New And Improved Skcawk Masterpost

new and improved skcawk masterpost 🍆⊹˚

disclaimer 1 (because I know I will have to say this): this post isn't to be taken seriously. I am not objectifying them, I love and respect them so fucking much, this is just a stupid thirsty post. if you don't like it, simply don't interact. you will not come into my DMs and convince me that this is doing anyone any harm. people send them d*ath threats and stalk them. me making a horny post on my tumblr blog the world over is not that deep.

disclaimer 2: all dicks are good dicks 🗣️ we all have different preferences and different bodies and we love and support them all on skzms!!!

now without further ado ...

click here for the original ask and compendium and this post is dedicated to @hyunsvngs and her anon, who coined the term skcawk and who share my insane brainrot. happy 1 year on tumblr juno!!

if you can't see the posts it's likely that you have to log in to see them. also, any of these users might have deactivated or gone private or deleted their posts by the time you see this.

channie

channie's cock drives me fucking crazy because one day it looks itty bitty small, or a grower (like in this maniac fancam, these white pants, and the gym skz code [though he's bigger in that one], and this bulge), but then sometimes it looks so big and yummy (BST hyde park, another frame from gym skz code, this thunderous studio choom fancam [what a good day that was for skcawk])

someone sent this to juno and we have not been the same since because we need more but

WHAT IS THE TRUTH, CHAN!!!! I need to know ...

minho

minho ... minho's cock is my roman empire. I think of it daily. it's big. daddy, it's so fucking big. here's a whole damn thread about it! and another one!

and lino-ssi wears a dance belt most of the time, but sometimes he's a COLOSSAL FUCKING SLUT (affectionate) and just ... lets it HANG. Like in the video to end all videos. And the video to end all videos forever and ever.

and even if it's not super obvious it's just always there (when he's dancing, practising, or just ... existing). Bulging in his pants. Or even fucking bOUNCING. Straining, wanting to be freed. Let me free him.

changbin

binnie ... my thick, heavy, yummy binnie ... looks similar to jisung's! on the bigger side of average!!!! and looking heavy and like it wants to be sucked :( look at it! I need it. Really badly. This video - everyone always think it's the thing sticking up but that's just his zipper but the real thing is earlier in the video fucking JIGGLING!! and nobody ever talks about it!!!

because we don't have that much have this bonus vid that makes my fucking coochie throb. you're welcome.

hyune

mommy hyune is fucking packing. big, big dick. loves to bulge through his fucking pants (like in skz family hnng, toy world fanmeet) and also move as if it has a mind of its own (dance live, this vlog, this dance practice, ON STAGE and this fucking group live oh my god it's STARING AT ME)

here's a whole thread!

jisung

the edit that started it all because han jisung can't stop touching his dick. i may be biased (ha) but my god, his is my absolute fav. big, but not too big, thick and cute and probably so, so pretty. also looks so good through his pantssss (like on stage here, or in that japan challenge video). In this Studio Choom Thunderous fancam it's not the thing sticking up, but it's just ... swinging ... same as here, on the stage for La4. It looks so good (yes I posted that just so I could attach it here. you're welcome)

felix

on the smaller to average size and it's so, so cute it makes me want to be violent. Loves to make an appearance on stage (maniac tour, maniac tour again, at fanmeets, during kingdom! and MORe on stage, and AGAIN, felix put it away!!!!!!) 10/10 I love it, wanna swallow it down.

seungmin

seungmin. 2min are officially bick cock racha because look at tHIS THING. he hides it well but I'm assuming he's packing.

innie

innie cawk :( come home, innie cawk :( the most elusive of them all, honestly. we have this yummy pic of his bulge, and this hint of a dick print :( i want MORE.

I'll be updating this as I find more stuff ✌️🍆

ALMOST THERE

introduction | masterlist

->pairing : sub lee know x dom gn reader

->word count : 700+

->synopsis : lee know

->tw : idrk with this one, edging?, use of kitten once (I couldn’t resist sorry)

->authors note : was considering putting this in the tw, but this whole thing is incredibly sloppy and low key shit, but I’m just trying to get back into the habit of posting so bear with me

What you could only describe as the cry of an angel escaped your boyfriend’s plush lips as your fingers curled up onto his spot, his half-lidded eyes the epitome of a man far too gone to form a coherent sentence. Leaking on his stomach was his achingly hard cock, neglected through your teasing and cruel ministrations and you didn’t have any intention of getting him off any time soon.

Every time his body began to convulse, heart rate rising just a little too high, you’d pull away, leaving him to chase his orgasm desperately, tugging on the binds that held his wrists. He’d never pictured himself in this position and had you asked him a few months ago if he’d consider it he’d have scoffed in your face.

You see, your usually so proudly dominant boyfriend had agreed to a bet, allowing you to take control for one night, granted that you beat him at bowling (his pride certainly had gotten ahead of him considering his shaky skills at the sport). Despite not exactly being so great at it yourself, you still managed to beat him with quite some points between you both. The look on his face had been priceless.

Let’s just say that well, that night Minho learned some things about himself.

He’d already been denied twice at this point, and this is where previously you had given in. You reckoned he could take more though.

Lube squelched as you drove two fingers into his loose hole, aiming directly for his prostate each time and basking in the small yelps he let out, similar to the mew of a cat. His small hands were clasped together, knuckles turning white, in the soft fabric that tethered them together and his legs squirmed helplessly beneath your weight. Your hand danced around his crotch, caressing his thighs which you admired so greatly.

His pink lips were open in a small, delicate ‘o’ as he could feel himself approaching his release again, believing for a second that you were going to let him and whining as your touch departed again.

“Pl-please. I haven’t done anything wrong.” He gasped lightly. It was almost phrased as a question, begging you to tell him what he’s done. His usual grouchy tone returning slightly as he remarked, “just let me cum already.”

It was cute you decided. He believed that it would work. What he didn’t realise is how much harder he was making it on himself as you gripped his jaw like a vice, staring him cold in the eyes.

“Good kittens don’t make demands, they take what they are given.” You said through gritted teeth before continuing “If you don’t want it, you know your safeword.”

His glare began to soften as he gulped, his eyes squeezing shut as your hand found his cock, gliding it up and down his length agonisingly slowly. In a second you’d give him what he wanted, judging that he was right, he had done as you’d asked that evening, and you already pushed him so far. He deserved a treat. You just had to make him suffer a tad bit more first.

“You look so beautiful like this, you know that right.” His scrunched up face barely reacted to your words, but he let out another small whimper. You reinserted your fingers into his wet heat, Minho’s face relaxing slightly as he lost himself again.

It wasn’t long until he was at the edge again, a few beads of sweat noticeable in his hairline. He had gotten considerably noisier, the closer he got, eyes refusing to open right until he tipped over, body convulsing in pleasure as his orgasm rocked through him. It was more intense than any other he had experienced, and you made sure to kiss and ease him through it until the aftershocks were over. A sheen of sweat covered him as he flopped back, and you quickly undid his wrists.

“You handled that so well, baby.” You mumbled into his ear, peppering him with kisses, “did you enjoy it?”

“Yeah.” You faintly heard him say, and you didn’t press for more information.

“Do you want a bath?” You asked, ready to jump up and go run it for him.

“In a few minutes, jus want to lie here with you for a bit.” He whispered into your neck where you held him.

honestly gonna cry

Animals Without Direction

Chapter Thirty-Three: Stay Here

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Masterlist

TW: This scene plays on power dynamics/shows of power/shows of dominance in very rough ways. Hard Dom!Changbin ahead! Can be perceived as a bit of dub-con, but I did my best to keep it minor.

Sweat is pouring down your back as if a bucket of water was dumped over your head. The way your chest is heaving with pants, one would think you were stabbed. Every single intake of air feels like you’re inhaling pins and needles.

The sun is setting behind the hills, bathing the world in an orange light. Not that you were allowing yourself to take in the scenery.

At this moment, your primary focus is not kissing the dirt despite how much your knees threaten to buckle.

Your boots are making harsh contact with the dirt as you run your laps commanded by Changbin. You can’t even feel the impact on your feet anymore, they’ve gone numb. Thirty was absolutely insane but you’ll be damned if you give out before hitting that number. 

And then he wants you to come to his office? 

The anger within you is so red-hot you’re sure that the next time you see his face, you’ll want to throw a sharp right hook right into his jaw. Maybe you’ll throw another one in there, just to really drive your point home.

Thirty laps.

Does he not remember your experience with twenty?

You can feel the gaze of the other soldiers as you run around the fort. Their sympathetic stares do nothing to quell your anger. In fact, you’re sure that your anger is the only thing keeping your legs moving. 

You’re operating off of spite and spite alone.  

The last lap comes as quickly as spring after a harsh winter. 

