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skzdarlings · 1 year

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02. sharing a bed series ; skz ; lee know

masterlist.

sharing a bed series part 2/8. because it’s the cheesiest most classic trope and it’s FUN.

pairing: lee know/reader content info: sexual content. friends2lovers, sharing a bed trope. reader&minho had an argument. reader gets pussy eaten. minho likes to tease.

inspired by the cinematic masterpiece known to the world as lee know log 9, aka that vlog where minho went camping and i never recovered.

There is a perpetual hum around the campsite, heaters and lamps and cookers buzzing through the night, plus the rain has started coming down harder. Its restless patter over the tarp of the luxury tent is more a nuisance than relaxing.

The noise is not why you are still awake. Your insomnia is the cause of good old-fashioned guilt.

You and Minho lost your reservation thanks to some traffic delays and the campsite only had single-bed tents available by the time you arrived. You have been sharing a bed all weekend, but right now you are alone. Minho stormed out an hour ago, claiming he needed a walk to clear his head after your argument.

The argument you started.

All weekend, you’ve been testing Minho’s seemingly infallible patience. Minho might joke around sharply, but he’s a secret softy and it’s hard to get him genuinely angry. You could feel yourself being a ridiculous ass but, like everything else of late, it felt out of control. You were like a third party watching your own stupid argument, unable to stop yourself and unable to help him. He was the mature one, leaving to find some space.

Even if it was after calling you ridiculous and uptight.

You didn’t cry. You didn’t let yourself cry. Maybe you can’t control anything else, but you can control that.

Now, you just lay in bed and listen to the rain. You can’t sleep anyway, so you leave the lights on for Minho. The rain is coming down pretty hard. You hope he gets back soon. Much as you don’t want to face him, you are worried about him.

As if summoned by your thoughts, the tent opens and Minho stomps inside. He is wearing a backwards hat and a hoodie, neither of which did much to protect him from the downpour. You look over your shoulder at him, watching him shake himself out. The wet hat comes off and hits the ground with a slap, the hoodie following. It leaves him shivering in a t-shirt and shorts, his jaw clenched.

He turns abruptly, looking right at you. There is so much intensity in his gaze as he stares at you, slicking his wet hair back. An unbidden spark of heat bursts inside you. I want him to look at me like that when he fucks me, you think. The thought makes you whip away to stare at the white tent wall. Your heart pounds. That pounding intensifies when Minho struts up to bed, crossing the space in a few quick strides. You don’t dare turn around, clutching the blankets and staring at the wall.

He turns off the lights. Then you hear him leave, disappearing into the small bathroom joined to your tent.

You exhale. It takes a while to come down from the burst of adrenaline, but it has mostly dwindled by the time Minho returns. You hear him moving about in the dark. You lay straight as a board, your back to him.

You stare through the dark at nothing. You know you should apologize for earlier but you can’t bring yourself to speak. You just breathe.

Minho climbs into the bed. It dips under his weight and you feel a flood of warmth from his company. He has toweled himself dry and changed into sweatpants and a dry t-shirt. He smells fresh and clean, and just a little woodsy. The bed is not very big so he bumps you as he lays down. It makes your heart race again, which just makes you cringe.

The rain has slowed. It still patters against the roof of the tent, but gently.

The quiet makes the silence between you even more tense. It feels heavier than the blankets, dense and suffocating. You swallow.

The argument was your fault. Everything that went wrong this weekend was your fault. You’ve been on edge and quick to overreaction, uncharacteristic to your usual composure. You could tell it was worrying Minho but he has never been the type to pry. No, he waits until he is asked, which would be great if you knew how to ask. Hug me, hold me, help me. You don’t know how to ask for the things you want. So you just continued to spiral, taking it out on him.

It should be you turning around, you facing him, you apologizing, but it’s Minho who rolls over. You freeze when he wraps his arms around you and hugs you tight from behind. He doesn’t quite kiss your shoulder, but he presses his face there for a second. Wisps of his dyed blonde hair tickle your face. You can imagine his eyes closing when he sighs.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have said that shit. I don’t even know why we were fighting. Just call it my fault, okay? I shouldn’t have taken a city girl camping.”

He is trying to joke with you. His friendliness is what gets you. Even after everything, he is still so good to you.

You put a hand over your mouth, trying to stifle the sound when you start crying. It’s a useless effort because your shoulders shake and Minho can feel it. Resigned to your pitiful state, you let your gasps shudder out of you.

“Hey, hey,” he says, rolling you onto your back. He wipes his thumbs over your wet cheeks, staring down at you with his brow furrowed in confusion. “I was just kidding. I’m sorry. Take a free slap.” He grabs your hand and lightly taps his own cheek with it.

It does make you laugh, but it’s a watery sound, rippling through your tears.

“Minho,” you say miserably, “I lost my job.”

Understanding fills his expression. You can’t bear to look at him, so you roll towards him to hide your face in his chest. He lets you, wrapping an arm around you and rubbing your back as you make a blubbery mess on his shirt. You tell him the whole story, about the promotion you lost to someone else, about the sudden downsizing and subsequent firing. You are someone who functions with meticulous planning so your life being upended sent you hurtling into an unfamiliar state of panic.

“That’s why I went out alone the other night,” you say. Your tears have slowed to hiccups by now. “I know it was stupid and it made you mad. I just felt like I was gonna explode.”

Hopping bars and picking up random men is very out of wont for you. That’s why you did it. Minho was less than pleased when he found out you went wandering around downtown at night, inebriated and alone. His scolding was reasonable but you were beyond reason.

He goes stiff when you mention it now, though he doesn’t stop rubbing your back.

“I wasn’t mad,” he says after a minute. “I was just worried. And…”

You peek up at him. He sighs and groans and yells all at once, an amazing feat of sound, throwing his head back so it thumps hard against the headboard.

“I was jealous,” he says bitterly.

“Jealous,” you say. “Of me?”

“Yes.” He gives you a very sarcastic look. “I wished it was me in that little black dress going out and—no. Obviously not of you. Why do you always torture me like this? Go cry on the floor.” He jostles you but jokingly, still holding you against him.

You laugh a little, resting your head on his shoulder. Your head feels fuzzy and you don’t think it’s from crying. Minho just admitted he was jealous of you going out with some other guy. It feels like your heart is doing circus tricks.

“There was nothing to be jealous of anyway,” you say softly. “We didn’t do anything. He insisted he was, um, really good with, uh, his mouth, you know, but then, like, the more he insisted, um, you know me, I started thinking too hard and, um, he couldn’t make me, well…”

“Keep stammering. It makes me feel less embarrassed about myself.”

“Minho.” You slap his chest. His laugh is more of a maniacal cackle, his demeanour having shifted back to glee at your admission. You lift your head to look at him, biting your lip, noticing how his eyes go to your mouth. “He wound up leaving before it could go farther,” you say, your words startling him into meeting your gaze. You know it’s a petty blow, but you can’t help but admit, “He said I was too uptight and left.”

Minho’s whole face scrunches up like he just got punched in the gut.

“No,” he says. “No. You’re just saying that to bully me. I didn’t call you the same thing as that idiot.”

“It’s okay,” you say.

“No.” He groans again, closing his eyes and kicking his feet. “Ahhhhhhh. I should be shot!”

You are laughing properly now, clinging to him as he squirms in horror.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”

“Oh really?” He cocks an eyebrow at you, his mouth a grim line.

“Well.” You burst into laughter all over again. “Maybe just a little!”

He laughs hard at that, shaking his head, but still retaliates by tickling you. Your laughter turns hysterical, peels of giggles as he pokes every ticklish inch of skin.

“Minhoooo,” you whine to no avail. He just grins and continues his attack.

Your wriggling pushes the blankets off the bed. You try and whack him with a pillow so that hits the floor too. Soon it is just you and Minho and some dishevelled bedsheets, you on your back with him leaning over you. You are both out of breath, both smiling. His hands are by your head, cradling you under him, while yours are on his chest as if preparing to push.

The room feels quiet, the silence again tense. But this tension is not rife with the same uncertainty as before. It is not guilt or shame, but a longing that comes from the whispered confession that he was jealous of the last man in your bed, the simple reality that he is sharing your bed right now.

You do not push him away. You hook your fingers in the collar of his shirt and pull. His elbows bend as he swoops down, meeting your raised head. He kisses you, deep and hot and slow, gently pressing your head back into the plush bed. Your squirming is very different now, legs opening to make room for him to settle between them. He feels so good on top of you, the feeling of his strong thighs between your legs, of his chest under your hands, wisps of hair brushing your face as he kisses and kisses and kisses you.

The kiss ends when you are simply too breathless to continue. He rests his forehead against yours, breathing hard.

“Wow,” you say softly. You look at him. His dark eyes are often severe in a playful way and right now they are intense, seductive, and it isn’t a joke. You touch his bottom lip, holding his gaze while he kisses the tips of your fingers. “Just so you know, that kiss was way better than everything that happened the other night.”

He grins at that.

“Oh,” he says. “Really?”

“Yeah.” You watch him kiss your fingers again, then your palm. He looks at you as he dips a little lower, kissing the inside of your wrist. You are hypnotized by the heat of his dark stare, so you speak without thinking much. “Everything you do turns me on, though,” you say. “Even earlier, when you were crushing that garlic with the knife—”

His seduction breaks with a little laugh and he raises both eyebrows.

“Garlic?” he asks. “The garlic got you hot?”

“Don’t make fun of me,” you say, pouting. “You already made me cry once tonight…”

“Oh, is that what happened?” he says. “Sure, okay, let’s play. I made you cry. I should make it up to you?”

“Mhm…”

“Well then.” He leans in close to kiss you but he lingers for a torturously long time, just hovering above your lips. Then he abruptly pulls away. He kneels upright and sits back on his heels.

Confused, you push yourself up on your elbows. He is looking around the room and tapping his chin thoughtfully.

“What is it?” you ask.

“Hmm?” He looks at you, tilting his head as if you are the confusing one. “What? I’m just looking for some garlic, since you’re into that for some reason. Give me a minute to remember where I put it.”

“Ahhh, I hate you!” You flop back down, covering your face with your hands.

Minho, diabolical creature that he is, throws back his head and laughs. He tries to pry your hands off your face but you stubbornly hold on. He sighs with theatrical exasperation and gives up.

You hear the rustle of fabric. Curious, you peek between your fingers. Minho is staring down at you with a single eyebrow cocked, a smug little smirk tugging at his lips. That smirk grows as he reaches back, flexing his arms before grabbing the back of his t-shirt and pulling. Your hands fall away from your face completely, your eyes drinking in the gradual reveal of skin as he pulls his shirt off. It lands somewhere on the floor, forgotten.

“Okay,” he says, nodding curtly. “Your turn.” He makes a come-hither motion with two fingers. “Come on. Hurry up.”

Your brain has short-circuited. It takes a second to make sense of his request and another minute to actually do it. You sit up long enough to peel your shirt off, then flop back down where you continue to stare at him. You are checking each other out, looking up and down. Your eyes goes over his bare chest and down, your mouth falling open.

You breath catches when he cups his hardening dick through his sweatpants, rubbing the heel of his hand there.

You meet his gaze, already breathing harder.

“What else then?” he says, still stroking himself through his clothes as he looks at you.

“Uh, ah, erm, hm—”

“You said everything I do turns you on.” He falls forward and catches himself on both hands, so suddenly you gasp. Once again his arms cage you in, his face close to yours. His hips come down heavy between your legs, his dick hard where it presses intimately against you. “So,” he says. “What else then?”

“Oh.” You are staring at his mouth, gaze heavy-lidded when he rocks against you. “Um. Well. Sometimes when you’re driving in reverse and you put your hand on my headrest, it kinda—”

Once again, his seduction attempt is thwarted when he can’t help but laugh. He drops his head, laughing harder when you lightly smack him.

“Stop asking if you’re just gonna laugh!” you say, even while laughing too.

“Okay,” he says. “Garlic and driving in reverse. I’m learning so much.”

“I’m gonna kill you.”

