#minchanbin

AN: for the anon, thats fine, if you sign like that, maybe just add an emoji next time :), cause a lot of people use the boys names for things. 

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There are many kinds of magic in the forest.

The older, wilder kinds that slumber in moss-choked ruins and forgotten runes. The sacred kinds whispered by naiads beneath moonlit water. The mischievous spark that flickers in the curve of a devil’s grin. Or the serpentine kind, slow, deliberate, watching.

And then there’s this kind. The kind that giggles as it flees barefoot down a trail of dappled light, heart racing, lungs full of joy.

You duck under a curtain of trailing ivy, laughter bubbling as you press a hand over your mouth. The trees shift gently around you. Not enough to reveal, just enough to conceal. They know you now. They like you.

So they help. Your skirts brush soft moss as you wriggle into the narrow hollow behind a sun-warmed stone outcropping. It smells like pine needles and something sweeter, richer. Like magic. Like them.

You're barely settled, peeking out through a gap in the greenery, when you hear it.

Soft footfalls. A pause. 

"...you smell like trouble," a smooth voice murmurs just behind your ear.

You don’t even have time to squeak before you're being lifted. Or more accurately, coiled.

Naga. Minho.

He doesn’t speak again as he eases you back into your hiding place, only now it’s his coils you’re nestled into. Cool, silken, and so damn strong, you can feel the subtle strength with every shift of muscle. He tucks you tighter, snug against his chest, and when he finally exhales, the breath ghosts across your cheek.

“Minho!” you whisper, scandalized. “You're not supposed to speak. You’re gonna give us away!”

He hums, lips brushing your temple. “Then I guess you’d better stay very quiet.”

You freeze. Suddenly his hand is on your thigh. Bare, thanks to the way your dress has ridden up. His palm is warm, steady. Not going anywhere.

You squirm instinctively, and he presses closer, his tail tightening just a touch, a low chuckle in your ear.

“I found you first,” he says silkily, “which means I get to play a little before the others ruin it.”

You should protest. You really should. But when his fingers trace slow circles on the inside of your thigh and his breath fans warm across your neck, your body doesn’t seem to care about winning anymore.

And…

Twigs snap. You both go still. Minho’s hand retreats. Barely. He doesn’t move away though. If anything, he draws you deeper into his lap, holding you still, slow pulse steady against your back.

“Hmm... that scent... you can’t hide from me, pretty.”

You both whip your heads toward the voice.

A heartbeat later, the leaves part and Changbin steps through, horns glowing faintly, cheeks flushed with the chase.

His smile is sharp.

“Oh, look at you,” he croons. “Already caught by the snake? That’s not fair.”

Minho shrugs, unbothered, his tail still wrapped lazily around you. “Should’ve moved faster.”

“Yeah? Well-” Changbin plops down next to you, body heat radiating like a furnace. “There’s still room for one more.”

He grins at you. And you know that grin. That’s the trouble grin.

Sure enough, his hand settles low on your back. Not low enough to be scandalous.

Just low enough to promise.

“Minho always hogs you,” Changbin whispers, like it’s a conspiracy, like it’s not his other hand slowly creeping toward your knee. “But I know how to make you squirm better.”

“Guys…” you hiss, torn between laughter and desperation. “This is still the game! We’re supposed to be quiet! And still!”

Two pairs of hands absolutely ignore you.

Changbin leans in, nose brushing your cheek. “You’re the one wriggling.”

Minho shifts behind you, letting the tips of his fangs graze your ear. “Maybe we should make it a punishment game.”

You don't get a chance to react. Because suddenly, the underbrush rustles. A breeze stirs. And the air is cool. Calmer. Like the still surface of a deep, clear spring, early morning.

You don’t even have to see him to know.

Chan.

He doesn’t emerge so much as arrive. One moment the trees are silent. The next, he’s there, shoulders damp from the greenhouse mist, curls wet, sleeves rolled to the elbow. His eyes find you instantly.