When you come back into the fort, you take three wobbly steps in through the gate and then drop down to one knee. Your wheezes echo through the stone and everyone seems to watch you out of the corner of their eyes. 

The inside of your mouth is so dry you’re sure your tongue is fossilized at this point. 

It’s like your heart won’t calm down. Your fingertips feel numb as you reach up and wipe the sweat out of your eyes. It’s dripping through your hair like you just bathed. 

The anger within you bubbles and bubbles more. You stand up from the ground with shaky knees and roll your shoulders back. 

Even though you’re still panting, you walk into the fort, steam practically shooting from your ears. If he wants to see you after your laps, he’ll see you, alright. 

The walk to his office is quick, you’re on a warpath. If any soldiers walk by you in the halls, they give you a wide berth.

When you come across Changbin’s office, you don’t even knock, you roughly and sharply push the door open and step inside. 

He jumps slightly from his seat behind the desk, obviously not expecting you to burst in like that. As soon as his gaze levels on you, his eyes harden. The color behind them darkens as if he remembers his own anger.  

“Done?” he asks in a low voice. You recognize that voice, he only uses it when he’s talking down to someone. 

You don’t even answer him, you just stare. Stepping inside the office, you shut the door behind you. More like you slam the door shut behind you. 

“Are you also finished disregarding orders?” he growls. 

You tongue your cheek and stand there, unwavering. The thick layer of sweat on your body creates a sheen over your skin that flickers with the candles along the stone walls. 

Changbin’s eyebrow twitches at your silence, he leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. 

“This silent treatment of yours is completely disrespectful.”

“Nay, disrespectful is getting in my face in front of the entire army.” Your voice is low and hoarse from the dehydration.

The commander’s face curls into an even angrier one. His already pout-set lips thin out into a frustrated line.

“You think my actions were disrespectful?” He stands up slowly from his seat behind the desk. “You challenged my authority in front of everyone. In front of my soldiers.”

“Your orders were wrong,” you demand in a growl-like tone.

His face twitches again. “I know exactly what I am talking about, mercenary. I have more experience than you.”

Deep within your chest, you feel your heart clench with molten swirls of fury that rocket around your body. Those laps around the fort did nothing but fuel the coals that burn like fire.

More experience? More experience?

You have had a sword in your hand before you knew anything else. You shot squirrels out of trees with your father before you learned the constellations in the night sky.

More experience?

Changbin watches your face contort and twist into a seething rage. His jaw clenches.

The two of you are so stubborn, you might as well have locked two dragons in a room together. 

“You do not,” you growl. “I respect a majority of your orders, Changbin, but I also know when you are just spouting nonsense for appearance’s sake.”

His fists clench at his sides. “Where is this insolence coming from?”

“Would you rather me let you give wrong instructions willingly? Who do I not just cut to the chase and offer my neck for an ax now? Should I follow your orders and allow my head to roll in the dirt?”

All of your words come through your teeth like hisses. 

You haven’t felt rage like this in so long. It’s the kind of anger that grips your heart and makes your very soul shake. The type of anger that makes you feel as though you could physically rip the stones from the walls and launch them across a field.

You take slow, steady steps towards his desk despite how utterly exhausted your legs are. Changbin’s dangerous eyes track you like prey. The muscles in his arms tense and release as his fists open and close.

He’s holding back the torrent of his rage. But this will not stop you from poking the bear.

The anger in the room is starting to become suffocating.

“I do not bend to ignorant orders.”

His teeth bare in a snarl. “Obviously, thirty laps did nothing to discipline you.”

“Order me to do a hundred and I will come back and repeat how nonsensical your instructions were. Tell me to wash the floors and I will write it within the muck that litters the stones of these walls. Do your worst, it will not sway me.”

Changbin slams his fist down on the wooden desk in front of him. You do not even bat an eye.

So he’s turned to this.

“Oh, come off it,” you balk, unafraid of the power he’s displaying.

The commander slowly comes around the side of his desk, his dangerous eyes stay locked on yours. All of his bulging muscles were tense, the veins popping in his forearms.

“You will not speak to your commanding officer this way.”

“I am a member of the court, same as you.”

“You are a soldier in my army.”

“Why do you pull rank only when met with defiance?”

He stops directly in front of you, the two of you practically standing nose to nose. He could probably still see the sweat dripping off your brow.

Changbin says nothing. You can’t tell if it’s because he’s at a loss for words or he’s trying to curb the awful things screaming in his brain.

“What is the matter, commander ? Are you ready to admit that you were wrong?”

Before you can even think, his large hand comes up and grabs a fistful of your still sweat-soaked hair. He yanks your head back.

An involuntary gasp comes from your lips as you’re forced to look at the ceiling. Your hand flies up to grab at his. No matter how hard you pull at his fingers, it does nothing to loosen the grasp he has on you.

His face comes close to yours and he speaks through gritted teeth. “You need to learn some fucking respect, mercenary.”

“Rot in the Void, Changbin.” You wince when he pulls your hair even harder.

Changbin’s other hand comes up and grabs your throat in a bruising grip, immediately cutting off your oxygen supply.

“You want to try that again, little girl?” he hisses. 

Tiny gasps choke out of your mouth, your eyes squinting shut in pain as you gape for air. His large hand covers the expanse of your entire throat, squeezing entirely too easy. As if you were nothing more than a stuffed doll.

The lack of oxygen has an effect on your body immediately, you can feel tingling in the tips of your fingers.

He turns the two of you and pins your hips against the desk. Your entire body is trapped by his larger one. The wooden edge of the desk digs into your lower back.

Desperately, you reach up and claw at the hand squeezing your windpipe. Your nails dig into his skin but his grip only tightens.

Weakly, you crack open an eye and look at your commander. He’s staring down at you with his lips pulled in a sneer, his dark eyes trained on your face carefully.

“Ready to try again?” he growls.

Your eye twitches and your anger resurfaces, masking the need for air.

The fist that was previously clenched at your side quickly comes up in a hooked punch aimed at Changbin’s jaw. He’s faster than you, though. Just as your fist was about to land on its target, he releases your throat and grabs your hand– completely stopping your punch.

His eyes narrow even more, the corner of his lips twitch in an almost evil smirk. Was he just waiting for you to try something?

“Oh,” he chuckles darkly. “You want to play that game.”

Keeping his grip on your fist, Changbin spins you around and bends you over his desk with your arm pinned behind your back. The wood slams against the side of your face as his hand that’s twisted in your hair keeps you down.

“Is this what I have to do, Y/N?” He leans over your body, putting his mouth right next to your ear. Changbin’s entire body molds against yours, his hips dig into your ass and his chest presses down on your back as much as he could with your hand in the way.

“Get the fuck off me, Changbin!” You sneer and fight against his hold. The hand in your hair tightens even more and he pulls your head back to come closer to his mouth. “Go assert dominance over someone who actually gives a shit!”

“I am so sick and tired of that fucking mouth.”

His hand reaches over to a stray rag that was on the desk, balling it up in his hand before shoving it into your mouth. You try as hard as you can to fight against it, but you’re gagged and completely at his mercy.

Your voice is muffled from the rag, every noise and scream of rebuttal is caught in the fabric. WIth a furrowed brow, you strain your muscles to attempt to escape his hold, but those laps left you so exhausted.

But, if you’re being honest with yourself, you wouldn’t be able to struggle out of his hold even if you were at your peak performance. You might as well be shackled to a brick wall. 

The warmth from his body cages you down to the desk.

He yanks your head to the side a bit, baring your neck. A strangled cry leaves your throat.

“Blissful silence at last,” he sneers. “What will it take for you to show me the respect I deserve, Y/N? Do I have to fuck it into you, huh?”

As angry as you are, you can’t deny the thrill that shoots down your spine. If your legs weren’t already shaking, they would be beginning to tremble. 

Instead, you grunt into the rag and squirm against his iron-clad grip even more.

Your body seems to be your worst enemy at the moment. No matter how hard you fight against it, it feels like your entire body is being pulled into the rip currents of lust. 

“I think you are too spoiled nowadays, mercenary.” He snarls in your ear. “You have the entire court at your beck and call, including our jarl. All this power has gone to that big head of yours.”

He’s starting to sound like Minho used to. And it wasn’t until recently when Minho alluded to the real reason behind all of those venomous words.

Gods, really?

Jealousy. It’s jealousy. 

All that time you spent with Jeongin is coming to bite you in the ass. The morning that the two of you spent between the sheets while the squire made a pitstop in your bed instead of meeting with Changbin must have done you in.

That’s hardly your fault, though, is it? Jeongin is the one that kept him waiting, not you. Perhaps he should be pinning him down to the top of his desk with a rag in his mouth. Perhaps it’s Jeongin’s ass Changbin’s hips should be pressed flush against.

