Love Said To Soul | Lmh

Love Said To Soul | lmh

❝𝐖𝐡𝐨 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮?❞

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

↳ Lee Know x female reader

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

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

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

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

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

Still; this all felt too bizarre.

“May I ask why, mother?”

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

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

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

Minho supposed that was answer enough.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But an order was an order.

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

“Yes, mother.”

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

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

--

Minho always enjoyed visiting the mortal world.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kill it!”

“We can’t kill it, idiot. It’s huge.”

“W— Well, just, get rid of it!”

“How do you suggest we do that?”

“Call security! Call someone!”

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

Shit.

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

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

Something that would appease mother.

--

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

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

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

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

“How on earth did you get in here?”

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

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

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

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

Thirdly and finally, he thought the worst of all.

He had failed his mother.

Aphrodite was not to be failed.

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, mother.”

“And yet she remained unaffected?”

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

“You must have missed.”

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

“But, mother—”

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

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

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

Minho swallowed. “No, mother.”

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

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

“And, darling?”

“Yes, mother?”

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

Minho nodded dutifully, his heart sunk low.

“Yes, mother.”

--

Now, things were personal.

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

So, yes. This was personal.

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

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

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

And then, something quite unfathomable happened.

She froze mid-reach, and stared at Minho.

--

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

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

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

Sleep did not come that night.

Nor did the angel, ever again.

--

She saw him.

She tried to touch him.

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

A mortal girl saw him.

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

It was time to step into the light.

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Girl, you haven’t heard?”

“Haven’t heard what?”

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

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

“Talking about what?”

“I can’t believe you haven’t—”

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

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

“A... What? Is that it?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Gucci heir.”

“Billionaire!”

“Dean’s son—”

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

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

“I don’t need to meet him.”

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

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

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

“Hello.”

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

“Wh— What?”

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

“Hello?”

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

Minho’s heart throbbed.

“I thought it was a dream, but—”

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

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

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

“I already know your name.”

“Oh yeah?”

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

He laughed. “You sound upset about that.”

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

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

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

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

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

She cast a wary eye over him. “I am.”

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

“I’m moving in,” he beamed.

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

“It was.”

“Excuse me?”

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

“I don’t follow.”

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

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

How pleased Aphrodite would be.

--

It was all so wrong.

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

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

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

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

Minho hummed. “Cool. Let’s go.”

“I have a lecture.”

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

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

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

“Right. Sure. This way, then.”

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

Minho was your neighbour.

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

Minho grinned. “Excellent.”

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

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

“Yes. Thank you.”

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

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

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

“You’re 306, aren’t you?”

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

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

“H— How do you even know that?”

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

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

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

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

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

“What is?”

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

“I don’t follow.”

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

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

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

You stared at a patch on the brown carpet.

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

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

“I heard about the Fresher’s ball.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

All until the damn Fresher’s ball.

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

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

You would carry yourself the way you had always done.

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How your heart seized in your chest.

Eyes of mercury assessed you from under damp raven strands.

“Good evening,” Minho said.

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

“May I come in?”

“What?”

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

“N— No. Go away.”

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

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

Minho cocked a brow. “They were wrong?”

“N— No. I suppose not.”

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

“I don’t think—”

He held the Tupperware box up. “Please?”

You huffed an indignant sigh.

Might have to strangle a birdie or two.

--

Minho had no experience with human narcotics.

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

Thus, a plan emerged.

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah.”

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

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

“You read a lot?”

“I mean; yeah. English Lit student.”

“Ah. A romantic, then.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“All arts students are romantics, darling.”

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

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

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

“They’re just brownies,” he lied.

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

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

“You’re welcome, darling.”

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

“Mhm.”

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

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

“W— What?”

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

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

“Does your modesty come naturally too?”

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

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

He smirked. “Then what is it?”

“I suppose I just don’t understand.”

“Understand what?”

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

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

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

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

“Tell me about them,” he said.

“Excuse me?”

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

“We weren’t talking about me—”

“We are now.”

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

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

Minho nodded. “What did your parents do?”

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

“And your father?”

“I never knew him.”

“Never?”

She shook her head.

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

“Nothing I could have believed.”

“Such as?”

“It’s not even worth talking about—”

“Humour me.”

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

“Go on,” Minho encouraged.

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

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

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

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

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

“I very much contest that.”

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

“I’d like to,” he said.

She eyed him. “Why?”

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

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

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

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

“You could.”

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

“Swear that you won’t,” she muttered.

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

“Alright.” He nodded. “I swear.”

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

“Far from here.”

“Where do you come from?”

“I was born in the mountains.”

“You swore you wouldn’t lie.”

“I’m not.”

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

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

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

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

Minho watched in amusement.

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

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

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

Minho hummed. “You think so?”

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

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

“Yeah. I guess.”

“Fornication.”

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

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

“I don’t like mischief.”

“Everybody likes a bit of mischief.”

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

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

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

“What’s wrong, darling?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bad things?”

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

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

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

“Mhm.”

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

“I’m fine.”

“Of course. Just try it. For me.”

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

“I— I think I’m going to be—”

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

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

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

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

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

He would apologise tomorrow. Perhaps find her a gift.

All for the quest, of course.

--

You awoke feeling distinctly like a beaten piñata.

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

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

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

Minho cleared his throat, apparently as mystified as you.

“H— Hi.”

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

“No, don’t. Just give me a second?”

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

“Come in,” he said.

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

“It’s not. Come in.”

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

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

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

“I just wanted to—”

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

You shrugged. “Not great.”

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

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

He shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

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

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

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

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

Dumbfounded, you could only blink.

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

“Loosen me up?”

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

“You drugged me!?”

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not your darling.”

He caught your other wrist, persistent.

“You could be,” he said.

“Let me go—”

“You like me."

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

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

“Stay away from me,” you said flatly.

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

Nor the rest of the week.

--

It was difficult for a God to experience guilt.

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

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

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

“Hello, darling.”

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

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

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

“Lovely to see you too,” Minho smarmed.

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

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

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

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

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

“No way.”

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

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

“You should come.”

“And third wheel your date? No thanks.”

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

“What a gentleman you are.”

“I like to think so.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But you want to be.”

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

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

“Leave me alone, Minho!”

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

And suddenly, things looked up.

--

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

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

Heathcliff was, you rather thought, far more exciting.

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

“Drinking alone?”

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

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

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

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

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

“A virgin pornstar martini?”

“I am a collection of paradoxes, darling.”

Your heart pounded; hopeless as it was.

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

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

Minho smiled. “Come on.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do I strike you as the drug taker?”

Minho’s gaze fell. “No.”

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

“I’m still sorry,” he said.

“I know.”

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

“How?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We, uh—”

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

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

“Don’t call me darling—”

“I call everyone darling.”

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

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

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

A swift grip on your wrist stopped your panicked exit.

“Don’t leave.”

“Minho—”

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

“Everything okay over here?”

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

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

“Gina—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your gut turned over with hot nausea.

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you want?”

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

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

“What the hell is that? A twig?”

“I couldn’t find an olive branch.”

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

“You’re an idiot,” she said.

“I am.”

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

“I know.”

“You used her.”

“I did.”

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

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

“You can’t just use people, Minho.”

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

“What?”

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

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

“I do like her,” Minho replied.

“Oh.”

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

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

“I like you a lot,” he said softly.

She shook her head. “Stop.”

“You don’t believe me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Minho—”

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

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

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

“Not if it hurts other people.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

Your weak nod told it. “Yes.”

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

“Yes.”

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

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

“Y— Yes.”

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

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

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

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

“Minho...”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like what?”

“Like a nineteenth century suitor,” you laughed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ngh, Min, please—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I have you, darling. Trust me.”

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

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

You nodded. “Yes. K— Keep going.”

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

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

It was a perfect match.

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

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

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

The angel had returned to you.

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who are you?” you whispered.

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

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

“The God of Love?”

He nodded, just barely.

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

He nodded again.

“By your mother?”

“The Goddess Aphrodite.”

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

A God.

He was a God.

“Why me?” you whispered.

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

“I’m nobody,” you added.

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

“You’re exaggerating.”

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

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

Keen to change the subject, you did just that.

“Your mother—”

“Aphrodite.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

Minho had a plan.

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

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

He had a palace.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“M— Minho!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Understood what?”

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

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

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

“Where?”

“My palace.”

“P— Palace?”

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

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

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

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

“N— No, I simply mean that—”

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

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

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

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

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

--

Why were you even thinking about it?

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

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

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

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

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

Go, or stay.

Live, or suffer.

Love, or mourn.

--

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

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

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

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

“No.”

He stifled a chuckle; how endearing she was.

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

She cracked open one eye, just barely.

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

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

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

Such were her terms.

Such was Minho’s pain.

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Minho nodded. “Of a fashion, yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart sank.

“I know.”

“Will you give it?”

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

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

“I know.”

“And so? Is your mind decided?”

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

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

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

“Yes,” you laughed. “I’ll stay.”

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

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

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

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

You kissed him gently. “Liar.”

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

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

“Minho—”

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

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

So it is, the start of your new life.

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

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

One precious heart at a time.

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

𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚, 𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜, 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙢𝙚 >

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

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

happy mother’s day to that mom who sold y/n to one direction

TEST DRIVE.

Changbin x reader. (s)

Synopsis: Meeting a cute biker at a traffic light, you shoot your shot and go on a date with him to discover whether he meets all of your ideal types. (7,3k words)

Author's note: Hope you like this one too and let me know what you think about it :)

It all happens on a random day and at a random place.

You're waiting for the lights to turn green and a motorcycle stops next to your car. You don't even mean to ogle but his arms, they're so big that they catch your attention right away and the muscles contract as he grips the handlebar.

Something about his stance gives the impression that he's bigger than the motorcycle he's riding which makes you can't stop staring.

The biker turns his head at you, probably noticing that you've been staring at him. You can't see his face with the full helmet he's wearing, but you know you should have said something to make you less of a creep to him.

You roll down your window and decide to greet him, "Hi!"

He pulls the visor of his helmet, exposing his round, brown eyes, "Hi," he says back with his voice muffled by the helmet.

Keeping one hand on the steering wheel, you turn your head at him and teasingly say, "You're cute."

He taps at the side of his helmet, gesturing that he can't hear you the first time, "What?"

You lean out of the window of your car and talk louder, "I think you're cute."

He looks away and glances up at the traffic lights, checking if it will turn green soon. He then pulls something out of his jacket, a phone.

The lights are about to turn green soon and you have no idea what he's going to do with it. Without warning, he throws his phone through your window and it lands on your lap.

You look at him with eyes widening, "Wh-what?"

"Put your numbers in," he says, gripping the handlebar with both hands now and revving the engine.

"What?" You cluelessly ask while holding his phone in your hand.

"I'll get my phone on the next light," he says, not saying anything else but launching his bike forward.

Before the cars behind you honk in complaint, you drop the guy's phone back into your lap and hurriedly drive your car through the intersection.

The motorcycle is nowhere in sight but you assure yourself that he'll be there at the next red lights as he promised. However, he's not there when you get there.

You keep your faith and immediately put your numbers into his phone, not forgetting to add a contact name.

