winskzer - Tumblr blog

winskzer · 11 days

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WHAT THE HELL I LITERALLY CRIED.

born to die | minho

all characters depicted in my writing are from my own imagination and do NOT in anyway represent nor reflect the people in real life :)

➩pairing: minho x gn!reader

➩genre(s): ANGST, fluff, smut, non-idol!au, switch!minho

➩warnings: death, smoking, pet names, sexual themes (18+) sex (unprotected- pls use protection!), explicit language, people watching (not sexual!) [anything else i have missed]

➩summary: a story based on the song ‘born to die’ by lana del ray. minho was the chosen victim i’m afraid.

➩wc: 5k (5,046)

➩author’s note: i am so sorry.

don’t make me sad, don’t make me cry.

Cold, wet, miserable. The transition from autumn to winter makes itself known harsher than it has ever done before. As the wind cries, an acrimonious chill soars through the air looking to communicate with the souls that are derived of their light.

Minho walks down the desolate street playing with his lighter. A custom made lighter; a muted grey with the engraving of a peacock feather on it. A gift he got on his birthday from an old friend. It packs quite a punch he must say.

He takes one last long drag from his cigarette, taking back the nicotine to fill his lungs before freeing the smoke to dance through the smog. It feels familiar, the taste of nicotine on his tongue. It has been a while since he has smoked. He didn’t miss it per-say, but fuck did it have its way of ebbing the pain.

A brown weathered bench comes into his line of view. He sits at this bench so much that he has assessed the best and worst parts of it to sit on. He collapses down, slightly off-centre and releases a long sigh.

Dawn is his favourite time of the day. The route he can walk with his eyes closed allows him to pass by the type of people he finds pleasure in watching. Minho was adroit at reading people. He much preferred to observe rather than enter a conversation in which he would need to cue his laughs and pretend to be sympathetic towards people who, he concluded, deserved nothing but to get castrated.

05:29am, right on time. Paul flits around the corner and continues down the path. Minho monitors the morning runner closely, counting his steps. Usually Paul does four hundred down this path before he is out of sight. His strides are longer today, seems he wants to get his run over and done with.

Minho likes Paul, though he’s never interacted with him. He needs not to, him watching from afar every dawn for the past ten months has made Paul the closest person he can refer to as a friend in his life currently.

Sad? Far worse. Depressing.

Things in his life changed drastically when you left him. You…your name leaves a vexatious taste in his mouth. It ire’s him just how easily you ruined him. He didn’t think he could possibly hate anyone on this planet as much as he does you. All because you broke the promises you made him.

He hates you. He doesn’t think he will ever stop hating you. He can’t, he won’t.

The friends he did have, he casted them aside. Dropped them like a tree ridding itself of its leaves. Every now and then one of his old friends, Chris, checks up on him. Whether it be sending him a letter -Minho had blocked his number- or a care package. He can’t deny the fact that it really pisses him off.

There goes Vanessa, or as people formally call her, Miss Phillips. He discovered that she is a teacher who specialises in helping children with special needs. Minho is quite fond of Vanessa. He usually likes to guess what style her hair will be next. She untucks her hair from her coat, braids. He hisses and shakes his head slightly as he guessed wrong again.

Minho reaches for the cold flip lighter and runs his thumb over the engraving. Never one to believe in superstitions, he thinks about the argument on whether a peacock feather brings good or bad luck.

It attracted the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in this world. For that, he was beyond grateful for this small object. Until the thing that was so beautiful became cold, unknown, and cause him the worst ache of all. Ache from the heart that shattered into many, many minuscule pieces. One that he knows can never be meticulously mended.

He shouldn’t be thinking about that, about you. His therapist strongly advises against such and directs him to remember his two little people he keeps an eye on. ‘Paul and Vanessa, just think about Paul and Vanessa. You have formed some sort of relationship with them in which you have developed a fidelity. They aren’t any the wiser, but they are a reason for you holding on and gravitating your mind to moving forward.’ His therapist had said.

