a look back at yours and taemin's relationship over the years- from being young rookies in the industry keeping your relationship hidden, to being the industry's favorite couple
pairing. lee taemin x reader genre. fluff warnings. n/a word count. 402 note. short and sweet! hope you like! tysm for requesting :)
You met Taemin during the album release party for his first solo album. you didn't know much about him, but since you were both under SM entertainment at the time, and his group was notably more popular than yours, your management convinced you to go. Somehow, you and Taemin ended up getting shoved into a photoboth together- a move from your manager in an attempt to get you and your group some exposure.
But despite the awkward situation, you and Taemin actually hit it off almost instantly. He was actually just your type- a little offbeat, his personality separating him from the rest, with big brown eyes and a gorgeous smile, you were instantly a goner.
You kept your relationship a secret for a while, a decision ultimately made by your fear of getting harassed by crazy "fans". But it made things more fun in the beginnings stages; the sneaking around SM headquarters, stealing kisses behind closed doors, donning disguises to attend each others shows.
You wish you could say that the relationship becoming public was a gradual thing- maybe a few leaked pictures, spottings at each others shows, smiling a bit too much when the other wins an award- but no. It happened during an interview a few years into your relationship. Taemin was doing a solo interview while promoting Shinee's 1of1 album when the interviewer asked if he was in a relationship. Normally, Taemin would say no, his minimal media training working for him. But through a stupid slip of the tongue, he said "yes."
The whole industry was turned on its head after that simple word. The fans went insane online (and in person, they practically mobbed the SM building), both of your management teams working double time to try and figure out a solution. In the end, they decided honesty is the best policy, and you and Taemin confirmed your relationship two days later.
Fast forward to today, after a decade of love, several collabs, a few breakup rumors, and multiple awards dedicated to each other, you're still going strong. Despite the many people that said it wouldn't work, the media starting rumors, the hate trains on Twitter- none of that mattered.
You went from young rookies running around trying to keep your relationship hidden from the world, to two confident successful veterans proudly displaying your love. No matter the circumstance, you and Taemin were in it forever...
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ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ ⦂ SHINee x reader ─── ɢᴇɴʀᴇ ⦂ fluff ꕤ headcanon ─── ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ ⦂ some talks about food but nothing specific ꕤ family mentioning marriage
Onew
its not his 1st time meeting your close family
who already view him with postive opinons
onew further improves in thier mind that day
he wasn't even intending to do it
it just happened naturally
winning them over with his personality
he's trying to help with the food
which he end ups getting "scold" him for
joking that he's not part of the family just yet
so he cant know the secret family recipes
cue the two of you making eyebrows at each other
anyways youre kicked out of the kitchen
so you guys are forced to mingle with whoever else is there /hj
onew also gains points in the way he treats you
pulling out your chair for you, getting yalls food, grabbing napkins for you
your dad is very happy in his royal treatment of you
some family members pulling you aside later
telling you that he's a keeper pt. 1
something you already knew
Key
its key's 1st meeting really anyone in your family
hes briefly spoken with your parents though
but its not the same as actually meeting them
no worries because he fits pretty perfectly within your family
they're very much charmed by key
his quips & comebacks cracking them up
your aunties also like his reaction to their gossip
they begin treating him like he's one of them
filling key in on all the drama
even ones that you havent been privy too yet
dont let your aunties know
but key shares it with you later at home
even through all the chaos
he's always got you within his eyesight
key understands that you're not the best surrounded by a crowd
when yall come back together, its time for check-ups
its sweet
both of you making sure the other isnt overwhelmed
Minho
you're not sure exactly how
but minho ends up being everywhere at this bqq
the two of yall walked around when you arrived
greeting family you hadnt seen / talked to in a long time
introducing minho to them as your boyfriend
you had to leave him with the uncles/dads by the grill
but somehow find him tussling with the kids in the field
this results with your aunties whispering in your ear
telling you: he's a keeper for sure pt. 2
which you knew already
of course they're also bringing up marriage and babies too
minho ends up saving you
letting them know that the two of you are enjoying being two for now
he gets your heart fluttering though
whispering in your ear about how he does agree that he wants to marry you
bros lucky youre not dragging him down to the court house
better yet, he's lucky youre not about to make some uncle ordain yall in this yard
Taemin
hes met some of them before
you brought him along to one of your cousin's graduations
they dont have much of an opinion on him just yet though
but i do think taemin is very loved by younger cousins
the kiddos all over him for his attention as soon as yall arrive
you can only wave, giggling as he's pulled away by them
they have to be shooed away to give him a break
its earned him a plus in their parents' eyes
his ruffled state makes you laugh just the tiniest bit harder
taemin doesn't get long to rest though
your grandpa & uncles challenging him to dance battles
here's how i think it plays out
uncle 1: we heard you're a dancer? taemin: silent nodding w/ boba eyes
uncle 2: come prove it then you: taemin you dont have to prove anything to them if you dont want to
grandpa: that's right, cause we all know im the best
Warning(s) - Taemin breaks into your apartment multiple times, slight violence, making out with Taemin, small injury (reader bites him lol), blood, hickeys, swearing
Summary - As a designer for a luxury brand, you’ve dealt with theft before, but never a thief who leaves kisses like fingerprints. Taemin slips through shadows and silk, stealing more than couture and designs as he draws you further into a dangerous game of desire.
