grateful the receptionist recognized you downstairs, handing you a visitor’s pass and telling you to say hi to the boys. Anyone else would have assumed you were an escort.

You certainly had dressed the part.

It’s a few minutes past midnight by the time you stop in front of the 3RACHA studio door. You can hear the low murmur of Changbin’s voice inside, followed by a quick exclamation from Jisung and Chan’s signature giggle. Smiling to yourself, you smooth down the lapels of your coat before rapping against the door with your knuckle.

Not a second later, the door opens, Jisung’s big eyes meeting yours.

“You made it!” His arm reaches for you, curling around your waist as he pulls you into the room and shuts the door. You don’t miss the click of the lock.

“Hi, Ji.” You bend forward, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, lingering a moment longer than you typically would for the familiar gesture. His fingers squeeze into your back briefly when his breath hitches.

“Look who decided to show.” Changbin’s voice makes you pull away from Jisung, smiling as you turn to face him where he sits on the couch. He gives you his normal smirk, no indication that he knows what Chan suggested in his text.

Except the obvious hard-on he’s trying to hide beneath his tablet.

“Aw, Bin, did you think I wasn’t going to?” You take a step toward him, bending forward to kiss his cheek, feeling your coat droop just enough to flash him some cleavage. You stay peering into his eyes while his glance slips down at your chest before meeting your eyes again. Somewhere behind you, Jisung groans.

“Well you’re late.” Chan speaks up, chair swiveling to face you. You turn your head to see him, his eyes roving down your body, taking in your appearance. “Is this why you’re late? Did you dress up for us, lamb?”

Straightening, you simply set your purse down on the desk beside Chan, leaning past him to do it. He rolls his eyes at your blatant distraction tactic but falls for it anyway, biting his bottom lip when your chest nears his face. “Ji, will you take my coat for me?” You keep your eyes locked with Chan, raising a brow in challenge when he lifts his chin and stares down his nose at you.

Jisung’s arms wrap around you to untie your coat, thumbs grazing the underside of your breasts clumsily. You retrieve your phone from the outer pocket just as Jisung pulls the lapels open and drags the coat off of your shoulders, down your arms, and finally away, draping it over the back of the couch. You place your phone down on the desk next to your purse, contemplating your next move- you want to kiss them, but you aren't sure who to start with.

“Fuck, you goddamn tease.” Chan decides for you, gripping your hips and yanking you down into his lap suddenly. Before you can process the move, his soft lips find yours, one arm pressed up your back to support your head against the onslaught of his mouth. You bow backward with the force of his kiss, whimpering when the hand still on your hip squeezes tighter. The sound grants him access, tongue slipping past your lips to caress over yours, sliding over your teeth before retreating. Your own tongue chases his back into his mouth, and once you're past his lips, you wrap a fist in his curls and tug, changing the angle of the kiss.

“Oh my god, why is that so hot?” Jisung whines behind you, causing you to smile against Chan's lips. The kiss slows, pulling away briefly to catch a breath and then placing a wet kiss on his mouth again, then a third, fourth, fifth time. Chan nibbles at your bottom lip before letting you pull away. When you open your eyes, his eyes are on you, blown wide with lust. Without breaking his gaze, the hand that's not threaded in his hair whips out, reaching for Jisung. You hear him step forward, grabbing your hand, and you slide your hand far enough up his arm to yank him down to you, turning your head to meet his. He almost misses your mouth, a startled noise escaping him as he bends to you. Unlike Chan, his mouth is hot and firm, lips parting instantly to suck at your bottom lip, tongue tracing the edge of it between his teeth.

Chan's hands slip down your back to smooth over the swell of your ass before pushing you forward, rocking you over the very obvious bulge in his shorts. You gasp into Jisung's mouth, the bottom edge of your little black dress barely covering Chan's view of your panties. Jisung's free hand comes up to cup your breast. You rock forward to push your chest out, pressing yourself into his hand and against Chan's bulge again.

“Yah! Quit being greedy, give me my bunny!” Changbin exclaims, interrupting Jisung's assault on your mouth.

“Alright, babygirl, get up,” Chan says, patting your thigh as Jisung slips his hands under your arms to pull you to your feet. “Go give Bin some attention before he alerts the entire building to what's happening here.”

Changbin makes a face at Chan as you stumble over to him with Jisung's guidance, your heels catching on the carpet slightly. When you're close enough, Changbin tugs you down to sit sideways in his lap. He nuzzles your neck, kissing the skin there. “Did you wear these for me, bunny?” His hand squeezes your skin where the fishnet thigh-highs end, fingertips tugging at the small pink bow at the top of the lace border. He brings his face up in front of yours, looking into your eyes as he waits for an answer.

You nod, slowly, inhaling before you speak. “That's not the only thing I'm wearing for you.” You watch his eyes roll back as he groans, surging forward to press a searing kiss to your mouth. His other hand comes up to twist around the loose strands of your hair, tugging enough to have your mouth fall open for his seeking tongue. You feel another set of hands on you, jumping at the sudden sensation.

“Shh, baby it's just me. Keep kissing Bin, I'm just going to touch you.” Jisung says in a hushed tone, trailing his hands up both legs, squeezing at the flesh below the netting. Changbin detaches from your mouth to drag his lips across your jaw, nibbling at the skin just below your ear.

“You sure you’re okay with this, bunny?” He asks quietly, the hand on your thigh coming up to cradle your cheek. He pulls your face to look at him, eyes full of concern.

“Yes, Binnie. I wouldn’t have come if I wasn’t sure.” You smile softly before your brows knit together. “Just promise me this won’t change our friendship.”

“It won’t,” Changbin promises, kissing you gently. 

“Good, because you guys are my best friends, I don’t want to lose that.”

Jisung’s hand shakes your leg, drawing your attention. “You’re not going to lose us, baby.” He holds your gaze, sincerity written all over his face. You hear Chan hum in agreement, and the need that ripples through you gives you goosebumps. You reach out to Han, tangling your fingers in his shirt to drag him to you for a hurried kiss.

He groans into your mouth as you thread your other hand into Changbin’s hair, his mouth returning to your neck. Hands roam over your body but you’re too distracted to pinpoint which touch belongs to either man. Someone grazes your breasts again, pulling down the molded cups of your dress for them to spill out. Fingertips dance over a nipple, caressing it to hardness before pinching, drawing a whine from your throat that makes your head roll back. Disconnected from your mouth, Jisung drops his head to your other breast, gathering as much of the flesh between his lips as he can.

A hand slips up your thigh under your dress, passing over the lace of your panties. Changbin groans. “Stop. We need to get this fucking dress off of her, I need to see what she’s wearing underneath.”

Jisung pulls back, tongue hanging out as he takes in the sight of you- head lolled back, eyes lidded, mouth parted, neck flushed from Changbin’s mouth, tits out and covered in his saliva.

He adjusts himself, already hard in his joggers. “Come on baby, stand up.” He stands up, taking both of your hands to guide you up onto your feet. He spins you around slowly, facing you toward Chan and Changbin. His hands come around to give your breasts a squeeze, and your head falls back onto his shoulder with a soft sigh. “So responsive.” He chuckles, kissing your shoulder.

You reach for the zipper on your back, but his hands find it first. “Thanks, Ji.” You whisper. He simply kisses your shoulder again, dragging the zipper down and pushing it apart. The sleeves fall off your shoulders before the dress slips down, pooling on the floor. Changbin gasps, Chan groans, and Jisung bites your shoulder. You run a teasing hand down your body, over the pink lace of your open-cup bra (a somewhat pointless garment, really, offering no support) down to the untethered garter belt sitting at your waist (another pointless garment, since you hadn’t hooked it into your fishnets in your haste to leave). Your panties, in the same matching lace as the others, were soaking as they drank you in. “Do you boys like your present?”

Changbin pushes to his feet, crossing the room in two steps to grab your hips and pull you into him. “You wore pink.”

You squeeze his arms once before you wrap your arms around his neck. “I did.”

“You hate pink.”

“You love pink.” You answer softly, glancing down at his mouth before meeting his eyes. Something swims in them, something you don’t have time to process before he’s leaning in to capture your mouth.

Jisung guides you both forward, pushing you when Changbin’s calves hit the couch as he backs up. He falls into the seat a split second before you’re pushed down into his lap, straddling him and reconnecting your lips to his.

“Aw, look, Chan-hyung. Even her heels have pink bottoms.” Jisung says behind you, and Changbin whines- actually whines- into your mouth.

“Sweet little lamb. She’s such a good girl for us.” Chan praises and you whimper, breaking the kiss. Resting your forehead against Changbin’s, you pant slightly. “Oh, did you like that, babygirl? Do you like being called good?”

Eyes squeezed shut, you nod, and a hand in your hair tugs your head back. Your eyes shoot open, looking upside down at Chan where he stands behind you. “Use your words.”

“Yes.” You gasp out when someone pinches your nipple.

He raises a brow at you, bending over and crowding his face to yours. “Yes, what?”

“Yes, Channie, I like- fuck- I like being called a good girl.”

“Good.” He tugs your hair a little harder and crashes his lips to yours. A slap on your ass has you squeaking, biting into Chan’s lip. He pulls back, chuckling. “Han-ah.” He steps away and Jisung swims into view as Changbin slides a hand down to cup your pussy.

“Hi, baby.” Jisung says with a bright smile, rubbing a thumb down your cheek. You reach for his other hand, lacing your fingers with his.

“Ji,” his name falls from your mouth on a moan, Changbin’s fingers slipping past the lace to rub down your folds. “Bin, fuck. Don’t tease me, bunny.” You lift your head to watch as Changbin bites his lip in concentration, watching where his hand disappears into your panties. Jisung steps closer, pressed against your back to lean down and suckle at your neck. His ever curious hands make their way to your tits again, squeezing them together before cupping each and pinching until your nipples are hard under his touch.

“You’re so soft, bunny. So wet.” Changbin slips one finger into you slowly, drawing a soft noise from you that Jisung cuts off with a kiss. Changbin withdraws his finger, trailing it up to circle your clit. You grip his forearm, bucking into his hand as he chuckles. “You like that? I’ve got you, bunny.”

Jisung pulls away from you, stepping to the side. He tugs down the waistband of his joggers, and you watch him pull out his cock, hard and glistening at the tip. He jerks it a couple times, lower lip caught between his teeth as he looks at you. A low moan falls from you under the heat of his gaze and the finger rubbing your clit. 

“Can I taste you, Ji?” You lick your lips as you watch him tug on his cock again. His hand squeezes in response, dropping away as he nods silently. You reach a hand out, gripping him at the base and using your other hand to pull him closer by his waist. When you lean forward to wrap your mouth around his tip, he gasps, head falling back and a hand grabbing your hair.

“Jesus, baby, your mouth-” you slide down his length, taking more of him, “-so fuckin’ warm.”

Your tongue presses against the underside of his cock as you relax your throat to take him completely, pausing when your nose touches his pelvis. Changbin moves his hand, sliding back down to slip two fingers into you, and you moan around Jisung.

He hisses. “Fuck.”

Changbin chuckles, bringing his thumb to rub your clit as his fingers curl, pressing into your g-spot and then circling. “You gonna cum for me, bunny?” You hum in response, popping off of Jisung to pump him with your hand.

“Feels good, Bin.” You look up at Jisung, meeting his eyes as you stick your tongue out to guide him back into your mouth.

“I always knew you’d give head like a whore, baby.” His hand pets your cheek affectionately, your eyes closing as you bob on his length. Changbin increases his movements, fucking you harder with his fingers, earning him a deliciously pathetic whimper from you. One of them tugs on your nipple and you’re tightening around Changbin, body tensing as you’re hurled into the depths of your climax. Jisung pulls out of your mouth.

“There it is, good bunny- God, it’s like you’re trying to break my fingers, this pussy is so tight.” He doesn’t withdraw them, but Changbin’s fingers pause. Jisung waits for your breathing to regulate before slipping himself back between your lips, using his grip on your hair to fuck your face.

“Jesus, I’m gonna cum, I can’t- this fucking mouth- baby, shit,” Jisung throws his head back briefly, stopping his thrusts suddenly as he backs away from you, clearly sensitive. He bends down to look you in your teary eyes. “Where do you want me to cum?”