Minho’s hands start to shake and not due to the cold air. He curses to himself as he opens his cigarette box to find it empty. He was perturbed by his thoughts and needed to rid his growing anxiety before he has an attack.

The universe astutely discerns the situation, for a small friendly body rubs against his calf. Purring fills his senses and he looks down to see the stray cat staring up at him.

The cat seems to mimic his every move. He lifts an arm, the cat lifts its paw to touch his leg. He tilts his head, the cat does the same. If Minho clenches his fist tightly in his lap, then the cat rubs on his calf to soothe him.

It doesn’t take long for a decision to be made, for he and the cat coalesce. He gently picks it up and continues his journey home. The cat immediately becoming the third most important thing in his life.

──・──・・✿ ・・──・──

come and take a walk on the wild side. let me kiss you hard in the pouring rain.

“Honey?”

“In here!”

Minho follows the sound of your voice, finding you snuggled up in a blanket snacking on some popcorn and listening to some music. You turn to acknowledge him and he physically feels his heart swell. The way you look at him with such light and love is enough for it to be his main source of oxygen. God he is painfully in love with you.

“Hello my darling, how was work?” You ask with a tilt of your head. His heart skipped a beat.

“It was irritating,” he moves to lay on you, resting his head on your stomach as your hands find their way to his head, “Chris is annoying me again.” He says with a roll of his eyes. You chuckle lightly at that.

“Did he put his lunch in your designated spot in the fridge again? Or was it that he offered you an iced latte instead of an Americano? Oh! Maybe he asked whether you were free this weekend and asked you to hang out? Or-”

You are cut off with a rambunctious groan that makes you erupt in a fit of laughter. Minho goes to roll off you irked by your teasing, but you trap him with your legs and apologise by smothering his face in kisses.

Hearing just some of the things that he relayed to you about his days at work made him sound ridiculous for even being annoyed at such things.

You have an extraordinary way of doing that. Reminding him that he’s being too pessimistic about life without explicitly saying so. He realistically doesn’t need to be pessimistic anymore. Not when he has you in his life, you are warm sun to shine through his cold grey skies.

It’s astounding just how long he was able to survive before you. You have moulded him unknowingly into a man capable of loving someone to an extent which is unearthly. He is your paean to how beautiful love can be and you are his saviour.

“What’s going on in that pretty head?” You ask, rubbing your hands up and down his back. It should not surprise him how well you know him.

“Do you know how much you mean to me? I can’t breathe without you Y/n. That’s frightening. I never thought I could genuinely be so happy. I never knew what love was until you y’know?” Minho says.

He can feel your breath quicken and your heartbeat increase, but you’re silent. So he continues.

“I truly think, no, I know you make me a better man. I don’t know why I am being sentimental right now, I think you have me in a lifelong trance.” He lifts his head up, resting his chin on your chest. He watches a tear fall from your eye. He wishes in that exact moment, that he could read people’s minds. Read your mind.

“Why must you do that to me unprovoked?” You sob. It’s his turn to comfort you as he manoeuvres his way out of the position you both currently hold. He lifts you gently and places you on top of him to which you bury your face in his neck.

The pitter-patter of rain starts to make itself known as the weather mimics your mood. Minho enjoys the rain though, it soothes him. Much like you soothe him. It’s strange, he can see the similarities between you and droplets of rain. Both refresh and cool him down when he’s too hot. Both make sounds that immediately puts him into a tranquil state. Both necessary to the world to make the flowers bloom and the grass look greener.

You are his rain.

He runs his fingers along your spine as you mutter incomprehensible words. If he had to guess you are telling him that he’s a villain for making you feel such a way randomly in the day. You referred to him as such before.

Minho is a prick, albeit a lovable one; a prick nonetheless. He loves the way you react to his spontaneous outbursts of reasons why he loves you. Maybe it’s the way you look so adorable when you cry. Maybe it’s the way you will always cling to him after he does so. Whatever the reason, it only makes his heart grow fonder.