“That would be very rude,” he says. “Especially since I’m about to go down on you.”

“You—wha—ohhh—”

You grab his head instinctively, fingers sinking into the natural dark roots of his dyed hair, just as he dips down to press kisses on your chest. You arch under him as his mouth finds every sensitive spot, licking sweetly and biting meanly, as to be expected from Minho. By the time he reaches the waistband of your shorts, you are panting and wriggling and clawing at him desperately.

You don’t even have time to overthink. The world and all its troubles fall away for the time being.

You will figure things out. You always do. Right now, you let yourself lose control. You usually hate the feeling, but in this moment you don’t mind at all, because Minho has you. You trust him completely. Surrender is easy.

The rest of your clothes join the messy heap on the floor. He runs his hand smoothly along the inside of your thigh before guiding it over his shoulder. He kisses there, then kisses you excruciatingly chastely between your legs. When you try and move, he keeps you steady, the sturdy hands that captivated you now holding you firmly in place.

When he finally stops torturing you, he gives you everything at once: a long, hot lick right up your centre. Again, your fingers find his hair. He doesn’t complain or lose focus even though you are scratching at him a bit ferociously. Ever a skilled worker, he stays on task. It is so deft and swift and thorough; you get so wet and slippery that you can feel it running it down your skin.

When you get close, your hips lift but he brings you back. He looks up between your thighs as he brings you over the edge. Your legs shake and your eyes close and you bite your hand just a little, trying not to be too noisy in the middle of the night at a campsite.

He climbs back up when finished, looking like a very smug feline as he wipes his face on the back of his hand.

“On a scale of garlic to driving in reverse—” he starts.

You playfully cuff the side of his head.

“That good?” he continues to tease.

You roll your eyes but smile. You think it is a seductive smile, but you do feel a little wrecked. Still, you stay on task too, sliding your hand down his chest, down, down, down and—

“Oh,” you say. You look down at the same time as him. A noticeable wet stain is on the front of his sweatpants. “You already—”

He flops down beside you and sighs.

“Sorry,” he says. “You weren’t the only one amazed with my sexy performance.”

“That’s okay,” you say with a laugh. You roll over to rest your head on his chest. His arm comes down around you, hand running down your naked back. You giggle when he cups and squeezes your ass. You dance your fingers down his pants to the wet spot where he came. “I think it’s kinda hot, actually.”

Minho came from eating you out. Of course you think it’s hot.

And of course he has to be Minho about it.

“Okay,” he says. “Garlic. Driving in reverse. Premature ejaculation. Uptight was definitely the wrong word. I honestly don’t know if I can keep up with a freak like you—”

“Ugh!” You roll away and turn your back to him, mostly to hide the fact you are laughing at his stupid joke.

He follows you, wrapping his arms around you and hugging you from behind. This time he kisses your shoulder properly, once, twice, three times. All the way up your neck to your ear and just behind it.

“You’re lucky I like you so much,” you whisper.

“I like you too,” he whispers back, kissing your shoulder again.

You smile and close your eyes, listening to the rain and letting yourself snuggle safely in his arms.

#skz smut #stray kids smut #lee know smut #lee know x reader #lee minho x reader #lee minho smut #skz x reader

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bluejutdae · 3 months

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• Stray Kids as very specific vibes | OT8

Chan: brushing your teeth side by side, making sure the other sleeps enough, late night city dates, plaids, dimples, racing each other on the street, spraying perfume on pillow cases, trying new stuff, 3 am runs at the grocery store, trust, last minute flights, glass clinking, lightnings, early morning fog.

Minho: reading books to each other, cat cafés, cooking together, the crackling of the fireplace, the first snow of the season, camping and fishing, quiet acts of service, giving each others silly gifts, cats stickers all over the house, warm blankets and cups of tea.

Changbin: vanilla scented candles, gym dates, sharing food, laughing carelessly, meeting the families, kissing on the shoreline, summer days, sea salt on your skin, warm hands, blowing on birthday candles, quality time, feeling safe, warm bathrobes, the smell of fresh laundry.

Hyunjin: paint stains, oversized shirts, matching nail polish, staring into each other's eyes, waking up in the middle of the night, heart wrenching movies, holding hands, whispers at night, talking about true love, soulmates, words of affirmations, sharing a blanket, museum dates.

Jisung: hysteric laughing, iced americanos, playing catch, fixing hair behind the ear, sharing earrings, falling asleep on the floor, neon lights, chapped lips and bitten nails, sharing earbuds, calming tones, shaking hands, goodnight pecks, dreaming of flying, Icarus poems, silver jewelry.

Felix: late night train rides, sitting on a car roof to watch the sun rise, the fresh water of a pool, the relaxing presence of your best friend, videogames, arcades games, golden hour, pretty smiles, silly tattoos, sharing playlists, trying new food, learning to braid hair.

Seungmin: study dates, white and baby blue flowers, coffee stained pages, journals and diaries, house keys, silly key chains, good morning videocalls, matching outfits, the warm wind on a summer night, the smell of oranges in the air, the feeling of belonging, tight hugs.

Jeongin: the glint of the snow, cold hands around warm chocolate, daily outfit pics, playgrounds, pranks, sharing secrets, watching reality shows, watching the full moon, counting stars, no fear of being judged, first love, setting goals, singing out loud into fake microphones.

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moonjxsung · 7 months

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When the Rain Stops

Read part 2 here.

Pairing: Lee Minho x fem reader

W/c: 9.8k

Warnings: mentions of drinking, mentions of smoking, mentions of cheating, brief comment about calories, use of pet names, sex in a public establishment (no one is around), oral sex (fem receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, squirting

Synopsis: A passing storm during a road trip forces you to seek shelter in a little dive bar on the outskirts of town, and you find yourself drawn to the bartender.

18+. Mdni!

•

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath, wringing out your stringy wet hair onto the black carpet below you. You know the weather forecast predicted rain- hell, your family even warned you about it when you left their place this morning. But true to your bad luck, you severely underestimated just how much of it. Now, you’re stuck in the middle of nowhere while you wait for the storm to pass.

Okay, maybe not technically the middle of nowhere. But a shitty dive bar surrounded by nothing for miles upon miles isn’t really something to write home about. You know it could be worse- at least here you have access to unlimited alcohol and mozzarella sticks. But a quick look around tells you that’s not enough to redeem it for you.

The place is undoubtedly small, pool tables and red leather booths housing most of the space. Where there’s vacancy at the tables, the servers haven’t bothered to clean up yet, passing by stacks of dirty plates and silverware to serve guests sitting at other tables. A group of men chatter amongst themselves at one of the pool tables, and a single man is sat at the open bar.

You settle on a spot at the open bar, sitting two barstools away from the man and drying your feet on the rug below you.

“What can I get you?” A voice overhead says dryly, and you respond without looking up.

“Just a Coke, maybe? Diet, please.”

You hear the man scoff a little as he retreats, and then you finally look up, slightly offended at his reaction.

He’s walking away from the bar when you see him, only the back of his head visible from behind the counter where you’re sat.

As he disappears into the back to grab a coke, you pull your cell phone out of your bag. You wipe raindrops off the screen with the sleeve of your sweater, pushing the lock button to catch up on unread texts. There are only two, both from your parents, warning you about the rain and requesting you turn back for the night.

You shoot them back a text, assuring them you’ve found someplace safe to stay, and that you won’t be driving in this rain until the storm blows over. But the truth is, you’re rather unsure of that yourself. Your phone currently reads at 26% battery, the storm is predicted to go on for several hours, and there are seemingly no hotels nearby to stay the night. Chances are, you’re going to be here for a good while.

A veiny hand places an iced glass of your Diet Coke in front of you as you finish sending the texts, and you look up to lock eyes with the bartender.

He’s rather tall, with light brown hair that falls just above his soft round eyes, totally contradicting the sharpness in his jawline and nose bridge. The man is dressed formally in a white button-up shirt and a black tie, rolled up halfway at the sleeves, the top two buttons undone to reveal just a glimpse of his broadened chest.

“Is that it?” He asks. His stare is cold and serious, and you find yourself a little intimidated in this proximity to him.

“Yes, thank you. Do you happen to have a phone charger?”

He scoffs again.

“This isn’t a convenience store.”

“I’m aware,” you reply with narrowed eyes. “I just need to make a few calls.”

“There’s a pay phone in the back.”

It’s your turn to scoff. He’s calculated with his words, like he’s trying his best to get you to leave the bar. But you’re as stubborn as they come, and it’ll take a lot more than rude customer service to make you leave in this storm.

“Look, I’m not using a pay phone unless you’re supplying quarters. You don’t have an iPhone charger?”

He rolls his eyes.

“No, I don’t have an iPhone charger. And I’m not supplying you with anything- this isn’t a convenience store. Unless you want a vodka sprite or some chicken wings, I think we’re all done here.”

Before you can reply, he turns on his heel, making his way back to the kitchen and disappearing behind the double doors once again.

The doors swing in and out a few times before coming to a halt, and you stare through the circular window as he resumes cooking something in the kitchen.

Unpleasant- the personalities of everyone in your parents’ neighboring town, miles away from your apartment in the city. It reminds you precisely why you seldom visit these parts.

“Don’t take it personal,” a voice from beside you says. He shifts to face you from his bar stool. “He’s always like that.”

The stranger is well-dressed in a coat and slacks, his black hair styled neatly out of his face.

“Surprised he keeps any business at all with an attitude like that.”

“The locals don’t get the worst of it,” he continues. “Mostly us city-dwellers he despises.”

A small smile forms on your face. “You’re from the city too?”

“Yeah!” he replies enthusiastically. “I’m just passing through for the weekend.”

“Me too! Though I got stuck on the way back home. Doesn’t seem like we’ll be able to leave for a few hours.”

“Oh yeah,” the man says. “It’s really bad out there.”

You shift your attention to the large window at the back of the bar- the rain is still coming down in sheets over the glistening black pavement, nothing visible beyond the blurry traffic lights as the trees melt into an abyss of darkness. The roads appear empty and the parking lot seems fuller than usual for a bar like this.

“I’m Jisung, by the way,” he says finally.

You turn back to him and nod once. “Y/n. It’s great to meet you.”

As Jisung indulges you in conversation about city life, you learn he’s a businessman who visits the area on Saturdays when he gathers in the town with old friends. He also lives alone in a high-rise apartment, he’s single, and he comes to this particular dive bar for the chicken wings. Ones he insists you have to try, so you waive over the bartender to place another order.

“Excuse me, could we get an order of chicken wings?”

The bartender scribbles something and walks away quickly, hardly acknowledging you the way he did earlier.

“You know,” Jisung says. “Maybe the rain isn’t such a bad thing.”

“Why’s that?”

“I’ve been talking to the prettiest girl in this bar for the last 30 minutes. Beats being stuck in traffic any day.”

You feel your whole face turn a bright shade of crimson as he grins flirtatiously. Of course, the other way around stands true, too; his features resemble that of a model’s, and you're pretty sure the other girls in the bar have been eyeing him since you walked in.

Before you can respond, the bartender returns, setting a plate down in front of you and some silverware.

“Enjoy,” he says plainly, and he blinks a few times before leaving again.

“Jeez, it’s like he doesn’t even want to work here,” you tell Jisung.

He says nothing in response- he simply slides the plate over to you, ushering for you to choose a piece.

And you do, carefully balancing the saucy cut between your forefinger and thumb as Jisung taps his against yours.

“Cheers,” he says happily. “To the rain.”

The chicken is the best you’ve had in a while- in fact, you can’t recall having better food at any bar before this.

“Wow, you were right, Jisung. this is phenomenal!”

“It’s Minho’s recipe,” he replies with a mouthful of food.

“Who’s Minho?”

Jisung nods in the direction of the bar, where the bartender is cleaning off a glass with a white towel. He raises his eyebrows once at you, as if to confirm he’s indeed the topic of conversation, and you turn back to Jisung.

“It’s really good,” you say loudly, with the intention of Minho hearing your compliment.