Red Lights Hottie, you type and add a fiery heart emoji. You're giggling as you save the contact.

The sound of the roaring engine gets you smiling, you look to the side and find him there, you hold your hand out of the window to return his phone.

He put one foot down and outstretches his hand toward you, to get his phone back. He holds your hand for a moment but all you feel is the rough exterior of his leather gloves.

He checks his phone right away and it's a shame that you can't see his reaction to the contact name you use.

"I'll call you," he says as he slides his phone back into his jacket pocket and zips it.

"You'd better," you tell him, flashing him a seductive smile as you roll your window up.

Notice that the lights are about to turn green, you wave your hand at him along with another seductive smile and drive away first.

If we're being honest, yes, you want him to call but you choose not to fuss about it much. If he calls, then great. If not, well, that's his loss.

Two days later, still no call but you received a text.

Hey. This is Changbin. The bike guy.

The text is so short and simple, that you decide to make it playful.

Which bike guy? Can you make it more specific?

You jokingly type and hit send. A reply comes a minute later.

The guy who threw his phone at you at the traffic lights.

Goodness, he's so forthright, and somehow, you find it cute.

Oh, you mean, the big, sexy, muscular biker whom I found cute?

The reply comes a little later than the previous one, you guess he's taking his time to write back to you.

Yes. That's the one.

Ooh, sexy and confident, what a lethal combination! The thought reminds you of his biceps and bulky figure, he's so big and you're a girl with a big appetite. Just know that you'll enjoy every bite of it.

As if it tries to stop your mind drifts farther, and your phone dings with a new text.

You're up for a ride this Saturday?

Wow, okay, nothing is hotter than a guy who knows what he wants and goes for it. This Changbin guy is already halfway to winning your heart.

Ride the bike? Or...?

You're biting your lips as you're typing, giggling as you hit send.

We'll figure... he cryptically wrote in his reply.

And he knows to keep it exciting, oh, he's getting there as you feel a tingle down your spine.

Pick you up at 5?

I'm already waiting, you write back.

-

The time is here and the second the roaring sound of his motorcycle engine vibrating through your eardrums, your heart leaps and you get hit by a sudden wave of excitement.

This will be your first experience being on a date with a biker and that adds to the excitement.

Changbin stops his bike on the side of the road, turns off the engine, and parks the bike. You haven't truly seen his face and that explains why you get a little nervous when he's about to take his helmet off.

He shakes his head once the helmet is off, revealing his dark and curly hair. He turns away to put it on top of the bike and then walks up to you.

This is the first time you see him up close and you like what you're seeing. Sharp eyes, and a sharp chin but when he smiles, those features soften and show the dimple on his right cheek. His eyes are as welcoming as the last time he looked at you.

"Hi," he says, his smile grows wider as he looks right into your eyes.

"Hi," you say back, feeling so small against him even though you only have a few inches of difference in height.

"Are you ready to go?" He asks, brushing away the curls that fall to his eyes.

"Yes," you say while daringly looking back into his eyes.

"Are you going to wear that?" He softly asks.

You suddenly check your appearance, you're wearing a long-sleeved white top and blue jeans because this is what you deem appropriate enough for a bike ride.

"Why? Do I– is it not...?" You ask in confusion while hugging yourself, feeling insecure thinking that he doesn't like what he's seeing.

He doesn't say anything but takes his jacket off, then hands it to you, "You can wear mine," he says.

"Oh?" You lowly gasp, not only that he's being chivalrous side but he's also showing more of his body.

Changbin only wears a plain black t-shirt underneath and his muscles fit the space perfectly, you can almost make out the shapes of his body through the fabric.

It's a good thing that you forgot to put on a jacket or else, you'd miss this lascivious view. He watches as you put the jacket on and it hangs loosely on you, especially around the shoulders.

"Ready to go now?" He asks again.

"Yes."

He has an extra helmet with him, he helps you with the strap and offers his hand as a support to help you get onto the back of the bike.

Despite feeling so exposed to the danger, it's such a thrill to feel the engine vibrate under and between your legs. Your heart beats faster and faster as Changbin revs the engine.

He then looks over his shoulder to say, "Hold on tight."

You place your hands on each side of his waist and grip it tighter the moment Changbin sends the bike launching forward and gliding through the streets.

Once you get the hang of riding on the back of the bike, you can relax and you guess that also comes from trusting Changbin and that he'll keep you safe. You begin to enjoy the ride and the wind that blows past you as the bike glides through the streets.

Getting comfortable, you put your arms around his waist and rest your hands on his chest. You indulge yourself with some touching, caressing his stomach and feeling his majestic abs through the fabric of his black t-shirt.

Changbin doesn't stop you so you reckon he doesn't mind with it and that encourages you to get bolder. When the bike stops at the traffic lights, you draw your hands from around his waist and place them on his arms, gliding them up and then squeezing on his glorious biceps. They're so big and firm, that you can't help but squeeze them again.

That seems to get his attention as he turns his head and places his hand on the side of your thighs, tapping at it as he asks, "Okay?"

"More than okay," you say as you glide your hand down to his forearm and feel the veins coiling down his arm.

Surprisingly, he catches your hand and puts it around his waist again as the lights turn green. He picks up the speed and goes faster than before, making you wrap your arms around him tightly. He makes a turn at the intersection and you reckon he's taking you to the pier.

Arrive there, he helps you take your helmet off and you quickly fix your hair but it's useless with the wind that blows from the sea.

He takes you for an early dinner at a Mexican restaurant and getting to know each other in between bites of chicken fajitas.

It's fascinating that you learn a lot about him that ticks a lot of boxes on your ideal type. Honestly, you don't really care whether he fits your ideal type or not, Changbin struck your fancy as soon as your eyes landed on him.

The sun is halfway sinking into the horizon when both of you come out of the restaurant and decide to take a stroll down the pier.

You stop at the end of the pier and look out at the sea that goes as far as you can see with the sun that tirelessly shines before it gets replaced by the moon.

Sensing that he hesitates to make physical contact with you, you take the initiative and make the first move. You stand leaning against the railing and let him cage you between his arms.

In this proximity, you can take a closer look at his face and how his eyes are an intense dark brown, which adds depth to his gaze. The kind that makes you flustered when he stares at you for too long.

You drop your hands around his shoulders and tangle your fingers in his soft curls, "Is this your natural hair?"

"Yes," he answers with that smile that makes his right dimple appear.

"That's cute," you compliment, scratching the tendrils on the nape of his neck.

He shyly smiles and you like how he looks tough but actually sweet and easily get flustered.

"You think so?" He asks.

"I told you you're cute the first time we met," you remind him, sliding your hands down his arms and making him put them around you.

"And what do you think about me?" You ask back.

Changbin gets flustered again and lets out a shy chuckle, you feel the need to encourage him to answer.

"Do you think I'm cute or sexy or...?" You're tilting your head to the side and seductively smiling at him.

He looks away then brings his mouth close to your ear, "No, I don't think so."

"Oh...?" You frown and glare at him.

He then leans in and whispers, "I think you're extremely attractive."

Your frown turns into a big grin and pulls him close, not letting him get away from you, "You think so, mmh?"

"I'm struggling not to kiss you right now," he admits, his hands resting on the arch of your back and you can feel each of his fingers pressing on your skin.

"Why choose to struggle when you can just do it," you murmur, looking up at him and putting your hands on his neck.

"Can I kiss you?" He asks, his voice turns lower than before.

You grab his chin and slightly tilt it down, "Do you really have to ask?"

Your eyes meet in a gaze and burst into laughter at the same time, you both know that the tension is soaring high, and laughing it out is the only way to slow down.

However, when your eyes eventually lock in a gaze again, the urge to kiss him grows stronger and you don't want to wait anymore.

"Come here," you say, putting your hand on his jaw and angling his head your way so you can kiss him.

The kiss is everything you imagined it would be but his lips, oh, they're much softer than you expected and he's brushing them over your lips, then kisses you rather passionately.

Good kisser? Changbin also checked that box!

You slowly pull away but he hasn't had enough of it yet and immediately pulls you into another kiss, making you smile against his lips.

"Your lips are so soft," he compliments with a soft smile.

"And you're a good kisser," you compliment back.

Changbin tenderly swipes his thumb across your lips and gives you a quick peck after. He then places his hands on each side of your waist and draws you closer against him.

"Can you swim?" He asks out of the blue.

"Why?"

Without warning, he hoists you up and teasingly pushes you into the sea, but with his strong grip, you know he's holding you back from falling into the water. You're squealing as you struggle to stand upright and cling to his shoulders.

He has good a laugh after putting you down and holds you close, "You can swim, right?"

You slap his chest but you know it's not hard enough to hurt him, "Yes, I can swim but I don't want to get wet," you answer.

"Not yet," you quickly add with an eyebrow raised.

After sundown, Changbin decides that it's time to get on another ride, noticing that you let the front of your jacket open, he turns you around and makes you face him.

"I don't want you to get cold," he says.

You get that fluttering feeling as he's slowly zipping up the jacket and then helps you fix your hair. An idea comes to mind as he takes his keys out of his jeans pocket.

"Can I start the bike?"

"You want to start the bike?" He asks to confirm.

"Yes, please?"

It's the only way you know for a man to not be able to resist you, the magic word 'please' and puppy eyes, you do exactly in that order along with an innocent smile.

"Sure," he finally answers.

You hop on the bike and watch as he inserts the key into the ignition, he then takes your hand to place it on the right handle.

"You push this button," he instructs, pointing at the red ignition button with his thumb and pressing it together with you.

You get started as the bike turns on and he makes you wrap your hand around the handle.

"Turn it to rev the engine," he says, talking louder against the sound of the motorcycle engine.

You twist the handle and the engine roars according to how hard you rev it, you feel a rush of adrenaline surging through you. You hold the other handle and act like you're riding it.

"Do I look cool?" You playfully ask him.

He softly chuckles and puts his hand on your thigh, "You look cool," he says.

"Just cool?"

"No," He leans into your ear to whisper, "I think you look incredibly sexy."

You get flustered but your hand somehow pulls him close by the front of his t-shirt and gives him that look, a look that asks for his tongue down your throat.

Changbin seems to get the signal as he cups your jaw and presses a kiss on your lips. He's getting more comfortable making physical contact with you and that's relieving because deep down, you've been feeling a little insecure.

Sadly, he pulls away a little too soon and you reflexively whine in response.

"At least, give me a little tongue," you jokingly say.

He takes a step back and shyly smiles, and you think he doesn't take it seriously until he leans in to give you exactly that, a kiss with a little more tongue.

To be honest, he's doing it so well that you gasp for air the second he breaks the kiss.

"Ready to go now?"

"Yes."

Changbin takes you on another ride to enjoy the sunset as the bike goes through the scenic route until the last slivers of sun disappear and the day officially turns to night.

Whenever the bike stops at a traffic light, you use it as an opportunity to touch him, feeling his body through his clothes and at the muscles that lie under the fabric. Feeling mischievous, you trace down his sides and then rest your hands on his inner thighs.

Noticing what you're doing, he rests his back against you and puts your arms around his neck instead. He turns his head to the side, bumping his helmet with yours as he does it.