But, by The Six, would you really want to switch places with him given the chance? 

Changbin’s mouth comes down closer to your neck, his lips hovering over the still clammy skin, his hand tightens in your hair.

No, no you would not switch places. You decidedly would not. 

He shuffles behind you, you can hear the distinct clink of his belt unbuckling and the leather sliding out of his trousers. 

He releases your hair to grab your other hand, wrestling it behind your back to join the other one. His belt is tied and fastened around both of your wrists. Your hands ball into fists and you try with all your might to yank them apart, but it's to no avail.

Behind you, Changbin chuckles darkly, his one large hand splays over your back, pressing you down to the desk. You turn your head to glare behind you.

The look on his face is predatory and animalistic; the lopsided smirk stretched over his cheeks makes your heart stutter for a second. 

A muffled moan is swallowed by the fabric stuffed in your mouth, Changbin’s eyes snap to yours with furrowed brows.

It’s just a split second, but you see him scan your face for any sign that you don’t want him to be doing this. He reads you so quickly and sees that you’re not fighting for the sake of the argument anymore.

You’re fighting back to be a brat.

The original argument can wait to be discussed, this is entirely different now. 

His expression flips back to the dominant one. 

“That mouth still wants to talk back, hm?” He reaches down and grabs a fist ful of your hair with one hand and then your bound wrists with the other. He pulls you up and spins you around once more. 

His boot comes behind you and kicks out your knees, forcing you to buckle down onto the floor. Your knees hit the stone with a rough slam, making you wince a bit.

You’re forced to look up into Changbin’s eyes.

“Let’s put that mouth to good use.”

He pushes down his trousers with one hand, pulling his thick cock out. Your eyes widen and you feel your cunt clench around thin air. 

By The Six…

He is girthy . Thick veins running up to a flushed, angry, weeping head. 

Your jaw clenches and you feel your mouth begin to water. 

The rag is yanked out and as you take a deep gulp of air, Changbin pulls your face closer, shoving his cock right into your empty mouth. 

Your jaw stretches to accommodate his thickness, the velvetines of his skin slides right over your tongue. Unconsciously, your eyes close as you concentrate on not gagging when his tip hits the back of your throat. 

“ Fuuuuck… ” Changbin moans from above you.

He doesn’t give you any time to adjust, he fists your hair and begins to ruthlessly fuck your mouth just like you were some toy for him to use. With every single thrust, you can feel his frustration hitting you.

All of the fight has left your body– all you can feel is a submissive headspace slowly fogging your mind. Your need to fight back is being replaced by a need to please. 

You relax your jaw and allow Changbin to fuck himself deeper down your throat.

“O-Oh, fuck , Y/N.. Look at you being a good girl,” he grits out between his teeth. 

Moaning around his cock, you crack open your eyes and look up at him. He’s staring down at you, his pouty lips parted as he exhales.

Tears begin beading in the corners of your eyes.

He smirks again, loving the sight of you on your knees for him. He can’t get enough of it.

Changbin does one particularly harsh thrust and you gag, eyes wincing shut once more. 

“That’s right, choke on it,” he moans and thrusts again, making you sputter and cough around his cock.

Gods, you wish you could say you hate it, but you fucking love it. For someone who loves to be perceived as big, strong, and scary, you find it so intoxicating for someone else to treat you like you’re nothing more than a toy.

That need for oxygen tickles the back of your mind again and you try to pull away from Changbin’s cock. He’s having none of that.

His hand fists in your hair even tighter, fucking into you even harder. His moans and pants are getting louder and breathier.

Your arms flex as you fight against the leather wrapped around your wrists, but again, you’re only met with resistance.

Drool is dripping out of your mouth and running down your neck. 

“What’s the matter, Y/N?” Changbin grunts, “Need to breathe?”

You whine around his cock as tears start pouring down your cheeks.

He thrusts into your mouth a few more times before finally pulling out of your mouth. 

You gulp down air greedily, a long strand of saliva still connecting your mouth to his now glistening cock. 

Changbin only allows you three or four breaths before yanking you to your feet. Your knees wobble and you struggle to find your footing before you’re once again bent over his desk.

Papers and different instruments that were previously on top of it fall to the floor.

Your trousers are yanked off your hips and pool around your ankles. You hiss as the air of the room hits your wet folds.

“Fucking look at that,” Changbin growls from behind you. His thick fingers run up and down your slit, spreading your juices around.

A pathetic moan falls from your lips and you rest your face down on the top of the desk. The feeling of pleasure that you get from just this small touch alone is consuming your mind.

“Pussy so wet for me…” 

Two of his fingers slide right in and your mouth drops open with another long moan. Your walls clench down around him as he thrusts in and out slowly, making sure to take his time stretching you out.

“That’s just it, is it not?” he asks, his fingers picking up the pace inside you, making sure to curve and flex them. “You are just simply all bark and no bite, mercenary. You just want to get fucked , is that it?”

He adds a third finger and you can only whine and whimper. The muscles in your arms are bulging from how much you’re fighting against your binds.

“You will argue and argue but once these holes are filled, you cave.” 

You feel a sudden wetness hit your asshole as Changbin spits on it. Immediately, his thumb finds your other hole and spreads his saliva around before pushing into you.

“ A-Ah! Ch-Changbin!” you cry out at the new sensation. 

He pushes in slower into your second hole, but his three fingers buried in your cunt continue to work you like a musical instrument.

Changbin fists your hair even tighter as he works your holes, tiny grunts and moans coming from deep within his throat as he watches his fingers disappear over and over again inside you.

“Such a tight little thing,” he groans. “With all the cocks these holes have been swallowing, I thought you would be used to a stretch like this.” He clicks his tongue. “Just wait until I split you on my dick, mercenary, you will be ruined.”

His fingers get faster and faster inside you, the burning sensation of your impending orgasm starts to tingle at the base of your spine and shoot down into your thighs. 

“Can feel you getting tighter and tighter… are you going to cum, little girl?” Changbin barks out in a harsh voice, his fingers not letting up.

You whine and close your eyes, your legs shaking and cunt clenching tighter and tighter. 

It feels so fucking good. You can’t even find it within yourself to care about what he’s saying right now. 

He can call you a whore, a slut, anything– just as long as he doesn’t stop.

Tighter and tighter you feel your own walls clamp down, your whines getting louder and louder.

He suddenly stops.

You cry out in frustration, fists yanking on the leather straps and hips wiggling desperately to find any sort of friction to finish the job.

The commander behind you only chuckles as you writhe around pathetically. He waits a few seconds, relishing in the feeling of your soaking wet walls fluttering around his fingers before he pulls them out of you.

Another whine leaves your lips and you feel like you could cry from your ruined orgasm.

“You did not really think I would let you cum on my fingers and not my cock again , did you?”

His rock hard cock is pressed against your fluttering opening before you could even respond.

“Hang on tight, little girl,” he grunts before shoving inside you completely, his cock bottoms out and it feels like he’s all the way inside your guts.

Not a single noise comes out of you, your mouth falls open and no sound comes out. Your eyes roll back and your body tenses. Never in your life have you been stretched like this. 

He’s so fucking big , by The Six.

“S-So fucking tight…!” Changbin groans before pulling out and then thrusting back in.

That’s when your vocal chords decide to work again and a strained whimper falls from your mouth. More drool begins to drip from your lips at the sinful pleasure coursing through your veins.

A fog consumes your brain, your legs aren’t even holding your weight up anymore. You’re almost like dead weight on top of the desk.

Changbin starts fucking into you faster and faster, his tempo increasing with each and every thrust, but so does his force. The wood of the desk underneath you groans with every snap of his hips.

Noises are fucked out of you as he pounds your walls mercilessly. You’re not even sure how you’re making them, they sound like they’re being punched out of you.

His large hand comes down to slap your bare ass cheek with a resounding smack! You bite your lip, but the yelp that he produces comes out anyway.

All of your muscles are lax yet so tense at the same time, he’s molding you around like you’re made of rubber.

Once more, Changbin spits down on your other hole, it drips down and he gathers it up with his thumb, pushing inside you once more.

Crying out, your back arches and your hips stutter and writhe. He tightens the grip in your hair and keeps your head down on the desk. The papers underneath your face are soaked with spit and tears. 

“Look how much you love being stuffed full, mercenary, you fucking love it, don’t you?” he grunts, timing his thumb with his cock. “Dirty fucking thing.”

“I-I-I..! O-Oh, f-fuck..!” you can’t even speak. Words are not forming. 

Why were you even angry again? You came in here furious, did you not?

You can’t even think. The only thing on your mind is: Changbin, Changbin, Changbin. His cock is pounding inside you so hard you think your brain might melt out of your ears.