But Minho doesn’t respond, instead sauntering over and refilling your Diet Coke. His eyes visibly avoid yours, guarded, like you might instigate another quarreling match with him at any given second. But he also blinks rapidly as he pours your beverage, almost as if he’s trying not to say something himself. You analyze his mannerisms briefly, before brushing them off and enjoying your food again. He’s probably just still peeved from earlier.

“Do you want to play a round of pool?” Jisung interrupts your thoughts. “Not to scare you, but I’m kind of terrible at it.”

His eyes form little crescents as he laughs loudly, and the gloomy vibe in the bar seems to brighten from the sound alone.

“Yeah, I’d love that.”

Three rounds in, Jisung is practically sober again, reeling off the high from winning three times against you. He might be terrible, but you’re evidently far worse than he claims to be.

“If I win this match, you let me take you out on a date. How does that sound?” Jisung says through laughter, though he’s entirely serious about the proposal.

Your cue stick prods at his ribs as you smile back in agreement. “And if you lose?”

“I won’t lose,” Jisung retorts. “Might as well pick a restaurant now.”

It’s a failure already, Jisung having only two stripes left while you’re still stuck with all 8 solids. He takes his aim at the cue ball, halting his laughter briefly to position his cue stick, and then cheering loudly as the ball disappears into its nearest hole. You watch with bated breath as he repeats the process, only this time, he misses.

“Hey,” you whine. “You only brought up our proposal midway through this round. At least I deserve a chance card!”

He scoffs. “Pick a chance then. I doubt it’ll get you 7 balls closer to your competition.”

You scan the room in deep thought, one hand resting under your chin and atop the cue stick; and then, the idea hits you.

“He’ll play for me,” you announce, nodding toward the direction of where Minho is wiping down the counter with a rag. He looks up momentarily, furrowing his brows when he notices the shared looks of you and Jisung.

“Get over here!” Jisung shouts, and a few patrons of the tables nearby encourage the invitation, cheering and applauding.

“No,” Minho says as he shakes his head shyly. “I’m busy.”

“There’s literally no one around,” Jisung retorts. “Come on, I know you can try at least once.”

“He’s scared he’ll lose,” you chime in. “And then you’ll have to take me out on a date.”

You swear you see Minho’s eyes narrow, and then he dries his hands with the same rag before setting it down.

“One round only. If I win, you tip double.”

“Deal,” says Jisung, and you watch Minho strut over to the table.

He’s taller than you assumed, towering over you in a black pair of slacks that lengthen his muscular legs. In preparation, Minho cuffs up his sleeves a few more times, buttoning them at the forearm and loosening his collar. You try your hardest not to stare, but it’s a seemingly impossible task, you quickly realize, as he takes your cue stick and positions himself over the table. One loose strand of brown hair falls into his face, and you resist the urge to move it out of the way for him.

The tables nearby are quiet as Minho pulls back, and then aims, the first of your solids rolling into the hole with ease.

“Oh fuck you,” Jisung groans, and Minho positions himself over the next target. Aim, roll back, perfect shot.

Tables around you begin to gather around yours, watching silently as Minho repeats his method. Aim, roll, shoot. The heavy sound of a solid rolling down the velvety surface, and the satisfying plink as it finds its home inside the hole.

Only two solids remain, and Jisung rests his head on his cue stick as Minho takes aim again. “I can’t watch. Someone tell me if he gets it.”

Aim… roll… and double plink- both solids disappear into the hole beneath them, effectively ending the match between the two. The patrons clap and cheer loudly, and Jisung throws his hands in the air, groaning in annoyance. “Fuck, man! You didn’t say you knew how to play pool?”

Minho shrugs, not a hint of a smile on his face as he retrieves the balls and organizes them on the table again. Jisung slides him a twenty, and he shoots you a quick glance, nodding once as he leaves the table and disappears back into the kitchen. You wonder again what he’s thinking about, briefly worried you’ve annoyed him by pulling him away from his work.

“Hey,” Jisung says, snapping you out of your tranced state. “Did you want to… maybe… get out of here? I know a hotel just a few blocks from the bar. We can walk fast.”

You think it over momentarily, weighing your options. The rain has no intention of stopping anytime soon, and you’re dying for a shower at this point. You’re also persuaded by the idea of a warm bed- not to mention, a warm body, for the night.

“Sure! I’m just going to run to the bathroom, I’ll meet you outside.”

The reflection in the mirror looks rough, staring back at you like this, desperately fixing the smudged makeup to the best of your ability and spritzing perfume. It’s been a while since you hooked up with a random person- especially one from a dive bar like this, but somehow you trust him. He’s funny, sweet, and he’s undoubtedly attractive. Plus, maybe a hookup will distract you from the current state of things.

When you exit, you make your way past the barstools, thanking Minho briefly. His lips curl up into a hint of a smile, and you can’t help but feel bad for him- he’s stuck in this shitty bar regardless, dealing with obnoxious patrons seeking shelter from the storm and cleaning up after their drunken messes. He may be a little rude, but it’s deserved, you think, as he cleans off your dishes.

Finally exiting the bar, you look around for Jisung, shielding your eyes from sheets of rain and squinting against the dark sky. The only source of light is a hanging light beside the wooden bar sign, and it illuminates nothing past your immediate eyesight.

“Jisung?” You call, being met only with the sounds of heavy rainfall and swaying leaves.

“Jisung?”

The wind blows violently, and you wrap your arms around yourself, shivering against the brutal cold. A man enters the bar beside you, keeping the door open and ushering you inside. And you do enter again, marching straight to the bar to search for Jisung.

“Excuse me,” you say to Minho, who is busy preparing a beer on tap for another patron. “Did you see the man who was here earlier? Tall, black hair, suit?”

“You mean Jisung?” He says without looking at you, and you perk up at his name.

“Yes! Did you see where he went?”

“Yeah,” Minho replies dryly. “I told him you changed your mind about him.”

“You- what?”

Minho says nothing again, filling another mug of beer and sliding it across the counter to a patron.

“Why the fuck would you do that?”

“He’s bad news,” Minho shrugs.

The words circle in your head for a good minute while you make sense of them. Minho ruined your chances at going home with Jisung- because he’s “bad news”? What does he even know about him?

“Why do you say that?” The question escapes your lips before you can ponder a more insightful one.

“I know him,” he replies casually. “Like I said- bad news.”

Frustration builds up steadily inside of you, turning your ears a bright shade of crimson and knitting your brows together in pure confusion.

“Who are you to determine that? You’re just a bartender! It’s none of your damn business who I leave with!”

He slaps a palm on the counter, not particularly hard, but enough to startle you a little.

“Actually, it is. I have a legal obligation to ensure my patrons don’t leave here inebriated behind a vehicle, or with strange men. And I saved you from the latter. You should be thanking me.”

“Thanking you?” You scoff. “Since I walked in here you’ve been nothing but a complete douche! There’s nothing to thank you for.”

“Then don’t,” Minho says. “I did my part either way.”

You stutter momentarily, settling on silence as he exits back to the kitchen and leaves you standing at the counter. The current state of things feels much like they did when you first entered- drenched from the rain, frustrated, and annoyed with the bartender. Only now, you can add cockblocked to the list, all thanks to Minho.

Two hours past the incident, your phone is completely dead. It’s just past 11 when the rain stills just for a little bit, and hoards of patrons file out of the bar to complete their short trips home. You remain stuck however, knowing the rain will pick up again if you attempt the six hour drive back right now. The bar is nearly empty at this hour, only two people sat at a far table, and the quiet swing of jazz music is now audible from your little booth. The peeling leather of the red seats below you is rather itchy, and the dim lantern hanging over you gives an orange-ish glow to the wooden table beneath you. You scribble mindless doodles on a stack of napkins in front of you, trying your best to pass the agonizing time spent here.

As you finalize the petals of a messy flower drawn on the napkin, a plate is set down in front of you, along with a glass of what you presume is Diet Coke. The smell instantly makes your mouth water- a cheesy omelet coupled with a side of french fries, steam still wafting off the plate and up into the glow of the booth’s lighting. You look up to see none other than Minho, and before you can protest, he slides into the booth across from you, setting a fork down on your napkin.

“You should eat,” he says. “It’s been a while.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“It’s on me,” Minho emphasizes, and you finally look up from your drawing.

“Look,” he begins. “Jisung has been coming here for years. He’s a cool dude, I get it.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not exactly like I have a chance with him anymore,” you turn back to your drawing.

“He’s also married,” Minho finishes.

At that, your head snaps up at him, eyes widened in shock.

“What? But he said-”

“Yeah, that’s what he always says. It’s kind of his thing- picking up girls from the bar and taking them to that one hotel. I told you, he’s bad news.”

Silence washes over the booth as you swallow nervously. He shrugs apologetically, fiddling with his fingers as you begin to speak.

“Sorry. I didn’t know.”

“I know you didn’t. I just didn’t want you to come back here crying tomorrow morning like the last girl did.”

It hits you like a ton of bricks- Minho really was looking after you. You’d almost left this strange dive bar, in the middle of nowhere, to sleep with a married man in a sketchy hotel. In hindsight, it was stupid you ever agreed.

“At least eat some fries,” he says, and you remember the plate in front of you. You comply with his request, taking a bite of the still-warm fries which almost melt on your tongue.

“These are really good,” you tell him. “He was right about the food, at least.”

“I’m kind of a big deal here,” Minho says as he leans back. He smirks- the first time you’ve seen an expression on his face tonight.

“I’m sure. How did you get so good at pool, anyway?”

“I work at a dive bar,” Minho says. “Girls ask me to play with them all the time.”

“Do they now? Your reluctance earlier says otherwise.”

“Oh they do,” Minho says. “When they’re as shitty as you, I’m the chance card.”

“Hey!” You shout. Minho giggles, his head thrown back as his eyes form little crescents in amusement. His laugh makes you laugh, too, the musical sound of it making your heartbeat quicken a little. It’s melodic and lighthearted, and you almost forget you’re stuck with him in this hell of a bar. There’s a glow to him at this time of night.

“Run it back,” you say as his laughter dies down. “And I’ll show you I’m not entirely terrible.”

“Better hope you don’t lose,” he says. “You won’t have a chance card this time.”

You still suck at pool. Minho clears the table in two quick rounds, and you’ve barely had time to practice with your cue stick because it’s hardly ever your turn.

“Alright,” Minho says. “I’ll let you have this turn. It’s boring watching you stand there all night.”

You approach the table, positioning your cue stick and taking aim at your first solid of the match.

“Use your thumb on the front hand,” he chimes in.

“Like this?”

“No, it should be between your thumb and pointer finger.”

“Like I’m pinching it?” You ask confused, and Minho chuckles.

“Here.”

Before you can adjust your cue stick again, Minho is behind you, one hand finding yours at the front of the cue stick and positioning it between your thumb and pointer finger like he explained. His hands are cold to the touch, and you’re intimidated having him this close to you. The other hand gently grips your elbow, moving it back a little as he scans the current trajectory. His face is dangerously close to yours, hair falling beautifully into his eyes as he moves, lips parted in concentration and the gentle flutter of his eyelashes as he blinks.

“There. Try now.”

You do as he instructs, rolling back and taking aim at your solid. Aim, shoot… and the familiar roll of your ball across the table. Only this time, it’s followed by the satisfying sound of falling into its respective hole.

“Oh my gosh!” You exclaim. “That’s only the third one I’ve gotten tonight!”

Minho chuckles, amused with your ardent reaction. “Your aim isn’t bad at all. It’s just your positioning.”

He turns to smile at you, momentarily unaware of how close he is to you. He’s towering over you, lips pulled into a mischievous grin as your eyes glimmer, still reeling off the high of scoring. For a brief second, your eyes flicker down to his lips, maybe a little too obviously, and then back up at his eyes.

“I should probably get back to the kitchen,” Minho says nervously. “I think that table ordered drinks like one round ago.”

“Yeah,” you reply, a little hurt that he’s leaving again. “I’m pretty tired, anyway.”

“You want something else to eat?”

“I’m fine, thanks. Good luck with work, though!” You avert his gaze fully now, mentally tracing the pattern on the rug below you.