"You're ready to go home, mmh?" He asks, his hand rubbing on your knee.

"I'll go anywhere you take me," you teasingly say as you caress his chest.

In all honesty, you don't want it to end yet, you just want to be on this endless joyride with him. But the night is still young and you know a way or two on how to spend it with Changbin.

Stopping right in the parking lot of your apartment building, you get off first and untie the helmet straps under your chin, then take it off and quickly fix your hair afterward. You wait until he takes his helmet off to ask something.

"Want to come to my place?"

He seems to not expect that question due to the fact that this is a first date and a girl rarely asks that on the first date.

Changbin roughly brushes his hair to the back and places his helmet on the handlebar of the motorcycle, "Your place?"

"Uh-huh," you nod.

This is your turn to cage him between your arms as he leans against the bike, "I might be able to teach you a few riding techniques at my place," you say with a seductive smile.

He uses both hands to brush your hair to the side and keeps them there, "Does your place have two wheels?"

"No, but they have two legs," you cheekily answer.

Changbin continues brushing your hair to your back and then holds you close, he's slyly smiling as he stares into your eyes, making your inside melt. You don't even know why you're not turning into jelly already.

"And it can go in reverse really well," you whisper into his ear then plant a kiss on his neck.

He shyly chuckles at that and now laying his hand flat on your abdomen. His body heat seeps through his leather gloves and you can feel the warmth of his hand through your clothes.

"That's actually a good feature because most bikes can't go in reverse," he says with a smirk.

Your hands hike up his arms again and stop at his shoulders, one hand continues its way to the nape of his neck so you can angle his head as you place.

You tilt his head slightly downward and playfully bite at his lower lip before taking both lips in your mouth. You kiss him hard and he returns the kiss with the same eagerness, teeth, and tongues clashing in your mouth.

Time works strangely when you kiss, it feels so slow when your lips touch, and when you pull away, time has flown so fast.

"So..." you continue talking while rubbing your hands up and down his arms, "how about we go to my place and I can show you how well it rides in reverse?"

He places a sweet kiss on your cheek and then rests his forehead against yours, "Oh, so I get to test drive?"

"Yes," you confidently answer.

"Oh, most dealerships don't do test drives for bikes," he says, playing with the end of your hair on your back.

"Well, it's your lucky day," you say, slowly leaning in to give him a long peck on the lips.

The second the door swings open, both of you rush to get into the privacy of your apartment, and your lips are instantly locked in a passionate kiss.

Changbin pushes you against the wall and takes both of your hands, pinning them above your head as he buries his head in the crook of your neck.

"Oh..." you moan as he sucks on the sensitive skin.

He was shy and easily flustered earlier but once the two of you are alone, he's becoming one sexy beast. Your lips constantly latched with his and he kisses you deep and hard until you run out of breath.

Still holding your wrists with one hand, he turns you around and has your back against him, he immediately plants his mouth on your shoulder while his free hand goes south.

Impatient, Changbin yanks your jeans open until they give away and wastes no time to slip his hand inside, cupping your clothed sex in his hand. At the same time, he's humping you from the back as his fingers trace your folds through the flimsy fabric of your underwear.

No one says anything as the two of you get controlled by desires and both of your bodies are answering each other's wants and needs.

The room is filled with nothing but the smooching sounds of your kisses, the breathless gasps in between, and the rustles of your clothes rubbing together.

After a while, you break the kiss and say, "Let's take it to the bedroom, yeah?"

He takes a step back and turns you around, not letting you go without a long kiss on your lips.

"Lead the way," he says to you.

You take his hand and pull him along with you to your bedroom, you let go so you can take your jeans off and then climb onto the bed.

"Come here, you big boy," you seductively call him, flicking your finger to gesture him to come closer.

Changbin stands at the end of the bed while you're kneeling on the bed, making you both almost at the same eye level. You tug at the hem of his t-shirt and he lifts his arms so you can take it off of him.

"Mmh, yeah..." you hum in astonishment at the sight of his big, muscular body right in front of you and waste no time putting your hands all over, feeling the outline of his abs.

"You're so hot," you say, planting kisses across his chest.

You continue the trail of kisses to his neck and playfully nibble at his ear, "Why are you so hot, mmh?"

Changbin gently tugs at your hair and brings your head close to him, then he holds your head in both hands like you're a fragile object. As he looks into your eyes, he softly kisses your lips, softer and gentler than the previous one.

"Let's make it fair," he says, taking his turn to take your top off.

He sighs as he takes a look at you half-naked with only your undergarments on. He cups your jaw and kisses you, one hand secretly makes its way to the back to unclasp your bra.

"Oh!" You gasp as he successfully takes your bra off and you help by tossing it aside.

You take his hands and put them on your breasts, making him hold them in his hands, "Do you like them?" You lowly ask.

He lightly rubs your nipple with his thumb but his eyes do not stray away from yours "They're perfect."

He cups your breasts in both hands and gently squeezes at them, "So perfect in my hands," he hums.

As he crashes his lips on yours again, you reach down for his jeans and work them open without looking, you stroke his bulge after you manage to unzip his fly. You can tell how big he is just from feeling it through his dark briefs.

"Feel how hard I am for you?" He speaks against your lips.

"Uh-huh," you answer.

He detaches his lips from yours and backs away, taking a moment to take his jeans off along with his dark briefs while you sit on the bed, waiting for him.

The moment he turns around to reveal his glorious body to you, you let out a sigh of wonder and you just can't look away, it's even a miracle that you're not blind after seeing it.

"How are you so fucking hot?" You ask in disbelief.

The shy Changbin makes a return, he charges toward you until both of you stumble onto the bed. He then hovers above you, planting his lips on yours again.

"How come you're so fucking hot, mmh?" You ask again as he kisses the column of your throat.

Your hand flies to his head as he bites at your ear but he's quick to catch it, he then pins both of your hands against the bed.

All you can do is helplessly lie under him as he glides his mouth down to your breasts, he starts licking your nipple in circular motions before taking it into his greedy mouth.

"Ouw, baby!" You yelp in pain as he sucks on your breast so hard you believe it'll leave a mark.

Yet Changbin only laughs in response with his mouth full of your ample flesh. He then does the same thing to the other breast, tugging your nipple in between his teeth and playfully pulling at it.

"You're enjoying it way too much," you say.

After a while, he lets go of your hands and puts them around his neck. He carefully lowers his body and props his elbows against the bed to not put his whole weight on you.

The temperature keeps on rising as your skin rubs against his skin and there's no gap left between your bodies. Your breath hitches as his hand discovers the wetness between your legs and he's using his fingers to trace your folds, and ultimately your bundle of nerves to circle on it.

"So wet for me," he murmurs.

"So wet, yeah," you innocently repeat the words back to him.

Changbin intently watches your face as his fingers tease on your clit, applying gentle pressure on it and making your underwear drenched in your essence. The underwear starts to get in the way so he puts it to the side and then runs his fingers down your slit repeatedly, making you moan.

"You're so sensitive," he murmurs at you with eyes wide and dark with lust.

As if that isn't enough, he pushes his finger into you and you can feel it stretching you out. He intensely gazes into your eyes as he moves his finger inside.

"Ooh..." you moan, fingers clawing at his shoulder.

Changbin deems you can take another one so he adds one more finger and now two fingers are inside, stretching you out more than before.

"Oh, the way you suck my fingers in," he sighs, then hastily kisses your open mouth.

Your body seeks more of him, you're arching your back and start riding on his fingers as moans spilling out of your mouth all the while Changbin is calmly watching you.

"Let me find—" he doesn't get to finish his sentence as he finds that spot that makes you sharply gasp.

"This is it, mmh?" He asks, nuzzling his nose to your neck and kissing you there.

A moment later, he slowly pulls his fingers out of you and shows you his fingers coated with your essence. He doesn't hesitate to shove them into his mouth and licks them clean.

The scene is highly erotic and you want to taste yourself on him too, you pull him in and kiss him deeply, wanting to get a taste of you on his tongue.

"Can you please take my underwear off for me?" You sweetly ask.

"With pleasure," he says, getting off to stand at the end of the bed again. He tugs his fingers on the elastic band on your underwear and slowly, pulls it down until it's off your legs.

Changbin draws a long breath when he looks at your naked body against the white sheet for his eyes only. You can see his eyes grow wider and darker the longer he stares at your body while you get flustered under his lustful gaze.

"Are you going to keep staring at me or..." You take his hand and intertwine your fingers with his, "Do something about it?"

One corner of his mouth raises higher than the other, forming a devilish smirk on his face that takes his attractiveness to a whole new level.

He glides his hand down your leg and grips your waist, "I want to ruin you."

The thrill you feel the moment you hear that, oh, that's the best way to go, isn't it? Getting ruined by him and his huge cock.

Using his hand, he parts your legs open, exposing your gushing hole to him, and can't take his eyes off of it even for a second. He licks his lips repeatedly as if he's been craving it his whole life.

Changbin positions himself between your legs and puts his cock between your legs, slowly rubbing it between your folds and at the same, gives you an idea of how deep he's going to be inside you.

"You think you can take me?" He asks you.

"Uhm..." you pretend to consider it for a moment, "I think so, yeah."

He's smirking as he uses the tip of his cock to rub your clit, "You think so?"

You nod even though you're doubting yourself for that as his cock grows bigger the more he rubs it between your folds.

"Do you want it in?" He softly asks with a caress on your cheek.

You nod and an idea comes to mind, "Can I put it in myself?"

He flashes you a smile, "Be my guest."

You slightly raise your body and then prop your elbow against the bed, using your free hand, you hold his cock and feel how hot it is in the palm of your hand. The more you stroke it, the more impatient you get to have him inside you.

"I'm putting it in," you inform him.

Changbin puts both hands against the mattress, allowing him to slightly bend down and giving him just the right position to penetrate you.

You concentrate hard on aligning his cock to your entrance and push it in, but you're so wet that it glides upward. You hurriedly try again, aiming his tip into your entrance once more, and push yourself forward to take him in and still fail. Then you realize it's not you or how wet you are for him, it's him, he's too big for you.

"Why your cock is so fucking big?" You half-jokingly say to him.

Changbin smirks again and takes control of it, "Let me help," he says.

He lets you hold it and once you manage to put his tip into you, he pushes it in until a part of his length disappears into you.

"Ah..." you whine, feeling full already and he's only halfway there.

"It's just the tip and it already feels so good," he murmurs, rubbing the side of your thigh.

"More," you daringly say after preparing yourself to take more of him.

He doesn't say anything but draws his cock out to the tip and pushes it back in, not stopping until his length is fully buried deep inside you.

"Oh..." he hisses through his parted mouth and keeps his cock deep inside you to let you adjust yourself to his size.

"Oh, baby!" You whine, your eyes rolling to the back at how overwhelming it is to have his full length inside you. This is it, you think, this is how you're going to die.

Somehow, you want to keep looking down and deeply aroused at the sight of his cock disappearing into you, and ultimately, feeling surprised that you can take him well.

"Look at that! You take me so well," he says along with kisses down your jaw.

You look at him with innocent eyes and ask, "Do I feel good?"

