heyyyy!! my brain gave me a half-assed thought in the nighttime starring best friend/perv!Lee Minho and bimbo!Reader. Minho's ALWAYS flirting with and staring at you, but you just (somehow) never notice. he likes seeing you wear those little outfits that barely cover you up and always mentions that you should only wear that stuff for him. one day he was just at his limit after another failed attempt at flirting. so, he just pushes you against the wall. you can feel how hard he is behind you, but you didn't see this coming so you're freaking out. and he just tells you "i'm gonna have what i want. so you might as well take what i give you."
-💌 (p.s. i hope this was coherent) ((p.p.s. make sure you take time for yourself to rest and just breathe bc that beautiful mind of yours is so so important!! <3))
𝐏𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲
Lee Minho x Fem!Reader
Warnings: Language, Angst, Insecurities, Jealousy, Possessive!Minho, Smut +18 (Minors DNI) dub/con, Bratty!reader, Brat Tamer!Minho, Perv!Minho, Dom/Sub Themes, Mean Dom!Minho, Degradation Kink, Praise Kink, Grinding, Mutual Masturbation, CNC, Overstimulation
Fueling the Dom!Minho agenda
You did not particularly deal well with being unliked. Everybody has to like you all the time and there is no concrete way to tell your best friend this. Especially while he's driving down the highway, with rain pellets beating down the windshield.
You did not look at Minho when you initially slipped into the car. So completely and utterly suffocated by embarrassment.
The call prior to being picked up had been less than savoury.
"Isn't it too early to be calling me to come save you from your date?" His voice was completely drenched in his ususual smug sarcasm, "Or was he just that fucking boring?"
"I've been stood up and I'm not exactly sure where I am."
Almost immediately, Minho forced you to send your location until he was speeding over to where you sat, in your little dress all alone under the awning of a Michelin star restaurant.
You had thought the worst of the evening was behind you…
The car is completely drenched in silence with neither you, nor Minho knowing exactly how the broach such a sensitive topic. You're embarrassed. He knows this. The only thing evading his understanding is why… Why are you embarrassed when you shouldn't be?
"At least give me a name or an address or something," Minho's voice is dangerously low and you peer up at him with wide eyes from the passenger seat. Seeing him so put together is wholly off putting. Dressed in nothing but his sweats and a polo shirt- all black, all Tom Ford- Minho's gaze is fucking deadly as he glares at the road ahead. His frustration manifests in the form of whitened knuckles gripping a steering wheel for dear life.
"Minho, I'm not giving you his address just so you can go and harass him." The fact that you even had to reiterate this is beyond your comprehension.
"Why can't anyone love me?" The rain droplets rattling Minho's vehicle only amplifies the question and for the umpteenth time tonight, Minho is overcome with mass frustration. Again, you should not be the one feeling unwanted. You should not be letting scum of the very earth dictate the trajectory of your self worth. To make matters impossibly worse, another car swerves into his lane, completely cutting him off from a seamless drive.
"I honest-to-God, just wanna have a word with the guy..." Minho says, swinging his head towards you, completely paralysing you with the depths of his endless dark eyes. Instead of waging a war with Minho (one you knew you couldn't possibly win,) you choose to accept defeat. It consumes your entire countenance as you sink down into the passenger seat, avoiding eye contact.
"Jesus, Fuck!" While Minho curses out the driver, you keep your head against the window.
"I think I'm cursed to stay single and bitchless for the rest of my life."
You didn't get it.
You were a fairly good girl, never once stepping out of bounds. Not at work: where you worked so diligently for a boss who didn't always deserve it.
Not in your adolescence: Where you never rebelled, not even once. You lovingly spared your parents all the heartache even after you matured enough to go to college.
Perhaps the reason all your dates ended with a certified ghosting was because you simply weren't cut out for relationships. That is the most harrowing thought of them all...
Minho's voice pipes up from beside you, effectively saving you from slipping into self pity, "I think you're overlooking one major factor when it comes to staying single and bitchless for the rest of your life," You're already rolling your eyes, "And what's that?"
You can practically hear the pompous smirk as Minho says, "I'm right here. I'm always right here."
Instead of responding, your tone remains wistful and airy.
"The guy took one look at me and gassed the fuck out of the restaurant." Your blood pressure is being shot to hell at just the very thought of the man (who had contacted you first, thank you very much).
Minho, who continued to glare at the wet tar road ahead, allows his mind to conjure up every possible way your 'date' might've died on his way home. Instead of voicing these homicidal thoughts, Minho instead, cleverly and cooly asks, "What kind of weirdos are you going on dates with?"
"It's like he decided reality didn't match what he saw on tinder and took it all back..." you conclude your rant with a heavy and listless exhale.