When Minho leaves, you can’t help but mentally scold yourself. He’s just a bartender- one whose job is to serve you drinks and keep you out of trouble here. Not some friend to stand around and play pool with, regardless of how good he is, or hypnotizing it feels when he touches you.

At 1am, the bar is officially empty. The last few patrons leave after a round of gin vodkas, somehow getting an Uber despite the storm and leaving home for the night. You debate getting a room at the nearby hotel, but there’s no way you’ll be able to reserve a room this late, and your phone is still dead. It would probably be smart to attempt some method of getting home, but a part of you strangely doesn’t want to leave the bar anymore. It feels like a vessel into another universe, like time doesn’t exist here, like the storm or the ride home aren’t important as long as you’re sat in this little booth. You’re well aware the bar closes in an hour, but you’d rather wait until the hour to decide what to do.

Of course, part of it could be the bartender. You don’t want to like Minho, but you can’t quite make sense of him, either. He’s attractive, but reserved. He’s outgoing, but he has his guard up. And his walls break down when he’s enjoying himself, but he builds them up quickly again, and you can’t understand what triggers it. He’s much like the bar is- safe and homely, yet mysterious and alluring.

As you take a sip of your Diet Coke, neck craned to watch the show playing on the tv above you, a familiar face scoots into the booth across from you.

“Subway,” he says.

“What?”

“Jeopardy. Restaurants by slogan: Eat Fresh. It’s Subway.” He's referring to the episode of Jeopardy you’ve been watching for the past half hour.

“Everyone knows that,” you say with a smile.

You expect him to defend himself, but instead he laughs and shakes his head.

“Either our diet cokes are really good, or you’re not in any rush to get home.”

You sigh, swirling your straw around your third can of Coke and shrugging.

“I can’t make it home in this rain. The roads are closed going my direction, anyway.”

“Where’s home?”

“Far from here. In the city.”

Minho sits back comfortably now, arms crossed in front of him as he listens to you speak.

“City girl. I guessed it.”

“What gave me away?” You ask with a smile.

“iPhone charger request. And you drink Diet Coke exclusively.”

“I don’t like to waste my calories!” You argue.

“You’re in a dive bar.”

The two of you share laughter at your admission, and you can feel your cheeks heat up again. He sure knows how to make you laugh.

“I’ll probably get a motel room for tonight,” you say. “I think there’s one walking distance from here.”

“The nearest one is a shithole. I’m pretty sure someone died there, like, a few months ago.”

You exhale deeply, poking around at your drink with your straw.

“I have work on Monday. I have to get some shut-eye or I won’t be able to get home even if it does stop raining.”

Minho glances around the bar, observing the vacant tables and empty parking lot.

“Yah, Jeongin-ah!” He shouts suddenly, and a figure appears around the kitchen door, peering over at your table.

“Yeah?”

“Clock out,” Minho says. “We’re closing an hour early.”

“An hour? But what if-”

“No one else is coming in this rain. Just grab your stuff And get home safely. I’ll handle the rest of the tables.”

Jeongin’s gaze darts over at you quickly, and then back to Minho, as he nods without saying another word. He disappears into the kitchen once again, presumably to gather his belongings.

“You don’t have to close on account of me,” you say finally, a little unsure of his motives. “I can walk to the motel from here.”

He scoffs, sliding out from the booth and gathering a stack of dirty dishes from the table beside you. “I told you, it’s not safe. You can chill here for the next hour while I do closing procedures, and if it’s still raining, I can at least give you a ride there.”

“Why should I trust you?” You ask, hint of sarcasm present in your voice, but still cautious.

“Technically you shouldn’t,” he says with a smile. “But you’re free to call the cops on me whenever you want.”

“Nice try. My phone's dead.” You shoot him a smile, knowing he’s just messing with you, but wanting to entertain his little game nonetheless.

“Back room, third drawer in the file cabinet. There should be a phone charger there.”

You gasp and scoff. “I thought this wasn’t a convenience store!”

“It’s not,” Minho says, flashing you a toothy smile as he makes his way to the kitchen and calls out over his shoulder. “It’s a dive bar. My dive bar.”

Minho scrubs grease off the plates while you dry mugs on the counter adjacent to him and arrange them neatly in a row.

“So you haven’t left this town in years?” You ask Minho, continuing the conversation you’ve been having with him for the past 45 minutes.

“I drive to the city probably once a year,” he replies. “Hate it.”

“Why?”

“It’s too busy. I prefer simple. Simple people, simple places. A simple life.”

“How can you say that when you’ve never experienced it the other way around before?”

“Have you?”

“Have I what?”

“Experienced a simpler life. Outside of the city.”

“Well… kind of. I mean, I moved out the second I turned 18. Grew up in the suburbs, but I traveled to the city every chance I got. I always knew I wanted to be there.”

“So you’ve never lived without the notion of wanting to migrate as soon as possible?”

“I guess not.”

He wipes his forehead with the back of his arm.

“I grew up in the city.”

“You did?”

“Hated it,” Minho says.

“Why’s that?”

“I was… easily distracted. Got involved with a lot of bad crowds. Never knew what I wanted. Worked as a private chef for a while, actually.”

You stop drying the mug you’re working on and look at him in utter shock.

“You?”

“Me,” he affirms with a chuckle. “I quit one random day five years ago and moved out here with every penny I saved. Obtained ownership of this bar and haven’t looked back since.”

You nod at his words, resuming your task as he shuts off the water.

“Takes some courage, I’ll give you that.”

Minho leans back against the counter and rests his hands on the table behind him. He smirks at you knowingly, and you can feel his eyes pierce through you out of your peripheral vision.

“What?” You say with a blushing grin.

“Nothing,” he replies. “You make a good employee here.”

“Yeah, right,” you say sarcastically, lining up the last mug on the counter and turning around to face him.

“I’d probably start a fire with running water or something crazy.”

He laughs again, shaking his head as you cross your arms.

“I need to close up the registers,” Minho says. “You want to hang out here until I’m done?”

“Sure,” you reply, and he bows slightly.

“I’ll try to be fast.”

Minho leaves to the back office as you wipe your hands with a dish rag, smiling in a daze.

While Minho counts change in the office, you explore the place a bit, making your way around the pool tables to the back of the bar. It’s then that you notice a tall staircase almost hidden away in a back corner. You slowly make your way up the stairs, tip-toeing so as not to startle Minho while he’s in the office closing up for the night. The creaky wooden stairs are muffled by the sound of the rain outside.

When you reach the top, you lean on the banister, looking down on the bar and taking in the view. It looks especially charming like this, illuminated only by the golden neon sign hung over the bar counter and reflecting off the big glass cabinets. Entrance through a small doorway leads to a single, dark room, and you turn on the dim light to explore the room.

There are only two things in the room- another pool table, visibly much older than the others downstairs, and an old arcade game. Upon closer inspection, you find that the game is a run-down version of Pac-Man, one of your favorite arcade games growing up. The giant yellow display is decorated with whimsical little drawings of Pac-Man and ghosts, and you can’t help but crack a smile at the sight, remembering the days you used to play as a kid.

You try the on switch, being met with a buzzing noise and the glow of red marquee lights, but nothing appears on the screen. Bummer, you think to yourself.

“It’s never turned on,” a voice says behind you, and you let out a shout, startled at the sudden noise.

When you turn around, Minho is standing with his hands in his pockets, a black blazer thrown over his button up shirt and a bag slung over his shoulder.

“Got it as a donation a few months ago and it’s lived up here ever since. I think it’d be a hit, if it actually worked.”

You turn back to the machine, observing the gentle hum from the static on the monitor display.

“It’s probably something with the PCB,” you reply, and Minho turns to look at you.

“The what?”

“The printed circuit board,” You repeat, setting your purse down on the floor beside you. “You have a screwdriver?”

Minho’s brows furrow together in confusion, but he nods slowly. “Yeah, sure.”

He leaves momentarily and returns with the requested tool, watching as you drop to your knees and unscrew the door to the cabinet.

“The lights turn on, which is a good thing,” you explain to him. “Means the monitor is still in good condition. So It’s probably just slowed down with general wear.”

When the cabinet door is off, Minho leans back against the pool table and observes as you pull out little parts from the myriad of pieces along the circuit.

“I figured,” You say, sitting back with a tissue in hand. “The EPROMs and ROMs are all warped.”

You pull a bobby pin out from your hair, gently wiggling the pins back in place before cleaning them off with a tissue.

Minho is lost as he watches you, mouth agape at the level of focus in your expression, tongue poking out between your lips as you move with purpose and determination. He realizes he may have undermined you this whole time, thinking secretly you’d crave a simpler life, when all along it was your intelligence and wit that drew you to the city. You’re as complex as the city, he thinks. You can’t be confined within the safety of these four walls like he can. And maybe he’s complex, too. But he’s not sure of himself the way you seem to be.

When you’re finished wiping down the acronyms of pieces, you fit them back in and screw back on the door. Minho watches curiously as you plug in the machine again, reaching around the frame for the switch and flipping it on.

The familiar hum of the screen starts up again, only this time it flashes a bright white color, and then displays PAC-MAN as soft music begins to play.

“Holy shit,” Minho says with a breathy chuckle. “That would've been thousands to get repaired.”

“Take it as a thank you,” you say. “For helping me out tonight.”

You hoist yourself up on the pool table and gesture to the display as he stares in awe. “Try it!”

Minho presses the red START button, chuckling when the familiar tune starts up and the game begins. He makes it through a few rows before getting eaten by a pixelated ghost, groaning when the game flashes GAME OVER and starts up another round.

But he doesn’t resume playing, instead turning around to face you with an unmoving expression.

“It’s drizzling,” he says, looking past you out the little window.

“Mhm,” you reply, though you’re not registering a word he's saying anymore. He’s dangerously close to you again, eye-level with you while you’re sat atop the pool table and not taking your gaze off him.

He seems to be trembling with anticipation, his gaze flickering down to your lips and back up to your eyes, hoping you’ll notice the motion and do something, anything with it.

“We should probably get going,” You say in a whisper.

He swallows cautiously. “Yeah.”

“Right now that the rain is a little lighter.”

“Yeah,” he says again, though neither of you make any move to leave.

“Thanks for tonight,” you reply, your eyes fully locked on his lips now.

Minho begins to say something, but his voice hitches in his throat, instead opting to swallow and and take a single step forward. And before you can say another word, his face tilts in front of you, gently pressing his lips to yours.

He kisses you gently, but he doesn’t waste any time, hands caressing your waist in his embrace and pressing up against you. He tastes like mint, his tongue mixing the flavor with the taste of Diet Coke still in your mouth. When he pulls away, he says nothing, searching your expression for a sign of how you’re feeling. You say nothing, too, eyes flickering over his serious gaze and waiting for him to break the silence.

When he still doesn’t talk, you reach out to grab his collar, pulling him toward you again. You kiss him first this time, slipping your tongue inside his parted lips to taste him fully, gripping his collar like you might lose him if you let go.

“Fuck,” Minho says, pulling away and breathing heavily. He squeezes his eyes shut, a nervous expression tugging at his lips.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t do this,” Minho replies. “With patrons. I just… I don’t know what got into me…”

His words trail off as you work little kisses down his jawline and neck, nibbling over his clavicle and humming greedily against him.

“What if I wanted you to?”

Minho stares at the ceiling as you work him, breath hitching in his throat as you trail even lower.

You pull away from him, tilting his gaze down to meet yours with a hand on his cheek.

“Say you don’t want to kiss me again,” you clarify. “Say it, and I’ll stop.”

His eyes narrow, piercing through yours as his hands rest gently on your upper thighs.

“I don’t want to kiss you,” Minho says seriously.

Your heart drops instantly, the anticipation that had built up pending his answer quickly fizzling as his words pierce through you. Your throat is dry, dozens of questions circling your mind, but nothing that comes to fruition amidst your disappointment. Guess it wasn’t the way you’d read into it all night.

“Okay.” Your voice is shaky, doing nothing to mask your disappointment.