He kisses you so hard on the lips and then holds the side of your face, "You feel so good that I don't want to pull out."

With a hand on your chest, he slowly pushes you down until you lay on your back again. He puts his hands against the mattress for support and it gives him the leverage to move, thrusting into you at a steady pace.

Maybe it's his size or maybe he just knows how to fuck, you can feel every drag of his cock against your wall and it feels so good that all you can do is lay back and take every thrust like a good girl.

Your hands are gripping the sheets underneath you, your breasts are jiggling along to every thrust and moans are constantly falling out of your mouth.

"Turn over for me, baby," he says.

You're too fucked out to process his words and he ends up doing it for you, turning you over without pulling out. He then grips each side of your waist and continues thrusting into you.

"Harder, yeah?" He asks, deciding it on his own but you don't mind any of it.

He takes your arms by the elbows, forcing you to kneel on the bed, and then folds them behind your hands, strongly gripping at them as he thrusts harder into you.

"Oh, my– Oh!" You're a moaning mess against him, feeling the intensity in each of his thrusts and nudging you right on the spot.

It's embarrassing that you're already close to your climax but you know he can sense it, and instead of stopping, he goes harder. He puts his arm across your chest to keep you upright with his hand squeezing on your breast.

"Oh, God, I'm close, close," you manage to form coherent words despite your brain being clouded in adulterated pleasure.

"Cum for me," he says right into your ear, hand wrapping around your neck and angling it toward him, "Cum around me."

With that being said, you allow yourself to let go and let the pleasure take over you. You let out a high-pitched moan as he thrusts right at your spot and takes you to your release. You're lowly whimpering as you're flailing against him but fortunately, he holds you close to keep you steady.

"You okay?" He asks in slight concern.

"Mmh-hmm," you nod, turning your head to the side to kiss him.

It's very gentlemanly of Changbin to let you cum first, he manages to make you cum and puts his need aside. It's rare to find that quality in a man and you feel lucky to find it in him.

"Congratulations!" You say to him while lying on top of him.

He stops brushing your hair and looks at you in confusion, "For what?"

You land a long peck on his lips before answering, "For officially become my ideal type."

A smile rises on his fluffy cheeks and he kisses you back, his hands moving down your back and only stopping when his hands meet the ample flesh of your asscheeks, then kneading on them.

"Now I'm going to show you how well I ride in reverse," you whisper into his ear.

He lets out a chuckle and playfully slaps at your asscheeks, "is it finally the time."

You nod, "Are you ready?"

He kisses you hard and lets go with a gasp, "Fuck yeah, I'm ready."

The fact that Changbin's cock remains hard and swollen only proves that he's not like any other man which also makes you want to please him more. He gave you one of the best orgasms you ever had in your life and it's only fair if you return the favor to him.

"How are you still hard?" You curiously ask and he only answers with a cocky shrug.

You're straddling him with your back facing him, you lubricate his cock with your juice and smear it all over with your hand, then continue pumping it with both hands.

Changbin holds you by the waist as you position his cock into your entrance, he holds you steady and watches from the back as you slowly lower yourself in him.

"Oh, my, it doesn't get any better on the second time," you jokingly remark.

He may take it as a joke but not on your part, he feels much bigger than before and you start to doubt yourself again whether you can take him or not.

"Take it slow," he instructs from behind you while guiding your movement.

You follow his instructions, taking him little by little, and not forget to take breaths in between. You close your eyes and relax yourself so you can take him all in.

"Just like that, baby," he murmurs but his fingers are digging into the flesh on your waist.

By the time you take all of him, you let out a sigh of relief and look over your shoulder at him, "Like that?"

"Exactly like that," he sighs, lowering his hand to the curve of your ass and then landing a slap on it, "Now, move!"

With a yelp of pain, you start moving, bouncing on his cock with your hands propped on his chest. When you get tired, you switch by leaning forward and holding on to his thighs.

Being on top allows you to take control, you know it should be about you pleasing him but you can't stop yourself from enjoying it.

Changbin's hand snaking to the front to play with your clit, syncing his hand movements to yours to give you the utmost pleasure.

"Oh, no, I'm close already," you breathlessly admit with your head tilted up.

"Keep going, baby," he encourages you when you know you should have slowed down.

Yet your body moves on its own, chasing after another release like the first isn't enough. You plant your feet against the bed to provide you more depth and automatically, more pleasure for both of you.

"Oh, baby!" You cry with your eyes screwed shut, getting tired from tirelessly pulsating your hips against him.

Noticing that, Changbin decides to take control, he pulls you until your back lying against his chest and holds you close. He then holds your legs by the back of your knee, lifts them, and keeps them open as he starts bucking his hips from under you.

His strong arms and his strong legs are working hard tonight and you feel bad for making him do most of the work, but you find yourself not more than a rag doll on top of him.

"You're so deep inside me," you whimper, turning his head to the side to capture his lips in a slobbering kiss.

He starts to pick up the pace and you can hear the skin slapping sounds grow louder, endlessly echoing in the room.

"Gosh, I can feel you all over me," you whine against his lips.

Changbin uses all of his strength to keep thrusting into you and keep going even after sensing that you just cum around him the second time.

"Oh, God, oh..." you cry as you nestle your head into his neck while he rides through your orgasm, stimulating your already sensitive spot.

"Just a bit more," he says through his gritted teeth and bucks his hips so hard that you feel faint.

Your eyes see nothing but white and it feels like your soul has left your body, you never passed out before but it feels like it.

"Changbin, oh..." you cry, clawing at his forearm and feeling a tear rolling down the side of your cheek.

The growl he lets out is raw and animalistic, and that's when you know he has reached his high. He plants his cock deep inside you and you can feel something hot filling you along with his cock pulsating against your walls. There's nothing like it, oh, it's just you and him, completely fucked out.

"I don't think I have energy left to move," you say, not even able to lift your eyes open.

He manages to find your lips and presses a sloppy kiss, "Then let's not move."

You both stay like that, sharing his pillow and you're using his body as your bed, his skin feels warm and moist against you but you're not any better. Your skin is coated with a sheen of sweat and your hair is stuck to your forehead.

After a moment, you gathered enough to turn your head and look at him, you caressed his jaw to get his attention.

"Are you okay, my perfect guy?"

He inhales air and turns his head at you, "I'm okay. Just tired," he shortly answers.

You suddenly feel affectionate toward him and decide to place kisses on his face and neck while he's gathering his senses.

As you look at him, lying next to you with eyes closed, you feel affectionate towards him and that's new because you've only known him today yet he feels like someone you can trust your life to.

"Can I tell you something?" you ask while gently rubbing his chin with your knuckle.

He takes your hand and brings it to his mouth to kiss it, "What?"

You bring your head close to his side and stare into his eyes, "I don't want this to be a one-time thing."

He looks back into your eyes and clasps your hand with his, resting it close to his heart.

"I like you too much for that," you confess, saying that makes you feel more naked than you already are and the ball is in his court now.

"What do you think?"

Changbin takes a deep breath and lets it out as he stares at the ceiling. You give him time to think and you don't want to pressure him.

"Well, one test drive is all it takes," he answers with a smirk.

You chuckle at that but your question remains, you want to know whether he agrees that this should continue or not, and Gosh, you hope it's the former.

He looks at you with a soft smile on his face, "I'm interested in the ride and want to keep it."

Your heart flutters but a part of you is still in disbelief, "Really?

"Yes," he eagerly answers.

You immediately kiss him out of happiness, long and lingering until your lungs burn from running out of oxygen.

"Since you've shown tremendous enthusiasm towards the ride," you say as you keep his head turned to you.

"Yeah?"

"I offer you a second test drive," you say with a wink and seductive smile.

"Oh?" His eyes suddenly turn wide and bright, "when?"

"Right now."

"Now?" He asks with a mix of enthusiasm and concern.

You softly laugh and nod, "Yes."

Changbin props a hand under his head and looks at you with a rather intrigued mind, "Well, I've been meaning to try some riding techniques anyway."

-

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Perfectly Imperfect — Seo Changbin

pairing : idol! seo changbin x fem! reader

genre : mostly angst but with a happy ending, established relationship, hurt/comfort, a touch of third wheeling.

warnings : insecurerity, anxiety, panic attacks, mentions of a past injury.

summary : you struggle with insecurities, especially after seeing him so close with a girl you don’t know. despite your efforts to hide your pain, he doesn’t realize what you’re going through.

word count : 5,228

taglist : @minhosbitterriver

That night, you were invited to the dorm for a celebration party after the boys' big win. You thought it would be a small gathering, but instead, you were surrounded by Itzy girls you didn’t know. Although the unfamiliar faces around you made you feel uneasy, you were glad to be there, celebrating him and his group’s success.

After a long, exhausting day at work, you arrived at the dorm with a smile, looking forward to spending time with Changbin and his friends. But as the night went on, you found yourself growing quiet.

You felt out of place, surrounded by people you didn’t know well, while Changbin and his members were absorbed in their celebrations. The warmth you had hoped for seemed to slip away, leaving you feeling like a stranger in the midst of their joy.

Maybe you should’ve stayed away.

You tried your best to enjoy the evening, wanting to see your beloved boyfriend smile and celebrate his hard-earned success. You were there simply to join in their celebration, knowing how much effort they had put in to reach this moment.

Yet, an unfamiliar discomfort lingered in your heart.

You found yourself shaking, unable to relax. You knew exhaustion played a part, but this feeling went beyond tiredness. It was as if your heart was slowly being torn apart.

Your gaze kept drifting to Chaeryoung, a girl you had just met. Something about her caught your attention, but you couldn’t quite understand why. When you saw Changbin getting close to her, it hit you. You didn’t want to be a jealous or possessive girlfriend, but the way he seemed to ignore you almost entirely hurt deeply.

You knew Changbin through Han; you were his best friend before you and Changbin became a couple. After a year of knowing each other, Changbin asked you out, and you happily agreed. Sometimes, after long days at the studio, he would come over to your place, and you’d spend the night together.

Spending time with him was always your favorite. Gradually, Changbin found joy in being with someone like you. He was touched by your kind-hearted nature, something he had never seen in anyone else.

He loves to talk, especially with you. You’re a wonderful listener, always patient even when he vents with a raised voice.

Yet, Changbin remains unaware of the struggles you face. You knew he carried so much on his shoulders, and the last thing you wanted was to not burden him with your own problems. It was your way of protecting him, even if it meant silently shouldering your own hardships.

You knew how hard his work could be.

When his tired eyes met yours, you saw the impact it had on him, but he always assured you he was fine. Despite this, you gave him your full support. You made him breakfast and coffee, even if you were running late sometimes. You did it all for him, because you cared deeply.

You lost yourself in thought for too long, watching the scene unfold before you. The way they were close, sharing easy laughter and inside jokes, was hard to ignore.

They looked so happy together.

It stung to see how effortlessly happy he seemed, and it hurt even more to realize he appeared happy without you. You had never seen him this joyous, never seen him this free when talking. It was as if your presence had always held him back.

Changbin had never told you about her. He never mentioned her at all. Now, you felt like an outsider, unsure of your place in this unfamiliar situation. Everyone seemed to be having a great time.