“Fucked dumb,” Changbin snickers and plunges into you even harder, his balls smacking into your clit with each pump. “You like having something in your tight little asshole, mercenary? You like being completely stuffed? My cock f-fucking your soaking cunt while my thumb works your ass open?”

“Y-Yes!” you answer, tears coming down your cheeks again, the pleasure is too much, your orgasm approaching once more. It’s coming so fast you think you might black out when it finally hits. “Yes!”

His thumb fucks into you as he growls and pulls your hair to slam his hips into yours, 

“Try again, mercenary!” He snaps his hips harder, hitting your g-spot roughly. “What do you refer to me as?”

A scream of pleasure tears from your throat. “Y-Yes, sir! ” you cry out.

Changbin groans behind you, it’s low, his hips stutter and he has to take a deep breath afterwards. He yanks your head again to pick your head up.

His voices comes from right next to your ear, his lips running over the sensitive skin near the point of your ear, but never on the tip. It drives your senses wild, your brain is sent into orbit.

Arousal shoots down your spine like a lightning bolt.

Are your eyes open or closed? Are you blacking out?

Your own slick is leaking down his balls and over the back of your thighs and the front of his. The smell of sex is so thick in the air you could choke on it.

“Whose orders do you follow?”

“Yours, sir!”

“Say it again!”

“Yours, sir! I follow your orders! Fuck fuck fuck! Please! Oh Gods! ”

“ Fuck , again, louder! Show me the respect I deserve, Y/N! Do you understand your place now, little girl?”

Tighter and tighter your walls clamp down until the knot within you is about to break completely. It’s like lighting bolts are traveling through every single one of your limbs.

The tears pour down your cheeks and onto the desk, your tongue is practically lulling out of your mouth.

His weight is all consuming on top of you. What the fuck was your name again?

“Yes, sir! I am sorry for disobeying you, sir! I will l-listen! I will follow your orders! Fuck ! I-I– c-cumming!”

“Fall apart on this cock, mercenary.”

His balls slap right into your clit and it hurls you over the edge.

The orgasm that washes over you is all consuming. Your entire body tightens up and your mouth falls open, drool spilling down your chin mixing with the tears on your cheeks. 

Every muscle spasms and you clench down on Changbin’s cock that continues to pound into you like there’s no tomorrow.

The timbre of his voice gets lower and tighter, like he’s fighting to not produce more noise than he already is. “O-Oh, fuck! Oh fuck! Oh fuck! By the Six!” he moans and groans and whines as you clench down on him. “Tight fucking pussy m-milking my fucking cock!”

He can only thrust into you a few more times before he pulls out, his thumb pulling out of you as he uses his hand to jerk himself over your back. You can only listen to the wet shlick noises his fist makes over his cock before he loses it completely.

After three jerks, he grunts deeply and breathily, his seed spurting out and landing all along your back and ass. Each time a wave of pleasure hits him, he growls and lets his cum spread all along your soft skin. 

The two of you are completely still, his one hand comes down to plant on the desk next to you to keep his weight up. Your eyes are shut as you catch your breath, the aftershocks of your orgasm still wracking through you.

Changbin’s hand in your hair begins to slowly loosen its iron-clad grip on your scalp. His fingers start to slowly massage the tender skin underneath it, his blunt nails scratching very gently against you.

Low hums come from your chest like purrs at the motion. 

A tender kiss is pressed right behind your ear, another hum comes from you. More and more kisses are peppered on the back of your neck down the back of your shoulder. 

“Still with me, mercenary?”

All you could offer is a grunt which he returns with a chuckle.

------------------------------------------

It’s about ten minutes later when the two of you are cleaned up and sitting comfortably in one of the big armchairs in his office. 

Changbin has you on his lap with your head tucked under his chin. 

Exhaustion is sitting heavily in your bones, but you know you need to stay awake to have the conversation that’s sitting on the tip of your tongue. 

“You understand why I got so angry, nay?” you whisper, playing with a loose string on his tunic.

“Aye, and you see it from my side as well?”

“Aye.”

Another bout of silence falls over the room. Changbin’s hand is rubbing up and down your back gently, every exhale from his nose fans out through your hair. 

He chuckles, you feel it rumble against your body. “Perhaps you were right, if you bent your knees more you would have fallen over.”

The smile that pulls at your lips is involuntary, but still tender. “I think you just wanted to instruct me in some way or another.”

He grunts in acknowledgement. “Aye… I think you are right about that one. I feel as though I never get to see you anymore.”

”So you felt the need to grab my attention in any way you could?”

His silence lasts a few moments. “Aye, I believe that is what my mind was doing.”

“You could always send for me.”

“You are always doing something of importance.”

“I would find time for you.”

“The same way you found time for the others?”

Your eyes stare forward from his words. You shift a bit in his lap, not knowing what to say, everything seems like a muddy mess, really. 

Every single romp you’ve had with a court member has felt different and unique from one another. But they’re not like one night stands or random hook ups you would find in a tavern, there’s a deeper emotional tie there. 

“I know not how to define the feelings that brew in my soul for everyone.”

Changbin nods shallowly, his hand still rubbing your back while the other wraps over your legs and keeps your body against his.

“I have never been presented with a situation like this,” you offer a tiny laugh at the end of that statement, Changbin chuckles again with you. “It is… one of a kind.”

A little sigh comes from your lips. Your eyes travel to the flame flickering in the fireplace in the room. The tiny pops and crackles that come from the logs soothe your racing mind. 

“I have never felt this way about a single person before, let alone eight. Slowly but surely, each one of you has wormed your way into my heart like storybook characters. The assassin, the healer, the squire,” You pick your head up and look at Changbin in his big, brown eyes. “The commander.”

He stares back at you with a cocktail of emotions. The hand clasped around your leg squeezes in a comforting manner.

“It feels like every time I see any of you again, one of you is vying for my attention in a romantic manner, it is taking me completely off guard, I have to say.” You shake your head in disbelief. “I do not understand. I do not know how to feel. I have just been running with it and hoping that I would figure everything out at a later time.”

“I know not how to feel either, Y/N, I do not know if any of us do. You came into our lives like a whirlwind.” Changbin reaches up and gently brushes some hair out of your eyes. “I think it is just as confusing for all of us as it is for you. But you cannot keep burying your head in the sand and hoping that the solution will present itself to you.”

You lick your lips nervously, looking down at the front of his tunic again. Your hand rests on his chest, rubbing side to side very gently. The fabric is soft under your touch.

“I do not care for labels,” you whisper. “My life is too uncertain at all times. I never know if each sunrise is my last, and I never wish to cause pain with any ties I form. I believe it is easier if that remains unsaid.”

Changbin’s fingers come up and tilt your chin up to meet his eyes. He’s gazing at you softly, fondly, the fire catching in his brown eyes. 

“Y/N, I can confidently say that no matter what label is on whatever relationship between you and any court member, it would hurt the same no matter what. It would not matter if you were still a soldier, a mercenary, a lover, or a wife, it would feel like a piece of our soul is taken.”

“I feel as though everyone wants something different.”

Changbin hums, thinking for a moment. How is he always so level-headed? 

Gods, you wished you talked to him sooner. Just speaking to him feels as though you’re unraveling a large knot of thoughts that's been weighing down on your shoulders. 

“I cannot speak for every other member that yearns for your attention, Y/N, but I know, for me, I just… want you . Whenever I can have you. I want your company, your kindness, your attention, your heart.”

Your hand comes up to cup his cheek. Whether he realizes it or not, Changbin leans into your touch, keeping his eyes locked with yours. 

“You have my heart. But the others do, too.”

His lips form a pout, but the emotion behind his eyes doesn’t shift. After a second, Changbin shakes his head, a smile of disbelief on his face. 

“I have no idea why, but that.. Does not bother me.” He pauses, thinking carefully about his words. “The idea of sharing you with other court members… it does not bother me.”

You giggle and brush your thumb over his cheek. “It sounded like it did only twenty or so minutes ago.”

Changbin’s cheeks turn red and he looks away shyly for a moment. “I think I was only upset because I did not know you had room in your heart for multiple people. I was worried I was losing you to someone else.”

Shaking your head, you smile softly at him. “Nay, you are not losing me to anyone, Changbin.”

He smiles back at you, his eyes sparkling with so many different emotions. “As long as I have you in any capacity, I am happy, Y/N.”

Changbin’s arms come around you, tucking you into his warm chest. You giggle and let him hold you close.

He keeps you as close as he can, his strong arms enveloping you more than any blanket or cloak ever could. 

Through the window in the wall, you can see how the sun has gone down completely, the moon high in the sky. In just a few hours, it will be December the tenth.

December the twelfth is coming too quickly. 