“I don’t want to kiss you,” Minho says again quickly, his thumbs tracing circle patterns on your thighs. He leans in again, lips just barely grazing over yours as he speaks in a whisper. “I want you right here, on this table, right now. I want to do a lot more than just kiss you.”

Your heartbeat resumes, pulsing wildly as he scans your face for a reaction. You don’t grant him one through your facial expressions- rather, you pull him in by his collar once again, closing the gap between you and kissing him even harder this time. You can feel Minho smirking into the kiss, amused with how desperate you are at the simple admission.

His hands snake up your sweater, grabbing desperately at your lower back and pressing into you with his hips. Instinctively, your legs wrap around his waist, neck craned to the side for easy access while he begins to work kisses down your neck now.

“You really suck at pool,” Minho says as he smiles against your skin. His lips find yours again, giving you repeated chaste kisses as you tangle your hands in his hair. His lips feel familiar on yours- almost like you’ve done this a hundred times before. You can’t imagine a version of him you weren’t kissing like this.

“You’re calculated,” you say, smiling as you loosen the black tie around his neck.

“How so?”

“No phone charger, you only agree to play pool when a date with Jisung is on the line, and you’ve gotten me to stick around this long? You’re not as slick as you think you are.”

Minho throws his head back a little, his eyebrows arching as he laughs loudly.

“You might be a genius at fixing arcade games, but you don’t have everything figured out the way you think you do.”

“Oh yeah? And why’s that?”

He pulls away again, completing your task of loosening his tie, and then discarding it completely on the table beside you.

“It stopped raining 15 minutes ago,” he says slyly. “And suddenly you’re in no rush to go home anymore.”

His eyebrows are raised as his hands caress your thighs, moving higher until he’s grazing your hip bones with his fingertips. You don’t reply, suddenly hot at his words, and knowing he’s in fact entirely correct about it. It’s the opportunity you’ve been waiting around for all night- a break in the rainfall to get back to your car and make it to a hotel for the night. But paired against the other opportunity right in front of you- the one wearing nothing but a loosened white shirt and a devilish smirk on his face, you can’t do much but resort to the latter.

“You gonna spread for me?” Minho asks in a gentle teasing tone, his voice much quieter than before as your breath hitches in your throat. You nod, disregarding his first statement and doing as you’re told, slipping off your jeans and opening your legs just enough so that he can move his fingertips to graze your inner thighs. It feels dirty like this, so sinful for your skin to make contact with the velvety table below you. But you’re too dazed with lust, completely encapsulated by his movements to do anything except obey him.

“Good girl,” Minho replies, and your heartbeat quickens at the praise.

His hands dance in gentle back and forth motions along your thighs, gradually getting closer to your core, until his middle finger rests gently atop your clothed clit.

Your eyes dart down to his hand briefly, waiting desperately for him to touch you, to kiss you, anything.

“Look at me,” Minho says.

And you do, making eye contact again with his cold stare, piercing salaciously through your doe eyes.

Another smirk grows on his face as he crouches lower, and lower, dropping to his knees until he’s eye level with your aching pussy.

“Please…” you say, resting your weight back on your palms and spreading your legs further for him. Your breaths are labored, eyebrows arched up at just the thought of his tongue on you.

“Please what?”

“Please, would you… eat me out?” You request quietly, somehow internally panicked that he’ll decline.

But he doesn’t- instead he loops a finger through your underwear, pulling down in a sudden motion, eyes widened at the sight of you like this. You’re swollen with arousal, clit visibly quivering at the proximity of his breath against your folds. Your pussy is deliciously sopping for him, glazed juices painting your cunt all for him.

“God,” he breaks the silence. “You’re soaking. I could probably put it in now and you’d take it, wouldn’t you?”

You don’t answer him, tucking strands of hair behind your ears and looking down on him with anticipation.

“Okay,” Minho says with a slight chuckle. “Just relax for me.”

And without wasting another minute, his hands find purchase on your knees, scooting you closer to the edge of the table before finally burying his face in you. His tongue licks a long stripe along your pussy, smiling at the taste, before his lips latch themselves around your clit and suck harshly.

Your eyes roll back almost instantly, completely lost in the sensation of his tongue gliding back and forth over your folds like a starved animal. His plump lips remain latched to your clit, suckling with lewd wet noises and basking in the flavor of your arousal for him. As your legs tremble with pleasure, your hands quickly find themselves tangled in his hair, grinding him up against you and using his face to satisfy the delicious ache between your legs. Minho is well aware of your desperation, pulling away mere centimeters to grin at your reaction.

“Don’t stop,” you say, massaging his tresses in encouragement to keep going. Minho chuckles, this time latching on to your bundle of nerves with a gentle graze of his bunny teeth. He nibbles tenderly, eyes rolling up to watch your reaction as you sense the shift in his actions.

“Oh my god,” you breathe out frantically. “That feels so fucking good."

Minho smiles into your pussy, giving one small lick with his tongue before utilizing his velvety lips on your clit once again.

“Mmh…” he hums into your pussy, sending divine vibrations that tickle your arousal and instinctively make you moan for him.

“You taste so good,” Minho says between suckling. “I wanna make you cum for me.”

You nod down at him, rubbing little circles on his scalp and throwing your head back when he dips his tongue into your entrance.

“Oh god!”

At first he takes little kitten licks at your entrance, coming back up to kiss your clit repeatedly while you wait in anticipation. And then he brings a hand up to your entrance, sliding one finger in and working it around your pussy as he continues the unwavering attention on your bundle of nerves.

“Yeah, just like that,” you encourage him.

“You like it when I do both at once?” Minho inquires with a knowing smile.

“Yes, fuck” you can hardly answer him between the high-pitched moans that fill the dark room.

“Like when I fill you up?” A kiss on your clit. “Like when I taste you?” He laps at your folds. “Like when I fuck you like this?” Two fingers pump in and out of you now, smearing your arousal back on your clit which he wastes no time lapping up on his tongue.

“Yes, fuck Minho! Please, I’m gonna cum-”

“Cum, then. Want you to make a mess on my face.”

His fingers pump at an even faster pace while he sucks your clit between his teeth and emits a deep moan against your wetness. The vibration of his voice gives attention to the rest of your aching pussy, which finally contracts desperately around his fingers as you leak cum on his tongue. Minho licks you clean, chuckling against you when he takes your clit between his teeth again and hears you gasp in overstimulation.

Both of you say nothing as he stands back up, eye-level to you once again, his chin glazed in your juices. He rests his hands on your thighs as he did before, leaning in to press a sweet kiss on your lips and smile against you. Your hands toy with his belt buckle, tracing the pattern in your fingertips before slowly undoing the buckle and snaking the belt out from the loops on his trousers.

“Let me return the favor?” You ask against his lips, and he takes a sharp breath when you unzip his pants.

“Can I be honest?” Minho replies, and you pull away to look him in the eyes. His round eyes are dark, hooded with lust and curiously peering back at you.

He grins sheepishly, massaging your thighs with the palms of his hands as he speaks. “I think I’ve been hard for you the second you walked in here.”

The words make your heart flutter, suddenly much more aware of his contact against your skin, an insatiable desire to satisfy him and let him do whatever he may please.

Maybe you were the one mistaken all night- maybe Minho’s curt attitude and cold demeanor wasn’t in fact discourteousness at all. Perhaps he was just as drawn to you as you were to him. And now here you are, each drawn to the other like moths to a burning flame, eager to explore and make the fleeting moment last in any way you could.

You laugh at his admission, moving strands of hair out from his face and tucking your face in the crook of his neck, where he presses a chaste kiss to your temple through nervous laughter of his own.

“Yeah?” You say finally. “What are you going to do about it?”

Minho narrows his eyes with a challenging expression, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you off the table, where he now towers over you and intertwines his fingers with yours.

“Turn around,” he orders candidly. Your heart flutters again at the implication- him ordering you around like this when he’s already satisfied you once. But the tone he maintains is both sweet and inviting, and you know his intentions are the same as yours.

You follow his command, facing the pool table as he presses you against the edge, arms wrapping around your waist and peppering your shoulders in little kisses.

His hands snake up your sweater, where he now cups your breasts in his large palms and unclasps your bra. Once you’re bare, you hear him pull down his trousers, the muffled sound sending chills down your spine. If you weren’t dripping with anticipation before, you certainly are now. Minho latches his lips onto your throat, suckling just enough to mark purple bruises along your neck and collarbones. Part of you wants to deny him the little pleasure, reminding him that you have work on Monday and you can’t show up looking like you spent the weekend at a frat party. But the way his skewed front teeth nibble at your flesh stings delightfully, and you can’t bring yourself to protest it.

It’s then that you feel him behind you- his erection pressing into your upper thigh. He pushes into you with force, grinding softly on your skin and moaning against your neck when he feels you lean back into him.

One of your hands reaches out to palm him over the fabric of his boxers, and he lets out a soft whimper at the contact.

“Jesus,” he says “I can’t wait anymore. Prop your leg up for me, baby. On the- yeah, just like that.”

He guides you with one hand, moving your thigh up so that he has better access to your cunt as he palms himself more with his other hand.

“Is this okay?” Minho asks, now freeing his cock from his boxers and tapping gently at your entrance. The sensation of his bare flesh against yours has you in a daze, desperate to be filled up by him.

“Mhm,” you say, drunk off the feeling of him behind you like this.

“Gonna put it in now, okay?”

“Yeah,” you say, breathing heavily as he jerks himself a few times. And without another minute to spare, he’s sliding himself inside of you, bottoming out almost instantaneously as your pussy takes him with ease.

“Oh my god,” you breathe out. “You’re so big.”

Minho smiles against your neck, pressing one chaste kiss and gathering your hair out from in front of your face.

He starts with gentle thrusts, panting in your ear and letting his hands wander all over your body as he moves. Your eyebrows arch up in pleasure, mouth agape as he picks up the pace, the wet sounds of his thrusting teeming all around you.

“God, you take me so well,” Minho breathes. “You’re so wet for me still.”

You can barely respond to him, one hand reaching up to tilt his jaw toward you so you can kiss him on the mouth again, your lips drooling with saliva and fucked-out with pleasure.

“I’m close,” Minho says into your mouth, pausing his thrusts momentarily to then pick up the pace again, much faster and with even more force.

“Ah- me too.”

As he moves in and out of your sopping cunt, one of his hands sprawls out across your tummy, pushing down with gentle pressure as he thrusts. You feel your insides contract at the sensation, now much closer to your release.

“Fuck, M-Min I’m gonna,”

He smiles against your neck again, amused with your reaction to the little move.

“Let go,” he says breathlessly into your ear. “I know you can give me a second one.”

His hand pushes down a little more, now tickling your insides with the constrained sensation against your abdomen.

And between his thrusts, you feel yourself let go around him, letting out a series of breathy moans as you cum on his still-moving cock. Only this time, you let go of everything, trickling fluids over him and the edge of the table, soaking the floor with remnants of you.

Minho’s orgasm follows just seconds after, breathing out melodic whimpers and moans as he feels you squirt, shooting ropes of his cum inside of you and fondling your breasts through his orgasm. He thrusts every last drop back into you, pulling out when he feels you shudder from overstimulation once again.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs between kisses as he pulls out. “You made a mess for me, baby.”

When you’re both finished, you’re quick to dress yourself, pulling your sweater back over your head and buttoning your jeans once again. Minho turns around while you get dressed, well aware that he was inside of you just minutes ago, but wanting to respect your boundaries now that you’re no longer being intimate. He gets dressed too, observing through the little window how the rain hasn’t started again in the entirety you’ve been up here. When you’re done, he turns back around, shooting you a little smile as you fix your hair.

“What?” You inquire, mirroring his expression as he stares back at you.

“Where have you been?” Minho asks simply.

“Hm?”

“Where have you been all my life?”

You cock your head a little, not missing the way he blinks nervously a few times after asking the question.

“Not the suburbs,” you reply with a smile. “That’s for sure.”