Maybe they didn’t really need you there after all.

You stood up gently, trying not to draw attention as you made your way to the door. Just as you were about to leave, Han appeared in front of you. At that moment, you were on the verge of tears, desperately trying to hold back the emotions threatening to spill over.

“Hey, Y/n! Do you want to—”

Before Han could finish, you slightly pushed past him and made your way out, leaving him stunned. You wanted to apologize so badly for brushing past him like that, knowing he was probably bewildered by your sudden coldness.

“H-Hey! It's raining, you'll get sick!”

Han’s concern cut through your haze of emotions, but you couldn’t turn back now. You needed to get away, to clear your head.

Stepping outside, you were quickly drenched by the rain, even though it was just a gentle drizzle. You moved slowly, letting your unshed tears blend with the rain. The pain of what had just occurred lingered, unshakable. Despite your trust in Changbin’s loyalty, the hurt you felt was undeniable.

Countless unwanted scenarios flashed through your mind, causing your sobs to grow louder.

As you walked past, people hurriedly seeking shelter from the rain, you must have looked out of place, drenched and heartbroken. An old lady, struck by your sorrowful state, offered you an umbrella with a look of deep sympathy. You seemed completely broken.

Maybe this cold air suits you.

For the first time, you could feel it’s hard to breathe. Your chest tightened, and every breath felt shallow and strained. The world around you started to blur as panic set in. The weight of your insecurities crashed down, suffocating you. The panic attack gripped you tightly, feeding on your fears and doubts. 

You stood there, shivering, feeling more alone than ever. You hugged yourself, looking for warmth even though your heart felt very empty, as if your heart was slowly losing its warmth.

Desperate to find some solace, you forced yourself to take a step forward, then another, moving through the rain-soaked streets. 

Each step felt heavy, like you were dragging the weight of your shattered heart with you.

When you got home, you locked the door and sank to the floor, feeling utterly small and overwhelmed with sadness. You’re not like them; you’re just an employee at a company, insignificant in comparison. You didn't have many friends and weren't a social person. Meanwhile, Changbin was very social; he had many idol friends and knew almost everyone in the industry, just like Chan. The gap between your worlds felt painfully wide, filling you with insecurity.

You didn't fit in with them.

You can't fit in.

As you gazed into the mirror, your stomach dropped. You typically avoided your reflection, but now you couldn’t escape how awful you looked. Unlike the stunning idols on TV, you felt utterly out of Changbin’s league. The dark circles under your eyes, the blemishes on your skin, and your body's imperfections all seemed to scream at you. Every flaw echoed your feelings of inadequacy, making you wonder why someone like him would ever choose you.

You never really had time to go to the spa or get facial treatments. All you did was work. No, you weren't a workaholic, but you didn't want to be a burden or feel useless. You worked for your financial stability. You never told this to Changbin, but he did mention how all you seemed to think about was working and working.

You never wore anything outstanding. Sure, you wore a dress once, but that was for a party. Sometimes, you had to crash at the dorms because of Changbin’s sudden invitations. He always said it was okay, but looking at yourself now, you could see how horrible you looked.

You closed your eyes, letting your tears fall again. You've always been insecure about your appearance, knowing you're not conventionally attractive. People at work sometimes joked about how you looked, their words cutting deep. One of them even cruelly said that no one would ever love you with that face. Each comment echoed in your mind, amplifying your self-doubt.

Her image flashed before you. She was breathtakingly beautiful, and you found yourself wishing you could match her beauty. With her perfect body, charming face, and effortless singing and dancing, it was no surprise that she was adored by so many.

“You're nothing like her, Y/n…” You whimpered as your trembling fingers brushed your tears away.

When you woke up the next day, your boyfriend's hand was wrapped around you. This small act of affection quickly alleviated the heaviness of last night. You turned to face him and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead, waking him gently. He stirred awake and drew you closer to him.

“Why did you leave without telling me? Han even said you walked through the rain... You know you can get sick, baby…” He murmured, concern evident in his voice.

“Just a bit exhausted. I know the party meant a lot to you, so I didn’t want to intrude.” You said gently.

Upon waking up, you prepared coffee and breakfast as you always did, just for him. But when he finished getting dressed, he didn’t drink or eat any of it. You had woken up early, hoping to share a quiet breakfast with him, even though it often made you late for work. Watching him ignore your efforts felt like a stab to your heart.

“Don't you want to have breakfast first?” You asked, your voice filled with hope.

“I’m really sorry, but today the boys and I are hanging out with the Itzy girls. We’ve got some plans, and I don’t want to keep them waiting. I'll text you when I get back.” He smiled apologetically, but it barely eased the ache settling in your chest.

He stepped closer, wrapped you in his arms, and gave you a loving kiss on the nose before saying his goodbyes, leaving you with a pain he didn’t seem to realize.

In the end, you ate the breakfast you had prepared with such care. It felt as though all your efforts had gone unnoticed. You glanced at the clock and got ready for work, silently praying that the day wouldn't bring any more burdens to bear.

It was already late at night, and you were upset that he had been gone for so long without giving you any messages.

“Hey princess, I’m back! I had such a fantastic day, and you won’t believe Chaeryoung’s joke—it was epic!” He grinned widely. “We spent hours laughing and chatting. And her dance? Absolutely incredible!” He continued enthusiastically, completely oblivious to the struggles you faced throughout the day.

Today, the workload at the office was overwhelming. Your boss stacked documents and files on your desk, all needing urgent revisions. Adding to your frustration, a colleague spilled coffee on your shirt, and then you were scolded by investors. Despite the exhausting day, you forced a smile, but inside, you felt like pulling your hair out from sheer frustration. You were so tired, but why couldn't he see it?

You wanted to scold him so badly, but your heart wouldn't let you. Seeing how happy Changbin was, you just gave him a small smile.

Why, though, did he have to spend time with her again? You didn’t want to let jealousy ruin his friendship, so why did you stay silent, concealing your hurt and pretending everything was fine?

“Binnie, it's nice you had a wonderful time today…” 

Those were the only words you could muster as he approached and gave you a light kiss on the lips. The kiss felt hollow, a painful reminder of the growing distance between you. You could feel a gaping void forming in your heart, threatening to swallow you whole, drowning you in a sea of sadness.

“How about you, baby?”

You looked down, not wanting to show the disappointment etched across your face. You didn't want him to worry, you didn't want him to know what was weighing on your mind.

You stayed silent for a long time, and Changbin could sense the heaviness in the air.

“Y/n… Is everything okay?” He asked, his voice tinged with concern.

You forced a smile, looking down to hide your disappointment. "Yeah, Binnie. Just a bit tired, that's all." You replied, trying to keep your voice steady. He gently lifted your chin, searching your eyes for the truth. "Are you sure? You seem off."

“I'm fine, really. I just need some rest.” You pulled away slightly, not wanting him to see the tears threatening to spill. 

Changbin frowned but didn't push further. "Alright, if you say so. But please, talk to me if something's bothering you."

You nodded, the weight of your unspoken feelings growing heavier. "I will. Let's just get some sleep.”

When he left, doubt crept in, and you struggled to understand why you felt so unworthy. Your little heart tried to hold onto hope, searching for strength amid the confusion. You wondered if you were truly enough for him, or if you were just fooling yourself.

It's only been two days, but why are your thoughts already dragging you down? You're not usually like this. Normally, you keep a positive outlook, but now, staring into the mirror, your reflection seems to mock you mercilessly.

Your gaze drops to your hands, and the sight of them trembling sends a jolt of fear through you. Your eyes widen in shock. You try to calm yourself, but your breaths come in shallow, ragged gasps. A wave of nausea washes over you, and you start to shake uncontrollably.

The world around you begins to spin, and you feel as if you're suffocating under the weight of your insecurities and fears.

“Listen, Y/n… Breathe, you need to calm d-down, okay? You're gonna be okay… You're gonna be o-okay.” You whispered, trying to pull yourself together. Hugging yourself tightly, you focused on controlling your breaths, willing the panic to subside.

You're finally calm after what felt like an hour. The chaos had subsided, leaving a fragile sense of peace in its wake.

Lying in bed, gazing at the ceiling, your mind replayed the day’s events. Changbin's soft breathing beside you only emphasized the storm within you.

The next morning, you woke to find the bed empty. Changbin had left early. You sighed, feeling the emptiness beside you. Determined to get through the day, you got ready for work, hoping for a change.

Oh, you're very wrong.

Weeks stretched into what felt like an eternity, and the cycle persisted. You felt an increasing hollowness in your heart. Whenever you were with Changbin, her name seemed to overshadow everything, leaving you feeling unimportant and forgotten.

At work, your motivation dwindled, and the environment felt increasingly stifling. Panic attacks became a frequent companion, leaving you trembling and isolated in the bathroom as you struggled to regain control. Everything was crumbling around you, and you felt like you were slipping into a void with no way out.

Your eyes grew dull, and your coworkers began to notice the change. You struggled to find joy in your work. Each day, you found yourself regulating your breath and covering your ears when the noise became too much, battling the rising tide of panic.

Thankfully, your colleagues were understanding, and you were grateful for their support.

When you returned from work, you found out that Changbin wouldn't be coming home tonight. The weight of loneliness pressed down on you, deepening the ache in your heart. Just as you were about to break down, you heard a soft knock on the door.

“At this time of night?” You murmured, wiping away a stray tear as you walked towards the door. You opened it and were met by your best friend.

“H-Han? What are you doing here? You should just stay in the dorm, I—” You stuttered, your voice quivering with surprise and relief.

“I haven't heard from you in a while, that night you just left. I’m very worried, you know?” Han's voice was soft but filled with concern. His eyes scanned your face, taking in the dark circles and the hollow look in your eyes. You tried to force a smile, but it felt like the emotional burden was holding you back.

“I'm sorry, Han. I've just been dealing with a lot.”

He stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind him. When Han fully saw your face, he noticed how much you had changed. A lot. He could see the coldness in your eyes, the absence of the warmth that used to be there. No, you’ve lost yourself. Han saw the lines of stress etched deeply into your features, the exhaustion that weighed down your every movement. He saw all the times you would sit in silence, staring off into space, not even looking at him.

He needed to know why you were like this. You were his best friend, and you had always promised to be open with each other.

That's when you finally let everything out.

You told him everything, starting from the beginning. The words poured out in a torrent, your voice shaking with every sentence. You looked so pathetic, crying non-stop. Between sobs, you tried to explain the overwhelming sadness that had settled in your heart. It was the first time Han had ever seen you so devastatingly broken.

To be truthful, he’d always viewed you as incredibly strong. Your generosity and kindness were evident, and he remembered how many people had sought your affection. Even now, people were naturally attracted to you.

But there was one side of you he had never encountered; your breaking point.

He’d always believed you were perfect, and finding any flaws in you had always seemed impossible. Many people were jealous of you because you were the humble one. Your kindness was something that others repeatedly took advantage of.

Han noticed the anxiety you were struggling with; it was a feeling he knew well.

This time, he will try to help you.

As Han observed in the studio, he could see how Changbin remained completely unaware, persistently bringing up Chaeryoung in conversation. Despite knowing that his hyung and Chaeryoung were old friends, it was disheartening to watch him be so blind to the impact it was having.