Your stomach flips and churns at the thought of how your world is about to change– how everyone’s is. 

You knew what you were doing in two days, you were sacrificing your life. And you were ready for it. 

Changbin must notice your change in demeanor, he places a gentle kiss on the crown of your hair. “Do not think of the future right now, Y/N. Just… just be here…” 

You close your eyes and force the dark thoughts from your mind, allowing your body to relax into Changbin’s.

“I am here,” you whisper, cuddling into him completely, your arm coming around his chest. “I am here.”

“Stay here, Y/N… Stay here."

Swipe Right for Love

Summary: You decided to take a chance at love, with the help of a dating app.

Pairing: nonidol Minho x fab reader x nonidol Jisung

Genre: smut- 18+ please MDNI

Word Count: 7k

Warnings: brief alcohol usage, oral sex (m & f receiving), fingering (m & f receiving), mention of pubic hair, anxiety (for like two seconds), p in v penetration, anal sex, creampie (wrap it up, wrap it up), mxm action, cum eating/cum swapping, i think that's it haha

Note: I love minsung omg. I'd love to swipe right on them lol. This is lightly edited so please excuse any typos. Anyhoo I hope you like it! Likes, reblogs, and comments appreciated :)

If you'd like to be added to the taglist let me know! (must have age in bio or pinned to be added)

Please do not copy, translate, modify, use, or repost this work elsewhere without my permission. ©moonchild9350 (2024)

“Find love here on Love Chat! Where millions of happy couples found love.”

You read on your phone, lost in thought, wondering if you should redownload a dating app. After being single for a while, you felt you were ready to get back into the dating game. The only problem was that you remembered how exhausting dating can be, especially in the early stages.

Tapping your fingers on your desk, you wrestled with the decision. You knew you wouldn’t be able to find anyone without a little help from an app as you were always either at work or at home, not much of a social person. However, after attending yet another friend’s engagement party, you felt that you should at least try to get back out there…you definitely weren’t getting younger.

“Fuck it,” you thought, pressing download on the app. You waited for the blue circle to fill in, signaling it was down downloading. Opening the app, you were greeted with the welcome page, prompting you to make a profile. You had to admit you enjoyed making a profile, choosing fun phrases and answers to questions, and adding your best pictures.

Once you were done creating your profile, you were prompted to start swiping on potential matches. You tucked your feet under your butt and began to look for potential matches. You swiped right on a few, not overly impressed, but at least what they answered on their profile met your minimum standards.

Your thumb was starting to get tired, about to close the app for the day when a particular profile caught your eye.

Minho and Jisung Age 25 and 23. About us: We are a happy couple looking for our 3rd counterpart to complete our relationship. We love to cook, sing, camp, and just spend quality time together. Serious inquiries only and must not be allergic to cats.

You’re not sure why their profile interested you. You definitely weren’t looking for more than one significant other…right? You exited the app, not completely closing it out and set your phone down. You tuned into the tv show you were watching, but you couldn’t focus. Your mind kept going back to the profile you just saw.

No, definitely not a good idea to get involved with two people…a couple at that, you thought. Your internal dialog with yourself caused your interest to pique. Grabbing your phone once more, you opened the app, the profile still on the page. You looked through the pictures, seeing the two men enjoying various activities. They were both gorgeous, that was a fact. One had pretty tanned skin, dark brown hair, a beautiful smile with cute little teeth that reminded you of a bunny. The other had honey toned skinned with brown hair as well. What really stood out though was his cheeks. They reminded you of a squirrels cheeks.

Figuring you had nothing left to lose, you swiped right on their profile, letting out a sigh, closing the app completely, and setting your phone down. Looking up at the tv screen, you continued to watch your show, although you couldn’t comprehend what was being said, your mind elsewhere.

All day, you kept checking your phone, seeing if you had any notification from the app saying you matched with anyone…particularly the couple Minho and Jisung. You admitted to yourself you were intrigued, but tried not to think about it too much.

Your plan was somewhat successful, not looking at your phone frequently. You decided to clean, knowing that would keep your mind occupied. As you were twirling around your kitchen belting out "The View" from your favorite band Stray Kids, broom in hand, you heard your phone chime and vibrate on the counter where you set it last.

Turning down the music, you walked over to your phone and viewed the notification on your lock screen. What you saw made you gasp. They accepted your match. You shook your head in disbelief, but there it was, the proof, they matched with you. Opening up the notification, you were brought to the message page. Taking a deep breath, you clicked on the unread message.

~Hey y/n! What’s up? Happy we matched. If you’re interested, wanna meet up over coffee to talk? Might be easier to explain the situation in person :)~

You read the message, then read it again. They want to meet up with you. Shaking your head, you typed out

~sure I’d love to meet you. Coffee sounds great.~

You read the message you wrote and then pressed send, placing your phone back on the counter. Within seconds, you got a reply. Opening the message you read,

~Awesome! Let’s meet at Red Bird Cafe this Friday at 1pm.~

You checked your calendar, noticing nothing was on the schedule. You responded back with a

~sounds good. See you guys then.~

You were crazy, yep, definitely crazy, meeting up with two men. ****************************************************Friday morning, you woke up, sun shining in your face. You groaned at the time. Your best friend Mina would be over soon to help you get ready for your date. Getting up, you padded your way to the bathroom to relieve yourself and start getting ready. While in the bathroom, you heard a key in the lock, your best friend’s voice echoing through the apartment.

“Hey bestie,” she called out.

You looked up and saw your friend plop down on your bed.

“So what are you gonna wear? You gotta look hot!”

“It’s just a coffee date Mina, I don’t exactly have to be dressed in a ballgown.”

“ Well no, you don’t. But you wanna snag these men girl, I mean they are hot.”

You laughed listening to your friend’s reasoning. For her, it was all about looks, but you wouldn’t mind having a personal connection with the next guy…or men you date. Walking into your bedroom, you made your way to your closet. You pulled out a plain, blue shirt and paired it with some shorts.

“How about this?”

Mina looked at you for a moment before saying, “absolutely not. There’s no charm in that outfit.”

She got up off the bed, walking to your closet. She went through your clothes before pulling out a floral dress.

“This. Wear this. It’s beautiful, looks good on you and provides easy access.”

“Ummm, I don’t think I’ll need something for easy access. It’s a coffee date.”

“You never know,” she said with a smirk on her face. “Wear cute panties too,” she added on with a wink.

You rolled your eyes, but took the dress. You picked out a cute pair of underwear and started getting dressed. It was a pretty dress, it had spaghetti straps, and hugged your curves just right, landing perfectly mid-thigh. Mina helped you with your hair and makeup, opting for a more natural look. Your hair hung down your back in waves.

Mina gave you a look over, nodding her head in satisfaction. You grabbed your bag before walking to the door.

“Let me know all the details!”

“Of course Mina,” you smiled, making your way out the door. ***************************************************The cafe wasn’t far from your apartment; therefore, you decided to walk there. You were nervous so to say. Once arriving, you took a deep breath, opened the door, and walked in. The smell of coffee hit your nose, the scent welcoming. There were tables filled with people, some working on their laptops, others laughing freely with friends. There were also couches with chairs, giving a more cozy feel. It was a nice atmosphere. You scanned the place, looking for your dates, finally spotting them on a couch in the back, nestled by a window.

You took a moment to observe them. The one with dark brown hair and bunny teeth had his arms around the other with chubby cheeks and boba eyes. Boba eyes said something to the other, both of them laughing afterwards. They looked so in love. How were you supposed to potentially fit into this? An outsider? Walking over to the couple, you stopped in front of them. Both men looked up at you, looking you up and down. You shifted on your feet at their gaze.

“Y/n?” the one with bunny teeth asked.

You nodded your head, looking down and twiddling your hands together. You looked up to see them both smile at you.

The one with boba eyes and chubby cheeks gestured at the seat behind you. You sat down, smoothing down your dress.

“Nice to meet you, y/n. I’m Minho,” the man with dark brown hair and bunny teeth said, “and this is Jisung,” he gestured at the man next to him, who gave a wave and flashed a smile.

You smiled back at them, lost in Minho’s voice. “So, you’re looking for,” you thought for a moment of the right word to say. “Another significant other?”

Minho nodded. “Yes, we’ve been dating for five years and decided to open up our relationship for one more. We feel that we’re missing the missing piece in our relationship.”

You nodded at his response, mind running at top speed.

“So like, how does this work?” You asked.

“Well we get to know you and if it seems right, you’d become our girlfriend.” Jisung answered.

“Why don’t we start by getting coffee, and then we can chat,” Minho said.

“Ok” you said, getting up with Jisung to get coffees.

“Minho will stay here so we don’t lose our spot,” Jisung explained.