The room is filled with your sniffles here and there, low music, and the sound of heavy rain hitting the window.

Minho lays with you, his eyes closed, swaying you gently.

“Do you want to go and play in the rain?” He says breaking the rhythm of sounds.

“Do I want to go and play in the rain?” You echo, laughing, “No, I don’t want to get my hair wet.”

“You can wear my hoodie and my raincoat?” He suggests. You look up at him, sitting up fully. He just smiles at you, awaiting your response.

“You really are serious…wow.”

“It’ll be fun, come on!” He exclaims picking you up with him as he gets up from the sofa. He goes to grab a hoodie of his, one of your favourite ones to wear. He tucks your hair inside of the hood and pulls the drawstrings to tighten it around your face.

He laces the string with a bow and kisses the tip of your nose. He then runs to get his raincoat and swiftly encloses you inside of it. He laughs at you.

“What?” You say feigning annoyance with a tilt of your head.

“Nothing…” He hums with laughter. “You just remind me of an Ewok” He laughs pinching your cheeks. You scrunch your face up due to the attack of his fingers and try to bat him away.

“You basically just called me a tiny bear.” You groan.

“My cute tiny bear. Come.” He grabs your hand and leads you towards the front door so you can both put on your shoes. He glances you way, shooting you an ‘Are you ready?’ look, to which you just roll your eyes at him.

He doesn’t give you another second to change your mind, him basically lifting you off your feet and into the empty street. You squeal as the rain comes down hard, instantaneously soaking both Minho and you.

Minho closes his eyes and raises his head to the sky, letting the rain trickle down his face. He laughs and then looks down at you. Staring up at him, you look at him like he is the only person ever. He scans your face, taking in your beauty. He is too in awe to speak, instead choosing to try and contain his smile by biting his lip. It doesn’t work.

“I’ll love you forever.” You say loudly over the rain. Minho’s heart stops beating for several moments.

“Promise me that, my love.” He says, cupping your face in both of his hands. His thumbs rest just beneath your eyes and he wipes the water away from them.

“I promise.”

He kisses you deeply, lovingly, passionately. And the both of you stand there in the pouring rain, smiling through your kisses and failing to suppress your laughter.

It was in that moment, that you two were the only people in the world. The two brightest of stars, conjoining to rival the sun.

──・──・・✿ ・・──・──

choose your last words, this is the last time

Minho paces back and forth in front of your driveway before approaching your door. He messed up big time, so he keeps being told by your friend Jeongin. He has always found your friends tiresome. Why being sent a paragraph long text of middle finger emoji’s is warranted for his jealousy? He will never know.

He isn’t quite sure how to say he is sorry for what he did. He trusts you. Of course he trusts you, it’s you. You would never do anything to hurt him, let alone in spite of his childish moods.

He musters up enough courage to knock on your front door. Yet as he was about to, he retracts his hand. What if this is something you will never forgive him for? That can’t possibly be an outcome of all this. Can’t it?

He backs away from the door, pacing again. To any of your neighbours, he must look like some creep trying to talk himself into breaking into your house. It’s best he just be brave and-

“Minho?”

He freezes in his tracks as he sees you in your pyjamas, carrying a trash bag. If your face didn’t hold that nasty scowl directed towards him, he would have thought you looked cute in the set he got you for your birthday. You clear your throat. Right, he is here to plead his case.

“Hey…bin collection day tomorrow?”

An awful start.

You brush past him, throwing the bag into the bin. He watches you awkwardly, placing a hand on the back of his neck.

You walk back inside, but open the door wider. Taking that as his cue to go inside, he scurries in, sure to be quick as to keep the warmth inside.

You immediately head to your room and he sheepishly follows, acting as if he doesn’t know the layout of your house by memory.

As you both enter your room, you go off to the bathroom to wash your hands. He sits and waits for you on the bed. His attention momentarily drawn to the window where he sees drops of rain run down the glass. He smiles softly before returning to his solemn state.