When he saw Han's displeased expression, Changbin’s curiosity turned to alarm, prompting both him and Chan to focus on Han with intense scrutiny.

“Is there a problem, Hannie?” Changbin asked, his voice heavy with tension.

Han’s frown deepened, frustration and anger mingling in his eyes. Was Changbin really this blind? Had he forgotten about you so easily? The thought clawed at Han, sending a surge of adrenaline through him.

“Don't you remember anything?” Han's voice was sharp, cutting through the silence like a knife. “How could you forget so easily?”

Changbin's confusion morphed into unease, his gaze shifting to Chan for some sort of explanation. Chan, sensing the volatile undercurrent, kept his silence, eyes flickering between the two.

“I don’t understand, Jisung.” Changbin said, his voice betraying a hint of desperation. “What did I forget?”

Han's heart raced, the anger inside him threatening to overflow. He’d always known Changbin could be clueless, but this felt like a deep wound. Discussing Chaeryoung with such ease, as if you never mattered, made Han’s blood run cold.

“Chaeryoung this and Chaeryoung that! Are you fucking kidding me, Seo Changbin?! What about Y/n L/n?!” Han’s voice exploded, his annoyance boiling over. The studio fell silent, the intensity of Han's outburst hanging heavily in the air.

Changbin's eyes widened in shock, finally realizing the depth of Han's frustration and the gravity of his oversight. Chan stood frozen, his gaze shifting between his friends, sensing the tension that had erupted so suddenly.

“Hyung. It's hard for me to let my best friend date you. But Y/n is different from other girls. I keep hearing you mention other girls' names and not hers. Don't you realize that, hyung? I thought that when Y/n was dating you, you would take care of her, but why do I have to find her crying because of you?” Changbin's face fell as the weight of Han's words sank in. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. 

“Do you know how lucky you are to have her?” Han’s voice trembled with barely-contained anger and sadness.

“Have you ever asked her about her day? She always hides her burdens because, to her, you're more tired than she is. Did you know that her boss always gives her the most difficult tasks, forcing her to work overtime?” Han took a step closer, his voice trembling with emotion.

You work long hours, not out of passion, but because your boss relentlessly forces you to do this and that. Your workplace is a living nightmare. Your boss constantly belittles you, making you feel worthless. Every day, you're pushed to your limits, leaving you exhausted, broken, and feeling like you’re barely holding on.

You often arrive late to work because you wanted to make breakfast for Changbin.  As expected, your boss constantly scolds you for it. On one occasion, an investor lashed out at you because you tripped and hurt your knee.  He insulted you, saying you were negligent and shouldn’t be working there. That day was your worst; you fell because a colleague who disliked you let you stumble in front of the investor. This incident left you limping for a whole week.

When Changbin asked about your injury, you simply said it was due to your own carelessness, trying to prevent him from worrying. The most terrifying incident happened when you were heading home late from work. A drunk man grabbed you and almost attacked you.

All this time, you’ve been carrying this weight by yourself, choosing not to tell Changbin to prevent adding to his stress and concerns.

“Y/n is like a sister to me…” Han's voice broke as tears streamed down his face. He was grateful to be counted among your friends, cherishing every moment he had learned from you. Yet, the pain of seeing you suffer tore at his heart, leaving him feeling helpless and shattered.

“Please, h-hyung… Take good care of her or you will regret it later. She loves you with all her heart. I’ve watched her s-sacrifice so much for you. She hides her pain, buries her struggles, all just to keep you from worrying. Every tear she sheds, every sleepless night she endures, it’s all because she wants to be there for you. She would give up everything just to see you happy.” Han’s voice trembled with a mix of desperation and sorrow. The room seemed to close in as his words echoed painfully.

“If you don’t change…” Han’s voice was a whisper now, filled with heartache.

“You’ll lose the most precious person in your life. Don’t let her pain be in vain. Please, show her the love she’s always shown you. Before it’s too late… H-Hyung, I beg you… Please, hyung stop hurting her…” Han’s tears flowed relentlessly as he sank to his knees, bowing deeply in front of Changbin. Han's sobs escaped uncontrollably, his body shaking with the weight of his plea.

You walked in, unaware that Changbin had been waiting for you. The sight that greeted you at the doorway was heart-wrenching: Changbin slumped on the couch, his usually vibrant face now marred by sadness. His eyes, swollen and red, bore the marks of his silent tears.

The sight of him at that moment was a jarring contrast to the cheerful presence you were used to. It pierced your heart to see him so vulnerable, and the room felt suffocatingly silent with the weight of what was left unsaid.

Normally, you would’ve rushed to him, eager to embrace him and offer comfort. But tonight, his usual warmth felt like a distant memory. You stood there, paralyzed, unsure of how to bridge the chasm that had opened between you.

When you both moved to the bedroom, the silence continued to loom over you. The unspoken words hung in the air, heavy with the gravity of the situation. Changbin's hands, trembling slightly, rested on your shoulders, his touch both reassuring and heartbreaking. His voice was shaky as he spoke.

“Which part hurts? Here, let me m-massage you…” His eyes, brimming with tears, were fixed on you with an expression of deep regret. He could see the strain and pain etched across your face, and it tore at him.

“This hurts, doesn’t it? I can see it now, princess. I’m so sorry for not noticing sooner...” His voice cracked with guilt as he carefully moved to your knee, the one still sore from an injury not so long ago. His touch was incredibly gentle, almost reverent, as he placed a loving kiss on the sore spot, his fingers moving carefully over it in a soothing manner.

A sob caught in your throat as Changbin’s soft, apologetic gestures broke through the walls you had built around your heart. His tears blended with yours, cascading as he softly attended to your wound, each touch reflecting his heartfelt regret.

“There is no one else, Y/n. Stop comparing yourself with her. You’re you, and that’s what I love. P-Please, stop measuring yourself against someone else. You’re more than enough just as you are.”

His heartfelt words were like a lifeline in the midst of your emotional storm, breaking through the silence that had suffocated you. The walls you had built around your heart came crashing down, and your tears flowed freely.

“I'm not like her, Seo Changbin. And I-I apologize, okay?” Your voice wavered, tears running down. “My imperfections are everywhere, from my body to my face.  Even simple things like a facial treatment are beyond me. I’m not someone who’s full of interesting stories or conversations. I’m sorry for not being able to meet your expectations.”

You gasped for breath, each sob tearing at your heart. “She didn't do anything wrong, Bin. It’s just the thought of one day l-losing you that hurts so unbearably…”

In a state of shock, Changbin watched helplessly as you fell apart. You shook violently, hands pressed firmly against your ears as if trying to block out the intensity of the emotions that were overtaking you.

“Each time her name comes up, it’s like you’re slicing through my heart all over again.  I-I’m worn out from trying to fit into an ideal I can never achieve... I’m drowning in my own self-doubt, and the fear of never being e-enough for you is overwhelming. I’m so sorry for not being the perfect partner you might have hoped for. I’m sorry for not being what you d-deserve…”

“And if you want to break up with me—”

This time, Changbin didn’t hesitate to pull you into his arms, your cries echoing loudly as you wept into his chest. The intensity of your sobs soaked his shirt, and seeing you so fragile and lost was almost too much for him to bear. With tears in his own eyes, he tried desperately to soothe you, his voice barely rising above the noise of your intense grief.

He pressed gentle kisses to the top of your head, whispering soothing words into your ear.

“I'm here, I’m r-right here… I’m not going anywhere.” He whispered softly, his voice quivering with feeling. “I’m so sorry for everything… I never meant to make you feel this way... Please, don’t think you’re not enough. You mean the world to me…”

His fingers moved over your back in a rhythmic pattern, trying to bring you solace. As he heard your cries, his own tears fell, each one reflecting his deep empathy. He embraced you tightly, hoping to make the pain lessened.

You were the one who heard his troubles.

Now, he’s here to hear yours.

You cried for what felt like an eternity, and Changbin, enveloping you in his arms, whispered and kissed you gently to ease your distress. For the first time in weeks, a comforting warmth began to thaw the cold ache in your heart.

“Baby… Please, look at me?”

With a slow, deliberate movement, you raised your head, your eyes meeting his. His hand settled on your cheek, softly brushing it with great care.

“I don't want anyone else. I only want you, Y/n L/n. Stop stressing yourself with expectations because in my eyes, you will always be perfect, okay?” He spoke up.

“I-I know that my words and actions have hurt you deeply. I never meant for that to happen, and I am truly sorry... No matter how many times I say it, it can never undo the pain I’ve caused.” You fell silent, this encouraging Changbin to continue.

He took a deep breath, his gaze unwavering. “Y/n, the d-day I first fell in love with you was when you helped a deaf grandmother who was getting pushed around by a bunch of teenagers… While others did nothing, you were the only one who stepped in to protect her. That was when I knew I had feelings for you... And then, when we volunteered with Felix at the orphanage, your playful interactions with the children and your radiant smile made me see how truly beautiful you are...”

And after a week of lifeless eyes, the light started to come back. Changbin watched as you gradually started to glow again.

“Look at me. Did you know? Even after I changed, people still made fun of me. Especially my body. But there are still those who give me plenty of support and affection, and you are one of them.”

You stared at him in shock, taken aback by his words. Instead of continuing, he offered a bittersweet smile and let out a soft chuckle, though his eyes shimmered with the threat of tears.

“Everyone is different, princess.” Changbin said softly, his eyes reflecting sincere warmth. “But that’s what makes us unique. There’s always something that brings people together, despite their differences.”

As Changbin spoke, you rested your head on his shoulder, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. When he noticed the tension easing from your body and saw a faint smile begin to appear on your lips, a wave of relief and happiness washed over him. 

“Also, I want you to quit that job. I'll take care of things for you. If you still want to work, I'll find another job for you.” He stated as you nodded.

His fingers played with strands of your hair as he placed gentle kisses on your forehead. He hummed a calming melody, his voice carrying a peaceful cadence that harmonized with the steady rhythm of your breath. 

As things began to calm down, Changbin let you drift off to sleep beside him. He watched you with awe, utterly enchanted by the peaceful way you looked.

He pressed a delicate kiss to your lips.

“Perfectly imperfect, that’s how I love you.”

author’s note : i don't want to hurt you with this. i'm trying to carefully write this to avoid any misunderstandings (please don't hate me, i beg you). if any of you out there feel like this, i hope you get better and remember you are precious! lastly, i apologize if there are any mistakes in my writing since english isn’t my first language.

In Der Palästra

pairing: prince!lee know x servant!afab!reader

genre: smut, royal au, angsty

word count: 4.7k

warnings: vague mentions of abuse(not by minho), oral (m receiving), kind of power play, unprotected sex (don't), honestly minho is kinda soft in this (lmk if i should add any more warnings)

(also i am so tired so if there are mistakes i apologize)

check out: Masterlist

a/n: (the song is not everyone's cup of tea but i hope yall enjoy the fic)

inspired by lyrics of this song:

You weren't supposed to be here, but your curiosity always got the better of you ever since you were a child. Back then, your soul and body weren't as tainted as they are now, there was a time when you were innocent and full of wonder.