You both walked to the counter, ordering three iced americanos. Jisung glanced at you, smiling his gummy smile, big boba eyes shining.

“Don’t be nervous,” he said, “we really want to get to know you, ok? No funny business,” he said, holding up his hands in surrender.

You laughed at his statement. How could someone look so adorable? At that moment, your drinks were placed at the pickup counter. You grabbed yours while Jisung grabbed his and Minho’s. You both walked back and sat back down.

You chatted with the boys, learning all their favorites and even how they met. You also watched them interact with each other, how they seemed to flow with each other, in tune with the other’s actions. They seemed very much in love, and your mind couldn’t help but wonder how it would look if you were apart of their relationship. ***************************************************Time went by. You were lost in conversation with the couple, but all good things must come to an end. They offered to walk with you, which you agreed. Was it dumb to let two men walk you home that you just met? Probably, but who listens to reason. Plus, you felt comfortable with them.

You showed them the way, with you in the middle of the two as you walked to your apartment. It felt natural to be in between the two, like you had been a part of the relationship for years too. Approaching your apartment building, you stopped at the door.

“Well, this is me,” you said gesturing to the building.

Minho and Jisung nodded, looking at the building, before looking back at you. You twiddled your thumbs, rocking back and forth on your feet. Before you could stop yourself, you blurted out, “would you like to come upstairs?”

The boys smiled and Minho said, “sure.”

You led them into the building, pressing the elevator button. Once the door opened, the three of you stepped in. You pressed the number 4 for your floor. You noticed how Minho was slightly behind you, and Jisung next to you. The tension was thick in the air, almost palpable. You turned your head, looking at Jisung. He looked at you, his eyes seeming bigger, if that was possible, before looking down at him your lips. You returned the look, eyes gazing at his soft, plump lips.

Jisung leaned forward slowly, stopping right before touching your lips.

“Can I kiss you?” He whispered.

You whispered “yes” back.

With your permission, Jisung pressed his lips to yours, sighing into your lips. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in. He pressed soft kisses against your lips again and again and again. You found yourself chasing after his lips each time he withdrew his head.

Your heart was pounding, not believing you were kissing Jisung. Yet alone kissing someone who was in a relationship, and their significant other standing right there watching. The elevator dinged, signaling you were at your floor. Stepping back, you cleared your throat.

“Umm, this is my floor,” you said, tucking a piece of hair behind your ears.

Minho and Jisung both looked at you before exiting the elevator, you in tow. You showed them the way to your apartment. Fumbling with the key, you eventually got it into the lock, unlocking your door and swinging it open. Once everyone was inside, you closed the door and placed your keys on the hallway table.

You all stood there in silence, that tension in the air again. Minho finally stepped up to you, brushing your cheek with the back of his hand.

“You ok, kitten?” he asked.

You nodded your head yes. Minho smiled at you, before taking your hand and gesturing for you to lead them further inside. You brought them to your living area, sitting on the couch, both boys following suit. Minho grabbed your chin, turning your head toward him before pressing his lips to yours. He licked and nipped your bottom lips, your mouth opening as he pushed his tongue into your mouth.

As you were kissing Minho, you felt a soft pair of lips brush against your shoulder before pressing a wet kiss there. You softly moaned at the sensation, Minho smiling into your lips at the sound. He pulled back, watching as you tilted your head to the side, giving Jisung more access.

“Hmm kitten is needy?” Minho said. He grinned at you as you looked at him through hooded eyes.

“Come here,” he motioned, helping you turn around to face Jisung. Jisung was looking at you, pupils huge, and cheeks flushed.

“Lay back jagi,” Jisung said, pushing you back gently so your back rested against Minho.

Minho got comfy behind you, his hands rubbing up and down your arms. You relaxed in his embrace, more comfortable than you probably should be. Whatever was about to happen, you were ready.

“Can I take care of you, jagi?” Jisung asked you.

You looked at him, giving him a smile, said yes.

Jisung smiled back at you before laying on his belly. He parted your legs, your dress covering your core. Jisung pressed kisses up your leg, nipping and squeezing the flesh. You sighed out softly, watching the man in front of you. Minho grabbed your hands in his at that moment, resting them on your belly, watching as Jisung made his way higher and higher up your leg, reaching your plush thighs.

He looked at you before grabbing the hem of your dress, and flipping it up, exposing your core to his eyes. You blushed as he stared, feeling your slick coat your panties. You’d have to thank Mina later for making you wear your cute pair.

Jisung leaned forward once more, breathing in your smell, before pressing a kiss to your clothed core. You shivered at the feeling, Minho squeezing your hands at your action.

“Go on Ji, give her what she wants,” you heard Minho rasp out.

Jisung licked a stripe up your panties, sucking on the material, drenching it with his spit. You squirmed at the feeling, letting out little sighs. He moaned out against your core, before licking at your covered clit. He nipped at the material, sucking the cloth and bud into his mouth. He gave one more kiss on your soaked panties before reaching up to drag them down your legs. You watched with bated breath as he tossed them away before opening your legs up more, one hanging off the couch, the other pressed into the back of the couch.

He was staring at your wet pussy, slick sticking to the hair that donned your nether region. You blushed and tucked your head into Minho as best as you could, embarrassed and a little self-conscious. You closed your legs some before Jisung stopped you, looking up at you with concerned eyes.

“What’s wrong kitten?” Minho asked, taking his hands to rub up and down your shoulders to soothe you once more.

You hesitated before saying, “well I haven’t shaved.” You covered your eyes with your hand.

“But jagi, your pussy is beautiful, and the hair makes it even more so!” Jisung said.

You uncovered your face, looking at Jisung. “You don’t mind?”

“Absolutely not jagi. Like I said, it’s beautiful and sexy.”

You nodded ok and watched as Jisung reached for your legs, looking at you for silent permission to continue.

“Go ahead,” you whispered.

Jisung gently pushed your legs open once more, before leaning down. He opened up your lips with his fingers, before licking a stripe from your entrance to your clit. You moaned out, hips bucking at the feeling. Your hand flew to Jisung’s hair, grabbing hold of the strands, pushing his face further into your pussy.

Jisung licked a few more stripes up your pussy before attaching his plump lips to your clit, rolling the bud around his tongue. He leaned back to spit on your pussy, watching as it mixed with your slick, before wrapping his lips around your clit once more. He suckled the bud, rolling it with his tongue, making out with your pussy like a man starved.

You closed your eyes, getting lost in the feeling, gripping Jisung’s hair harder in your hands. You rode his tongue, whining out, whimpering his name. Behind you, you felt as Minho slowly slid your dress straps down your shoulders, pushing them down to expose your breasts. Minho groped and pinched your nipples, while Jisung slid two fingers into your pussy, causing your back to arch at the intrusion.

Jisung slid his fingers in and out of your warm walls before curling his fingers up, pressing against your sweet spot. You rocked your hips in time with his fingers, letting out breathy moans. Minho fondled your nipples, giving them a pinch every now and then. You felt your orgasm approaching with the help of the two men.

“Keep, keep going,” you breathed out, “don’t stop.”

Jisung moaned into your pussy, speeding up the thrusting of his fingers. With a lick and bite of your clit, you came hard, loud moans spilling from your mouth. You rode out your high, sporadically rocking your hips against Jisung’s face. Minho continued to grope and knead your breast, whispering sweet praises in your ear as you came down.

You relaxed your hold on Jisung’s hair, watching as he lifted his head up and sat back. Your slick and his spit was dripping down his chin, your arousal painting his lips, leaving them shiny. He grinned at you before leaning over and pressing his lips against Minho’s. You looked up in awe at the two men above you, feeling yourself getting aroused again. Jisung leaned back and pressed a kiss to your lips next. It was gentle, his lips molding with yours. You could taste yourself and Minho on his lips. You wrapped your arms around his neck, not wanting him to stop.

He grinned against your lips, gave you one more peck before sitting down next to you.

“Let me clean you up jagi,” he said, walking to your kitchen to get a towel.

He came over and wiped you down before picking up your panties and putting them back on. He fixed your dress for you and helped you sit up.

Sitting there, you were confused to say the least. Looking at their bulges, you could tell they were both hard and were sure it was not exactly comfortable. You wanted, no, needed to help them out.

“What about you guys?” you asked.

Minho just shook his head. “Don’t worry kitten. You can help us out next time.”

Next time. There would be a next time. You felt happy at that thought. You knew they would not be leaving your mind anytime soon. You nodded your head, a little smile spreading on your face.

Minho brushed the back of his hand down the side of your face, whispering “beautiful.” You leaned into his palm, sighing happily at his praise. Jisung looked over your shoulder at Minho, giving him a smile, unspoken words in his eyes. Minho knew exactly what Jisung was thinking, that you were the one, the person they were looking for to complete them.