Word Count - 4.0k
Author’s Note - It seems only fitting that a Taemin fic titled Criminal would be about him stealing luxury items like how he did to Kibum LMAO
Taglist - @k-vanity @cosyhomenet (fill out this google form if you'd like to be added!)
Written for The Mirror of Erised Collab hosted by @taem-min-archived.
Now playing: Criminal - Taemin, Heaven - Taemin, Sherlock - SHINee
As you arrive home after a long day of work, you let out a sigh of relief as you plop your heavy folder and bag onto the kitchen table. The contents of the folder splay out the slightest bit, your sketches for Gucci’s newest Spring and Summer collections, but you’re too tired to care, already heading to your bedroom and slipping into the shower, all too eager to wash away the day's stress. With deadlines for the new collection coming up, you had superiors hounding you for designs, but creativity cannot be rushed.
Once you finished showering, you began the familiar, soothing tasks of your night routine. Having dinner while watching a show, doing the dishes, brushing your teeth, and most importantly, choosing your outfit for tomorrow. As a rising designer for Gucci, there was nothing more important than dressing for the part. Everyone in your department showed up to work dressed to the nines, but it only made sense.
After setting aside your meticulously planned outfit, you finally slide under the covers of your bed as sleep calls your name. Checking your phone one last time, you set it down on the nightstand next to your bed and settle in for yet another night, hoping for a restful sleep before yet another day at work.
As you begin to drift off, feeling your consciousness slip from reality, a noise jolts you back to your senses. It sounded like it came from nearby, maybe within your apartment. But that’s impossible. You remember locking the doors and closing the windows before you went to sleep. It was probably not a big deal. Perhaps it was just a pillow that fell off the couch. Telling yourself that it’s not a big deal, you manage to persuade your body to calm down enough to attempt falling asleep again.
It almost worked until you heard a small thump. Definitely from somewhere in your apartment and definitely not a pillow falling off the couch. You thought up scenarios of different things that could have made the sound. A jacket falling off a hanger? A trinket rolling off a shelf? A shoe sliding off the rack? Plausible.
You were nearly convinced that it was just your apartment playing tricks on you, but then you heard the rustling. Rustling of papers…coming from the kitchen…your designs. You remembered the folder of your designs that you haphazardly threw onto the kitchen table when you first returned home, not bothering to clean them up because you were so tired.
Sitting up carefully, trying your hardest to remain silent as a feeling of dread took hold in your chest, praying to whatever high power was above, you hoped that it was just your papers being blown around by some stray air current caused by the lazy construction of the building. But in the case that someone was in your apartment, going through your designs and threatening the upcoming collection…you looked around for something to protect yourself and your designs.
As a designer for a luxury brand, you had heard stories about thieves breaking into the warehouses and offices. Your coworkers told you those accounts as if they were ghost stories, meant only to scare new hires into protecting their work and their valuables. You had seen the emails the company sent out whenever there was a report of a break-in, but none of that prepared you for your own encounter with a luxury thief.
You picked up your water cup from the nightstand, not sure what you were going to do with it, but decided it was the closest you were going to get to a weapon or at least a diversion. Creeping closer and closer to your bedroom door, you tried to listen for any more sounds coming from the other side of the door. The faint sound of papers being rifled through continued, and you were sure that it was coming from the kitchen, exactly where you left your designs.