The bed dips beside him and he has to force himself not to stare at the side of your head. The remote control to your television gets thrown into his lap. He looks down, then up at you confused.

“Pick something. Give yourself a couple of minutes to calm down and then say what you have to say.” You speak assertively.

He does as you say without question. Even if you are mad at him, you still know that he can struggle with righting his wrongs. Oh how he loves you.

A few minutes pass and Minho does indeed feel calmer. Enough to start the conversation he is still, slightly, scared to have.

“I am sorry. I had no right to tell you what to wear that night. I also acted like a dick to every single person that approached you, even your friends. That was not cool of me. At all.” He starts.

His eyes meet yours and it takes everything in him to not cower away in embarrassment. The reality of his actions settling in.

“You are beautiful. I know that, everyone else knows that. I think I just got annoyed by people gushing to me about you and how they would love to be with you.” He turns to the window again, watching the rain as it gets heavier.

“It triggered a protective side of me, well, a primal one.” He looks towards you now as you sit against the headboard, waiting for him to continue. “You’re mine and I didn’t want people to think they even had a chance with you.”

“Surely you would only think that if you didn’t completely trust me.” You argue, raising an eyebrow.

Minho starts to fiddle with the remote. Casting his eyes away from yours in embarrassment.

“That, would be a viable response to that yes. But I do trust you! I promise. You haven’t given me any reason not to trust you I just-” He cuts himself off, holding back on what he truly wants to say.

He hears you sigh and you move to place your hand on his forearm. You stroke his arm softly with your thumb, letting him take his time. He really appreciates this side of you.

“I haven’t been feeling like I am enough for you. I don’t feel good in my body as of late and I think those insecurities translated through my actions of how I ministered to our relationship,” Minho takes a long, drawn out breath before continuing. “I think I was trying to drag you down with me into the same state of mind. For that, I am sorry Y/n.” He finishes looking up at you as his eyes shimmer from the fresh tears that threaten to fall.

You two stare at each other for a little while longer, the silence making Minho more panicked. You crawl over to him and straddle his lap, taking him by surprise. Your hands finding their rightful place in his hair, stroking softly.

“Thank you for apologising to me. Make sure to also apologise to the many of my friends you rubbed the wrong way,” You chuckle lightly. “But thank you for opening up to me and telling me what has been troubling you.” You take a deep breath and release with a sigh. “It doesn’t mean that I am completely happy with you, but I do want to show you that you are beautiful. You are everything and more to me Min.” You say smiling softly.

Minho swallows, his eyes blinking rapidly as he listens to you. He places his hands on your hips and strokes them softly. He may not be able to respond right now, the words caught in his throat. So he wants to let you know that he hears you.

“This is a conversation that needs to be finished when emotions aren’t as strong. However, I have failed as your lover to not make you feel like you’re enough. To not make you feel as if you are the sexiest man I have ever laid my eyes on.” You tantalisingly move your hips on his crotch.

The way his body responds to you will never cease to amaze him. All it takes is you sitting on top of him, hell, one look when you stare at him with those eyes and he is ready to go.

Gyrating slowly and pressing down on his now evident erection, a small whine escapes his lips. You smile at that and lift your shirt up off your body. Grabbing his hands, you lift them up to your chest for him to pay attention to your nipples.

He immediately began pinching and rolling them between his fingers. Your moans elicits a thrust of his hips up into your heat. Wanting more, you grab his head and he understands what you want of him. His eyes flutter closed and he attaches his soft lips to the bud, sucking and swirling his tongue. Releasing beautiful moans, he gets off to the salacious image of you using him at any given time to make him suck your nipples.

“I love the way you love my nipples Min. Love the little sounds you make.” You throw your head back in pleasure. “All reasons why you are the sexiest man I know.” You mewl softly.

He switches nipples frantically. Always eager to please you. Only you. He craves every little thing about you. The way your lips taste, the way you taste. The way your body shudders around him as he takes you whenever you let him.