Your reply comes sickeningly quick. "The kind of weirdos that give me the time of day," and to make matters impossibly worse, you attach a pitiful and dry chuckle to the end of your sentence. "Not everyone is like you, Minho. Not everyone has the luxury of being the object of everyone's desires." His stomach sinks deeper and deeper with the sadness that coats your voice. Anything that might save him from this suffocating feeling at the bottom of his stomach brought on by the sadness in your tone.
"I just don't get it?" Your sad eyes watch as Minho pulls into the parking lot of his apartment complex.
"I didn't smell bad ‘cus I made sure to wear Chanel number five-" Minho can do nothing except clench his jaw. His grip on the steering wheel is deadly as he eases his car into the vacant spot… “and this dress Lix bought me for graduation- I mean he assured me I don't look fucking bloated in it so I assume I looked fine." He tries to make it through your pity party, really, he does. Whenever you found yourself in this state, slipping deeper and deeper into your insecurities, Minho found it terribly difficult to pull you out.
Difficult but not impossible
Instead of entertaining Minho's words, your mind wanders, “Maybe I'm just not hardwired for a relationship. Maybe all I'll have until I reach my deathbed is my rose toy and 5000 cats-”
"I'm telling you," he chooses to say instead, righting his shoulders and cutting off the engine as he forces that confident smirk back onto his face, "If you wanna get laid so badly I'm always a phone call away...."
And for some reason, that statement alone… that one little flirt becomes the undoing of your sanity. “MINHO BE SERIOUS FOR FIVE FUCKING SECONDS JESUS CHRIST!” You do not know, nor do you care if your voice is loud enough to bleed outside, enough to disrupt any passerbys. You've fucking had it.
“False. You have my fingers any time. Or my mouth-”
With men who disappoint you.
With men who say they'll show up but choose not to.
“I'm telling you I fucking failed this evening! I failed and you're not listening-
In what appears to be a snarky remark to the side, Minho mumbles, “I'm not the one that's not listening-”
Minho scoffs incredulously. That sunshine smile bleeds quickly into a dangerous glare and he watches as you type frantically across your screen. “Say what you gotta say.”
“I don't need your teasing right now, Jesus! The fact that I have to spell that out-” you release a sigh “Fucking never mind,” you feel utterly defeated, and before you brain catches up to the movement of your hands, you're already typing frantically for a ride assistance app.
“I didn't ask you to come pick me up, just so you could interrogate me-” before your sentence could become another uphill screaming match you shake your head in a way that has Minho's knuckles whitening across the inactive steering wheel. His patience was dwindling dismally and he had the vaguest suspicion that you know this.
In fact, you might have always known this: Which buttons to push to get which reaction.
He's noticed it for a while since the peroration of your ‘friendship’. Something that blossomed into a friendship when he so very clearly tried to make it everything but.
“I'm gonna take an Uber home,” you say in a tone he can only describe as bratty.
“I swear to fucking God.” he says, manic eyes crinkling at the sides in a smile of disablief, his tongue jutting against the inside of his cheek.
Minho's not sure what he wants to do but he's damn sure you're not going to like it. “If you set foot out of this car-” He pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index. Quietly muttering Korean expletives while you sit meekly, taking your scolding. “If you set foot out this car-”
“You're not my father, Minho,” he flinches. “I'm getting my uber-”
“Try it, see what happens.”
“Minho, goodnight.”
The last thing you expect to feel as your hand touches the car handle, is Minho’s larger hand covering your wrist in a calloused grip. His hand is firm, almost concrete and before you're able to process this, he's already dragging your face towards him.
“W-What the f-fuck, Minho, let me go!” the words come out mangled and squashed because Minho has his hands squishing your cheeks in an equally iron grip. Enough to have your teeth pushing against the inside of your cheeks. Enough to have tears stinging your eyes.
“Why the fuck do you never listen?” He whispers, almost to himself. As if he's completely forgotten about the girl, leaning over the centre console because he's squishing her cheeks for dear life. You anticipate the bruises. You can almost feel them coming on.
“It's like you purposely want to piss me off-”
Despite the aircon pouring warm hair to combat the Korean chill you feel very much icy all over. It's as if the chill has seeped into your very bones and it's not long until you're completely wracked in a series of violent shivers. You have never experienced anything like this.
Minho watches in apparent awe at the way your pupils, dark as they, dilate into even darker slits. His hand shifts silently from your cheeks, to your jaw, and lower until his hand is wrapping around your neck.
“Are you wearing panties right now?”
The question hurtles through your foggy brain like a runaway train until you're forced to bore your eyes into his, “What?”
“Which pair are you wearing right now?” He asks, despite the hand already drifting from your neck, all the way down your body. He swipes his hand against your slightly damp skin, prying your thighs apart with his hand as if it were nothing. “I wanna see which you were planning to have on for him,” he knew he wouldn't like, whatever the outcome may be, but he's only just begun this game and he's not ready to stop.