“My throat.”

You watch his eyes roll backward and he stands up straight, groaning as he steps back. His cock enters your waiting mouth and he resumes his frantic thrusting.

“Shit, are you ready? Here it comes.”

Changbin’s fingers kick into action again, triggering a moan from you that sends Jisung over the edge, groaning as he releases into your mouth. You use your tongue to clean him up, swallowing around him as best as you can, and he whimpers before pulling himself from you. The moment he’s out of your mouth, his lips are on yours, chasing the taste of his cum on your tongue. He kisses you so firmly that until Changbin coaxes your second orgasm from you, he doesn’t break away. Not until you’re mewling into his mouth, gasping for Bin, does Jisung pull away with a grin.

“God, baby, you’re so fucking sexy, you know that?” Jisung says, collapsing onto the couch next to Changbin.

“Ji,” you blush, face and chest flushing at his words, “you know how I feel about compliments.”

“Nah, you get on me all the time about accepting compliments. You don’t get to hide from them either.” Chan says from behind you, drawing your attention to him. You glance over your shoulder, seeing him in his desk chair, hand palming his cock through his shorts.

“Your turn, Channie?” You ask sweetly, but he shakes his head. You pout, jutting out your bottom lip dramatically, and he chuckles softly.

“You know my rules, babygirl. Bin first.” He gestures at Changbin. You turn to face the man in question again, his hand still buried in you. He looks up at you, watching your face. You search his eyes for permission to touch him, and he nods once.

Leaning forward, you capture his mouth for a soft kiss as your hand moves to the button of his jeans. Working slowly, you get them unzipped and shove the edges away before reaching for the elastic of his underwear. He lifts his hips to help you shove those down too, revealing his cock that stands at attention as you shimmy his pants past your ass. You waste no time wrapping your hand around him, pumping once before breaking the kiss and looking down.

“What’s wrong, bunny?”

You don’t answer, instead choosing to release your grip on his cock and slip your fingers under your panties, gathering some of your wetness to provide lubrication for your hand. Changbin groans in realization when your hand returns to his dick. You stroke him, bringing your free hand up to squeeze his bicep, then trail down his chest, over the softness of his tummy, down to fist him with both hands.

“Oh, God, bunny, please.”

You straighten one leg before placing it on the floor, your second hand bracing against the back of the couch behind Changbin’s head as your other leg comes down. You’re bent over him, still fucking him with your hand, but with both feet planted, you speak to the room. “Would one of you boys be so kind as to help me take off my panties?”

Jisung starts to move from his spot next to Changbin, where he’s been watching you, transfixed. A set of hands grips your hips before Ji leaves your eyesight, so you know Chan is behind you.

“I’ve got you, babygirl.” His fingers slip under the waist of the panties, sliding down your skin to drag them off of you. A small yelp escapes you when you feel his teeth sink into the flesh of your ass cheek, and he chuckles, kissing the maimed skin. He taps one calf for you to lift up and then the other, completely ridding you of the panties. He doesn’t back up though, dragging his hands back up your legs deliberately enough to summon goosebumps. His hand moves forward at the apex of your thighs, brushing through your folds and making your knees buckle when he rubs the pads of two fingers over your clit.

“Channie,” you whimper, head drooping to fall against Changbin’s forehead, and Chan tuts.

“Ah, ah, lamb. Move your hand, keep him hard. Don’t you want Binnie to fuck you?” You whine, but you slowly move your hand, still gripped around Changbin’s cock. “Good girl.”

You lift your head, meeting Changbin’s eyes. “Do you want to fuck me, Binnie?” You bite your bottom lip when Chan pinches your clit between two fingers and tugs side to side slightly.

“I’d like to taste you first, bunny.”

“We can do that later.” A gasp and then a sigh escape you as Chan slides his other two fingers into you, still torturing your clit with the first two. “Please, bunny. I need you.”

“Needy slut.” Chan murmurs affectionately behind you, bringing his free hand down on the ass cheek he bit in a loud smack. You keen forward, grazing your thumb over the head of Changbin’s cock.

“Fine,” Bin finally agrees, pouting, “I’m holding you to it. Come here.” Chan withdraws his hand, patting your ass and pushing you forward to climb back into Changbin’s lap. Jisung hands Changbin a foil wrapper from a backpack on the floor near the other end of the couch. He rips it open and you take the condom from him to roll it down his length.

You lift up onto your knees, helping him guide his tip to your entrance. His hands rest on your hips as you sink down slowly, enveloping him in your warmth with a low whine. His fingers dig into your flesh as he curses, biting his lip, watching himself disappear into you. Once you’re firmly planted, you wrap your hand around his neck and pull him to your mouth. His tongue traces your lips and you rock forward, grinding your clit against his pubic bone and making him groan.

“Oh, shit, bunny, you feel so good.”

You drop your head to his shoulder as you continue to rock against him, lifting your hips enough to pull off of him before sliding back down. The pace you set is unhurried, half exhausted from your two previous orgasms. Changbin runs his hands down your back before settling them on your ass. Eventually, he grips you tighter, quickening your pace, and from the way his breathing changes, you can sense he’s getting close.

“Bin, want you to cum for me, bunny.” You murmur, kissing his neck. He whines, shaking his head.

“Not without you.” He snakes his hand between your bodies, trying to reach your clit. “Hold on, this would be easier if you were facing the other way.” He holds your hips still before pushing you up. You lift your head and allow him to push, another set of hands coming to help drag you off of him. 

Once you’re standing, a little wobbly in your heels, you’re spun around to face Chan. He grins at you and shoves you back into Changbin’s waiting hands. Changbin slips back into you easily, the new angle forcing the head of his cock right into your g-spot, making you moan. He pulls you back against his chest, hooking your knees on either side of his to give Chan a view of your spread pussy as he fucks up into it.

“Oh, fuck, this angle-” Changbin rests his forehead on the side of your head. You watch as Chan sits back down in his chair, hand back on his cock through his shorts. His eyes pin you down, unable to look anywhere but at Chan, even as Changbin brings his hand around to rub your clit and send you hurtling toward another orgasm. It’s Chan’s heavy gaze that tips you over, the way he bites his lip, cocking his eyebrow, challenging you to cum for him as Changbin fucks up into you recklessly.

And when you clench down, breath hitching, it’s Chan’s name that falls from your lips with a whimper. Changbin doesn’t hear it, too caught up with his own release as it shoots from him moments later. He releases his grip on your hips, collapsing against the back of the couch and curling his arms around you.

You barely have a chance to recover before Jisung is standing in front of you, pulling you off of Changbin’s lap. He flips you around and shoves you onto the couch on your knees, his cock hard again and already wrapped in a condom. “Can’t believe how fucking hot that was, Jesus, baby.”

He nudges your entrance with his cock, whining for permission. When you nod, he pushes in. Your head hangs between your shoulders, still reeling from your last orgasm, and when Jisung bottoms out, you groan. He’s longer than Changbin, and, at essentially the same angle, your sensitive g-spot only needs three thrusts of his hips before you’re cumming again.

“Oh my god, jagi, fuck, fuck, fuck- I’m not going last, shit, so sensi- ah ah-” Jisung cums before you’ve finished riding out your climax. “Oh my god, I’ve never cum so quick, I’m sorry, shit-”

“Ji,” you pant out, swiveling your head to shoot him a hazy smile. “No complaints, I already got one from you earlier. Now you’re just spoiling me.”

His face brightens and he surges forward to kiss you firmly. “The best friend I could ask for, thank you baby. You flatter me.”

He withdraws, and your leg gives out as you crumple to the couch. Jisung helps you sit more comfortably, producing a water bottle from somewhere and demanding you drink it. Changbin has disappeared from the room, presumably to a restroom or something to clean up.

“Are you okay?” Jisung brushes some hair from your face and you nod.

“Han-ah, go wash up. I can take care of her.”

Jisung sends you one last look before turning to Chan. “Okay hyung, I’m going. I’ll bring her back some food too.”

“Good, thank you, Ji.” Chan says, watching as Jisung slips out of the room. Once you’re alone, Chan shifts over to the couch, lifting your legs to slide into the spot Changbin had been. “You okay, babygirl?” His hands rub up and down your legs.

“Yeah, just need a moment to catch my breath. This is more orgasms in one night than I’m used to.”

He chuckles, glancing down at where his hand caresses your leg over the fishnets. “I guess we’re just going to have to change that.”

Your heart somersaults at the implication. “W-what?”

“Oh, lamb. Did you think this was going to be a one-time thing?” He shifts, settling between your legs to stalk up your body slowly. “No, see, you are ours now. No more lonely nights, no more lame dates, no more bratting without consequence.”

He’s hovering over you now, caging you into the couch cushion. Your chest heaves with his words. You spend a moment glancing between his two eyes, reading the look he’s giving you, interpreting. “Promise?”

A sly grin overtakes his face. Right answer. His lips capture yours possessively, teeth clashing against yours as he asserts his dominance. You willingly submit, mewling into him, hands reaching for him as you pull his body weight onto yours, his arms buckling. You wrap your legs around his waist, feeling his erection through the material of his shorts, causing you to buck your hips into his.

He breaks away from your mouth to drag his teeth to your neck, biting hard enough to make you cry out. Chan laves at the bite with his tongue, soothing the angry skin. He works his way down your body, planting kisses anywhere he can, and you run your hand through his hair fondly.

“You are so beautiful, babygirl. So pretty when you’re cumming on Bin’s cock, yeah?” His tongue darts out to trace the curve of your hip bone before he makes his final descent, mouth hovering over your pussy when he looks up at you again. “Gorgeous when you’re all fucked out like this.”

Without giving you a chance to reply, he wraps his mouth around you, engulfing you to flick his tongue up and over your clit. The hand in his hair tightens as you whine. He licks over you again, pressing his tongue flat before flicking up just the end, targeting your swollen clit. He switches to use his lips on it before ducking down to shove his tongue deep into you. Your back arches and you murmur his name.

“Channie, fuck,” your upper body jolts upward, off of the couch involuntarily when he moves his tongue back to your clit.

“Use the right name, babygirl.”

“Chris-”

“Not that one.” He slips two fingers into you, lifting his head to watch you when he curls up into your g-spot. “Come on, little lamb. You know the one.”

You shake your head, feeling the knot building in your stomach. His tongue darts out, licking up your folds tauntingly. “Bang-”

He laughs. “Nope, not my stage name either.”

He bends down to suckle your clit, and you feel the knot begin to snap. A gasp escapes you, then suddenly his fingers retreat. “Wha- no! No, Channie please, I was so close, I-”

“Not until you say it, babygirl.”

“Daddy! Daddy, please-”

His fingers slip back into you, joined by a third, and you arch off the couch again. His lips capture your clit and when he licks it again, you snap. The orgasm hits you so hard, you feel like you stop breathing. Your vision goes white and you feel your pulse in your ears. You vaguely hear him coo at you, calling your name as you return to your body. Slowly your vision returns and your hearing quiets. Chan whispers your name, pressing soft kisses to the inside of your thigh above the fishnets.

“There she is. I lost you for a couple minutes.”

“Minutes?” Your hand returns to his hair, nails scratching his scalp gently as you stare at the ceiling to catch your breath.

“Mmm.” He bites your thigh gently before pulling himself back up to your face. “Hi.”

You tilt down to look at him. “Hi.”

“Can I kiss you?” You nod, closing your eyes as he leans in. The kiss is soft, tender. You can taste yourself on him, sweet and tangy. His tongue sweeps over your lips gently before he pulls back. “How do you feel?”

“I feel good, Channie. I’m okay.”

“Are you sure? We can wait-”

“No!”

He grins at your eagerness. “Okay.” He nods, kissing you softly. “Okay, I’ll fuck you, babygirl. Since you’re still so needy after milking both Bin and Ji dry, I’ll give you my cum too. That’s what you want, isn’t it?” He whispers it into your ear, sending chills down your spine.