Until all of the safe walls crumbled down around you and revealed the reality of being a nobody, just a servant for the royal family who owns the land and the sky. Their prince Minho, is someone you always fearfully admired from afar. His face is always stoic, devoid of any emotion as his dark cat-like eyes scan the crowd.

He never even spared you a look while you stood in the back, but your eyes were always trained on him, like he was a magnet pulling you into his direction.

You were looking for a little nook to hide in, just for a while before you have to resume with your duties, searching for just one moment of peace where you weren't used and abused, treated like an insignificant speck of dirt.

Since you always had a love for nature, you gravitated towards one of the gardens, but to your surprise you weren't alone. Your body freezes at the sight before you, a quiet gasp escaping your lips as you hide behind a bush of hydrangeas.

Prince Minho, in all his naked glory as he bathes in one of the wells, the clear water splashing against his strong body, dripping down his spine, caressing his porcelain-like skin.

You can't believe you came across a moment so delicate on accident, a moment of sensual masculinity as you observe movements of every muscle on his back and shoulders, his biceps, his backside, his thighs, and you can see his member hanging heavy between his legs.

You swallow the saliva that gathered in your mouth quietly, the admiration you have for the prince turning into a stirring feeling in your gut, like a beast awakening from a lifetime long slumber all the way from the depths of your soul, hungry for something more.

He is beyond beautiful, the sun is reflecting off of his perfect skin, almost blinding you as you keep staring at him, unable to tear your eyes away like you're hypnotized by his presence. You know you could literally lose your head for sneaking around and watching the prince bathe, but your soul is enveloped in darkness in every waking moment of your life, sometimes even seeping into your dreams, and prince Minho is like a sun shining onto you right now, warming up your cold soul.

You could say you adore him, like everyone does, you're sure he's never had to face the horrid and disgusting things that happen in the shadow-covered corners of his palace, the ones you were a witness and a victim to countless times.

You make a mistake by adjusting your footing and accidentally stepping on a branch, snapping it in half.

"Who's there?"- Minho's soft voice breaks the tranquility of the garden and your heart gets stuck in your throat. "Show yourself!"- he demands, turning his gorgeous body towards the direction of the sound and you get a good look at his defined chest and abs, his heavy cock bouncing a little.

You stay frozen for a moment, weighing your options. If you stay where you are, he will surely make his way to the hydrangeas and when he finds you, you will be reprimanded for peeping at him. If you try to run away, you would be caught and if you stepped out you might be yelled at. Whatever you do, you know you will be punished, the question is which one of the options would bring you the lesser punishment.

You opt for showing yourself, maybe he would be lenient with you if you came out and begged for forgiveness with everything you have.

You finally come out slowly, fear coursing through your body as you shiver, you eyes cast downwards towards the floor.

"What's your name, girl?"- the prince asks, surprisingly calm.

"Y/n."- you say quietly and he hums.

"You know it's rude to look at the floor while talking to someone."- he speaks up after a moment and you gasp, looking up at him quickly.

His face is stoic as always, but you can see his lips lifting up slightly into a small smirk, it's almost unnoticeable but you caught it.

"I apologize, your Highness."- you say, your voice trembling.

"And what about peeping at me while I'm bathing? Should you apologize for that too?"- he says and you gasp, throwing yourself down on your knees instantly.

"I am so sorry, your Highness! It was not my intention but I did it anyways! Please, I beg for your forgiveness, my Prince. I- I will take any punishment you give me because I know I deserve it!"- your eyes tear up as you beg.

The unnerving silence that follows your desperate begging is worse than being yelled at. You can only hear your own heavy breathing and birds chirping all around the garden before the prince speaks up again.

"Stand up."- he says and you scramble to stand on your feet quickly. "Come here and make yourself useful."

Your brain freezes for a moment as you look up at him.

"Can you follow orders?"- prince Minho asks in a slightly mocking tone.

"Yes! Yes, I can follow orders."- you quickly make your way to him and your legs tremble when you stand before him.

You've never been this close to the gorgeous prince, finally being able to see his sharp nose and jawline, his pretty pink lips and those deep dark eyes that stared right into your soul, like he knows what you're thinking.

"Help me wash my back while I think about what I'll do with you."- he sits, and you catch a glimpse of a smirk before he turns his back to you.

A shiver runs through your body, you're fearful of what kind of punishment will be dealt to you but you're also awestruck about the fact that you'll actually touch the prince's perfect body. If this is the last thing you do in your miserable life, maybe it's not so bad to cease to exist after this.

You grab the cloth he prepared and start gently cleaning his back, feeling his muscles relax under your hands. His skin is so soft and you wish you could worship it day and night.

It's eerily quiet again, but you're concentrated on the task you have, your hand holding onto the prince's bicep as you massage his shoulder with the cloth.

He lets out a little hum of satisfaction, before a chuckle escapes his mouth. You stop your movements as your heart beats faster.

"I didn't tell you to stop, girl."- he says and you quickly continue.

"I noticed you around the palace, you know?"- he says after a little while and you let out a small gasp of surprise. "You're one of the pretty ones. Which means you've probably been touched before."

You shiver when he says that, the feeling of unwanted hands on you making you recoil.

He turns to look at you and sees the sadness your eyes hold, and he observes you, making you feel small under his sharp gaze.

"It wasn't something you wanted, was it?"- he lifts his hand up and cradles your cheek, another gasp of surprise escapes your lips as you naturally lean into his touch, his hand gentle and warm in contrast of anything that ever touched you before.

You shake your head, letting out a weak 'no'.

The prince leans in without a word and when his lips brush against yours, your heart leaps out of your chest and you chase his soft lips but he moves away quickly.

"I'm not gonna punish you. I'm gonna punish the people who did things to you and other servants so don't be scared of me."- he says and your eyes tear up. You act without thinking as you throw your arms around his shoulders and start thanking him, tears running down your cheeks like rain.

His hands are on your waist and the touch snaps you out of your little sob fest, and you snap back to reality, moving away from the prince.

"I-I am so sorry, your Highness! I didn't mean to do that."- you wipe your tears quickly but his hands are still holding you.

"Do you fancy me, y/n?"- he asks, his fingers rubbing your skin through the thin fabric of your dress.

"I-I'm not allowed..."- you start but he stops you.

"Answer the question."- he says sternly.

"Yes, I do, my prince."- you nod and he smiles, making your heart flutter.

"Is it okay if I take your dress off?"- he asks and your core starts throbbing at the thought of being naked together with the prince.

"Yes, your Highness."- you whisper and he gently slides one strap down, his fingertips light on your skin as he leans in and presses a chaste kiss on your jaw.

His lips are gentle against your face as he leaves slow kisses across your jaw line to your cheek, his hand slowly sliding the other strap down, caressing your arm and making goosebumps rise on your skin.

His lips brush against yours again before he kisses you and you melt into him instantly, tilting your head back as prince Minho leads the kiss.

Your dress starts sliding down your chest, the valley of your breasts exposed as the prince swipes his tongue on your lower lip.

You part your lips, gladly letting him explore your mouth as he dominates you with his tongue, his hands speeding up the process of your dress sliding down your body.

Your breasts pop out and you shiver as the chilly breeze caresses your pert nipples. Prince Minho leans away from your lips to look at you and your arms lift up instinctively to hide away from him.

"Don't hide. You're beautiful."- he says, and you think it's absurd that the most perfect man you've ever seen is calling you beautiful. You don't believe him yet you still let him move your hands down.

"Can I touch you?"- he asks and you nod quickly, muttering out a quiet 'yes'.

His hands cup your breasts, thumbs running on your nipples and playing with them and you let out a little whimper as you lean into his touch.

Your core drips with arousal and you subtly grind against the fabric of your dress, looking for relief as the prince squeezes and massages your breasts, the pads of his fingers constantly stimulating your sensitive nipples.

One of his hands comes up to hold the back of your head as he leans in and gently pulls your head back, revealing your neck to him completely.

Your breathing gets heavier as you try to focus on him but your eyes are getting hazy already and so is your mind.

Prince Minho pulls you a bit closer to his body, slotting his leg between yours. He leans into your neck, soft kisses are pressed into your skin all the way from your collarbone to your jaw. You grip at his strong arms as he slides your dress up on your thigh before covering his leg with it and pressing his knee into your hot and wet cunt.

You whimper a bit louder as his kisses get wetter and sloppier, his hand gropping your breast harder, his knee pressing into your heat as you rut against him. Your clit slides against him perfectly, your cunt making squelching sounds from the amount of arousal dripping from it.

Prince Minho smirks into your neck before removing all stimulation away from you and you whine a little at the loss.

Your head falls down and you finally look at him. A jolt of lightning runs through you when you see his pretty cock fully hard and leaking only for you, and without thinking, you slide down to your knees, your lips parting as you lean in closer to his member.

The prince chuckles and you snap out of your trance and look up at him, feeling a little ashamed for being so eager and entranced.

"You like it, hm?"- he teases, his hand tangling in your hair as you nod quickly again, your breasts shaking with the movement.

"P-please let me give you pleasure, my prince..."- you beg quietly and he smirks down at you, his eyes darkening with lust as he spreads his legs a little more to make place for you, pushing your head towards him gently.

"Go ahead, sweetheart."- the nickname makes your cunt throb as you put your tongue out, catching a drop of salty pre cum on it and the taste drives you feral so you push the tip of your tongue into his slit, licking at the rest of the pre cum gathered on it.

Prince Minho jolts forwards, the underside of his head sliding against your tongue. You look up at him as his lips part and he slowly moves the tip up and down on your tongue. Your eyes flutter as his breathing gets deeper and you let out a moan before enveloping your lips around his head.

The prince curses quietly as you nip at his underside with the tip of your tongue and play with him, sucking gently. His hand tightens in your hair and this eggs you on so you take more of him in your mouth.

You're not sure how much you'll be able to take because the prince is well endowed but his cock is worth the worship you want to give him, so you slowly slide down to take more of him, your hand coming up to wrap around the base of his cock. Your other hand grabs at his thigh so you can brace yourself to take him into your mouth.

The prince's eyes darken further as your big eyes stare up at him almost innocently, your mouth stuffed full of his cock as you keep trying hard to take more with each bob of your head.

You suck on him eagerly, coating his member with your saliva as your eyes flutter, and prince Minho grunts lowly, his fingers tangle further in your hair and he grips it, his hips jolting upwards involuntarily.

The sight of the beautiful prince falling apart because of you, his eyes hazy and his pretty lips parted, his cheeks and neck flushed as he stares at you make your arousal gush out and drip down your thigh. You squeeze your thighs together and accidentally slide down on his cock more making yourself gag. The prince moans as his tip hits the back of your throat, and you breathe through your nose as you engulf his whole length, your nose ending up in his pubes.

He feels, tastes and smells heavenly and you swear you can cum just like this, with his cock fucking your fluttering throat slowly. You bring your hand between his legs to gently grab his balls and the prince whimpers, his hips fucking into you a little more desperately as you massage his balls and let him use your mouth.

You feel his cock twitch, his balls are heavy and full of cum and you're ready to swallow every drop he's willing to give you.