“Minho.” Your hand shoots out to cradle his bicep, which proves to be a deeply harrowing mistake for someone as inexperienced as you are because his arms are so firm, so taut. You instinctively find your thighs opening just a fraction wider, even as you say, “I don't think we should do this.” You begin oh so slowly. Hoping to convey with your eyes, that which you refused to say with your lips. “I want you to stop.” Minho is absolutely breathless at the sight of the stars sparkling in your dazed eyes.
He knows exactly what you want and he's damn well going to give it to you. An escape.
“I've never known a bigger slut than you, you know that?” So casual. So forward. His words nearly have you whimpering into the quiet air.
“I can see how badly you want this,” Never ever letting his gaze stray from your helpless expression, Minho pushes his hand further into the apex of your thighs and you wait. You wait with bated breath for the euphoria to trickle in by the cold tips of his fingers touching the lace of your underwear. “You want it so bad, don't you?”
“I-I- don't,” you force the words out with your hands unknowingly wrapping themselves around Minho's forearm. “This whole time, you knew,” he laughs dryly as he lets the pad of his fingers finally reach your clothed cunt. Your legs are trembling. “You fucking knew I wanted you and yet you still went on your little date anyways,”
That has you momentarily slipping out of your subspace, but before he lets that happen, he's rubbing slow circles against your cunt, with his right hand, a hand closest to the console, easier to reach the most intimate parts of you.
“didn't know, Minho,” the whimpers leaving your mouth are soft, so intimate, like the colour pink personified and it has Minho squeezing his eyes shut for all of a few tense seconds.
When his eyes flutter open again, the old Minho is nowhere to be found. Gone is the overly flirty best friend. Gone is the unnecessary jokester. Gone is the dry humour. The only thing in its place is a stone whisper of a smirk as he says, “Ride my hand.”
“W-What-”
“You don't talk,” he says, before sliding your panties to the side, “Useless little girls don't get to talk.” He says, racking a moan from straight out your throat as his hand presses against your drenched heat. “Useless little girls don't even get to speak.”
“Minho-”
“All you think about is getting to cum, right?” There's so much of a condescending nature in its tone, it almost has you instinctively tightening your grip on the forearm between your legs and pushing your heat against his fingers. The sight of you so worked up by his bad words have Minho cursing under his breath.
You're watching him as if he invented the stars, as if to say ‘What else’, and it drives him to complete madness.
“F-Fuck,”
“She knows how to say bad words,” he cackles as you squish your soaked cunt against his calloused palm. His knuckles are pressed firmly into the seat and his wrist is giving out but his horny brain fog is far too powerful.
“That's it, Petal,” he says, watching almost as if slipping into his own trance, “fuck my hand, I wanna see how bad you want it-”
“P-Please-” You whisper, “I need your cock-”
“You don’t get to make demands when you're being punished,” he mumbles, before leaning his head back against his seat, watching you desperately try to bring yourself to orgasm by rutting your hips against his hand. “Unless, you don't need my help and you'd rather just make yourself cum-”
“NO!” you keep a firm grip on his forearm, bottom lip quivering as you stare at him with wide eyes. “I'm s-so close, please.”
Minho can't help it. The very act of you asking him for something as sacred as an orgasm… It has him trying to adjust the bulge forming in his sweatpants.
“You're close, yeah?” He asks, now entering his own pleasure. He slips his left hand into his boxers while he watches you ride his hand.
“You’re close from humping that wet pussy against my hand?”
“Oh god, yes,”
“You’re such a good fucking girl you know that?” His breathing is heavy now because he's jerking himself off to the same pace as your cunt rubbing itself against his hand.
“You're such a good whore,” he whispers.
“Call me that again- p-please I’m gonna cum!”
“I've always wanted to treat you like the whore I know you are,” he whispers, watching as your eyes slip to the back of your skull, “I hated watching you go on those dates.”
“M-Minho-”
“Kill them,” he whispers silently, “I’ve fucking wanted to kill every single one of them.” he squeezes his cock, feeling his own ripples of pleasure shoot down your spine.
“Y-Yours,” you whisper, “I'm yours-”
“F-Fuck baby-” Sensing Minho slipping into his own prgasm, you grind your cunt harder against his hand. It doesn't take much for you to make a complete mess all over his seats. You're both wracked with a wave of shivers and Minho tries to keep his eyes open as he milks his cock for all it's got. He wants to watch your hips stutter. He wants to see how you look when you cum and he wants to commit it to memory.
He decides it's the most addictive thing he's ever seen.
“No fucking way you made me cum all over myself like some fuckcing teenager,” he grumbles, staring down at the mess he's made all over his shirt.
You're still a panting shivering mess and you yelp when Minho squeezes your sensitive, overstimulated clit.
“Hey,” he says, gaining your attention immediately, “No more dates yeah?”
You do nothing but nod.
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