He smiles. It’s not soft this time. It’s knowing.

“Now, now,” he says, voice like a stream over stone. “You’re not hiding very well at all.”

He crouches beside the three of you, hand brushing a stray leaf from your hair.

You’re pinned.

Coiled in Minho’s 'lap', flanked by Changbin’s warmth, and now Chan’s fingers are tipping your chin up gently, so gently, to meet his gaze.

“I should be mad,” he murmurs. “You gave yourself away with all that squirming.”

Your mouth opens. Closes. No sound comes out.

Chan’s thumb strokes over your cheek, featherlight. “Should I forgive you?”

“No,” Minho drawls, fingers tightening just a bit. “She was very disobedient.”

“You guys are insane,” you whisper, half-laughing, half-panicking. “Someone’s gonna find us,”

“That’s the point of the game,” Changbin says with a wink. “Only now we’re the sardines. Which means,” He tucks your hair behind your ear, gaze heavy. “Whoever finds us next is gonna see you like this.”

“Flushed,” Minho adds.

“Cornered,” Chan whispers.

“Guilty,” Changbin purrs.

You bury your face in your hands with a muffled groan.

You hear the others out in the trees. Snapping branches. Distant calls. But here in this little secret pocket of magic, you’re not playing anymore.

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“Why is he like this,” Changbin huffs, pulling his hoodie further down over his backside like that would protect him. “Why does he have sniper aim for buttcheeks?”

“Evolution,” Chan deadpans, holding a bowl of cereal pretending he’s too old and too gay for this. “Or trauma. We may never know.”

You glance up from your book just in time to see Minho prowling out of the hallway like a feral cat with an agenda. There’s a suspicious glint in his eyes… you know that glint

“Don't move,” you whisper to Changbin, who immediately panics and does exactly what you told him not to.

With a perfectly practiced motion, Minho swats Changbin’s ass and ducks the immediate flailing arm response like a seasoned assassin. "Boop," he says, unfazed by the outraged squawk that follows.

“MINHO.”

“What?” he grins, unapologetic. “It’s right there.”

Chan groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You did this at the grocery store. In front of an old woman.”

“She laughed!”

“She blessed us. I’m worried she thought we were sinners.”

Minho shrugs and flops onto the couch next to you like he’s not a menace to public decency. “Not sorry. I love ass.”

You bite your lip, stifling a laugh. “We know, Jagi.”

“You have to know,” Minho continues, like he’s delivering a presentation to JYPE. “The three of you are walking crimes. I’m just doing society a favor, by appreciating the goods.”

“A favor?!” Changbin shrieks from behind the couch. “You left a handprint last time!”

“Souvenir.”

“You are the worst.”

Minho turns to you and rests his head on your thigh. “You love it,” he says, smug, tracing lazy circles on your knee. “Admit it.”

“I plead the fifth,” you mutter, earning a sharp swat of your own when you stand.

“See!” Minho beams, like he’s just proven a point in court. “He arched! That’s consent.”

“Not how that works,” Chan mutters, still eating his cereal with the expression of a war veteran who’s seen too much, and with how long he's been at JYPE, he might have.

"You're next," Minho says, eyes flicking to Chan's sweats with obvious hunger.

Chan holds his spoon out like a weapon. “You touch me before I finish this cereal, I will throw you out the window.”

Minho squints. “You won’t.”

“Try me.”

Changbin dives back onto the couch between you all, glaring at Minho like a man scarred. “This is sexual harassment,” he grumbles, before leaning into your shoulder for comfort.

You kiss the top of his head. “We could buy you padded shorts.”

“I shouldn’t need armor in my own home.”

Chan hums. “We could install mirrors. So we see him coming.”

“We can hear him,” you point out. “He giggles before he strikes.”

Minho clutches his chest dramatically. “I do not giggle-”

“Yes you do,” all three of you chorus.

He sulks, then sidles up behind Chan on the couch.

“Don’t you-”

SMACK.

“MINHO.”

“WORTH IT.”

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