The gentle lull of jazz music rings through Minho’s ears as he wakes, glancing around to take in his surroundings. He’s sprawled out on the dingy red couch in the back room, still wearing last night’s clothes, hair glued to his forehead under a sheen layer of sweat. The clamoring of dishes startles him, and he furrows his brows together in annoyance as he wipes his forehead with the back of his hand.

“Minho?” A voice says, and he shuts his eyes preemptively at the inquiry. “Did you…sleep here?”

When his eyelids flutter open again, he’s met with Jeongin, who’s already showered and dressed for his noon opening shift, clutching the till in both hands as he observes Minho’s disheveled state.

Beside him, the little folding table is in disarray, empty bottles of coke and peanut shells scattered everywhere. His mind goes back to last night- the arcade game, kissing you in the spare room upstairs. Fucking you over the pool table at ungodly hours of the night.

After you’d both finished, you agreed to stay in the back room downstairs until daylight when it was a bit safer to be on the road again. You and Minho chatted over diet cokes and a game of cards, between makeout sessions and desperate groping at each other in the dim light of the room. He wanted so badly to make love to you all over again, resisting the urge only because he didn’t want you to think all of this was just for sex. And maybe it started that way, when he fled back to the kitchen after helping you adjust your cue stick during a round of pool in an attempt to hide his raging hard-on. But somewhere along the way, he was also encapsulated by you- by your endearing obsession with Diet Coke, your ability to carry a conversation with a total stranger in these circumstances, and undoubtedly, your unique talent at fixing things.

It was just past 5 when you left, doing a double-take at Minho’s snoring figure to ensure he was actually asleep. You wanted to thank him- in fact, you stood over him for several minutes, playing the conversation in your head of how this would go.

“I’m leaving now- thanks for the life-changing sex and the free sodas. Call me if you’re ever in the city you despise.”

There was no good way to go about it- any which way, you knew that the two of you were destined for very different things, to live completely separate lives.

“You’ve never lived without the notion of wanting to migrate as soon as possible,” Minho had said to you earlier, and you knew he was right, even still longing to one day get out of this province, and maybe even this country. A simpler life scared you- exactly what Minho chased after. And perhaps by extension, chasing after Minho scared you, too.

The dive bar suddenly feels suffocating to Minho, still looming with the rotten scent of cigarettes and beers. For the first time ever, he feels boxed in, much too confined by the four walls and the foggy window at the back.

“I’m leaving,” Minho says, quickly gathering his bag and his blazer from off the floor.

“Where are you going?” Jeongin asks, still holding the till and scanning Minho with a worried expression on his face.

Minho isn’t sure where- in fact, he’s not quite sure about anything right now. All he knows is that you’ve sparked something in him, something he hasn’t felt in a long, long time. The days of working as a private chef paint vivid memories in his mind, days which he still had passion within him, trying new recipes late through the night and never ceasing to better his methods. A time that now feels one lifetime ago, much more complex in juxtaposition with this new life. Except maybe simple wasn’t the solution all along- for once, he’s determined to bask in all your complexities, even if it means sacrificing everything he left the city to pursue.

“I’m going to the city,” Minho says, combing through his hair with his fingers.

“The city? I thought you hated it there?”

Minho says nothing, sauntering to the door and fishing his car keys out of the drawer by the register.

“Oh, and Jeongin-ah?”

“Yes?”

“Call someone to move that arcade game downstairs.”

“The Pac-Man one? It doesn’t work-”

“It does now,” Minho replies. “Just promise me it’ll be down here when I get back.”

“Sure thing. But- how’d you get it to work?”

And without looking back, Minho approaches the double doors, keys in hand, no particular destination in mind. The gray clouds have nearly cleared up by now, fresh hues of blue painting the vast sky that overlooks the day ahead. The city calls out to him from afar, bustling traffic and busy roads clouded in pollution. But this time, he answers, in hopes you’ll be there, too.

*Part 2 out now, available here.

#stray kids #skz smut #lee minho #lee know #stray kids hard hours #lee know smut #lee know scenarios #skz x reader #skz hard hours #stray kids x you #skz #fanfic #Spotify

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straykidsholicleigh · 27 days

Text

better?

pairing: idol!minho x fem!reader

genre: fluff, drabble like thing

warnings: established relationship, kissing, minho tries to get freaky 💃

a/n: here's my 500 follower special!! hope u like it even though it's shit- I had to rewrite it but the original was 2K words- so this is short pls don't kill me-

credits: dividers by @cafekitsune ♡.

You don't know what it was honestly. Maybe you drank too much chilled water? Went to bed with your hair still wet? Or, well maybe it was the iced coffee you had in the morning and then another in the night. I mean, you did have a night filled with passion before sleeping and Minho did leave the AC on a high setting before sleeping, but you couldn't really pinpoint what it was. But it was definitely one of those.

You woke up this morning with a splitting headache, body shivering even though it was summer, your boyfriend walking out of the bathroom without a shirt. "Wow," He said as he watched you groan, sneezing as you wrapped the blanket around your naked, shivering body.

"You look like shit." He completed, crawling into bed as he placed his palm over your head, hissing as his hand warmed up from your high temperature. "You need medical attention," He said, placing a chaste kiss to your shoulder as you scoffed, rolling your eyes. "Yeah, no shit Sherlock." You called out as he shouting at you to shut up, making you smile.

Your relationship was always like this, cat and mouse, cat and dog, always barking and teasing each other. It was your love language now, it always has been. From the time you became friends till now, nothing as changed. Despite the constant teasing and barking, you both obviously loved each other, knowing when the teasing should stop or when the other gets offended or uncomfortable. You both knew each other like the back of your hand.

You shivered, reaching out to turn the AC off as you quickly covered yourself with the blanket, groaning as your muscles ached. The door flew open moments later, Minho standing there with a plate which had a glass of water and pills, a few crackers layed out neatly as he placed the plate on the table. He drew the curtains shut, the sunlight disappearing as he helped you get out of bed.

He walked you into the bathroom, taking out one of his old shirts and a pair of underwear for you as you brushed your teeth. He helped you change, hitting him whenever he tried to spread your legs apart further. "I'm sick Minho!" You nearly yelled as he laughed, apologizing as he patted your head. Once you were out of the bathroom you ate the crackers slowly, listening to Minho talk about his new comeback. Once you were done, he helped you take the pill, kissing you and whispering words of encouragement which made your heart flutter.

He placed you down onto the bed, making himself comfortable next to you as he wrapped his hands around you, closing his eyes. You turned around, his eyes fluttering open as you caressed his face. He looked so beautiful, his deep brown eyes boring into yours as your heart swelled with love for him. "Yes, jagi?" He asked, eyeing your lips as you smiled. "Kiss me, please?" You pleaded. He smiled, leaning forward as he pressed his lips to yours, his hand moving to cup your cheek as your hand rested on his chest.

Your lips moved in sync, like as if you've been doing this from the time you were born, it was so natural. So right. So... perfect. Like your lips were made for each other.

He pulled away first, making you whine as he laughed. "Now I'll get sick!" He exclaimed as you gasped. "Then why did you kiss me?! Naurr!" You groaned, mimicking the australian accent as he smiled. "No it's ok," He said, pulling you closer to his chest as you buried your face into him. "I don't mind getting sick with you. The more time I take taking care of you the happier I get." You looked up at him, smiling as he caressed your lips.

"Better?" He asked.

You smiled. "Better."

@cafekitsune i used ur dividers but i made them black and white to match the aesthetic. hope u don't mind 😅

taglist: @bbgnyx @junglyric @hyunevlogs @smuttystraykidsthoughts @yessa-vie @chartrucewhore @hyunlar @yaorzu-blog @silverstarburst @himynamesjadon @double-knxtt @itzyeunusiastrie @not-the-herb-sage @ifudontlikegidlefucku @yo-peeps-itzz-asher @hayleyinthebuilding @iwishmiyeonismygf @nathan-idk @soleil-like-the-lillies-or-sun @audreyyy-yyy @leointhehouse @kian-it-means-king @vanillacupcakefrosting @vannipak @tae-ig @joshuanotfound @ivydoesit23 @minjunsworldsposts @fauna-flora11 @ryanerror141 @maya-yay @ophelia-and-yes-i-stan-skz @rockyhedgehog @sleepyleeji @kaiyaba

DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARISE, COPY & REPURPOSE.

#stray kids #stray kids fluff #stray kids x reader #skz #lee know #lee know fluff #lee know x y/n #lee know x you #lee know x reader #lee know skz #sick reader #lee know imagines #lee know fic #skz imagines #skz x reader #skz x you #skz x y/n #tots didn't cry while writing this

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ninthskzmember · 2 months

Text

Sharing is Caring. Part III

Lee Know x reader x Bang Chan (Pt 1.) (Pt 2.)

warnings: smut. smut. smut. and more smut. petnames too. and unprotected sex. word count: 3,2k (I got carried away) an: and with that... the Sharing is Caring season comes to an end... Goodnight. (please don't forget to reblog and like <3). Not proofread

Requests are open! :)

You were so used to your boyfriend's lips that kissing Bang Chan was a whole new experience.

His big lips, soft as feathers, made you feel like you were in heaven. His gentle tongue was playing with yours as his hands threw you further against him and his growing bludge.

"You sure about this?" He whispered in your ear, making you get goosebumps.

"Of course I am." You tried to devour his lips again, but he pulled away abit.t

"Once we're into it, I don't think I'll be able to stop, doll face."

"It's okay, Chris; my partner is Minho, if you don't recall."

"I'm not Minho," an almost scary grin came out of his face.

"Hyung, she said she didn't think she could handle Kim Seungmin," Minho informed funny from the couch in the room.

"Oh, so, Kim Seungmin?" He looked at you.

"She said that, and she chose him at first."

"Owh," he said, making a sarcastic face. "Was I not your first choice?"

"She squirted for the first time ever when I told her about you fucking her deep inside." Your boyfriend was setting up the fire between the two of you.

"Baby girl squirted from the thought of me inside her?" Your breath started to be uneven. He barely even touched you, and you could already feel your panties soaked.

"Lee Minho, I told you. You can't interfere." You looked at your boyfriend sprawled on the couch with his gray sweats and white shirt.

"Oh?" Chan looked surprised. "So it's just you and me?"

"Baby, what did you tell him?"

"I think I said something about a threesome." He looked everywhere but at you.

"So, Oppa, great news to you: We're not having a threesome. Minho just thinks he'd like to see me getting fucked," you smiled at the older one. "So it's just your dick and my pussy… and our mouths too."

"And your hands," your boyfriend added.

"Yeah, and our hands." You nodded.

"No, not hands." Chan took your wrists above your head and pinned you up against the wall.

"Say please?" You joked, but you were actually flustered by his sudden movements.

Chan started working on your neck. Again, it felt different, but you didn't dislike it. It was like changing the routine a bit. Maybe you'd do this with a few other members.

"Chris," you let out a moan the moment you felt his hard cock touch your drenched core.

"You like it?" He let out a cocky smile while looking at you for a few seconds. "I certainly like the hickeys your boyfriend left on your neck. I might leave my own."

"Yes, please," you said, moving your hips, looking for some friction and pleasure.

He kissed you again. A wet, messy kiss. Not like the ones before, this one actually made you realize what you were about to do.

You looked at your boyfriend, scanning the scene carefully. Yes, he had lust in his eyes, but you could also perceive a light amount of jealousy.

"Baby," you called Minho. "You okay?"

"Yes love. Keep on," he said, moving a bit, still giving his full attention to the moment in front of him.

Your body wanted to keep going, but your mind was still wrapped around Lee Know's sight.

You started to get a little clumsy with your movements, and Chris looked at you for a brief second, seeing you eyeing your partner. He turned around and looked at him too, calling him with his eyes as he let go of your wrists.

With no words spoken, Minho stood up and walked towards you both.

"Kitten, it's okay, really." He caressed your shoulder. "I was the one who brought this up; I'm okay with it. I know what's going on in your mind."

"I just… feel guilty," you said as Chan moved a bit away from you.

"Baby, don't be." He took you by your waist and wrapped you in a wild embrace. "If you don't want to do it, it's okay; I'm sure Hyung will understand."