“No condom.” He pulls back to look at you, surprised. “I’m o-on the pill, we don’t- I just want-”

“Oh, baby,” he laughs, caressing your cheek, “how are you this perfect for me? All this time, my best fucking friend.” His mouth crashes to yours before you can reply. He shifts, one hand shoving down his shorts to release his cock. You feel the weight of it fall against you and whimper into his mouth. Wiggling your hips, you try to nudge him closer to your entrance, but all that does is make him gasp. He rips his mouth from you, staring down at you incredulously.

“Don’t be a brat now, you’ve been so good all night.”

“Daddy, please.”

You watch his eyes roll back just before he closes his eyes, steeling himself. When he opens them a split second later, they’re darker, determined. “Behave.”

But he sits back on his haunches, gripping his cock in his hand to guide it to your center. He’s thicker than Changbin, the stretch so delicious as he buries himself in your heat. You whimper, gasping when he meets your cervix. “Channie, oh my god.”

“Jesus, this tight little cunt- what the fuck am I supposed to do with you?”

You grab his hand, bringing it to your mouth to kiss his knuckles. “Fuck me, Daddy.” You flatten his hand against your throat, watching as understanding flashes and he groans. His fingers tighten briefly as he pulls out slowly, almost completely, before sliding back into you. You feel your eyes roll back.

“Such a little whore for us, hmm? A perfectly good girl, just absolutely filthy.” He pulls out and slides in again, again, again. He fucks you at a constant pace, not too quick, not too harsh. He readjusts his grip on your throat and leans forward, face crowding yours. “How long have you wanted this, lamb?”

“Too- too long!” You manage to get out between thrusts, and Chan bends to lick over your nipple.

“Not- shit- I bet not as long as us.”

Involuntarily, you clench around him at the implication. “What? Us?”

He brings his face back to yours. “You think we don’t talk? You know how close we are.” He squeezes the fingers at your throat. Chan fucks like he dances-- aggressively. He makes the same tantalizing faces, too. “You, my little siren, have us all in your thrall.” He emphasizes his words with a particularly rough thrust, his face distorting with the effort.

You bite your lip to hold back a particularly loud moan. He crashes his mouth to yours to rip your bottom lip from your teeth, claiming it between his own with a grunt. When he pulls back, you pant. “A-all? Like…”

“All, babygirl. Every single one.”

It’s enough to push you to your breaking point, orgasm washing over you in white hot waves. Chan raises up, repositioning to fuck you through it. His hand loosens and starts to pull away but you frantically dig your nails into his forearm. He seems to understand right away, a throaty noise escaping him as he grips you again, applying more pressure. His name is torn from you, lost in a gasping breath when his thumb presses into your clit, driving you right back up the wall before you have a chance to fully come down.

“Jesus, you’re squeezing me so tight, lamb, shit I’m gonna cum, gonna- oh God,” Chan’s hips stutter, movements erratic as he spills himself in you, groaning in exertion. His hand pulls away from your throat, lifting to your face as he falls forward to kiss you tenderly.

The door to the studio opens and closes with a soft click. Chan breaks the kiss to glance over at Jisung as he sets some things down on the desk.

“I brought some ramyeon and water.” 

“Thanks, Ji.” Chan turns back to you, tapping your cheek with two fingers. “You still with me, lamb?”

“Mhmm. Just tired now.” You smile up at him before puckering your lips, asking for another kiss. He grins, rolling his eyes dramatically as he indulges you. When you turn to look at Jisung, you furrow your brows. “Where’s Binnie?”

“Downstairs. One of the staff got him talking about workout routines.” Ji answers, leaning against the desk and making a face.

“So we’ve lost him for the night.” Chan remarks, which makes you giggle. He kisses your cheek and motions to get off of you.

“Probably. How do you feel, jagi?”

Chan sits up on his knees, his cock finally slipping out of you. “Messy.” You tell Jisung, and he looks down your body.

His eyes go wide. “You didn’t use a condom?!” He looks from your face to Chan and then back to you.

“Daddy has a kink?” It comes out as a question, and Chan groans.

“Daddy?!” Jisung flails, choking on air.

“Great, thanks for that. Now they’ll all know.” Chan shoots you a very pointed look and you giggle, shrugging back at him.

“I can’t believe all the jokes that have been made are true, hyung.”

Chan glares at Jisung before lunging, grabbing Ji by the shirt and dragging him close. “We’ll talk about this later.” He shoves Jisung down toward your body, moving off the couch to give him more space. “For now, I think you should clean her up.”

Jisung looks at your face briefly before looking back up at Chan. “Okay, uh- should we get a towel-”

“Use your mouth.”

Your breath hitches and Jisung meets your eyes, seeking permission. “Please, Ji.”

Without another word, he shifts, angling your leg over his shoulder to lower his mouth to your core. His tongue slips between your lips to find your clit, circling and crossing over the bundle of nerves until you’re tugging at his hair with one hand and your own hair with the other.

“Ji, don’t stop,” he sucks your clit between his teeth and flicks it rapidly with the point of his tongue, bringing you to your climax again. He eases off of your clit, sliding down to fuck his tongue into you as you tremble with the ripples of your orgasm. Jisung sucks down the mixture of your release and Chan’s cum without complaint, causing Chan to grin from his perch on the arm of the couch above him.

“Who’s the good boy now, babygirl?” He challenges, quirking a smug brow at you. You flip him the bird half-heartedly, leg slipping from Jisung’s shoulder as he withdraws his face from your pussy.

“C’mere, Ji.” You curl your hands, motioning for him to climb on top of you. His mouth meets yours in a frantic claim, a whimper escaping one of you. You place several short kisses around his lips, up his jaw, over his cheeks until they crinkle under your lips with his smile.

“You’re okay, baby?” There’s a fragility in the question, in the way his voice wavers, how he clears his throat.

“I’m okay, Ji.” You kiss his nose softly. He rests his forehead against yours and sighs.

Chan slaps his ass, ruining the moment. “Come on, let’s get her dressed so we can go home and wash up properly. And then I demand snuggles.” He points a finger at you menacingly.

Jisung climbs off you before helping you sit up. You sway side to side for a moment, causing both of them to put up their hands to catch you, but you remain upright.

“Jesus, jagiya, are you sure you’re okay? Just how many orgasms did you have?”

You stare at a spot on the floor as you try to recall. “Uh…” you mutter under your breath as you count for a second before your eyes open wide. “Oh my god.”

“What?!”

“Eight. I had eight orgasms.”

There’s a moment of silence, of disbelief, before Chan and Jisung are gasping and giggling. You nudge Ji’s shoulder petulantly and he drags you closer, wrapping his arms around you as he continues to laugh.

“Well you know what they say about eight.” Chan says, and now it’s your turn to point a finger at him.

“Shut up, Bang.”

The door opens again and all three of you turn to watch Changbin walk in. “Hey, you know what I was thinking, those handcuffs bunny has might-'' He sees you all looking. “What happened?”

“Guess how many orgasms she had.” Jisung speaks, earning a swat on the chest from you.

Changbin leans against the door, brows raised. “I know I got her to three.”

“Oh my god, is this going to be a competition now?” You drop your face into your hands with a groan as Chan laughs.

“Come on. Get dressed, we’re going home.” Chan runs a hand down your hair. Jisung pulls you to your feet and Changbin finds your dress.

“I’m keeping these.” Changbin holds up your panties before pocketing them.

“That means I never get to wear this for you again.” You tell him, sitting in Chan’s desk chair to eat the ramyeon Jisung forces into your hands. Changbin pouts but pulls the panties out and puts them on top of your purse.

Chan snaps his fingers. “Eat. Then we go to the dorm.”

“Okay, okay, you’re so bossy.”

“You bring us food and make us eat all the time! We’re just returning the favor.” Jisung winks as he says it. You roll your eyes but smile and take a bite.

Chan and Changbin pack up. Chan cages you between his arms as he leans over your shoulder to save their progress on the track, shutting down the studio equipment and tucking his laptop into his bag. He kisses the top of your head as you finish the ramyeon, taking a drink from the bottle of water Bin hands you.

You stand to step into your coat as Jisung holds it out for you. Chan pulls the belt around and ties it closed for you, kissing your cheek once he finishes. Changbin ushers you out of the studio as Chan shuts the lights and locks the door. The four of you crowd into the elevator in comfortable silence, and a few minutes later, you’re in the backseat of Changbin’s car as he pulls out of the parking structure.

“Do I still have spare clothes at the dorm?” You ask, and Chan turns to look at you from the passenger seat.

“I have some in my room, but I think Ji has most of them.”

“Yeah, there’s a bunch in my bottom drawer. But you’re welcome to borrow anything you want.”

You lean over to kiss him. “Thank you Hanji.” You catch Changbin’s eye in the rear-view mirror, so you lean forward to slip your hand around. He catches it with the hand that isn’t on the steering wheel. “This was a great assracha bonding session, I feel very close with you guys now.” Jisung groans and Changbin giggles. 

“Don’t call us that, jagi.”

“You lost the right to make that demand when YOU started the group chat.” Jisung scrunches his face but doesn’t retort. “Hey, now I have a new reason to call you assracha!”

xx

author's note: SO this started as just the texts, and then I figured I'd write a little drabble, and then next thing I knew I was almost 7k words deep. I hope y'all like it. I might revisit this series with more smutty drabbles for other members in the future. Really, I'm just procrastinating the longer fics I'm half done with, lol. Let me know what y'all wanna see! xx Minty

EDIT: slutracha is pt 2, piperacha is pt 3

---

Group Texts* - Slutracha (Stray Kids)

+ bonus *drabble, NSFW

Besties with Benefits series masterlist

Sequel to 3rauncha. There will be a third part for vocalracha coming at some point in the future. Now posted: piperacha, the follow up.

Pairings: danceracha x bestfriend!f.reader, Chan x reader fluff at the beginning, references to 3racha x reader [bonus Hyunjin x Felix] Word count: 6.0k [not including 6 screenshots] (unedited, sorry for any mistakes, I'm currently traveling) TW: Suggestive and explicit content, swearing, pet names [reader is called angel, sunflower, kitten, jagi/jagiya, doll, princess, my love], fingering, spanking, impact play, biting, oral sex (m. & f. receiving), face-fucking, protected sex (condoms, birth control pill mentioned), choking, orgasm denial (edging), multiple orgasms, m. x m. interactions, vague reference to subspace, exhibitionism/voyeurism, praise kink, degradation, Dom!Minho, Switch!Felix if you squint

The same receptionist is working again, shooting you a bright smile and asking about your day as she waves you through. You’re grateful that you’re already a well-known presence at the company- nothing out of the ordinary for you to show up at odd hours. Everyone knows your boys keep a busy schedule.

Your boys. You smile at that, stepping into the elevator. They had always been your boys, but now the context held something deeper, something more. 

The elevator opens on the eighth floor to a weary Chan, glancing down at his phone with his earbuds in. He looks up as he steps forward, face lighting up when he sees you.

“Babygirl, what are you doing here?” He removes an earbud, stepping closer to let the elevator door close you both in. You let him kiss you once you’re alone in the elevator.

“I’m headed to the practice room, Minho, Hyunjin, and Felix are expecting me.” You breathe out against his lips before he’s kissing you again, hands tilting your face back to deepen the kiss. A soft whimper escapes you before he pulls back, a wide grin on his face.

“Working your way through the rachas?” He teases, and you roll your eyes.

“Please. If you didn’t have such a big mouth-”

“-you like my big mouth-”

“-correct, but if you didn’t tell everyone what happened-

“-I only told Hyunjin-”

“-Hyunjin is THE gossip queen and you know it!” You swat at his shoulder playfully, shaking your head with a smile. “Like I was saying, if you hadn’t told anyone, maybe I could have stayed 3racha’s secret for a little bit, and you could have been greedy.”

He laughs, petting your cheek with his thumb. “You know I’m not the greedy type, sweetheart. I share everything with the kids.” His mouth finds yours again, contradicting his words as he claims you.

“Channie,” you whisper against his mouth, “I’m going to be late.”

“Shh, it’s fine, babygirl.” He presses you into the wall of the elevator, thigh slotting between your legs deliciously. You groan, allowing his tongue to sweep in. A minute later, he pulls away. “What time are you supposed to be there?”