Your hand softly gripped the doorknob as you pondered what your next move would be if there was indeed someone in your apartment. Would you splash the intruder with the water in your cup? Would you pour it on your designs to stop them from being stolen? What if the designs were already photographed and being sent to another brand? What if-
You heard footsteps. And they were growing closer. You watched the shadows shift from the crack at the bottom of your door. The footsteps stopped right in front of your bedroom door. It was now or never. You swung the door open, hitting whoever was standing on the other side, and you doused them with the water in your cup, hoping to earn at least a few seconds to get a hold of the situation.
The intruder fell against the wall, staggering from the impact of the doo,r and you took in their appearance. Male, wearing all black from head to toe (mayhaps a fashion faux pas), their face covered by a black ski mask, broad shoulders with a slender waist tapering into long, slim legs. On another day, if you had seen this person in any place aside from your apartment under the current circumstances, you might have considered going up to them to recruit them as a model.
His eyes flutter underneath the mask as he struggles to pull himself together. You were stuck between dealing with the intruder and going to check on your designs. The man in front of you had seemingly nothing on his person, no bag, no case to carry your hard work away. That must mean he had already taken pictures of them. Against your better judgment, you dashed to your kitchen, needing to know whether or not the papers were still on the table.
When you slid around the corner to the kitchen, you saw your folder with papers spilling out of it. Your sketches were laid haphazardly on the surface of the table, most of their contents fully exposed to any person who was lucky enough to lay eyes on them. With the way they were positioned, you knew the intruder had stolen pictures of them, rendering these papers of no use anymore.
You ran back out from the kitchen and into the hallway, determined to catch the man and delete whatever images he had on his phone. But he was gone. The hallway was empty, devoid of any person aside from yourself. You carefully made your way through your apartment, searching through your bedroom, bathroom, living room, even your closets and cupboards. Everything was in its place except for the coat missing from the back of your armchair. The coat that was from the 2024 Fall and Winter collection that the head designer had gifted to you after you commented on how flawless the draping was.
Double-checking the locks of your windows and doors, you found that they were all locked, leaving no trace of how the thief entered or exited. You hadn’t gotten a face, a name, or any evidence to prove that your intellectual property had been stolen. There was no way you were going to sleep tonight.
When you arrived at work the following morning, you were met by words of concern from your coworkers upon seeing the dark circles that outlined your eyes. You did not sleep a wink that night, no matter how hard you tried.
Yet it was not sleep that you yearned for. It was answers. You were dying to know who that man was, how he entered your apartment, how he exited, and just what the hell he wanted with your designs? How did he find you? How did he know that you worked for Gucci?
Your coworkers laughed at you for all the overthinking you did, chalking it up to a lack of sleep. Perhaps you imagined the whole thing. Maybe there wasn’t a man in your apartment after all. Surely, you had just been so exhausted from work that it was all just a bad dream.
When you returned home that day, your mind had been put at ease by your coworkers, all of their hypothetical scenarios having flooded your mind enough to force it into believing that there was no thief. You went through the normal motions of your regular night routine, except this time, you made sure to tidy up your design folder and tuck it back into your work bag.
You closed the bag with a slight smile, feeling the slightest bit foolish at your antics, because if there was no thief, then surely there was no reason to be doing this. But you couldn’t help it. You all but jumped into bed, your eyes begging to be put to rest. The sheets tangled in your legs as you finally grew comfortable and felt the signs of sleep taking over. Then you heard it. You heard something thump in your apartment. Really? The second night in a row? Were you really that easy of a target for them?
This time, you were prepared. You grabbed a heavy, studded necklace with sharp points on the centerpiece off your vanity, along with a pair of fabric scissors. Moving swiftly, you exited your bedroom and ghosted down the hallway towards your kitchen. Empty. No sketches on the table, no papers in sight. This couldn’t be.
Then you heard your designs calling to you from the living room, the rustling sounds of your paper catching your ear. Cautiously, you left the kitchen, floating down the hallway to the living room, and there he was.
The intruder sat lounging on your couch, your sketches in hand, as he rifled through them. He paused briefly, looking up at you and meeting your gaze before his lips pulled into a grin. “I was wondering when you’d find me.” The sound of his voice made the hairs on your arm raise, not out of fear, but from how smooth it was. He was calm, collected, maybe even elegant.