Chan just nodded in silence—kind of uncomfortable, actually—and it's understandable since his dick was fucking strangling in his clothes.

"I want to," you nodded along, looking at both men in front of you. "I just want you by my side," you directed your world towards Minho, and he agreed, letting out a sassy smile.

Chan took position again right in front of you and kissed your cheek softly, making a road down towards your neck and then up again to end kissing your lips.

Minho moved you away from the wall, placing himself behind you and reassuring you by placing kisses on your neck.

"You like how Hyung is kissing you?" He whispered in your ear, "Think about how you'd feel when he eats you up."

By inertia, your butt pressed against his—of course, already hard—dick, and you heard him chuckle. “You said I'd have to beg, yet here you are, pressing your ass on my cock, kitten."

You moaned quietly in between kissing Chris, whom you took by his big biceps and pushed to the mattress.

You climbed onto him, your legs at each side of his hips, and took a seat right on top of his now semi-hard penis. You smiled at the older man and bitted your own lower lip a bit, taking an imaginary picture of him in that position, in that moment.

"You can guide me, sweetheart. I love giving pleasure," you whispered close to Chan's face. "Tell me what you like; tell me what you don't." You moved your hips a bit, experimentally, and he let out a small groan.

Minho pleased himself behind you again, standing. He took your hips and pressed you downward while you moved just a little bit faster, making your arousal stain not only your leggins but also Chan's pants.

"Fuck" the three of you cursed at the same time.

"It's so hot when you do that," said your boyfriend from behind, where it was easy to see the wet patch on his hyung's pants.

"When I do what, baby?" You let out the sluttiest voice you ever heard from yourself, looking at him with your fuck-me eyes.

"You just" he took a breath "You just stained Hyung's pants."

Chris looked down, and his grip became tighter on your thighs.

"That's it" Chan groaned and sat up, taking you by your back to lay you on the mattress. "You go there and sit," Chris demanded to Minho, who did what was told.

"You're so wet, and I barely touched you, baby girl." He pecked you and practically ripped your shirt out, kissing your chest above your bra and your belly.

Started playing with the elastic on your leggings, kissing and biting right above it.

"Chris, please," you moaned.

"Look at you, being all disrespectful just because you're horny," he smiled up at you. "We're not that close for you to call me Chris," he slapped your thigh, and another groan left your body. "Try again."

"Chan, please, I need you." You let out a whine, and he chuckled.

"Nicer, but still not what I'm looking for," he said, pressing a soft kiss on your clothed core.

"Please, please, please." You tried to keep his face in your pussy with your thighs, to which he laughed and stopped you with his hands.

"What do you want, sweety?"

"I want you to touch me, taste me, fuck me," you whined again, moving your hips in the air. He pushed you against the mattress.

"That sounds amazing," he said, taking the elastic of your leggings and pulling them off with a smirk.

You were left with just your black lingerie, and you swore Chris could make his own lip bleed from the force he was biting it with.

"Like what you see?" You smiled. "Wish you could have me anytime you want, huh?" You pressed your arms together, squishing your boobs, and he was practically drooling and nodding.

"Too bad" Your boyfriend made a silly remark, and you smiled at his voice but didn't look at him.

You took the older boy from his shirt, pulling him closer into a kiss. He took it off, and you could feel yourself getting breathless at the view of this man from where you were. You clenched around nothing, watching him flex his muscles to make the movement.

Your legs are wrapped around his waist now, making him closer, and then turning him around. Wasting no time, you took his stained pants off.

All that he was wearing now were his black boxers, and damn did he look hot in those. His dickens were twitching under your hand, and the fabric was practically screaming to be relased.

You got on your knees, taking the last piece of clothing from his body, leaving Chris with nothing but his lust on the bed.

It was the prettiest dick you've ever seen—after Minho's, obviously. His tip was leaking just for you to taste, and you just did what you've not ironically done way too many times before.

The second you tasted his fluid and sucked on him, a loud moan was heard in the room. You made eye contact with the culprit with his dick still in your mouth, and he took you by your hair and nodded.

You sucked his dick like it was the most delicious thing you've ever tasted, and he was frightened not to cum so soon.

"Fuck, y/n," he breathed loudly. "I don't want to cum yet."

"Cum, babe, I want to fully taste you," you answered while still bombing his member. "Your dick is so pretty."

You took him as deep as you could in your throat, gagging around him to trigger his orgasm.

"Oh my fucking god" he sounded desesperated. All the moaning coming from his mouth only made you still clench around air, rubbing your clitoral against your heel. "I'm coming, I'm coming, babe, I'm coming." He whined again and held your head against him as he relaxed his cum inside your throat, letting you suck and taste every little drop.

Once you felt his grip loose, you smiled and looked at him with a smile on your face.

"What?" he asked, smiling the same way you did.

You didn't even say a word; you just took out your tongue and showed almost all his cum there. You could literally see how his eyes sparkled and then got dark the second you swallowed it all without even a flinch.

"Come here," he ordered, and you laid on the bed. He took out your bra as if he had a master in that.

He knew you had sensitive boobs; he talked about it with Minho when this topic came up. His member told him how much you love getting your nipples sucked and played with, so that's just what Chan did. He was sucking so sweetly and gently on your boobs that you forgot about everything.

Again, you wrapped your legs around him and brought him closer. His now flacid dick is rubbing against your completely wet pussy.

"Oh, god," you heard him moan in your boob, making you let out a cheeky smile. "Mate, is she always so hot?" the man asked your boyfriend, and after a while, you looked at him.

Minho was all messed up. In his eyes was pure lust, completely dark. He was all sweaty, and his hair was glued to his forehead. His shirt lifted just enough to see a wet spot in his gray pants.

"Babe, did you cum in your pants?" You smiled while looking at his crotch.

"In my defense, I was pretty good until you started deepthroating him," he excused himself, and you laughed out loud.

"Imagine when he's got me in all fours and fucking me deep inside from behind." You winked at your man but, actually, turned both of them on again.

"You liked that thought, huh?" Chan captured your attention again. "You clenched, baby girl. I felt it," he said, and he started kissing you again after a while.

He reached down with one hand and started circling your clit delicately.

"Oh shit," you groaned at the touch.

"You like that?"

"Yes," you breathed out.

"You like that, huh?" he smiled at you knowingly.

"Yes, daddy," you quoted Felix, and a loud scream from Minho took place in the room.

"Un-fucking-believable" He gasped, "She doesn't even call me daddy."

"Because, mate, that's me." As soon as he said the last word, not only did he slide one finger inside you, but two.

You were obviously wet enough to take it, but the loud moan you let out left both men in silence. "Chan, please." You started pleading again.

"Wrong again, princess," he said, taking one out.

"Daddy, please," you said, moving your hips towards him and your head against the pillow.

"That's more like it," he smiled, taking off your pants with his other hand. He reached down and started eating you up.

If his kisses on your upper lips made you feel like you were in heaven, the feeling of him eating your pussy sent you through heaven, hell, space, and beyond.

You weren't able to hear, see, or feel anything else than the pleasure he was making you feel right now. In your ears, there was only white noise, and you couldn't bring yourself to anything.

He was eating your cunt like it was his last meal, while his nose kept rubbing your clit. The next thing you know, you're shaking with his face in between your thighs. He introduced two fingers again, touching your sweet spot from inside, and there it was, squirting all over the bed once again.

"Oh my fucking god, babe," Minho said in a high-pitched voice.

"That's so fucking hot, y/n," he said as he kept fingering you through the last of your high.

Once it was done, you just laid there, catching your breath for a minute.

"You're perfect" Chan said by your side, moving the hairs that were glued to your face, "You're so yummy, I'd eat you anytime."

"Too bad," Lee Know repeated, and you laughed again while looking at him.

"What is your dick doing out?" You asked him, raising your eyebrow, "That was not part of the deal." You weakly got up and walked towards him.

"I just, babe, I…"

"No, Lee Minho," you said, sitting right on top of him, moving your hips delicately since you were still sensitive from the orgasm. "You're in so much trouble now," you said, rubbing your lips together.

Chris was looking at both of you and analyzing whether watching instead of participating was as interesting for him as it was for Minho.

"How many times did you come?" you asked.

"Two," he answered, "once in my pants, and then when you got all high-pitchy and moany."

"And that's not fair for me or for your Hyung; you know that, right?" You asked and started kissing his neck, at the exact points where you know it drives him insane.

"You're making me hard again," he said, avoiding the question.

"I know that," you answered quickly.

"I'm not begging."

"Then don't" You kissed him passionately as he grabbed your waist and guided you through your ride.

While your man was busy with your kiss, you called Christopher with your hand to walk over to you both.

You took Minho's dick and placed it in your entrance, almost sliding in, and moved like that a few times. He looked at you with the most deadly look he ever gave you.

"Oh, I'm sorry, babe," you smiled and slided him inside you, but just the tip and then got him out again.

"Don't make me pin you down, kitten," he said, grabbing his own dick and aligning it with your pussycat.

You smiled and got up, taking Lee's wrists on top of his head and leaning over to him, letting Chris have you all for himself.

He did not doubt himself once and slid himself inside you.

A brand new feeling, a brand new stretch.

"Oh my god, you're huge," you moaned as your boy's friend Dick was getting inside.

"I've been told," he said, a bit out of breath. "You're so tight."

"I've been told," you said this time.

"Wait a minute; she stretches really well."

"You shut your mouth," you said between teeth. "Move; you feel so nice inside, Daddy."

Minho flexed his muscles, looking you straight in the eye. You really never called him that.

"Oh god, babe, he's making me feel so good," you said while Chris started pounding you from behind, making your boobs jump in front of Minho's face.

You started letting out every single sound you wanted to make, knowing that your boyfriend gets turned on by them.

Soon, between nasty words, moans, and a bit of 'accidentally' rubbing Minho's dick with your legs, you could hear him moaning with you two.

"Chris, daddy, I'm close. Don't stop," you whined, and he kept doing exactly what he was doing.

"Jagi," your boyfriend called you, and you hardly opened your eyes to look at him with a pleading look.

"I can't, Lee Know, he's making me feel so good; it's going to take way more from you to let him go."

Chris slid his hand on your throat and pressed just enough for you to feel an electric wave through your body. And you did the same thing to the one who was sitting, hearing a groan from him and feeling a buzz in the palm of your hand.

"We need to be even," you said out of nowhere. "Just let me cum once more, babe." It was your sub-side talking shit; you were so used to being under Minho's control that you were asking permission to come again.

"I'm going to cum," Chan said, moaning, breathless.

"Come inside," you said, pulling your hips backwards.

"Y/n, I don't think… I…" he stuttered.

"Please, daddy, please, please." You kept repeating it and pulling your hips

"Fuck," he let out a big groan, and you felt it. You felt his warm cum fill you up, and you felt how it was so much more than what you swallowed.

"Oh my god." You rolled your eyes. "A bit more, please," you whined, and he kept moving inside you and touching your clit just to make you explode again.

You slid Chan's cock out of you just to penetrate yourself with your boyfriend, making him feel how hard and tight you were clenching.

"Do it, babe, please," you whined at your boyfriend this time, and he started thrusting at you, touching your g-spot repeatedly.

"I love you so much," he said in your ear, and it was enough for you to let out all that liquid again, squirting around your boyfriend, who just kept going in and out, looking for his own release.

It only took a few seconds because your twitches were so hard and stimulative.

"I love you too," you said while he let out his cum inside you too.

The three of you lay in bed in silence for a few minutes.

"So… Kim Seungmin?" You said it quietly.

"You're NOT calling him daddy," your boyfriend said quickly, and Chan let out a laugh.

This is definitely not the last time this is going to happen.

Bonus

taglist: @httpswilloww

#skz #skz imagines #stray kids #lee know #stray kids x reader #skz smut #bang chan #lee know imagines #minho x y/n #bang chan x reader #bang chan imagines #bangchan smut #bang chan smut #bangchan x reader #minho x reader

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godslino · 3 months

Text

2:45a.m. | minho established relationship. fluff. dad!minho.

pairing: minho x fem!reader word count: 2.5k summary: when a storm hits, minho makes sure your daughter is able to fall back asleep

· · · ♡ masterlist · · · ♡ taglist · · · ♡

You’re not sure what wakes you first: the crack of thunder or the resulting cry.