“Ten.”

He glances down at his phone and then sighs. “It’s 9:58. Come on, I’ll walk you there, just in case Minho wants to be a hard ass.” Chan threads his fingers into yours and presses the Doors Open button.

“He’s going to be a hard ass regardless.” You retort, rolling your eyes as Chan just tugs you forward.

When Chan opens the door to the practice room, you hear music playing. Stepping in, you see Minho and Felix in the middle of a routine, and Hyunjin is collapsed on the floor in front of them. Minho meets your eyes and stops, heading over to cut the music. 

“Hyung, what are you doing here?”

“I ran into her in the elevator, didn’t want her to get in trouble so I offered to walk her here.”

Minho raises a brow. “How much trouble can she get into in the hallway?” Chan shrugs, grinning. “Ahh, you’re already whipped. Go home, you’ve been dead on your feet all day.”

“Blame Jisung for that, he kicked me out of my own bed!”

“You weren’t in the bed to get kicked out!” You poke his chest before wandering over to throw your arms around Felix for a hug and kiss on the cheek. “Hi, Sunshine.”

“Hi, sunflower.”

Chan makes a face. “I’m too tired for this. Take care of our brat.” 

“Sure thing, Daddy!” Felix calls out, making Hyunjin break out into a fit of laughter.

Chan groans, pointing a finger at you. “Your fault.” He disappears out of the room with a wave.

Still in Felix’s arms, you turn to Minho. “I’m on time, right?”

“Despite Chan-hyung’s meddling, yes.” He reaches for you, yanking you from Felix’s grip. You barely have time to react, hand splayed on his chest as he dips forward to kiss you. You melt into him, letting him deepen the kiss and seek out your tongue. When he pulls away a minute later, his brows are furrowed, and you bring up your hand to smooth them.

A small hand grabs you by the waist, tugging you backward, back into Felix’s embrace. When you turn your head, he’s smiling at you. “May I kiss you too?”

You nod, twisting in his hold to wrap your arms around his neck, drawing him closer. Your lips touch softly, once, twice, three times, and Felix is backing you up until you bump into the mirrored wall. One of your hands flattens against the back of his head with the impact, and he uses it as fuel to change angles, pushing you up on the wall and kissing you harder. Your breath catches in your throat and you whimper, his tongue darting forward to taste you.

“I suddenly understand why Han-ah liked to watch last night.” You hear Minho say in a low voice.

Felix pulls away from you, and you open your eyes to catch him grinning. “You’re a great kisser, angel.”

“You aren’t so bad yourself, Lix.” You reply with a soft chuckle, tucking a strand of his hair behind his ear.

“He better not be bad. I taught him how to kiss.” A voice calls from the floor and your face falls neutral, processing.

“Wait- wait, what?!” You glance over, a few steps away, to where Hyunjin is still laying on the floor, hair spread out around his head like a firework. Felix steps back, allowing you to move over to Hyunjin, nudging him with your foot. “Explain yourself, Hwang!”

You hear Felix giggle behind you as Hyunjin scoffs. “Why aren’t you asking him?”

“He wasn’t the one who said something out of pocket!” Hyunjin simply looks up at you before shrugging and closing his eyes again. You turn to look at Felix questioningly. “Lixie?”

The mischievous grin would be enough to confirm but the exaggerated wag of his eyebrow sends you keeling over in laughter. You drop to your knees, shaking your head as you lean over Hyunjin.

“Do you want to kiss me or not?”

He runs a hand through his hair as best he can from his position before opening his eyes. “Sure, princess.” 

Hyunjin reaches for the back of your neck, using his grip on you to drag your mouth to his. Your arm buckles and you tumble into his chest, but he curls around you before rolling to pin you beneath him. You gasp in surprise, and he slips his tongue between your lips and his fingers into your hair. He tastes like strawberries and cream, like your favorite ice cream. His lips are firm but gentle in their dance with yours, and by the time he withdraws, your heart rate is already racing.

“Fuck, Hyune, where the goddamn hell did YOU learn to kiss like that?!”

He eases off of you, resting his head on his hand beside you with a smug grin. “A magician never tells.”

You roll your eyes, poking him in the chest. “Brat.”

Minho appears over you, blocking the overhead light. “Are you going to lay on the floor all night?”

"Absolutely." Hyunjin snaps back, causing Minho to blink at him.

“Where would you rather I lay, Min?”

He lifts a brow at you, glancing over to the couch in the corner. “That certainly seems more comfortable, does it not?”

You shoot Hyunjin a look, but he bites down on his lips with a worried look at Minho. You extend a hand to Minho to help you to your feet, which he does. You wander over to the couch ahead of him, hearing a grunt and a short yell from Hyunjin- guess he got Minho’s wrath anyway. You feel hands grip your waist, dragging you sideways and tumbling to the cushions as Felix crashes into you with a giggle.

Turning to face him, he cuts off your questioning with a hard kiss, pressing into you with his body. Oh. Ohh, Lixie. You whimper when his hand grips your leg, pulling it to the side to make space for him between your thighs. You sweep your tongue over his lips and he parts them, sighing into you. Wrapping your legs around him, you roll your hips up into his, along the outline of his rigid cock.

He breaks the kiss to pant heavily at your neck, dragging his teeth up to the spot below your ear. “Fuck, angel. Let me touch you, please.”

You nod, and Felix shifts, running a hand down your side. Before he gets very far, a hand snakes out to stop him. “Not yet.” Minho says, looking down at you. “Kitten doesn’t deserve it.”

“What?”

“Min, please,” you whine, grasping his wrist. He ignores you, looking hard at Felix.

“Get up. She has to earn her pleasure.”

Felix scrambles up, shooting you an apologetic glance when you whine. He moves further down the couch where Hyunjin sits with open arms, cooing at Felix. You get a quick glimpse of their lips locking before Minho is climbing on top of you, caging you in between his hands and blocking your view.

“Wait, are they kissi-” you don’t have time to finish your question before Minho’s hand is tangled in your hair, angling your face up to meet his mouth. He’s more aggressive this time, teeth gnashing against yours in his urgency. His hand slides up your shirt- Chan’s shirt, the one you borrowed after your shower this afternoon- to cup your breast over your bra. His thumb circles your nipple, feeling it draw taut under the thin lace. His lips continue their bruising path from your lips to your neck, licking possessively over the bite mark Chan had left there last night. Minho sits up on his haunches, shoving your shirt up your chest, motioning for you to take it off. He helps you sit up long enough to rip the fabric over your head. Your lips meet the moment the shirt clears your face. You throw your arms around his neck, dragging him backwards with you as you fall back to the couch. His arm braces against the cushion, preventing you from bumping heads.

“Min, please.”

He trails down your neck once more, kissing and biting his way across the expanse of your chest. Your breath catches in your throat when his lips wrap around your nipple through your bra. His tongue darts out, soaking the lace as it flicks over the sensitive bud. Your fingers thread into his hair, pushing him further into you. 

Minho's fingers slide up to tug the strap down your arm, removing the barrier between his mouth and your nipple. His teeth graze over the soft flesh, dragging a groan from you, and you wrap your legs around his waist to draw him closer to you. He holds firm though, not letting himself be dragged closer. He slips his hand underneath you, deftly unclasping the band of the bra and ridding you of the garment completely before you have time to process. 

You hear a small whine, glancing down to try to peer past Minho. He notices, sitting up and sucking his teeth at you. “Pay attention to me, Kitten. Don’t worry about what Yongbok and Hyunjinnie are up to.”

“But-” Minho's hand slaps your tit, small and sharp. A gasp chokes out of you as you stare at him.

“Are you going to behave?” You nod your head slowly, tensing under his slow gaze down your exposed torso. “Good. Now, let’s take these off.” He loops his fingers into the waistband of your sweatpants, backing up as he tugs them down. You lift your hips to help him, and he tosses the pants to the floor. In nothing but your panties now, you look up at Minho expectantly.

“Hyunijn-ah, why don’t you both move a little closer so the kitten can watch? Let’s see how well she can multitask.” Minho’s lips curve into a smile, and you hear shifting behind him. Hyunjin stands, wiping the corner of his mouth with his thumb. He shoves his hair off of his face and turns to look at you with a coy grin, winking as he saunters closer. He drops to the floor next to you, leaning against the seat so that his head lays back, touching your arm. A moment later, Felix stands, moving from behind Minho. You bite your lip when he steps fully into view, hand on his exposed glistening cock, pumping it up and down. He moves in front of Hyunjin, crowding closer before sliding his cock right into Hyunjin’s waiting mouth, keeping his eyes locked on yours.

“Oh my god,” you whine, biting at your lip as Felix fucks into Hyunjin slowly, gripping him by the hair. Hyunjin braces a hand on Felix’s hip, but Minho grabs it and twists it up over Hyunjin’s head to place it on your tit. Hyunjin squeezes it and moans around Felix, which in turn makes Felix groan. Minho chuckles, moving down to trail a finger over your panties. Your head whips around to watch him lower his head to your thigh, biting the flesh there. The whimper that leaves your throat makes Hyunjin squeeze you again, fingertips moving side to side lightly to tease your nipple. Your chest heaves, Minho bites higher. You brush his hair back, watching his nose nudge at your clothed core. Slowly, he places a soft kiss over the damp lace covering your pussy, eyes snapping up to smolder at you.

Just like he did with the lace of your bra, Minho presses his tongue over your clit, letting the lace soak as he softly flicks his tongue side to side. Your fingers tighten in his hair, causing his eyes to flutter closed momentarily. Minho’s hands find your hips, curling into the top edge of your panties to pull them down, disconnecting his mouth from your body only to let the offending fabric be removed just enough for him to slip his tongue into your folds. The gasp that escapes you makes him grin, his eyes finding yours before his hot mouth closes down on you again.

“Yongbok-ah,” Minho’s voice rumbles against you, making you clench around nothing. Felix hums in acknowledgment, still lazily rutting into Hyunjin’s mouth. Minho pulls back, shifting to drag your panties the rest of the way down and off of your legs. “Why don’t you give her a taste? Keep her occupied for me.”

Felix pulls out of Hyunjin with a wet squelch, and Hyunjin swallows a groan, sinking down when Felix releases his hair. Felix steps over him, moving to straddle your chest. He cups your jaw, running his thumb over your bottom lip.

“Open up, angel baby.” Holding himself by the base, he nudges his tip past your lips, and you can taste Hyunjin on him. You press your tongue flat against him as he slides in slowly, his head dropping back with a low groan. Felix’s hand cups your face, thumb stroking your cheek, and when he hits the back of your throat, you glance up to meet his eyes, dark and clouded with lust. Minho’s mouth returns to you then, your brows coming together as your eyes roll back with a whimper around Felix’s length.

He tightens his grip on your cheek. “Eyes on me, sunflower.” Your eyes snap back to him with difficulty, lids drooping as Minho continues his ministrations on your clit and Felix continues to piston in and out of your mouth slowly.

“Such a good girl, kitten, listening to Yongbok so well.” Minho says, changing angles between your thighs. He trails a fingertip through your slick, catching faintly on your clit before grazing over your entrance. Your leg trembles slightly, and Minho chuckles faintly, placing a soft kiss to the flesh of your inner thigh before slipping that finger into you.

Your gasp is cut off by a rough thrust from Felix, his hand slipping up to tangle in your hair. He fucks into you a little more forcefully, and Minho mimics the pace with his finger. You feel yourself clenching around him when he adds a second finger, curling them and grazing over your g-spot.

Hyunjin, not to be forgotten about, twists from his position on the floor to press kisses along your arm, murmuring soft words of encouragement and groping at your tits. The combination of their attentions on you and the way Minho fucks you with his fingers has you tensing with your impending orgasm. Staggered, broken moans and whimpers build in your throat, punched out with every forward motion of Felix’s cock. Minho coos at you, encouraging you to fall apart, and buries his face in your cunt again. Just as you’re cresting the precipice, Minho pulls away, withdrawing his fingers and saying something to Felix that you don’t hear over the thundering in your ears.