“Quite the repertoire you’ve got here,” he chuckled, throwing your papers onto the couch next to him. “How about you explain them to me?”
This man has got to be insane. “Who the hell are you?” You gritted out.
“The name’s Taemin,” the man said, his coy smile never leaving his face. “Please, come sit.” He motioned towards the armchair next to your couch. It was all so surreal, being told to sit in your own living room as if you were the guest, yet you obeyed, putting down the necklace and water onto the small table next to the chair. “I’d like to know your creative process, the thought behind these designs.”
“I’m not telling you,” you spit at him, your fingers gripping into the plush fabric of the chair.
Taemin chuckles. “It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me right now. We have all night.” You were frozen in your spot when he stood up. Fear rooted you to your spot, and you eyed his figure, trying to see if he had any weapons. You couldn’t tell if you were relieved or not to see that he had nothing in his hands, no bulky items hiding under his form-fitting clothing. When he swung a leg over the arm of your chair, his arm gripping the top of the back, effectively caging you in, your breath was caught in your chest.
It felt like everything in the world stood still as he hovered over you. When you finally looked up at Taemin, finding his eyes, you finally took a breath. You were overwhelmed by him. His deep, brown eyes, the light, clean, fresh scent of his fragrance, his dainty pink lips- No. “Why are you here?” You ask him, pulling yourself from falling down the gutter.
“I think you know the answer to that, darling.” Taemin stared down at you, his eyes boring into your soul. “I’m just here to pick apart your genius, get a glimpse into that brain of yours.”
“Who do you work for?” If you could get a company name or title, you would take it upon yourself to get justice.
Taemin pressed his forehead into yours with a laugh. “That doesn’t matter, dearest. It’s not about me right now. I want to know about you.”
“I’m not telling you jack SHIT!” You place your hands on his chest and attempt to push him off of you, but he is faster.
He drops his entire weight onto you, his knees falling to either side of your thighs, barely fitting in the seat of the armchair. His hands fell from the back of the chair to cup your cheeks. “You don’t have to tell me anything right now…I’ll be back.” Taemin’s lips brush against yours as he speaks, ending with the lightest kiss. You didn’t dare move, scared of what he would do if you kissed him back.
Taemin climbs off your lap, and you watch as he disappears into your bedroom, reemerging barely a second later with two of your handbags. “Hey! Put those down!” You shouted at him.
He brought a finger up to his lips, leaving you with a quiet “shhh” as he slipped out through your own front door. How rude of him. Taking your bags and using the door as if he lived here.
When the door clicked shut, you finally allowed yourself to breathe and collect yourself. Your mind worked at a million miles an hour, trying to piece together everything you knew. The man, called Taemin, slips in like a shadow at night, leaving behind nothing except the lingering scent of his expensive cologne while also stealing your designs and couture pieces. You had heard your fair share about luxury thieves. But none were as audacious or as infuriatingly charming as Taemin.
You show up to work the next morning equally as tired as the day prior, but you don’t tell your coworkers about Taemin. You didn’t want to tell them about him just yet. He was your little secret, your creative project. When you sat down at your desk, full of half-done sketches and notebooks of ideas, you got to work with more fire and fury than ever before.
Your designs sang of Taemin. Sleek, minimal, fully clad in black. The only accents on your pieces are gold or silver embellishments on the buckle of a belt, the button of a coat, or the clip of a bag. None of your designs matched with the Spring and Summer collection being developed, causing your fellow designers to cast a sideways glance at you, wondering just what was going on in your head.
Chaos reigned on your desk. The once light, floral pieces you were working on had been thrown aside for the hard, dark lines of your newest passion project. When 5 o’clock rolled around that day, you stashed your sketches into your bag and headed home with a twinge of excitement blooming in your chest.
After your arrival home, you followed your routine just as usual, eating dinner, washing up, and picking your ensemble for the following day. The only deviation from your routine was the way you left your folder of sketches on the couch, exactly where you had found Taemin the previous night.
You couldn’t deny that you were awaiting Taemin’s arrival. But what you were going to do once he was within the walls of your apartment…you had yet to figure that out. Use your designs as a ploy to catch him and report him? Offer your designs as ransom to leave you alone? Neither seemed enticing. Regardless, tonight was the night that you were determined to have him in your grasp.