Your entire body jolts, the room painted in a flash of white that disappears just as quickly as it came. The weather report had stated that there would be a storm, however ones this bad were uncommon, especially in Seoul.

Another cry. It crackles through the baby monitor on the nightstand at the same time it echoes off of the walls of the other room. You move to kick the covers off when an arm stops you, warm and heavy where it’s thrown over your waist. You instantly relax into the touch, sighing when the tip of a nose brushes against the shell of your ear.

“I got her,” Minho mumbles, his voice raspy with sleep.

“It’s okay. You have an early morning, I can do it.” You argue, but make no move to get up.

Minho doesn’t respond, instead he knocks a kiss to your temple and tightens the blanket around you once he’s out of bed. You hear the soft pads of his feet against the floor and crack one eye open just in time to see him slip out of the room, his voice floating into the hallway, ‘Uh oh, what happened to the princess?’

The way the crying stops almost immediately is proof enough that it was a good thing Minho went in place of you. Seola is a fussy baby; she cries loud and wants incessantly—more than the usual ten month old. She can’t go anywhere without her elephant binky and hates wearing hats, if she doesn’t like a food she’ll snap her lips shut and turn her head until her face is pressed into the back of the high chair, when she’s angry she shakes a tiny fist in your direction and pounds it against your arm. But perhaps the most difficult thing, the one that has you wanting to pull your hair out most of the time, is that sometimes the only way to calm her down is if Minho is the one to do it.

A part of you always knew that your baby would favor Minho, as funny as it sounds. When you first got pregnant, one of the things the two of you were most excited for was being able to feel the baby kicking. Minho sang to your belly every night after you first broke the news, even as you laughed and told him that he or she didn’t have ears yet.

“So?” he questioned, glaring at you from where he had his head pressed against the bare skin of your stomach.

“You also know you don’t have to lift my shirt up, right?”

“Yeah? Well then I can’t do this,” he’d said before blowing a raspberry straight onto your belly button. His laughter then quickly turned into a string of apologies as he came to the realization that the sound might have been too loud, his hand rubbing soothing circles along the lower part of your stomach while you watched with fond eyes.

Minho never missed a night. He made sure that he was always home before you went to bed when he could be, oftentimes fighting with his manager to be let out early or skip practice entirely, promising to show up early the next day and put in the work on his own time. On the nights where he couldn’t make it or the two of you were separated by distance that made him want to give it all up, he called and made you press the speaker into your gradually hardening baby bump.

You and Minho found out that you were having a girl on the day of the first snow. The two of you watched with tear-filled eyes as the ultrasound technician pointed to the monitor in excitement, her smile detectable even beneath the mask she had covering her face.

“Congratulations! It’s a girl!”

Minho called his mom first. Her shouts of joy were so loud that he had to hold the phone away from his ear, his smile the brightest that you’d ever seen. Pride. He was so proud of his little family that he thought his heart might burst.

You called your parents next, and Minho held the phone up so that the two of you could give them the news through the camera, his free hand squeezing yours tightly as you cried and told them that you couldn’t wait for them to come visit once the baby came.

The members were last, all seven of them piled on top of one another on the couch in the practice room, Hyunjin and Changbin fighting over the fact that ‘I can’t see, asshole!’ and ‘You’re tall enough just stand in the back!’

Finding out the gender of the baby made everything more real. Bows and dresses and frilly socks—every time Minho came back to the apartment he had a shopping bag hanging from his arm. He spent most of the time on his phone looking at baby things and stuff that was completely unnecessary.

“What about this?” he asked, pointing his phone down to where your head was resting in his lap.

“Minho,” you scolded, glancing up at him with furrowed eyebrows, “I am not buying a booger straw for the baby.”

“It’s not a booger straw—”

“That is one hundred percent a booger straw. You literally have to suck the boogers out of their nose. Can’t we just buy a nasal suction like normal people?”

“What if it’s not efficient enough? I hate when my nose is stuffy, what more our baby? She won’t even be able to communicate with us, I feel so bad for her.”

“Oh God,” you groaned, dramatically throwing an arm over your face as Minho continued to explain in thorough detail why a booger straw was a necessity in that very moment, even though your due date was still months away.

As time passed and your stomach grew, so did the nerves Minho had about not being present enough. With the nature of his career, it was hard for him to not feel like he wasn’t excessively absent most of the time. Stress took a toll on him, mentally and physically. It wore him thin until the circles under his eyes were the worst you’d ever seen and his mornings couldn’t start without a mandatory dosage of ibuprofen to dull the headache he had the minute he woke up.

Minho was doubtful. He had dreams that his daughter wouldn’t know who he was and that his moments with her would be spent through a phone call rather than with his arms wrapped around her tiny body. He felt like he had already failed a million times without ever even having the chance to prove himself.

On the night the baby kicked for the first time, Minho came home late.

Pregnancy fatigue had taken its toll on you that day. You’d remained in bed, too nauseated to move and aching throughout the entire expanse of your back. Minho worried the moment he woke up, but you’d urged him that you were okay and sent him on his way to the company, practically begging him to leave rather than to deal with another earful from his manager about absences. Luckily for you, his mom was able to come over, and you let her dote on you as well as cook and clean as much as she pleased.

You’d fallen asleep early, your stomach full of homemade food and blankets freshly washed, leaving Minho in a frazzled state because you hadn’t picked up his calls for his nightly belly-singing session. To top it all off, dance practice ran late because of a last minute formation change that needed to be perfected before the next day’s performance.

When he finally made it home, Minho booked it to the bedroom, dropping to his knees next to the bed to place his hands on your stomach as you slept peacefully on your side, your head tucked into the crook of your elbow.

Sometimes, unbeknownst to you, Minho would wake in the middle of the night and talk to your stomach, talk to the baby. It was a little self-indulgent, some alone time for him to speak all of his worries, fears, hopes, and dreams out into the world. That night, it was just them again. Just Minho and the baby.

“I’m home,” he’d said quietly, rubbing soft circles into the material of your shirt, “Daddy’s sorry he’s late. It’s snowing outside, so I couldn't drive too fast.” He waited a few seconds before starting to sing, his voice soft, quiet enough that he wouldn’t wake you up:

펄, 펄, 눈이 옵니다

peol, peol, the snow is falling

하늘에서 눈이 옵니다

the snow is falling from the sky

하늘 나라 선녀님들이

the heavenly seonyeos

송이 송이 하얀 솜을

the white cotton

자꾸 자꾸 뿌려 줍니다

it keeps sprinkling

Minho had moved forward once he was done, resting his cheek against your stomach as gently as possible. He let his eyes focus on the snow falling outside the window, the city covered in a thin blanket of white.

“You’re gonna need a name soon, huh?” he asked, lightly drumming his fingers against your belly. “We found out you were a girl on the first snow, did you know that? My little snow girl. My—wait. Seola means snow girl. That’s pretty, right? Do you like that?”

Minho, not expecting a response, nearly screamed when he felt the softest of thumps against the skin of your stomach, just beneath the palm of his hand.

“What—” Kick.

“B-Babe.” He said, louder this time, sitting up straight to stare at your stomach with wide eyes. You stirred awake, shifting slightly to crack an eye open.

“Minho? You’re home? What are you—”

“Has she been kicking?”

You shook your head, pushing yourself up to rest your back against the headboard. “No, of course not, I would’ve told you if she did. Why? Did something—” You were cut off by the strongest kick yet, your hand flying to your stomach.

“Seola.” Minho had said again, his voice cracking halfway through when another kick came before he could even finish speaking.

From that moment on, Minho knew in his heart that your daughter’s name was always meant to be Seola. He’d talk endlessly about how he would always treat the first snow of the year like a second birthday, and he’d always make it a point to say her name whenever he was talking or singing to your belly.

Much like now, with his back turned to you, Minho’s voice is still as gentle as ever.

“Sometimes when the air is angry it makes electricity,” he says, swaying back and forth as Seola rests her cheek against his shoulder. Her eyes are droopy, heavy with sleep as Minho talks to soothe her back to bed. “And then the lightning makes the air really really hot, and it goes boom.” He pats her back a few times, shushing her when she brings a fist up to her face to rub it angrily. He hums a soft melody, something nonsensical, quiet enough to lull her to sleep but also loud enough to overpower the sound of heavy rain hitting the window.

You watch as he lays her back in her crib, black hair fanned out around her head as he places a warm hand on her stomach to keep some added weight on her body until he’s certain she’s sleeping deeply.

“Oh look,” you say from the doorway, making him jump, “You bored her back to sleep.”

Minho laughs, light and airy, walking over to wrap his arms around you and rest his cheek against your head.

“Jealous that she likes my voice more?”

Minho’s voice, still deep with sleep, rumbles beneath his chest, right where you have your face pressed into it. You take a deep breath, inhaling him as best as you can, his cologne mixing with the smell of baby powder and Seola’s soap.

“No, I just wish you would come back to bed now and bore me to sleep too.”

A hand runs up and down your back, Minho’s adam's apple bobs when he swallows too hard. “I wouldn’t have to if you stayed there like I told you to.”

“I just wanted to check on you,” you sigh, “Also it’s nice to see the two of you together. I don’t get to see it a lot, y’know?”

Minho stills on his feet, and you pull back in time to catch the ghost of a frown on his face.

“Sorry,” he says quietly, “I know. I’m—fuck, I have to be gone tomorrow too.” He runs a hand through his hair, and you can practically see the guilt worming its way into his head.

Determined to stop the inevitable self-loathing, you bring your hands up to cup his face, your thumbs running gently along the corners of his mouth. He melts into the touch immediately, closing his eyes and exhaling out of his nose.

“That’s not what I meant. I just like to cherish the time we have when all three of us are together, that’s all. This isn’t a ‘you versus me’ thing, okay? This is me and you making do with what we have.”

“Yeah,” he nods, “Yeah I know. Me and you.”

“Always.” You smile, leaning up to press your lips together.

With the thunder no longer rumbling overhead and the rain lighter than it had been earlier, you and Minho deem it safe enough to retreat into your bedroom without running the risk of Seola being woken up again.

“Do you want me to explain the force of gravity?” He whispers, playful but weak where his fatigue is starting to seep into his bones.

You laugh and tuck your face into his neck, his arms tightening around you on instinct. When you don’t answer, he knows that he doesn’t have to speak for you to drift off to sleep; knows that no matter what you’ll always be at home tucked into his side, and eventually lets sleep overtake him too.

When morning hits the sky is cloudy and the room is painted in a pale gray. The spot next to you is cold, sheets still tousled from sleep where Minho had been. You frown, glancing at the baby monitor on the nightstand that’s oddly quiet. It’s not normal for you to wake without the sounds of Seola beating your internal clock to it.

Your confusion only grows when you step into the hallway, the sounds of light snoring drifting out from the nursery. When you breach the doorway, you stop short, your heart doubling in size at the sight before you.

Minho is there, slumped against the side of the crib, his head leaning on one of the slats of wood and his arm shoved through the gap, Seola’s hand wrapped tightly around his finger. He must’ve gotten worried at some point in the night, scared that the rain would wake her again.

You inch forward to kneel beside him, running a hand through his hair and smiling when the touch makes his nose twitch. Seola’s own does the same when she sleeps, a little mole on the tip of her right nostril, just like her dad has on his left nostril. A direct reflection of one another; of love in its purest form.

On the floor beside him, Minho’s phone lays open:

To: Chan [2:45a.m.]

I won’t be in later

Find a way to manage without me

#lee know x reader #lee know fluff #lee know angst #skz x reader #skz fluff #skz angst #lee know fanfic #lee know fanfiction #lee know fic #skz fanfic #skz fanfiction #skz fic #stray kids fic #stray kids fanfic #stray kids fanfiction #dad lee know #lee know as a dad #dad!minho #dad!leeknow

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