Felix pulls himself free from your mouth with a grunt, and before you can blink, Hyunjin’s mouth is on yours.

You don’t kiss him back, still reeling from your ruined orgasm and getting face-fucked, but he swipes his tongue across yours and pulls back with a giggle. Minho’s fist is in his hair.

“Don’t be a brat, too, Hyunjinnie, or you won’t get to cum either.” Minho pushes Hyunjin away from you, and he crawls over to descend on Felix’s cock once again.

“Wha-what- Min- why? Why, I was so cl- I don’t un-” You stammer, and Minho leans over you, a saccharine smile scrunching his eyes.

“I told you, kitten, you have to earn your pleasure.” His hand ghosts over your cheek as you gape at him, unable to form a coherent response. “If you continue to be a good girl, I won’t deny you again. But if you misbehave-”

He tuts, glancing over at Felix and Hyunjin. “If you misbehave, I guess you’ll only get to watch them.”

“Hyung, I’m not going to last much longer.” Felix gasps out suddenly, over the sound of Hyunjin gagging on him. 

You stare at Minho as he narrows his eyes, pursing his lips for a moment. “Okay. You can fuck her first.” Minho finally responds, looking at you with a raised brow. You nod, still dazed, then glance over at Felix. Hyunjin backs off, heaving for air and wiping the drool from the edges of his mouth, shooting you a devious wink and mouthing ‘you’re welcome’ at you. Felix shuffles closer and Minho moves off the couch, walking over to the cabinetry to grab something. 

Felix settles in above you, bending down to kiss you. “You still okay, angel?” He asks softly, thumb grazing your bottom lip. You nod, and he gives you a half smile. “Can you say it, instead of just nodding? For me?”

“Yeah, Lixie, I’m okay.” You reassure him, earning a genuine smile that he buries in your neck in relief.

“Thank God.”

Minho taps his arm, holding out a condom. Felix takes it, sitting back on his haunches to open it and roll it on. Once he has, he grips your thighs, pulling you down the couch far enough for Minho to slot in above your head. Felix guides himself to your entrance, sliding in as slowly as he had slid into your mouth.

Because you haven’t cum yet, the sensation of his cock filling you makes you whimper. The stretch isn’t terrible, but your fingers search for something to grip anyway. Minho’s hand curls into yours, and you feel his other hand run over your brow to smooth out the discomfort knotted there. By the time Felix is fully engulfed by your walls, Minho is bending over to press soft kisses to your forehead.

“That’s it, jagi, you’re doing so good.”

Felix grips your thighs still, pulling your hips up to meet his and wrapping your legs around him. “Fuck, she’s so tight, hyung. I don’t know how long I can fuck her. She’s clenching down around me.”

“Jagiya, relax for us,” Minho coos, still kissing your face, “you’re going to make him finish before he can get you off.”

You relax, trying not to clench so much, and Felix makes a strangled noise. Minho chuckles before shifting back. You whine at the loss when his hand disappears from yours, and Felix drops down to kiss you. 

“Angel.”

“Lix,” you pant into his mouth as he slowly retreats from you then slips back in, mouth hovered over yours. “You feel so good, babyboy.”

He drops his face to your neck with a whine, mouthing at your collarbone as he continues his torturously slow pace. You run your fingers through his hair and down his neck, scraping at the skin. Felix shivers, bringing his head up to glance at you before pressing a frantic kiss to your mouth and backing up. He repositions, changing the angle he’s fucking you and picks up his pace a little.

“Kitten,” Minho peers over from above, drawing your attention, “can you handle more right now?”

“Yes.”

A wide grin spreads on his face before he shifts, lifting himself over you to bring his cock to your mouth. You have to tilt your head back a little to reach him, and it’s a slightly awkward angle, but you manage to take him completely. He makes a small noise when your nose nudges his balls. Felix uses this moment to thrust into you roughly, rocking your body upward and into Minho, making you gag slightly. Minho pulls out for you to catch your breath, but you grip his hips and pull him back.

“Oh fuck.” You vaguely recognize the sound of a camera shutter, but pinned in between Felix and Minho, you can’t find it in yourself to care.

Minho and Felix work in tandem, pulling out and pushing back into you at opposite times. The new angle Felix has you in makes his cockhead hit your g-spot with every thrust, and soon, you’re whining and whimpering around Minho as your pleasure builds. Felix swears, hips stuttering as you clench around him, running toward your orgasm. Your body starts to tense, and Minho notices, your fingers digging into his skin.

“Yongbok-ah, help her out.” Minho gestures at you, and Felix brings his hand down to your clit, rubbing small circles and shooting you right toward your climax. Minho slows his hips, a hand on your face as he murmurs his permission. “Cum for us, jagiya.”

Stars explode behind your eyes as you tumble over the edge. You feel Felix stutter again, groaning as you clench around him to ride the wave of your climax before he pulls out of you with a gasp. Minho withdraws far enough for you to suck in a deep breath, swallowing down the excess saliva from him fucking your mouth. The aftershocks of your orgasm ripple through you momentarily before you’re whining and bucking against Felix’s hand still rubbing your clit. Minho bullies his way back into your mouth, gripping the sides of your throat with his thumbs pressed into your arteries as he fucks into you more forcefully than he had done. You gag, trying to push him off, but he grunts suddenly and you feel him emptying down your throat. He pulls out quickly, brushing your hair out of your face.

“Are you okay, kitten?” He helps you sit up as you choke a little bit, and a water bottle appears in front of your face. You nod, taking the water and giving Hyunjin a grateful smile before taking a swig.

“I’m good, I just got a little surprised.” You cough and clear your throat, and Minho gives you a guilty look. “Min, stop, I’m fine.”

“I got a little carried away.”

“Do you hear me complaining?” He relaxes at that, and you turn to face Felix, who is slouched on the cushion. “Did I force you out?”

He gives you a harried look. “No, sunflower, I pulled out because I came.”

You glance down at his cock, half covered by his hand in the position he’s splayed in. “Oh! Okay good, I was worried for a moment.”

“Sorry it was quick.” He says, exhaustion lacing his tone. You giggle.

“Lix, that wasn’t quick, believe me. You got me off, that makes it a great experience in my book.” He sends you a soft smile, and you take another sip of water before closing the bottle and setting it down.

Turning toward Hyunjin, you sink to the floor on your knees, crawling the three steps towards where he sits, leaning back on his arms. “Hyune.”

“Hi, doll.” He wraps his arms around you as you climb into his lap. You throw your arms around his neck, leaning forward to kiss him. His hands drift down to your ass, squeezing the flesh. The motion rocks you against the bulge in his sweatpants, causing you to sigh.

You let your head drop to his shoulder, nudging the collar of his shirt aside with your nose so you can lick at the dried sweat along his clavicle. Indulging a secret fantasy, you wrap your fingers in his hair and give it a small tug. He responds by digging his fingers into your ass cheeks, grunting as he rocks you forward once more. 

Dragging your tongue up the side of his neck, you lean in to whisper in his ear. “Will you fuck me too, Jinnie?” 

Without a word, one hand leaves your ass to come around and yank the band of his sweats down, allowing him to pull out his cock. You don’t hesitate, lifting your hips for him to guide the head of his cock to your pussy and you sink down on him slowly.

He’s bigger than Felix, longer and just a little thicker. “Oh, Jinnie, fuck.” Your head lands back on his shoulder. He groans in your ear when you lift yourself up enough to rock forward, fucking yourself down on him. You tug his hair again, guiding his mouth to yours as you ride him.

“Wait,” Hyunjin says, pulling away from your mouth, “I want you on your knees.”

He helps you climb off, and you kneel in front of him, a little unsure. “Like this?” He shakes his head, circling his finger.

“Turn around, my love.” You do as he says, turning around to face Minho and Felix on the couch. Felix is watching intently, bottom lip caught between his teeth, and Minho is leaning to the side, head resting on his hand and a smirk on his face. Hyunjin’s hand pushes between your shoulder blades, and you fall forward onto your hands. “Want you like this.”

He enters you again, causing you both to groan. The new angle makes him slide deeper as he ruts into you over and over. Your breath comes out in shallow pants and whimpers until your arms give out, sliding your chest to the floor. Hyunjin growls behind you, hand gripping the back of your neck as he fucks into you harder. Your name tumbles from his mouth like a prayer, and he brings his free hand to your clit. The second he makes contact, pleasure washes over you.

Hyunjin never slows down, fucking you through your orgasm before dragging you up by your arms, pressing your back to his chest as his cock hits your g-spot, edging you closer to another climax. His hand wraps around to press against your sternum, and you grab it to drag it to your throat. The move makes him bite down at the back of your neck while his long fingers wrap firmly around your throat, tightening just enough to have your eyes fluttering closed.

“Just like Chan-hyung, hmm?” He murmurs in your ear, and you clench around him. “Did he choke you too, doll?”

“Y-yes.”

He chuckles darkly, and suddenly you feel something warm and wet on your clit. Your eyes shoot open and you gasp, seeing Felix laying on his back, face disappearing between your legs. You let out a moan in realization, and a moment later you’re cumming again.

“Fuck, Felix, don’t stop, she’s clenching so much.” Hyunjin pushes you down, changing the angle that Felix’s tongue presses against you. You brace yourself against Felix’s bent knees, resting your head on one of them as Hyunjin’s hips stutter. Felix’s hands find your nipples, tugging them ever so gently, triggering another orgasm. Just as you recover, Hyunjin groans loudly and pushes your hips away quickly. When you turn your head around to check, you see him bury his cock into Felix’s upturned mouth and cum with a low moan.

You watch, fascinated, as Hyunjin pulls his softening cock from Felix and bends down to kiss him softly, whispering something that causes Felix to laugh and flick a piece of Hyunjin’s hair that hangs down between them.

“Um, what the fuck was that?” They both whip their heads to you.

Felix clears his throat. Hyunjin ducks his head in embarrassment. “I wasn’t wearing a condom, so I figured you wouldn’t want me to cum inside you. I’m sorry.”

You blink at him. “Okay, that’s very courteous of you. Don’t apologize, Hyune, I’m not mad.” You bring your hand to your forehead as you collapse onto your ass, facing them. “No, actually I am mad. You’ve been fucking and I didn’t know? I could have been watching all this time?”

They both giggle, realizing you aren’t truly upset, and Felix brings a hand up to cover his mouth. “Wait until you find out about Minho and Jisung.”

Your eyes go wide and you whip your head around to look at Minho, who grins like the Cheshire cat. You make a face. “Actually, that one doesn’t surprise me.” You turn back to Felix and Hyunjin, who are being extra touchy with each other, playing with each other’s hands. “I can’t believe neither of you told me.”

Hyunjin shrugs. “No one really knows except the members.”

You snort. “Tell that to the STAYs who call you boyfriends.” They just laugh and Hyunjin rolls his eyes. “Okay well, I guess I should have seen that coming then.”

You crawl over to give Hyunjin a soft kiss before ducking down to give Felix one as well. Then you stand up and make your way to the couch where Minho opens his arms to you. You collapse into his lap, curling up to rest your head on his chest. He wraps his arms around you, rubbing his hands down your back and resting them on your ass.

“Hyung, we’re going to wash up.” Felix says a minute later. Minho grunts in acknowledgement. “Do you want anything from downstairs?”

“Get her some tea for her throat.” Minho answers, and you lift your head to look back at them.

“I could use a snack too. You guys know what I like.” You tuck your head back into Minho.

“Absolutely, angel. We’ll be back.” You hear the door open and close with a soft click.

You lift your head to look at Minho. “I thought you hated cuddles.”

He shrugs. “I don’t hate them. There’s a time and a place.”

“Now’s the time?”

“We’ve been rough on you.”

“I can handle rougher things.”

He snorts in laughter, squeezing his hands into your ass cheeks. “I’ll tell Seungminnie, he’ll be happy to hear that.”

You roll your eyes, and he leans down to capture your lips in a soft kiss. When he pulls back, you bring your hand to his cheek. “Did you want to fuck me, Minho?”

“We can do that later. You’re too tired.”

You straighten, giving him a look. “Says who? I’m not too tired.” You scoot back, reaching for the waistband of his pants to pull them down.