When you heard the resounding creaks and groans of your furniture in the living room, your heart pounded. Sneaking out from your bedroom, you find your way to the living room in the dark, the thumping of your heart ringing in your ears. A wave of heat washes over you when you finally lay eyes on Taemin, clothed entirely in black, except this time, his attire had you freezing on the spot. He was without a mask.
Your eyes were glued onto his face, his arched eyebrows framing his sharp eyes, the strong slope of his nose, the curve of his lips– all of it made your heart race. Not from fear, but from the way his head tilted and lips pulled into a smirk before he closed the space between the two of you.
Taemin moved as silently as a ghost, approaching you briskly until his lips were close enough to steal your breath. His hands floated over your waist, barely touching you, and yet you swore you could feel the heat radiating off his skin. He stayed there, just millimeters away from you. Within your reach, all for your taking. “You should really strengthen your security,” Taemin rasped, his voice low while his lips brushed against yours.
You should strengthen your security. You should report him. But you didn’t, and instead, you kissed him.
You closed the almost nonexistent space between your bodies, bringing your lips fully against him and allowing your hands to find their way up to his broad shoulders. Without missing a beat, Taemin reciprocated your actions, leaning into your touches and his own hands finally landing on your hips. His lips moved in tandem with yours, biting and licking the soft flesh whenever you gave him the opportunity. You let out a soft moan when he dug into a particularly sensitive spot, and Taemin took the opening of your mouth as a chance to allow his tongue to slip in. You fought back with your own, delivering a particularly hard nip to his bottom lip to establish your dominance. He gasped, pulling away with heavy breaths, his eyes wide and pupils blown out.
The glint of fluid on his lips caught your eye, the mix of saliva and blood glistening under the moonlight shining in from the window. Your hand trailed up from his shoulder, up the side of his neck, across the ridge of his jaw, and onto the swollen skin of his lips. Running your fingers across the inflamed skin, you pressed gently against where the blood was pooling. “Sorry,” you whisper, just loud enough for the two of you to hear it.
“Don’t be,” Taemin responded before leaving a kiss on your fingers. “I’ll treasure it. Proof that I was here.”
He dives in for another kiss, aiming for your lips, but you turn away at the last second, causing his lips to fall upon your cheek instead. “Why are you here?” You ask him, determined to get your answers this time around.
Taemin chuckled as his thumb wiped the smidge of spit and blood from your cheek. “For you.”
Your eyes bore into his, and you raised an eyebrow inquisitively. “Not the designs?”
He shook his head. “Not this time.” You couldn’t deny the way your heart fell at his words, thinking about how you toiled at work earlier in the day, drawing countless sketches just from his very image. Taemin watched the way your expression changed. “Something on your mind, beautiful?”
“It’s nothing.”
His gaze left yours as he turned away to look upon the couch where your folder of papers sat. “Did you want me to take a look at your designs again? See what new treasures you came up with?” He turned back to face you with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Did you leave them for me?”
You nodded, your hands sliding down to his chest, giving him a gentle push to sit down on the plush cushions. He followed your gestures and fell backwards next to the folder, his hands never leaving your hips as he dragged you down on top of him. You straddled his lap, leaning back just enough room for him to pick up the thick folder, opening it up to reveal the bold, dark lines of your work. He flipped through them, his fingers tracing along where your pencil had driven deep and hard into the paper. “These are splendid.” You bit your lip at the praise, your heart soaring. “But I must admit, it’s unlike anything you’ve made recently.”
He looked up at you from the papers, finding you already staring down at him. “They’re for you.”
“For me, darling? You shouldn’t have.” Taemin’s lips curled into a smile as he set the folder aside, freeing his hands so they could grip your waist. His attention turned to your neck, his lips latching on and sucking harshly. You threw your head back, giving him even more surface area to leave his marks. His lips trailed down the column of your neck, down to your collarbones, ending at the hem of your shirt sitting right at your sternum. He finally pulled away when he was satisfied with his creations, the dark splotches blooming on your skin. “Everything about you is so divine, you don’t even know.”
You leaned into him, your hands tangling in his hair as your head fell into the crook of his neck, copying his actions. You left your own marks on Taemin’s pale skin as he arched into you. He moaned when you sucked on the area right beneath his ear and you felt him tense up beneath you. You pulled away quickly, eyes scanning across his face.