He is love drunk off of you. You are like a drug to him and he wishes to consume you ‘til his dying breath.

The way you grind your hips down on him is unholy, it is like you are trying to make him cum in his pants. He is close, so close. His moans turning into desperate high pitched whimpers.

You halt your movements and hover above his lap. Swallowing the noise of disappointment with your mouth on his. Your tongue claiming the entirety of his mouth. You are so filthy and he loves it.

You catch his bottom lip between your teeth, dragging it slightly before gazing up at him with those eyes. You run your hands from his shoulders down his body, painfully slowly.

His head falls back into the pillow as he looks up at the ceiling, fighting the urge to just pull his pants down enough for him to free himself and fuck you senselessly until he is a shaking mess.

He knows better than to do that though. He wants to be good for you. Your good boy.

You pull down his joggers and his underwear and he shivers slightly. You hum in approval and kitten lick the head of his cock.

“Y/n, bunny, please don’t tease me!” He squalls. He thinks maybe he is being punished for his behaviour. It’s the only way to explain the way you stroke him at a leisurely pace.

“Hush, let me appreciate you. M’gonna make you feel good love” You mumble more to yourself than to him.

Before he could protest anymore, he sharply intakes a breath. The way your lips mould around him so deliciously. Taking him down your pretty little throat. How did he get so lucky to find someone that riles him up as much as you do?

His hands reach down to lightly tug your hair, using it as a handle as he guides your head up and down. Your mouth felt so good. It always feels so good.

He simply can’t control the needy whimpers and whines that are released from his throat. The sound doing so much as to turn him on even more. He has to be careful, he doesn’t want to finish like this, not before you anyways. That is just selfish, what man doesn’t let his gorgeous little pet finish before him?

He pulls you off of him, catching you by surprise. His eyes are dark now, as if a switch was flipped. He comes to his senses, his mission to grab back the reigns and take control. He inhibits you wiping the drool from your mouth as he pulls you into him and crashes his lips into yours.

You moan into his mouth and he is sure to swallow every one. He flips you onto your back, lightly pinning your arms in place. You are breathtaking. Just looking at the way your body glistens with sweat in the moonlight. Looks so tempting, so inviting. Like he wants to create a masterpiece with your empty canvas.

He kisses every part of your body, painting a picture with the little marks he leaves in his wake. His mouth hovers over your heat, breathing softly before planting a chaste kiss.

“Oh kitten…you are dripping.” He says with a devilish grin. “Is this all for me?” He asks tilting his head as he now looks up at you. He concludes that your mewling won’t satisfy him with the answer he wants to hear.

He squeezes your thighs roughly, causing you to look down at him. He just looks up at you with those gorgeous black eyes, his smile charming.

“I believe I asked you a question. Is my darling already too fucked out? I haven’t even touched you in the place you so desperately need me yet. Did you have your fun, having the control hm?”

“Yes, yes it’s all for you Min.” You whine attempting to squeeze your thighs together, but he is quicker than you. Spreading them wide his kisses litter just around your centre. His teasing merciless as you writhe beneath him.

“Min please, no more teasing. Need your mouth on me.” You beg, pushing your hips up to meet his face. He moves back, amused by your neediness.

“Well if that’s what my little kitten wants, then it’s what my little kitten should get hm?”

Your body shudders as he goes down on you. Lapping up your juices like a man who has been starved for weeks. He feels your hands in his hair and it turns him on. He can’t help but to rut against the bed to relieve some of the tension. The sounds, the sight, it is all truly so vulgar. Yet he loves nothing more than to please you.

After all, his name does sound prettiest when it is you moaning it in frantic desperation.

He makes you come undone three times and before he could get to four, you had pushed him away. Catching your breath as he knelt beside you and admires you. Admires the way the sweat trickles down the valley of your chest. The marks that colour your skin so deliciously. The way your eyes are closed tightly and your mouth open, no doubt getting a little dry.