“Jagi, we don’t have to.” He argues weakly, and you just raise a brow at him when you wrap your hand around his cock, making a face when it hardens in your grasp.

“Tell that to your dick. I’m pretty sure he didn’t get the memo.”

Minho’s eyes narrow, and you swallow. “Kitten, don’t start being a brat now. You were good, and we let you cum. Is this how you thank me?”

“No, sir.”

His cock twitches in your hand. “Oh, jagi, see how good you can be without being told? I haven’t even fucked you and you already know my title.”

You inhale sharply. “Sir?”

“Yes, kitten?”

You give his now fully erect cock a soft pump. “Will you please fuck me?”

The next thing you know, you’re flipped onto your back on the couch. Minho’s slotted between your thighs, a hand to your throat as he hovers over you. “You wait here like a good kitten while I put on a condom, and then I’ll fuck you. Understood?”

“Y-yes, Sir.”

He releases your throat, sitting back and reaching for a condom on the couch behind him. He wastes no time ripping open the packet and rolling it on, and then he’s back between your thighs, lining himself up.

“You ready, kitten?” He asks, and you nod.

“Please, Minho.”

He bends down, bringing your faces closer before pressing into you. He’s not as long as Hyunjin, but he’s thicker, curving up to rub against your g-spot with every thrust. You wrap your arms around him, nails digging into his shoulder blades as he fucks into you at a steady pace. 

“Jesus, jagiya, you’re soaked.”

“That’s what you boys do to me.” You arch up into him, whimpering.

When he ducks his head into your neck, he bites into the skin there, trailing marks down and around to the other side. He builds you up to your climax slowly, shoving a hand between your bodies to press against your clit. The moment he does, you cry out his name as you fall apart.

“Min- Minho, god, fuck, Min-”

He shushes you, bending forward to kiss the corners of your eyes where tears escape as you climax. “There’s my good girl. Shh, there you go.”

“Min, want you to cum- shit- cum for me.”

He kisses you firmly, teeth clashing as his tongue dances with yours, drinking in your moans and whimpers. He breaks the kiss and shifts, bringing your legs up to your chest. “Cum for me one more time, jagi. Cum with me.”

Minho’s hand returns to your clit, just as his thrusts become more erratic. That’s all it takes for you to break, the wave of your pleasure crashing over rocks. Your back lurches off the couch with the effort, a whine escaping you as you spasm around Minho, and then he’s grunting and spilling himself into the condom and collapsing onto you.

You both lay there panting for a minute before he pushes back, sliding out of you and discarding the condom into a tissue somewhere behind him. You’re vaguely aware of the door opening, turning to see Hyunjin and Felix returning.

“I guess we missed it.” Hyunjin says cheekily. Minho glares at him.

Felix wanders over to you, squatting down beside you to move some hair out of your face. “How do you feel, angel?”

You let out a heavy sigh. “Tired, honestly. I’m worn out.”

He smiles at you. “Can you sit up? I have some chamomile tea for your throat.” Minho helps you sit up, and you take the paper cup from Felix.

“Thanks, Lixie.”

Hyunjin brings you your clothes, having picked them up from the floor, and places them beside you along with a cup of fresh cut fruit. “Whenever you’re ready to go, doll.”

“Do you want us to take you home? Or will you come back to the dorms with us?” Felix asks, a hopeful look in his eyes.

“I’m happy to come to the dorms. The 4racha dorm or the Cuties dorm?”

The three of them look at each other, making faces as they think about it. 

“Why don’t you cuddle with Hyunjinnie tonight, jagiya. I can ask Jisungie to come over, and we’ll make sure Yongbok gets the cuddles he needs.” Minho says, leaning over to kiss your forehead. You smile, glancing over at Felix.

“Is that okay, babyboy?”

He nods. “I might wake you both up for snuggles in the morning, if that’s okay.”

You look over at Hyunjin who is already smiling at Felix. “I think that sounds great, Lix.”

xx

author's note: welp, I fear I have girlbossed too close to the sun. Writing this was so difficult because I kept getting overwhelmed by the hyunlix moments. I hope you all like it! Vocalracha coming ...eventually lol. xx Minty

---

Group Texts* - Piperacha (Stray Kids)

+ bonus *drabble, NSFW

Besties with Benefits series masterlist

Third and final installment after 3rauncha and slutracha.

Pairings: vocalracha x bestfriend!f.reader Word count: 6.3k [not including 10 screenshots] unedited, we die like real men TW: Suggestive and explicit content, swearing, pet names [reader is called noona, baby, my sweet, little one], fingering, spanking, biting, oral sex (m. & f. receiving), face-fucking, protected sex (condoms, birth control pill mentioned), choking, creampie, multiple orgasms, vague reference to subspace, exhibitionism/voyeurism, praise kink, degradation [reader is called slut/whore], breeding kink, oppa kink, punishment, impact play, rough sex/angry sex, safe word system, dacryphilia, hard!Dom Seungmin, angry!Seungmin, soft/pleasure!Dom Jeongin, aftercare

The sound of your knocks on the door echoes through the hallway. You take a deep breath as you hear the lock disengaging a few moments later, preparing yourself for the inevitable. When the door swings open, you find yourself blinking a few times, staring at the man on the other side of the door.

“Sunflower?” Felix’s eyes are wide as he takes a step toward you, reaching for your wrist.

“Hi sunshine,” you reply, releasing your held breath as Felix pulls you into the apartment. Once you’re inside, he shuts the door behind you.

“I didn’t know you were coming over. What are you doing here, angel?”

He wraps his arms around you in a warm hug, and you can’t help the way you tremble a little. “Um, I’m hoping to talk to Seungmin when he gets home.” Felix makes a noise, nodding against your shoulder. “It was Jeongin’s idea.”

Felix pulls you by the shoulders to look at your face. “And are you ready to have that conversation?”

You let your hands twist together, staring down at the floor. “I’m not sure. I miss him, I miss Innie, I miss the entire group, I-”

“We didn’t go anywhere, sweetheart.” He replies softly, bringing a hand up to cup your cheek. 

You huff. “I know, but I’ve pulled back because of Seung and frankly, it’s bullshit. I don’t want to deprive myself of my best friends anymore.”

Footsteps pad lightly down the hall just before a voice calls out. “We don’t want that either, noona.”

Your head whips around, eyes falling on Jeongin as he walks over. You bite back the sting of tears and yank out of Felix’s hold to meet Jeongin in the middle of the living room, throwing your arms around him and burying your face in his neck. With a small chuckle, he wraps his arms around you, holding you close and letting his thumbs graze over your back.

“I’ve got to go meet Chan-hyung, but call us if you need, okay angel?” Felix says from behind, and you nod, not lifting your head.

“It’ll be okay, hyung, I can take care of noona.” A few moments of silence pass before the door opens, signaling Felix’s departure. You sniffle a little, causing Jeongin to squeeze you tighter. “Missed you.”

“Missed you too, Innie.”

His hands move to your waist, pulling you back so he can look at your face. Your eyes are watery, but you don’t actually shed any tears. You drop your arms, palms flat on his chest. Jeongin sucks his teeth at you, thumb coming up to graze the swell of your cheekbone as his eyes roam your face. “So beautiful, noona,” he murmurs, eyes flicking down to your lips.

Your breath hitches. “Innie,” you whisper, licking your lips, “kiss me, please.”

His hand slides back until his thumb sits over your jaw, long fingers wrapping around to the back of your neck. “With pleasure.” And then he’s dragging your face to his, crashing your lips to his with a fervor. A small whine escapes you before your hands fly up to his shoulders, twisting in the soft cardigan he wears. One of his fingers on your neck tightens, digging into the muscle enough to have your head falling back for him to deepen the kiss. Jeongin swallows your moan, tongue sweeping into your mouth, hot and sweet and heady. Using your grip on his shoulders, you pull him closer, throwing your arms back around his neck and breaking the kiss to change angles.

“God, noona.”

You cut him off, biting into his lower lip, flicking your tongue over the flesh captured between your teeth. He groans. The hand on your neck drops down to your hip again, both of them squeezing you and pulling your hips to his before wrapping around your lower back. You drag your lips to his jaw, cooing when he tilts his head back to grant access to his neck.

“Noona,” Jeongin pants, hands suddenly pushing at your waist, trying to disconnect your lips from his neck, “I don’t think this is what you want Seungmin-hyung to walk in on.”

With a sigh, you step away. “You’re right.”

“Can I get you something to drink?” He gestures for you to sit on the couch.

“Sure, just some water.”

He disappears for a moment before returning with a cold bottle of water. You twist it open and take a swig as he sits next to you. “Thanks, Innie.” You turn to face him when you hear a key in the lock of the door. Jeongin gives you a pointed look, an ‘I told you so’ that you just roll your eyes at.

The door swings open and in walks Seungmin, eyes cast down at his phone as he shuts the door behind him and drops his keys on the entryway table.

“Hi, Minnie.”

Seungmin glances up at your soft greeting, eyes wide. “What are you doing here?”

You wince slightly at his harsh tone. “You haven’t answered any of my texts in almost two weeks.” You feel the couch shift before you hear Jeongin slip back into the kitchen, probably to give you and Seungmin some privacy.

“I don’t see how you interpreted that to mean ‘show up at my apartment instead’ though.”

Your mouth falls open in shock. “Seungmin, please-”

“I think you should leave.”

You scramble to your feet. “What?! No, Min, just let me explain-”

“I don’t want you to explain anything. I just want you to leave.” He steps aside, gesturing at the door. You feel tears spring to your eyes again. Shoving your hands into the pouch of your hoodie, you shuffle forward, toward him and the door.

When you approach, he side-steps. Your lips tremble with the effort to keep your tears at bay.

“Wait, noona, don’t leave.” Jeongin calls from the edge of the kitchen. Seungmin gives him a scathing look. “Seungminnie, why are you being like this?”

“Just because you’re thinking with your dick, don’t expect me to. I can separate my heads from one another, thank you.” Seungmin practically spits at his best friend. “She can’t just throw herself at me to earn my forgiveness.”

You reach for his arm, tugging his hand into yours. “What can I do, Minnie? Please. You’re my best friend-”

“-apparently not, you have an entire fucking harem of best friends.” He tries to pull his arm away but you wrap around it with both hands.

“Seungmin, please,” you beg, the tears at your waterline threatening to spill as your voice wavers. You grip his arm tighter, tugging again. “I just want y-” His other arm snakes out to grip your throat, slamming you against the door. The impact knocks the breath from your lungs and his fingers dig into your skin harshly enough for the tears to finally fall.

Seungmin crowds into your space, chest heaving with rage as he gets closer. “You just don’t fucking relent, do you? Are you that desperate? Or are you too fucking stupid to understand?”

“Seungmin- '' Jeongin warns from behind him, causing Seungmin’s head to whip toward him.

“Stay out of this, Ayen-ah.”

“I will, if you let go of her throat. She’s not getting enough air.” True, your vision is starting to blur, little black spots prickling your vision. Seungmin turns to look at you before loosening his fingers. Air rushes to your lungs with a gasp, but his hand still remains at your neck.

“There, now the slut can breathe.” You bring your hands up to grip at his forearm, tears still streaming from your eyes.

Jeongin sighs heavily. “You can just admit that you’re hurt instead of pushing her away, Seung.”

Seungmin meets your eyes, and you can see that Jeongin’s words hold truth. The steely resolve on his face doesn’t drop though, and you feel his fingers twitch at your neck.

“I never meant to hurt you, puppy.” You manage to whisper, not caring how your chest hitches on a sob. Closing your eyes, you let your head fall back against the door. “I love you, Minnie, I would never intentionally hurt you. You know that.”

He doesn’t answer. The room is silent except for your sniffles, long enough that you open your eyes to search his face. You know him well enough to recognize the conflict in them and reach your hand out to smooth down the wrinkle between his brows. Your heart skips a beat when his eyes flutter closed and he tilts into your hand slightly. When his eyes open again, they’re darker.

“I won’t be nice today.”

Your pulse kicks up and you swallow, nodding eagerly. “That’s okay. I can take it.”