“W-we can’t-” he stuttered. “We can’t do this.”
“Why not?” You ask, hands coming to cup his cheeks the same way he did to you the night before. “You’re my muse.”
Taemin heaved a broken sigh, pulling your hands away from his face. “Trust me.”
Your shoulders sagged in defeat, and you swung your leg off of him so that you could sit next to him. “You’re right. We shouldn’t.”
Neither of you looked at each other as he stood and made his way to the door. “We shouldn’t,” he echoed, his voice a shadow of yours. Just like that, he was gone like a whisper of silk, leaving you nothing to remember him by except the throbbing patches of his work. Likewise, he took your marks because the truth is, you weren’t the only one who couldn’t stop thinking about the previous night.
You sink into the couch, allowing the cushions to suck you in. What was one to do when their muse is a thief? You adjusted to fully lie down when you realized your folder was gone. Taemin had taken the designs…and one of your Gucci-branded throw pillows.
Night after night, Taemin returns, slipping into your apartment through whatever unknown means, pressing you against million-dollar velvet and lace, taking what he wants and leaving you breathless. Despite every warning in your mind, you allow him to do all of it.
“What will my favorite robber do once he’s stolen every designer item from here?” You tease through heavy breaths as Taemin pushes you down against the satin sheets of your bed.
His ever-charming smirk appears once more. “I’m not a robber.”
“But you are.” You gasp as he hovers above you, and his lips kiss their way up from your exposed collarbones to your jaw.
Taemin pauses after leaving a kiss on the corner of your lips, lingering there as if he were being tempted to steal yet another kiss from you. “Darling, I fear you’re mistaken,” he began, his soft lips moving against your skin and making you arch into his touch. “A robber uses force or the threat of force to steal.” His hands caress the curves of your body, treasuring every bit that you allow him to. “A thief steals without such force.” Your breath caught in your throat as he began to leave love bites over the expanse of your skin. “And with you? I don’t even have to ask.”
The real theft isn’t the luxury pieces he takes, or even your designs. It’s the way he’s stealing your heart.
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The second you say it—“이거 뭐야?”—and look up at me with that mix of bravado and fear, something settles in my chest like a lock clicking shut.
“Baby…” I slide my hand to your jaw, warm and steady. “You’re my girlfriend. 내 여자.” I don’t blink when I say it. I don’t hedge. “No guessing. No maybe. I’m here.”
You try to turn it into a joke, because that’s what you always do when you’re overwhelmed with a big feeling, but I don’t let you run from it. Not this time. My thumb drags across your lower lip, slow. “Say it back,” I murmur, eyes on yours. “Then I’ll kiss you.”
You swallow, tiny nod. “Your girlfriend.” That’s it. The gravity changes in the room.
I kiss you like a promise—and like a problem I don’t want to solve. Gentle first, then deeper when you sigh into my mouth. Your fingers curl in my shirt and I pull you into my lap like you belong there (you do). The world outside the curtains—neighbourhood noise, a distant bus —goes fuzzy. I can feel your heartbeat through your chest to mine, rabbit-fast, and it sends a shot of pride through me so hard I have to laugh against your sweet lips. “Look at you,” I whisper. “My girl. My y/n.“
You whisper, “탬,” and my control thins to silk. “Don’t,” I breathe, forehead pressed to yours, smile wrecked. “Say my name like that and I won’t stop.”
I don’t stop anyway. Why would I?
I kiss you the way I dance—tempo shifts, control, then the slip. Mouth to mouth, then I angle to your cheek, your jaw, the hollow just under your ear that makes your breath catch. “여기 좋아해?” (You like it here?) You nod, a little gasp, and I file it away: cartography of you, y/n. You like it when I grab your waist. You melt when I slide a hand up your spine. You go quiet when I kiss the soft place under your ear, and you claw at me (God, yes) when I mouth the side of your throat. “Hickeys?” I murmur, smile curving. “Say yes.”
“Yes,” you breathe, small and dangerous. “Good girl.” I keep it tasteful—slow, claiming, not too dark—and then I kiss where I’ve marked, soothing. “Mine,” I tell your soft skin, not because I need to hear it, but because maybe you do. “내 사람.”