"I'm cumming!"- the prince announces and you whimper around him, bobbing your head faster and gagging on his length as he meets your movement with his thrusts.

"Ah!"- his eyebrows knit together, a bead of sweat running down his forehead as he shuts his eyes tightly, almost looking angry as he shoots his load into your throat nearly making you choke on the warm liquid. You swallow quickly and keep swallowing as you milk his beautiful cock until you feel him go limp in your mouth and twitch from overstimulation.

You release him and look up at him, your cunt is throbbing for any kind of touch and he sits there for a moment, still not opening his eyes as he tries to even out his breathing and come down.

"You took everything I gave you, hm?"- he looks at you suddenly, his hands cupping your face.

"Yes, my prince."- you nuzzle into his hands and he gives you a smile that makes your chest and core flutter.

He doesn't say anything as he slides your dress down more, gently caressing the folds of your stomach and you adjust your position so he can slide the dress off completely.

You don't miss the way the prince licks his lips when he sees your dripping cunt, your arousal making a mess on your inner thighs.

The prince kneels between your legs as he lays you down in the grass, your dress acting as a blanket you can lay on. His eyes scan your body for a moment and you feel self-conscious as he can see all your scars and imperfections, your body was far from the ethereal look his body held.

"Who did this to you?"- his fingers trace the scars on your thigh.

"S-some guards."- you answer quietly, avoiding prince Minho's eyes and looking up at the bright blue sky, the reflection of the sun making him look surreal in your peripheral.

"You know their names?"- he asks and you finally glance at him, shivering as you notice a different kind of darkness in his eyes, anger.

"Y-yes."- you nod.

"Good. You'll tell me later."- he says and with that he leans back and looks around before his eyes land on a pretty flower growing near by where the two of you sit in the grass. He leans towards it and plucks it out, firstly staring at it and you look at him with slight confusion in your face, wondering what he did that for.

"Stay still."- he says, and your questions are answered when the prince gently runs the petals on your nipple and you gasp quietly, arching your back. He looks at you intently as he starts slowly running the flower against your nipple and your sensitive body reacts with more arousal gushing between your legs, your hips lifting up and begging for friction.

The prince ignores your needy hips for now, his focus on stimulating your pretty nipples. You let out little moans as your nails dig into the dress spread underneath you.

You've never been touched this gently, you've never been looked at like this, your body never knew arousal like this.

Prince Minho slowly drags the flower down your tummy to your cunt as he presses it against your wet folds, running the smooth petals all over your heat.

You moan, your breaths coming out ragged as your body shakes gently, your hips fucking up into the flower. It's not enough pressure on your cunt but you're still dripping, your eyes tearing up from frustration and the prince leans in closer to your face, his lips attaching to yours before he leaves kisses all over your cheeks and neck.

You're getting lost in the gentle pleasure as prince Minho's lips trail kisses from your collarbone to your breast, before he kisses your nipple and then swipes his tongue against the hardened bud.

You keen, arching further into him and he takes your nipple in his mouth sucking on it as he puts a little more pressure on your cunt with the flower, his other hand caresses your waist and your eyes water again at being handled so gently that you can't help when your hips spasm and you explode, squirting on the flower and your thighs.

"Pretty."- the prince smirks as he looks at your arousal dripping from the flower and you whimper in embarassment as you turn away from him.

"Look at me."- he gently grabs your chin and turns your head towards him. You gulp and look at his hand which is now wrapped around his hard throbbing member, the flower set aside.

"My prince."- you whimper as he gently presses the tip of his cock into your clit. You gasp as he runs it on your dripping folds, your cunt is hungry for him, opening up to catch his tip a few times as he keeps rubbing you.

Every swipe of the head ends with him pressing it into your sensitive bundle of nerves and you whimper, lifting your hips up in hopes that he'll just put it in finally, giving you that delicious stretch.

"P-please."- you whimper.

"You want my cock, sweetheart?"- he asks, pushing just the tip in and you keen, spreading your legs even more and arching into him.

"Yes, please."- you whimper again, fresh tears gathering in your eyes again.

"You can have my cock."- he smirks leaning over you, his strong arms on either side of you as he gently grabs your wrists, holding them down and slowly pushing his big cock into your tight cunt.

The stretch is perfect, your pussy opens up for the prince, taking the shape of his cock as he pushes so slowly so you feel every inch of him entering you. His sharp eyes stare into yours the whole time as you whimper, your hands turning into fists as pleasure starts overtaking your senses.

Prince Minho grabs one of your hands as he bottoms out, grunting lowly and leaning your hand on his chest.

"Touch me."- he says and your hand is rough, your fingers calloused from all the physical work you do with them, you almost feel embarassed to be touching his fair, soft skin with your harsh hands.

The prince doesn't seem to mind as he holds your wrist, making you run your hand on his chest as his cock throbs inside you. Your pussy clenches around him and he groans, his hands sliding down to your hips, then to your thighs. He grips them, slowly sliding his cock against your wet, velvety walls.

You grab at the dress under you again, fisting it from the overwhelming feeling of pleasure his cock is bringing to you, hitting as deep as he can, touching your cervix with every thrust forward.

Prince Minho grabs your legs and presses your knees to your shoulders, leaning closer to you so your legs wrap around his shoulders.

"Ah!"- you whimper when he pulls his cock out only to ram it back in hard and fast.

Your brain gets foggy instantly as he stops holding back and starts fucking his cock into you harder, his heavy balls slapping your ass, his hips slamming down with strength, his whole weight crushing down on you.

His strong arms are on either side of your head, as he leans his body on yours, his dark eyes never leaving yours. You recognize a deep primal look of hunger in his eyes as he rams his hard cock deep inside you.

You would panic if someone else was above you like that but something about prince Minho brings you security and you feel safe in his hold like that.

You let go of everything, completely surrendering to the moment and you cum all around the prince's cock, moaning and shaking as your juices make everything more wet and slippery, making the prince grunt lowly.

The squelching sounds fill up the space between you as the prince looks down at your breasts bouncing between your bodies, your nipples dragging on his skin with each hard thrust of his strong hips. Both of your moans and breaths mix together in the small space between your faces as he keeps fucking you, his hips relentless and you clench down on his throbbing cock, exploding around his length again.

The prince pulls out slowly and you whimper at the empty feeling, but his hand comes down to caress your stomach.

"I would love to fuck a baby in you, but we'd both be in trouble if I were to do that."- he says, so casually and you almost choke on a moan as he flicks your clit, his other hand jerking off his hard member.

"Mm, I know..."- you swallow and he chuckles lowly.

"Get on all fours. I wanna cum on your back and ass."- the prince talks dirty, making you shiver, hearing stuff like that from someone seemingly pure and majestic.

You do as he says, leaning your chest down so your ass is up in the air and prince Minho grabs your flesh roughly as you listen to the squelching sound of his wet cock fucking his hand.

You moan, jolting a little, making your nipples graze against the rough fabric of the dress. You whimper, your neglected pussy clenching around nothing and prince Minho notices you moving against the ground, stimulating your nipples.

Without any warning, he plunges three fingers inside your sopping cunt and you keen loudly, gripping at the fabric under your body.

You don't know how he can finger you so good while jerking off at the same time but you don't have time to question anything, your mind hazy as you come close to another orgasm.

Prince Minho's moans get more high pitched and a particularly loud moan leaves his lips before you feel hot spurts of cum land on your ass and back, the feeling making you cream deliciously around his fingers.

He unloads everything on you, cursing under his breath as he gives your ass a smack, making you whimper.

He pulls his fingers out of your hole, bringing them to your lips.

"Taste."- he smirks as he hovers over you and you wrap your lips around his fingers, sucking on them and looking up at him hazily.

You wish this moment with the beautiful prince never ends but nothing lasts forever. He pulls out his fingers and helps you sit up.

You don't know what's gonna happen next, but you didn't expect the prince to grab a clean cloth, getting it wet before gently cleaning you up.

Your eyes tear up and a sob escapes your lips, as you've never been treated like this before.

"Shh, I know. It's okay."- he whispers, his hands soothing on your skin, his fingertips tracing every scar he can find on your body.

You feel like he's worshipping them as he leans closer and kisses the back of your shoulder gently before his strong arms envelop around your chest, pulling you to rest your back around him.

He caresses your body wherever he can reach and as you come down from the mix of all the feelings you just went through, you think this might be a dream.

"W-what now, my prince?"- you ask, your heart beating hard against your chest. Fresh tears are already brimming at your eyes as you imagine never being this close to prince Minho again.

"You're gonna tell me their names. All of them. Don't even try to think about sparing their miserable lives."- he says, sounding almost angry and you shiver a little as his grip around you becomes stronger.

He loosens his grip and makes you look at him.

"Do you understand?"- he asks and you nod as you stare into his eyes, feeling hypnotized by him again.

"Yes, my prince."- you confirm.

"Say my name at least once. I wanna hear it from your lips."- the prince says, brushing his thumb on your lower lip slowly.

You stare at him in shock, your heart leaping out of your chest and the prince just looks at you expectantly.

"M-Minho."- you say quietly, scared to utter his name informally like that.

"Again."- he whispers, closer to your face.

"Minho."- you say it a little louder and he smirks before pressing his lips into yours, giving you a slow wet kiss that has you feeling weak.

"I will take care of the pests today. And after that I want you to join me in my chambers."- he says and you gasp.

"B-but I-"

"Ah, ah."- he puts his finger on your lips.

"I'm not done with you yet, sweetheart. There's a lot I want to know about you."- the prince smirks and you gulp, your eyes wide as they look at him.

"Don't worry, I'll take good care of you."

✨Taglist: @moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght @hwanghyunjinismybae @jehhskz @laylasbunbunny

☀️Feelbokkie’s Bookshelf☀️

📚Non-SKZ Shelf📚

✨SKZ OT8's Shelf✨ (Part 1) (A-I)

✨SKZ OT8's Shelf✨ (Part 2) (J-R)

✨SKZ OT8's Shelf✨ (Part 3) (S-0)

🐺Channie's Shelf🐺 (Part 1) (A-M)

🐺Channie's Shelf🐺 (Part 2) (N-Z)

🐰Lino's Shelf🐰 (Part 1) (A-M)

🐰Lino's Shelf🐰 (Part 2) (N-Z)

🐰🐷Binnie's Shelf🐰🐷 (Part 1) (A-M)

🐰🐷Binnie's Shelf🐰🐷 (Part 2) (N-Z)

🥟Jinnie's Shelf🥟 (Part 1) (A-M)

🥟Jinnie's Shelf🥟 (Part 2) (N-Z)

🐿Sungie's Shelf🐿 (Part 1) (A-M)

🐿Sungie's Shelf🐿 (Part 2) (N-Z)

🐥Lixie's Shelf🐥 (Part 1) (A-M)

🐥Lixie's Shelf🐥 (Part 2) (N-Z)

🐶Minnie's Shelf🐶 (Part 1) (A-M)

🐶Minnie's Shelf🐶 (Part 2) (N-Z)

🦊Innie's Shelf🦊 (Part 1) (A-M)

🦊Innie's Shelf🦊 (Part 2) (N-Z)