Seungmin looks over at Jeongin. “You’re responsible for her, I won’t be able to control myself.” Jeongin murmurs something you don’t hear, and Seungmin rolls his head back to you. “If it’s too much, you tell Innie and he’ll make sure I stop.”

“Okay.” You nod again, and his fingers tighten around your throat, now in the correct spot to cause that familiar floaty haze.

“What do you say if it’s too much, noona?” Jeongin asks, closer than he was before.

“Red.”

Seungmin chuckles darkly as Jeongin claps his hands together twice. “That’s right. Good girl.”

“Of course the slut knows her color system.” Seungmin’s fingers loosen briefly before tightening further, causing you to whimper.

“Seungmin, please.”

“Please, what?”

“Kiss me.”

He laughs, throwing his head back and releasing his grip on you completely. You slump against the door as he takes a few steps away. “No. I don’t think you deserve that.” Seungmin turns on his heel and walks down the hall toward his bedroom, disappearing into it.

You glance over at Jeongin, eyes wide. He tuts at you, stepping closer to grab your hand. “Come on, noona. Let’s get you somewhere more comfortable.”

Jeongin leads you down the hall, following the route Seungmin took, but steers you into his own room instead. “But Seung-”

“-is going to shower. Relax, okay?” He guides you to sit on his bed before leaving the room, returning a moment later with a t-shirt. “Here, get comfortable. I’m sure you don’t want to be wearing your hoodie for any of this.”

You take the shirt from his outstretched hand, recognizing it as one of Seungmin’s favorites. You give Jeongin a soft smile. “Thank you, babyboy.” You set it beside you and tug your hoodie off, tossing it at the foot of the bed. Jeongin’s eyes roam down your body hungrily, watching closely as you peel off the camisole and unclasp your bra. Your eyes don’t leave his face as you drag the garment off of you. “Should I still put this on?”

Jeongin tears his eyes from your chest to look at where you hold the t-shirt. He slaps a hand to his face, dragging it down slowly. “Yeah. As much as I want to touch you, I think I need to let Seungmin have you first.”

You giggle. “It’s so hard to be the maknae, hmm?”

He scowls at you, making you laugh harder. “Normally, my hyungs aren’t so greedy. I guess I can understand though,” he moves to sit beside you, gesturing at you to put the shirt on. You oblige. “I’d be greedy with you too, if I could.”

You turn your head to look at him, and his eyes are already on you, on your lips. You meet his mouth halfway, the kiss softer, sweeter than the one in the living room. His hand wraps around your low back, and a minute later you’re crawling into his lap and burying your fingers in his hair. Jeongin runs his hands up and down your back under the t-shirt, nails scraping at your skin, causing you to whine into his mouth and grind down in his lap. He chuckles, breaking the kiss to place open-mouthed kisses down your neck.

Suddenly, his hand swats your ass softly. “Seungmin’s out of the shower.”

You climb off of him, standing in the center of the room. Thinking for a moment, you hook your thumbs in the elastic of your leggings and drag them down before stepping out of them, leaving you in just Seungmin’s shirt and your panties. Jeongin swallows a groan.

“That was unfair.” He peels off his cardigan and tosses it over your discarded clothes.

You roll your eyes at him before walking out of the room, headed to Seungmin’s room. You can hear him in the bathroom, so you walk into his bedroom and sit down on the floor on your knees to wait for him. Jeongin trails in after you, palming his crotch and shooting you a glare, but he settles in on the foot of the bed, leaning up against the wall with his legs extended, crossed over the ankles.

It only takes another two minutes for Seungmin to walk in, rubbing his damp hair with a towel. He stops short when he sees you, glancing over at Jeongin, who shrugs, before approaching you.

His hand comes forward to cup your chin. “I don’t even have to train you, do I? You’re already so obedient.”

“Only for you, Minnie.”

He swallows, lips set in a taut line as he tosses the towel aside and shoves his hair off of his forehead. You feel yourself clench. What is it about his hair pushed back that drives you so wild all the time?

Seungmin steps closer, towering over you as you peer up at him from your lashes. “Get me hard.”

With a shaky hand, you reach for the edge of his sweatpants, curling your fingers into the material before pulling them down far enough for his cock to fall free. Even soft, he’s sizeable, but you already anticipated that based on the…well, everything you knew about him. Casting a quick glance up at him, you dip your head forward to lap at the tip once, twice, three times, before suckling the entire head into your mouth. A quiet groan falls from Seungmin’s lips, his head tipping back briefly. His hand finds its way to the back of your head, tangling into your messy bun.

Cupping your tongue around his underside, you bring more of him into your mouth until your nose hits the stubble at the lowest part of his stomach. You start to move off, but he grips your head tighter and keeps you there, feeling your nails dig into his thighs at the unexpected resistance. A strangled noise dies in your throat when you feel him start to harden in your mouth, so you swallow around him and he groans- loudly.

“Oh my god.”

“I’m assuming that’s a good thing.” Jeongin says, amusement in his tone. You can’t see Seungmin’s face, but from the laugh that shoots out of Jeongin, you can picture it.

“She’s got a filthy fucking mouth.” Seungmin pulls his hips back slightly to give a lazy thrust into your mouth, making you gag on his increasing length. The gagging only seems to turn him on more, the skin of his cock stretched taut over your tongue. Tears form at the edges of your vision. “Look at her, Jeonginnie. Crying on my cock like a whore. Almost feels like this is what you’re meant to do, my sweet.”

At the use of his preferred pet name for you, you squeeze your eyes shut, nodding as best as you can. The tears trail down your cheeks, and his free hand comes up to wipe one away. When you open your eyes, you watch him pop his thumb into his mouth. You make an unintelligible noise.

He pulls your head back off of his dick and lets go. Bending down to get closer to your face, he leans in. You almost think he’s going to kiss you, but the cruel smile that curls his lips dashes that. “I’m going to fuck that pretty mouth now, little one. Show me how sorry you really are. Be a good slut for me and maybe I’ll even let Jeongin get you off before I fuck you.”

“Yes, sir.” It comes out breathier than you meant it, but Seungmin seems to react to it, his eyes rolling back and biting his lip as he straightens, lining his cock up with your mouth.

“Open.” He commands, and you obey, extending your tongue past your teeth as if you’re rolling out a red carpet for his dick. The salty taste of precum hits you as he taps the head on your tongue a few times, and then he’s sliding into your mouth harshly, hitting the back of your throat hard enough to make you cough. He doesn’t ease off, but he pauses for you to collect yourself, casting a teary look up at him. 

Seungmin searches your face for a moment, and you squeeze his thigh in encouragement. He must find whatever he was looking for, because then he’s fisting his hands in your hair again and rutting into your mouth with more force. You focus on relaxing your throat and taking him down easier, keeping your tongue extended to prevent your teeth from scraping against him. Tears drip down your face and dampen the shirt over your chest as you control your breathing, focusing on steady inhales through your nose.

Small grunts and groans fall from Seungmin, his grip in your hair tightening and loosening occasionally. The longer he fucks your throat, the more you zone out, head light and fuzzy from being used like an object. You’re vaguely aware of the slick soaking your panties, grateful for the pressure of your thighs squeezed together in your position. Periodically, he eases out to let you catch your breath, petting your head or face until you glance back up at him to signal that you’re okay to continue.

This time, he pauses, glancing at Jeongin.

“What color, noona?”

You blink, eyes unfocused. Seungmin’s hand grips your jaw firmly, drawing your attention. “Answer him, little one.”

Licking your lips, you glance over at Jeongin. “Gr-” your voice cracks, and you clear your throat before trying again. “Green.”

“Good girl.”

Seungmin grunts in agreement before squeezing your mouth open and entering your mouth again. His hips stutter and he breathes in sharply when you sniffle, keeping your eyes locked on him. He drags his thumb along your cheek, smearing the trails of wetness and it occurs to you that he likes that you’re crying like this, crying for him like this. The knowledge makes you dizzy, eyes closing as you hum around him. Seungmin groans, tightening his hold on you and driving his length deeper into your throat. A moment later, you feel him twitch and warmth fills your throat as your head is held down as far as it can go on Seungmin’s cock while he cums.

The hold on you loosens. You ease off of him, trying to keep yourself clean as you do. Wiping at your mouth when you sit back on your haunches, you glance up at Seungmin. A water bottle appears in front of you. Taking it, you swivel to send Jeongin a silent thank you and drink half the bottle in one go.

“How do you feel, noona?”

“I’m okay.” Quietly, you look back at Seungmin, unable to read his face. He says nothing, watching you as his chest heaves. “Minnie?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. “I- I don’t know if I forgive you yet.”

You try not to let the hurt flash across your face. “Oh. That’s o-okay, I guess.”

Seungmin groans loudly. “Stop! Just- stop being so apologetic!” You blink, flinching back at his volume. “God, you just keep apologizing and being subservient-”

“Do you not want me to be obedient? I don’t understand-”

“I don’t know! It’s much easier when you’re a brat like you normally are, this just feels forced-” You scoff at him, drawing your knee up to plant your foot on the ground for enough leverage to push yourself to your full height. 

“You think this is FORCED? Kim Seungmin, you might actually be the stupid one here if you don’t think that I would have done this for you months ago!” You jab your finger into his chest, spurred on by the way his eyes widen and he takes a small step back. “You’re actually an idiot, then, because it was you who drew me into this friendship, who introduced me to everyone, and it’s you who I have been willing to do anything for, long before any of your other members. Just because your hyungs had the balls to make a move before you-” His hand catches your wrist, tugging you to his chest and cutting off your words. His eyes narrow, and you swallow tightly at the flash of heat in your belly at the sight.

“Get on the bed. Now.”

His voice is low, almost a growl, and it leaves no room for debate. You nod, and he releases your wrist. You take the two steps to the bed, climbing on without looking at Jeongin and settling on your knees as you had on the floor. Seungmin gets closer and grabs you by the upper arm, dragging you to the side and climbing in behind you. His other hand pushes you down between your shoulders, sending you face-first into Jeongin’s lap.

“Hi, noona.” Jeongin smiles, bringing a hand up to caress your face and smooth down your hair. Before you can reply, Seungmin’s hand comes down hard on your ass, forcing a yelp out of you. You move to ask him what the fuck that was for, but Jeongin’s hand stops you. “Hey, shh, shh, it’s okay, relax. I’ve got you.”

Jeongin guides you to lay your cheek on his thigh just as Seungmin lands another slap, on the opposite cheek. Then Seungmin is yanking your panties down to leave you bare. A whine escapes you as you squeeze your eyes shut. Jeongin’s hands rub soothing circles on your shoulder and forehead as Seungmin continues, alternating spots to bring down the flat of his hand. A particularly hard hit to the high plane of your ass cheek makes you gasp, tears spilling with a sob. The next smack is softer, lower, at the juncture of cheek and thigh, and you swear you feel the ghost of lips graze the stinging skin from the prior hit.

Your skin is burning, not just on your ass, but your face and chest are flushed. The tears that stream from your eyes practically sizzle on your cheeks before falling to Jeongin’s sweatpants. Seungmin’s assault slows, his large hands rubbing soft circles over your backside, somehow soothing and reigniting the flames that lick over the skin there. The room falls silent, the only sound is your soft sobs and Jeongin’s quiet cooing as he continues to pet your hair and whisper encouragement.

“Doing so well, noona, taking the punishment. That’s it, good girl.”

Seungmin stays quiet. After a few minutes, your breathing steadies and the crying stops. You almost forget where you are, eyes closed as Jeongin strokes your face, your hair. Then you feel a fingertip run down your folds, exposed to the open air in your position.

“Little one,” Seungmin finally says, voice thick and strained, “why are you so wet? Do you like being punished?”

A whimper spills from your throat, and you meet Jeongin’s eyes. He nods at you. “Answer him, noona.”

“Y-yes.”

Seungmin groans, and when his forehead thunks down onto your ass, you squeak in surprise. “She’s going to be the death of me, Ayen-ah.”