You’re shy to dance with me, always, even though you love to dance—so I don’t ask. I just put on a slow song (yeah, “1 of 1” is queued next, because of course) and stand, keeping your small hands in mine, pulling you up into me. “No choreography,” I say, mouth against your temple. “Just this. Just us.“ We sway in my living room, your cheek under my chin, my palm sliding lazy circles at the small of your back. I feel you unclench minute by minute, your shoulders dropping, your breath syncing with mine. “You feel that?” I whisper. “That’s us. No shoe dropping. Just us.”
You tip your head back to look at me and I’m a goner. I kiss you again, slower now, like I’m sipping something expensive. When you smile into my mouth, I lose the plot and laugh. “누나… 진짜 미치겠다.” (Noona… I’m actually going crazy.) I mean it like worship.
I make you ginger tea in the kitchen without letting go for long—my fingers never leave your hip, your wrist, the hem of your shirt, like I have to keep you tethered. You sit on the counter, legs open, and I step between them, bracing one hand on the cupboard, the other around your waist. You’re watching me, eyes soft, and the urge to take care of you hits hard. “Had dinner?” I ask. You shake your head. I’m already on it—garlic, eggs, rice, quick and warm. “Not your nationality‘s treasure, but chef’s kiss,” I tease, feeding you the first bite with the chopsticks. You roll your eyes, pretending not to be charmed, but you take the bite and hum, and now I’m grinning like an idiot because your happy sounds are my new drug. “Better than being cool,” I say when you catch me smiling. “I’d rather be yours.”
On the couch again, I tuck my hair behind my ear—your “Korean long” comment lives rent-free in my head—let you card your fingers through it. You always do when you’re half-shy, half-feral. “Touch me,” I murmur, guiding your hand to the nape of my neck. “Like that.” Your nails scrape lightly and I shiver, eyes closing. “Christ, y/n.” I open them again because I want to see your face when I say this next part. “I know your past. I heard you. I’m not leaving. Stop looking for the exit when I’m trying to walk in.”
You go quiet, but the kind of quiet that means you’re listening. So I keep going, softer. “You think you’re hard to love.” I kiss the slope of your cheek. “But all I know how to do is want you.” Another kiss at your jaw. “Want you when you’re loud, when you’re quiet, when your stubborn Virgo-brain is manifesting the moon.” A smile against your skin. “I’ve been eating grapes under tables for years and didn’t even know why.” (You laugh, that snort you do when you’re trying not to, and I beam like I won something important.) “Turns out it was you.”
You pull me closer and I don’t make you say thank you with words. I let you say it with your mouth. I kiss you until you stop bracing for goodbye.
We drift toward the bedroom because gravity says so. Not rushed. I keep checking your eyes, your breath, your yes. I’m a menace, yeah—but I’m careful with what I care about. At the edge of the bed, I pause and tip your chin up with one finger. “Color?” I ask softly. (You roll your eyes at me, but the way you relax says it lands.) “Blue,” you whisper, and then you’re pulling me down.
What happens next isn’t a movie montage. It’s two people learning each other. It’s my mouth finding the places that make your back arch, and your hands finding the places that make my breath stutter. It’s me worshiping your tummy—yes, the one you say you hate—kissing it slow, telling you, “이 부분… 내가 제일 좋아해.” (This part… I like it the most.) It’s you going quiet and a little wet-eyed for a second, and me kissing that expression away. It’s your pretty eyes blowing wide when I tell you, plain and honest, “You’re exactly my type,” and then prove it with patience and a little menace, the kind that makes you gasp my name and clutch at the sheets. It’s the kind of heat that feels like home, where I don’t have to posture and you don’t have to pretend.
After, I do the small things that say more than speeches. Warm cloth. Water. My hoodie—“territorial behavior,” you accuse, smiling, as you tug it on; I shrug, unashamed. “Facts.” I press a kiss to your temple. You burrow into me, thigh over mine, your hand on my chest like you’re testing if I’m still there. I am. I always am.
You’re not a morning person. So I set your alarm, then set another for me two minutes earlier so I can wake you with kisses instead of a siren. I put water on the nightstand and a note under the glass where you’ll find it: No more ‘what are we.’ We are. A stupid little heart because I’m younger and cocky enough to get away with it. When you roll, half-asleep, to hide your face in my neck, I whisper, “내 사람.” (My person.) You answer in your drowsy native tongue that melts my spine and I have to bite my lip like a teenager.