He places an open mouthed kiss to your lips, his tongue providing the moisture that was being lost due to your heavy intake of air. He releases your lips and you make a noise of surprise as he opens your legs and situates himself between them, pushing into you slowly.

He has to still himself or else he will quite literally combust. You feel so good wrapped around him. You always feel so good. He opens his eyes to you already staring up at him Your eyes are overflowing with desire and he has to take a mental picture.

“You intoxicate me. How is it I feel such burning passion whenever I am around you?” He starts to move within you, slowly, intimately, as he takes a deep breath. “I belong to you Y/n. I promise that I will never live a day without telling you that.” His strokes get deeper.

You are a babbling mess. He can’t decipher anything you say, so he swallows your attempt with his mouth on yours. It isn’t until he can taste salt that he realises he is crying. So much for keeping the control. He pulls away and places his arms beside your head, his pace still slow and deep.

“Look at me my darling,” He says with a shaky voice. He watches you flutter your eyes open. “Promise, mmh, promise me you will never leave my side.”

“I promise you.” You say, your own voice faltering no doubt being consumed by a ray of emotions. He drops his head into the crook of your neck, his tears now flowing down your neck. He feels your arms tighten around him. One hand on his back, one hand in his hair, stroking softly as you mutter ‘I love you’ over and over again.

He made love to you that night until the sun graced the sky. Never falling short of telling you just how much he adores you.

──・──・・✿ ・・──・──

we were born to die.

It’s been a year now. A year of watching Paul and Vanessa, two months since he brought Dori home. Other than those three main factors in his life now, Minho is still miserable.

Much like the weather this morning as it downpours. He’s learnt to hate the rain since the end of his relationship with you. There isn’t much to like, not anymore.

He walks the same route he always does. His shoes are getting muddy, the path littered in grass clippings collated by the water. It proves to be extremely bothersome to see the grass stick to his shoes. Especially on a day like today, if grass is the thing that sets Minho off into a fit of rage; so help anyone who pisses him off on his way home.

Life is cruel. It will give you one thing you wish to cherish forever, to love until you can’t love no more. Makes you feel found when you were lost for so long. Gives you happiness, makes you feel alive like you can accomplish anything the world throws in your direction.

Then it takes it away. Just like that. The thing you had wished to cherish, perishes. Strips you of your ability to love. When you were finally found, you become lost again. Takes your happiness, makes you feel as if you’re rotting inside like you can’t will yourself to try and overcome the obstacles the world throws in your direction.

Living a life like that is revolting. A life in which you feel your only purpose of being born was to die. Minho laughs bitterly to himself. Born to die. Ironic because no matter what people tell you, that is always going to be the outcome of all life.

As he stands with the flowers in his hand, he isn’t sure whether it’s his tears or the rain. Perhaps both as they start to trickle down the petals and collate in the pistil.

He kneels, unbothered about the grass and mud stains he is to get on the knee caps of his trousers.

Resting the flowers against the polished marble, his fingers journey over the name etched in the stone.

Your name.

His hand falls from the gravestone and situates themselves next to his head that has now pressed itself firmly into the ground. He sobs as he bows over you.

He loves you. He doesn’t think he will ever stop loving you. He can’t, he won’t.

ʚ hope you enjoyed ^.^ you can support me by liking, commenting and reblogging! it is heavily appreciated ᵕ̈ ɞ

i do not permit my work to be translated or reposted in any way, thank you.

125 notes · View notes

winskzer · 11 days

Note

oh god it's everywhere

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

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 completelydrenched 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 this guy's address just so you can go and harass him." The fact that you even had to reiterate this is beyond your comprehension.

"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.

"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.

"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).

"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.

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?"

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

"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...."

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-”

“False. You have my fingers any time. Or my mouth-”

And for some reason, that statement alone… that one little flirt becomes the undoing of your sanity. “MINHO BE SERIOUS FOR FIVE FUCKING SEVONDS 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.

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-”

“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

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 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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