“Well kitten, this has been fun. Can we see you again?” Minho asked.

“Yes!” you answered a little too quickly and enthusiastically. Clearing your throat in embarrassment, you said in a more calm voice, “I’d like that.”

Both boys chuckled, getting up from your couch. Jisung helped you up, steadying you as you wobbled a little. You walked them to the door, watching as they put their shoes on. They each gave you a kiss and said they’d be in touch for the next date. Closing the door behind them, you leaned back against the door. You cannot believe your day. You had to phone Mina immediately. ****************************************************A little while later, you and Mina were sitting on the floor, take out containers spread out around you. Mina opted to come over to have a girls night, and of course, to hear you spill the details of your date.

“They were so sweet, Mina. I mean, they are in love, you can definitely tell.” You explained. “At first I couldn’t see how I could fit in, but as the date went on, it felt….natural being with them? I guess that’s the word for it.” You chuckled.

“Well you are a catch,” Mina said tossing her hair over her shoulders, “they’d be dumb not to like you.”

“And afterwards, we came back here,” you tailed off.

“You came back here and what?” Mina questioned, setting her food down. She looked you in the eyes, all ears at what you were about to say.

“We kissed in the elevator and my god the tension was intense, Mina. Once we got in my apartment, one thing led to another, and before you know it, Jisung was eating me out.”

Mina started clapping her hands, “yes girl! And you said nothing was going to happen.” She smirked and picked up her food.

You truly were stunned at today’s events, your mind wandering to Jisung’s lips on your clit and Minho’s hands pinching your nipples.

“Earth to y/n!”

You snapped out of your reverie to see your friend wavering her hand in front of your face.

“You were thinking of your boos huh,” Mina chuckled.

“They’re not my boos…not yet at least.” You said blushing.

“You said yet! You want to be their girlfriend don’t you! Don’t lie y/n it’s all over your face!” Mina patted you on the back.

You did want to be their girlfriend. It was difficult to explain, but you felt like they were what you were looking for. Your phone buzzed. Looking down, you saw it was Minho. You grabbed your phone and read the text. They wanted to take you out again, this weekend, this time to a club.

“They want to go out this weekend,” you told Mina.

“Oh? Well we need to prepare your outfit!”

You responded to Minho agreeing to the date. You were happy having a friend like Mina since she was good at things like fashion and beauty, stuff you were never good at. ***************************************************The weekend came and so did the day of your date. You did your hair and makeup before putting on the dress Mina picked out for you. It was royal blue body con dress. You looked at yourself in the mirror, satisfied with the look, hoping the boys would like the look too. You grabbed your shoes and bag just as there was a knock at your door.

You opened the door and there they stood, looking absolutely gorgeous. You noticed them looking you over, little smirks forming on their faces.

“You look beautiful y/n” Jisung said grinning.

You said thank you before putting on your shoes. You locked your door and followed them out of your apartment building.

“We’ll take our car kitten,” Minho said.

You nodded, stepping aside as Jisung opened the door for you, sliding in beside you. Minho slid into the driver’s seat, starting the car. He pulled away from the curb, sliding smoothly into traffic. Watching him drive sparked something in you, which was stupid you knew, but watching the veins pop out of his hands as he maneuvered the wheel, the way he bit his lip every now and then as he watched the road….you were horny, no doubt about it.

Jisung scooted closer to you, giving you his gummy smile. You smiled back at him, his happiness contagious, watching as he reached out to grab your hand. He rubbed circles on your hand, which felt soothing. You relaxed into the seat, feeling comfortable. The destination wasn’t too far from your place. Minho pulled into a parking lot, parking the car (which was also hot to you). All three of you got out of the car and headed to the entrance.

Opening the door, the bass met your ears, lyrics of a popular rap song blaring throughout the room. There were people dancing in the middle of the room, while others were perched on couches that littered the corners of the place. Minho took your hand and led you through the crowd, Jisung’s hand perched on your lower back. He led you to one of the couches, a reserved sign placed on the table. All three of you sat down, a girl with a skimpy outfit coming by to get your drink orders. You ordered a vodka cranberry, sticking to the basics since you weren’t much of a drinker. Jisung ordered a twisted seltzer and Minho stuck to water being the driver.

You sat with the boys, being squished between the two, waiting on your drinks. They definitely like physical touch, you thought, which was no problem for you. Minho draped his arms around your shoulders, giving them a squeeze, while Jisung kept his hand on your thigh. Just their touch was causing sparks to shoot down your spine, settling in your core. Once your drinks came, you downed them before suggesting to go dance. The music was good, and you wanted to get on the dance floor.

“Sure kitten,” Minho said, getting up and reaching his hand out to you to help you get up, with Jisung right behind you.

The three of you made your way to the dance floor, settling amongst the bodies swaying to the music. Minho stood behind you, placing his hands on your hips, with Jisung in front of you. You draped your arms around Jisung’s neck, pulling him close. You swayed your hips in tune with the beat, feeling Minho pull you closer. After a while, all three of you were in synch, getting lost in the beat and each other’s arms. You felt your dress ride up slightly, allowing you to feel something hard press against your ass.

You pressed your ass back against Minho’s bulge, hearing his breath catch, and gripping your hips harder. Jisung smiled, watching Minho’s reaction. Jisung griped your chin before pressing a kiss on your lips, again and again. You loved his plush lips, the way they moulded perfectly with yours. You let out a whine, swiveling your hips once more against Minho’s. You’re not sure how much time passed, song after song passed, each moment getting more heated. You were wet, feeling your slick pool in your panties, causing them to stick to your pussy, a fluttery feeling spreading through your core with each touch and kiss from Minho and Jisung.

Eventually, Minho whispered in your ear, Jisung watching with his eyes wide and pupils dilated, “let’s take you home kitten, hmm?”

You nodded, more than ready to leave with them. Minho pressed a kiss to your shoulder before taking your hand once more, leading you out of the crowd, Jisung not far behind. You three quickly made your way to the car, Minho once more getting behind the wheel, Jisung sliding in next to you.

“Want go back to ours kitten?” Minho asked.

“Yes please,” you breathed out as Jisung peppered kisses up and down your jaw before slotting his lips over yours.

You returned the kiss eagerly, letting out a sigh at the feeling, tongues sliding against each other, as Jisung nipped at your lip. You took your hand and slide it down to Jisung’s bulge, giving it a squeeze, the boy whimpering against your lips. Popping open the button and unzipping his jeans, you slid your hand in his boxers, wrapping your hand around his cock, collecting the pre-cum that was leaking out. You looked into his eyes, seeing the need in his eyes, as you stroked his cock. You gave him a smile before leaning down and pressing a kiss to the tip, Jisung letting out a loud moan at the feeling. He opened his eyes, briefly making eye contact with Minho, before looking back down at you.

He gathered your hair so it wouldn’t get in the way as you bobbed your head, taking more of his length. He gently bucked his hips, sliding more of his cock into your mouth, hearing you moan, causing him to shudder at the vibration.

You suckled the head before lifting your head with a pop, Jisung whimpering at the sudden loss of the warmth of your mouth. You gathered some spit before spitting on his cock, spreading it around before taking him in your mouth once more. Hollowing out your cheeks, you sucked him off in earnest, loud, slick noises coming from your mouth. You felt Jisung moan and whine, his hips bucking up, causing his cock to kiss the back of your throat.

He gripped your hair harder, whimpering out, “don’t stop jagi..fuck, gonna cum. Keep going, fuck!”

You suckled his the tip once more, swiping your tongue over the slit before deep throating his cock. You felt him shudder, before he loudly came, cum shooting out of his cock and down your throat. You hummed around his cock, sucking him dry, feeling him squirm at the extra stimulation. Lifting your head with a pop, you opened your mouth so he could see his cum.

“Kiss me jagi,” he whimpered out.

You leaned forward, pressing your lips against his. he slid his tongue into your mouth, as you pushed some of his cum into his mouth. He groaned against your lips, tasting his cum before leaning back. You both swallowed, your chests heaving.

“God that was hot,” you heard a voice say behind you.

You turned your head, seeing Minho turned around in his seat, the car parked. You forgot that he was there, yet alone in a car, not noticing when you got to your destination.

“Let’s get inside kitten,” Minho smirked, watching as Jisung tucked his softened cock back in his boxers and zipped his pants back up. The boys took your hand, walking up to their apartment door, Minho unlocking the door. Stepping inside, you did a quick glance over of the place, noticing how comfy it seemed. Jisung skipped inside, kicking off his shoes before making his way to a room. Minho grabbed your hand and followed Jisung, entering what you assumed was their bedroom.