Before you can respond, he’s pushing two fingers into you, hooking down and finding your g-spot immediately. Your head shoots up with a gasp, hips rocking back subconsciously. Seungmin’s thumb finds your clit, pressing down to give his fingers leverage to thrust in and out of you. You prop yourself up on your elbows, resting your forehead on Jeongin’s thigh, whimpering and mewling while Seungmin finger-fucks you to a very quick climax. 

When you come down, he withdraws his hand, and you turn your head to glance at Jeongin. He has his dick out, stroking it lazily. Your mouth waters instantly.

Jeongin chuckles, shaking his head. “Not yet, noona. Seungmin first.”

Seungmin barks out a small laugh from somewhere behind you. “No, no, by all means. Put her mouth to work.”

You lick your lips, pushing up to shift to the side and get closer. “Innie, please? Let me taste you.”

He groans, hand falling away from his cock as he nods. You don’t hesitate, replacing it with your own hand to guide him into your mouth. He tastes exactly as you expect him to, salty and sweet and spicy and Jeongin. His hands tangle in your hair, soft gasps and grunts falling from his open mouth as you work to take him down your throat. You set a steady pace, sucking him down, before you feel Seungmin press against your entrance.

“Don’t stop, little one. Show Innie how good you can take both of us.” He says, pushing his cock into you slowly. You slow down, mouth still on Jeongin, waiting with bated breath for Seungmin to be fully seated in you. When his hip bones meet the swollen skin of your ass, you twitch involuntarily. His tip presses against your cervix hard enough to have you seeing stars. He pauses, letting you adjust, before he pulls out slowly, fucking into you with slow, calculated strokes.

Jeongin’s fingers tighten, reminding you of your task. “Noona…” His tone is impatient. You grunt, sliding down his shaft at the same pace Seungmin fucks into you with. Seungmin’s hands roam all over your body, shoving the bottom of the t-shirt up to trail his hands up your back and back down. They dig into your hips as he changes the angle and pounds into you, rocketing you forward to gag on Jeongin over and over again. Eventually, Jeongin pulls you off by your hair, groaning about not wanting to cum yet and dragging your face to his for a sloppy kiss.

Seungmin, in a flagrant display of jealousy, yanks you away by your neck, pulling you back against his chest. His hands shoot up the front of the t-shirt to cup your breasts, playing with your nipples while he buries his face in your neck. Every thrust of his hips is emphasized by a gasp or a moan from you, and he bites your throat and shoulder. When one of his hands travels from your breast to lay at your throat, your second orgasm barrels through you. Your thighs quiver, walls spasming around Seungmin’s length, and that’s enough to have him moaning in your ear. He cums buried deep in you, twitching as you milk him dry.

Seungmin unwraps himself from you, pulling out and guiding you down to the mattress, where Jeongin shuffles to catch you in his arms. The bed shifts and a moment later the door opens, but you tuck your head into Jeongin’s neck to catch your breath. 

“Noona, how do you feel?” Jeongin murmurs, lips pressed to the side of your head. You exhale shakily.

“Tired, honestly. My legs feel like pudding.”

“Don’t say that too loudly, you’ll summon Minho-hyung. And frankly, I don’t want to share you with him tonight, noona.” He quips, causing you to laugh. His head moves and you turn to meet his mouth with yours. Jeongin rolls you both over, slotting between your thighs. You hear Seungmin return to the room, closing the door behind him.

Raising your head, you turn to look at him. “Where did you go?”

“To throw out the condom, I don’t have a trash can in here.” He slumps onto the edge of the bed, laying back against the wall similar to Jeongin’s previous position. “Don’t mind me. Carry on having sex in my bed.”

Jeongin scowls, shooting him a glare. “Oh, shut up.” You can’t help the giggle that escapes you when Seungmin just rolls his eyes and gestures at Jeongin to hurry up.

You use your hands to bring Jeongin’s face back to yours, wrapping your arms around him as you kiss him. He trails his hand down your thigh, catching on where your panties were still hooked around one knee and dragging them the rest of the way down. Jeongin disconnects from your mouth to kiss down your neck, to your collarbone. “Seungmin can’t even undress you properly.” You giggle softly.

Seungmin scoffs loudly. “I can hear you.”

Jeongin ignores him, sitting up on his knees and tugging at your shirt, motioning for you to sit up so he can remove it. “There, now you’re properly naked. I don’t know how anyone would let you stay clothed when they could have you naked instead.”

“I’m still right here.”

Jeongin ignores Seungmin again, opting to tug his sweatpants down instead. You shove your hands up his shirt, pushing him to take it off.

“You’re not the only one who wants a naked partner,” you say, shooting Seungmin a glare. 

He rolls his eyes. “You wouldn’t even have seen me if I was naked.”

“Whose fault is that?”

Jeongin whips his shirt off and chucks it at Seungmin’s face. “Stop distracting her. You already had your fun, it’s my turn now.”

You take the opportunity to run your hands down his toned abs. “Jesus Christ, Innie, when the fuck did these happen?”

The smirk he gives you makes your stomach flip. Instead of answering, he shuffles back and drops to his stomach between your legs. Seungmin makes some noise of complaint at his personal space being infringed by Jeongin’s legs, but you both ignore him as Jeongin begins kissing up your thigh. “You’re so beautiful, noona. I want to worship you. Will you let me?”

You run a hand down his cheek, caressing the skin and tracing his dimples before nodding. “Always, babyboy.”

He dips his head, wrapping his mouth around your clit. You push his hair off of his forehead, watching him as he licks at you. One of his arms wraps around your thigh, hand resting on your abdomen to hold you down. The other glides over your inner thigh before finding its way to your entrance. You let out a throaty noise when he slips his fingers into you.

“Innie, fuck,” you breathe out, fisting your hand in the sheet next to your hip. He hums in response, the noise vibrating through your core and shooting spikes of pleasure out to your fingers and toes. “Oh my god.”

Jeongin flicks his tongue over your clit then presses it flat, moving side to side. The fingers inside you curl, finding your g-spot instantly, and in seconds you’re cumming, moaning out his name and rolling your hips against his face.

He doesn’t stop, though- he just keeps sucking and licking and flicking and fucking you. He keeps going until you break again, over and over and over, until you’ve lost count, until your throat is dry and you’ve lost the ability to speak, until tears fall from your eyes and your vision blurs from the pleasure. And by the time he releases you, your skin is flushed and you’ve soaked the sheets.

“Innie,” you rasp, frantically seeking him through the fog of desire. He swims into your vision, crowding you to the bed.

“Shh, noona, I’m here. It’s okay,” he kisses your cheeks, your lips, wipes away some tears with his hands. “I’m here, baby.”

You choke on a sob, and he’s kissing you, grounding you with his lips on yours and the taste of you on his tongue. Weakly, you bring your legs around his waist to draw him closer, and the tip of his cock grazes your clit. The kiss breaks as he groans, and the gasp that escapes you fades into a whimper. You angle your hips to seek his cock again, and he tries to pull back.

“Wait, noona, I need a condom-”

“I’m on the pill, just fuck me, Jeongin, please, I can’t wait any longer.”

He drops his head onto your chest, groaning again. When he lifts his head, he meets your eyes. “Do I have to pull out?”

“I’d prefer if you didn’t, but-” He cuts you off by sliding into your wet heat with a short grunt. “Jesus fucking- oh my god.”

“Noona, holy shit.” He hasn’t moved yet, seeming to need a moment to brace himself.

Your legs tremble, from the multiple orgasms and the positions Seungmin had you in, and Jeongin immediately reaches down to support one of them. His lips crash into yours for a hot, needy kiss, and then he’s sitting up, shifting your legs to touch the bed and pulling your hips up to meet his. It punches a moan out of you, so he does it again.

And again. And again and again and again, more moans punched out by every thrust of his hips. You throw your arm over your face as your next orgasm builds, but that causes Jeongin to snarl.

“Don’t hide from me, let me watch you come undone on my cock, noona.”

Then you’re tumbling over, the countless orgasms you’ve already had making you sensitive enough that all it takes is a touch, the first brush of his thumb on your clit for you to be arching off the bed and crying out.

Jeongin fucks you through it, languidly rocking his hips into yours, and once you’re back on earth, he picks up his pace.

“Not gonna last much longer, baby. Are you sure it’s okay to cum inside you?”

You nod messily, eyes still glazed over as you reach a hand up to touch his chest, his pec, his face. “Breed me, oppa, please.”

There’s a cough from somewhere else in the room and Jeongin makes a strangled noise that dies in his throat before his pace picks up once more. After a few thrusts, his movements become more erratic, and then he’s groaning, falling forward to cage you in between his forearms as he empties himself in you.

Neither one of you speaks as you catch your breath. Eventually, you bring your hands to his waist and run them up and down his sides softly. He rests his forehead on yours.

“Are you okay, noona?” He finally asks. You smile.

“Aren’t you tired of asking me that today?”

He pulls his head back. “No.”

You lean up to kiss him softly. “I’m fine, babyboy. Exhausted as fuck. Maybe a little hungry.” Your stomach growls and you both look down at it before you laugh. “Okay, definitely hungry.”

“I can get us dinner.”

You turn your head to look at Seungmin. “You will?” He nods. “Does this mean I’m forgiven?”

He rolls his eyes. “I guess.”

You squeal, and Jeongin laughs, sitting up. He slips out of you and you almost bemoan the loss. “Let me get a washcloth to clean you up.” He climbs off the bed, grabbing his sweatpants and stepping into them before heading to the bathroom.

Seungmin crawls over, laying down next to you. You turn onto your side, ignoring how you can feel Jeongin’s cum oozing out of you. Seungmin rolls on his side to face you. “Hi,” you whisper.

“Hi.”

“You don’t hate me, right?”

“No.”

“Will you kiss me now? Please, Minnie?”

He doesn’t answer, just reaches forward to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear before pulling your face toward his. When your lips meet, it’s soft, tentative. You lay your hand on his cheek and press into the kiss more firmly, opening your lips to lick at his, seeking entrance. He grants it, and the feeling of his tongue against yours has you humming contentedly.

Jeongin’s hand on your thigh startles you, pulling away from Seungmin’s kiss to see Jeongin sit and nudge your leg over Seungmin’s hip before pressing a warm damp cloth to your core and cleaning you thoroughly. Seungmin uses a single finger to twist your face back to his, kissing you again. When Jeongin’s done, he tosses the cloth into the laundry basket at the foot of the bed and climbs in behind you, kissing your shoulder.

The three of you lay there for a few minutes, cuddling and kissing and giggling, whispering back and forth until your stomach growls again.

“Alright, I need to get this girl some food. Ayen-ah, take her to your room and make sure she rests until I get back.” Seungmin disentangles your legs from his.

“Why can’t I stay here?”

“Well, someone,” he gives you a pointed look, “made an absolute mess of my sheets, and now I need to wash them.”

“I’d say I’m sorry, but I’d be lying.” Jeongin murmurs from your neck, making you giggle.

“As would I.”

Seungmin sighs dramatically. “Hence why I need to wash the damn sheets.” He bends forward to give you one last kiss, a loud smacking kiss that makes Jeongin curl up his lips.

“Ew, hyung, stop that.”

“You want one too, Innie?”

Jeongin scrambles up and out of the bed, away from where Seungmin laughs on the other side of you.

You just shake your head, smiling. “You’re both idiots.”

Jeongin helps you up and Seungmin hands you the t-shirt you were wearing earlier. You tug it over your head before kissing his cheek and following Jeongin to his room. Once you’re both snuggled under the blanket, you turn to raise a brow at Jeongin.

“So… Oppa?!” You throw your head back in laughter when he groans and hides his face in his hands.

xx

author's note: wahhh this was so difficult to write! I had the hardest time writing the fight, so I apologize if it comes across as rushed. This is the last one in this little series FOR NOW. I will probably do something with minsung x reader in the future, but I still have 2 long-form Chan x reader fics that I'd like to finish and post. I hope y'all liked this! I think I'll be making a masterlist for the series eventually, because this Besties with Benefits story could be endlessly fun to play with. Please stay tuned for more spicy stuff in between my more elaborate stories. Love y'all! xx Minty

taglist: @rixenluv @maisyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy (I'm so sorry if you asked to be tagged and I forgot you)

---