Jisung was already perched at the top of the bed, reclining against the mountain of pillows there. Minho slowly pushed you down, his eyes never leaving yours.

“It’s my turn to have some fun with you, hmm kitten,” Minho said, hovering over you.

“Yes, need you Min,” you said.

Minho smiled at the nickname, before leaning down and pressing his lips to yours. You sighed into the kiss, your lips gently moving with his. Minho dragged his fingers down your chest and belly, before lightly pressing down on your panties, sliding his fingers through your lips. You gasped at the feeling of your soaked panties dragging through your folds, letting out a little moan. Minho slowly rubbed at your clit, the soaked fabric providing the lubrication he needed to ease the glide. He continued to gently kiss you, muffling the soft sounds coming from your mouth.

He pushed your panties to the side, the pad of his finger finally making direct contact with the little bud, your hips slightly jerking upwards at his touch. He watched you fall apart as he slid his finger back and forth, up, down on your clit. He withdrew his fingers, a whimper leaving your lips. Grasping the band of your panties, he dragged them down your legs and tossed them aside. Minho parted your legs, eyes locking in on your pussy, shiny from the dripping arousal from your pussy. He licked his lips before leaning down to slide his tongue through your folds.

He moaned at your taste, burying his head further into your pussy, understanding what Jisung meant when he told him your pussy just tasted too good. Minho licked another strip up your pussy before latching onto your clit, giving it kitten licks before suckling the bud. He held your hips down as you squirmed, listening to the sweet moans falling from your mouth. Minho sucked at your clit once more before dragging his tongue down to your entrance, his tongue pushing into your warm walls.

Minho fucking your walls with his tongue felt so good, you could barely lay still, rocking your hips up and down. His nose brushed against your clit, providing stimulation, causing you to mewl out, that tingling feeling building up within you. Through your foggy haze, you saw movement to the side and turning your head, you saw Jisung scoot beside you, grasping your hand.

“Sungie kiss me,“ you begged, as Minho kept fucking your pussy with his tongue.

Jisung grinned, latching his lips onto yours, immediately sliding his tongue into your mouth, sucking on your tongue. Your moans got louder as you felt close, your hips wildly bucking upwards. You felt Minho finger at your clit, circling the bud. Your breath hitched up and with a loud cry, you came, your legs closing to squeeze against Minho’s head, as your walls clenched around his tongue. He kept tongue fucking you through your high, moaning into you. Jisung peppered your face with kisses, swallowing up your moans, his lips on yours once more.

You breathed out, releasing your hold on Minho’s head. He gave a feather light kiss to your clit before sitting up and leaning down to kiss you. You could taste your arousal on his lips, groaning at the taste. He leaned back before leaning over to kiss Jisung, letting him have a taste of you too. You watched as your breathing returned to normal, grinning at the desperation between the two.

Minho and Jisung separated before turning to you.

“Let’s get this dress off jagi,” Jisung said reaching to unzip the back of the dress.

Minho stood up removing his shirt and pants, tossing them haphazardly in the room. You shimmied out of the dress, Jisung helping you the whole time. Laying naked on their bed, the boys stared at you, taking in your beauty.

Jisung brushed his fingers against your breasts, blowing on each one of them in turn, causing your nipples to harden. He repeated the action a few times, before kneading one of your breasts, leaning down to take a nipple in his mouth. He sucked and sucked, darting his tongue out to lick the mound, all the while fondling the other. Sighing at the feeling, you looked up to see that Minho had removed his boxers, his cock hard and leaking.

“I’m going to fuck you now kitten,” Minho said, spreading your legs more so he could settle between them.

He stroked his cock a few times, watching as Jisung sucked at your breasts. He slid his cock through your folds, gathering your slick, before tapping your clit a few times. Placed his cock at your entrance, he slowly pushed in, your walls stretching to accommodate his cock. The stretch felt good, a mixture of pleasure and pain. Minho bottomed out and stilled, looking down at you in concern.

“Move, please move,” you whimpered, lifting your hips up for some friction.

Minho pulled out before pushing in, his cock dragging along your walls. It felt so wet and warm, he didn’t want to pull out and he wouldn’t. He wanted to live within your walls. He started to snap his hips into yours, moans leaving his mouth and yours. The sight below him a dream. You were fucked out, mouth open, eyes in a daze, one hand on his chest, the other buried in Jisung’s hair as he suckled and nipped at your breasts.

You felt that tingle again in your belly, the feeling expanding as Minho fucked you, pounding into you in a steady rhythm, hitting your sweet spot with each thrust. You moaned out, whimpering, little “ahhhs” and “please” leaving your lips.

“Don’t stop, I’m close, ahhh” you whined.

You felt the coil snap, your orgasm hitting you hard. Your vision turned white, while your hearing turned fuzzy. Minho didn’t stop pounding into you, helping you ride out your high. He was close, he just needed to adjust a little and with your pussy clenching around him, he came, his cum hitting your walls, throwing his head back at the feeling, little bunny teeth showing.

He stilled his hips, and looked down at you and Jisung. Jisung lifted his head off your breast with a pop, a string of spit trailing from his mouth to your nipple. Jisung’s cock was hard again, and rutting his hips against the sheets to get some friction.

You moaned as Minho pulled out of you, watching as Jisung shuffled his way down to your pussy. He leaned down and quickly lapped up you and Minho’s cum, moaning at the taste. Minho laid down next to you, brushing the hair out of your face. You looked at him with glassy eyes, feeling at ease and relaxed, little sighs falling from you as Jisung lapped at you like it was his last meal.

Leaning back, Jisung wiped his mouth before shucking off his boxers, palming his cock before settling between your legs.

“My turn jagi,” he whispered.

You nodded, saying “need you Sungie please.”

He smiled down at you before pushing in, sliding right in because of your slick and being stretched open by Minho’s cock. Jisung was a little thicker, but you took it, wanting to feel all of him. Jisung bottomed out, whines and pants coming from his mouth.

“So hot and wet, made for us jagi, oh fuck”

Jisung snapped his hips again and again, lost in your wet walls, your body sliding up and down the sheets, mouth open in an “o” no sound coming out. Tears were forming in your eyes from the mix between pleasure and pain from overstimulation.

You reached up and wrapped your arms around Jisung causing him to fall forward and bury his head in your neck. You felt his little breath’s against your neck as he rocked his hips into yours, you locking your legs around him to keep him close.

“Fu..fuck!” Jisung panted out, jolting forward suddenly.

You looked over his shoulder to see Minho behind Jisung, his fingers sliding in and out of his hole, stretching him out. Jisung pounded into you faster, his high approaching with the extra stimulation. With a wail, Jisung came, filling you up to the brim, his cum leaking out. Minho helped Jisung pull out before laying him on his belly, and pushing his cock into Jisung’s hole.

Jisung let out another wail, little pants falling from his mouth as Minho fucked him, sliding his cock in and out, in and out. You watched the scene in front of you, taking in Jisung’s fucked out face, the way he just took what Minho gave him, to Minho, panting as he pounded into Jisung, his chest rising and falling, his head falling back in pleasure.

Jisung came again, cries falling from his lips, as his cock was still hard after fucking you, cum spilling all over the sheets. Minho slipped out of Jisung, removing the condom that he must have put on at some point, you being too fucked out to notice, before lifting Jisung up and on his knees.

“Suck,” Minho said, Jisung scrambling to wrap his lips around Minho’s cock. Jisung bobbed his head up and down, while Minho grabbed Jisung hair to control his pace. Minho groaned in pleasure, bunny teeth biting his lip, as Jisung sucked and sucked, Minho’s cock hitting the back of his throat again and again.

Jisung fondled Minho’s balls, as he continued to suck, Minho roaring out in pleasure, speeding up his thrusts into Jisung’s mouth. With a loud moan, he stilled his hips, pressing Jisung’s face to his pelvis, spurting cum into Jisung’s mouth. Once done, he released Jisung, who scrambled back, showing Minho his tongue with his cum on it before swallowing it.

Minho smiled, leaning down to give Jisung a kiss. Collapsing on the bed, Jisung crawled to you, wrapping his hands around your waist and burying his head in your neck. Minho settled on the other side, pressing gentle kisses to your face, causing you to giggle. He smiled, the sound of your laughter like heaven to him.

“Will you be ours kitten? Be our girlfriend?”

You simply nodded your head, “of course.”

You felt the happiest you’ve been in a long time, sandwiched between two men you were growing to love.

Taglist: @jehhskz @jeonginsleftcheek

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 ♡ >

Hi, I'm so sorry to bother you. You asked to be tagged in my fics, I just wanted to tell you that I'm having BIG trouble tagging more than a few people in posts so I'm going to shut off my entire taglist 😭 and won't be able to tag anybody. Sorry again❤️

No worries!!