Sometime around 3 a.m., you stir, the old fear flickering across your face like a shadow of a bad dream. I feel it happen. I always do. My hand rubs slow circles on your back, my mouth finds your hairline. “Shh,” I murmur. “I’m not a ghost. I don’t disappear.” You breathe out, long and shaky, and I press your palm to my heartbeat. “See? Still here.”
Morning in our city is grey-blue and soft. I slip out just long enough to grind beans, make your coffee exactly the way you like it, leave it where your hand will find it before your eyes fully open. I crawl back under the covers, cold hands on your warm waist, and you squeal, smacking my shoulder. I take the hit, laughing, and then I’m kissing you good morning like I promised—sweet, unhurried, plenty. “좋은 아침, girlfriend,” I murmur into your smile.
You squint at me. “We’re really doing this?”
I tip my head, pretend to think. Then I nod like a judge. “Yes. Sentence: unlimited kisses, public hand-holding, me singing badly in your kitchen, jealousy rights when men stare too long, and…” I lean in, drop my voice. “The right to tell me when you need gentler, and the right to demand when you want rougher.” Your eyes spark; I kiss the corner. “All appeals denied.”
You tug me close by the hoodie strings and kiss me like you mean it. I groan, happy and gone. “Look what you did,” I complain softly, but I’m already rolling over you, bracing on my forearms, hair falling around us like a curtain. Your fingers push it back, and I swear I could live in this exact moment forever.
We spend the day the way new lovers do when the question mark is gone and the exhale finally arrives. We walk along the river with your hand in my pocket and mine around your waist because I like you tucked into me. You point out dogs; I point out sunlight in your hair. You make fun of my playlist until I put on the exact song you were going to request and pretend it was your idea. We read horoscopes at a café; I scoff at mine and take yours dead seriously. We plan trips we haven’t booked and dinners we haven’t cooked. At crosswalks, I press kisses into your hair; in shop windows, I watch you watching yourself and mutter, “우와… 진짜 예쁘다,” (wow… you’re really beautiful) like it’s new information every time.
And every time that old doubt tries to creep in—when a car door slams too loud, or your phone lights up and you hesitate like you’re bracing—I’m there. A hand on your lower back. A look that says I see you. A kiss you feel in your knees. “No exits,” I remind you, grinning. “I’m already inside.”
That night, when we’re back at my place and you curl into me on the couch, I pull a folded page from the coffee table and slide it into your hand. It’s messy, written between dance drills and thoughts of you:
We are.
You asked me what this is. It’s me waking up and wanting your face before sunlight. It’s me dancing better because you exist. It’s me worshiping the tummy you think I shouldn’t love and loving it more out of spite. It’s me learning your native pet names and your favorite noodles and the exact pressure to put on your hips when you’ve had a day. It’s you, all of you. It’s home.
You read it, then look at me like I hung the moon, and I have to hide my face in your neck because I’m younger and pathetic for you. You laugh, that bright sound, and tug my hair. “Come here,” you say, and I do, because there’s nowhere else I’m ever going.
Later, in the dark, I trace the outline of your lips with my thumb and whisper the truest thing I know in both languages, so there’s no way you can miss it. “You’re my only one. 진짜 1 of 1.” You smile without opening your eyes, say, “I know,” and tuck your cold toes under my calf like you own me.
You do.
And when sleep finally takes you, I stay awake a little longer, kissing your forehead, memorizing the peace on your face, thinking how insane it is that a man can pray for something his whole life without a name for it—and then one night in a club, there you are, laughing like trouble, tasting like forever, asking me a question I get to answer every day:
Prompt: You just need to be patient. You can’t expect everything to happen perfectly the first time. That just isn’t fair.
You looked at Taemin, then the pile of clay shaped like a dick, then back at him. “I don’t want it to be perfect. Just less…dildo-y.”
He hid his mouth behind his arm and laughed. “Okay. I can show you how to shape it. Is it okay if I stand behind you?”
“Sure. I’ll do anything to end up with something I can actually show my mom.”
He came around the table and stood behind you, resting his chin on your shoulder lightly as his hands ghosted down your arms to your hands. His breath gently blew across your cheek as he guided you. “You were doing great. Kept it wet and centered.” He started the wheel and dipped your hands into the bowl of water. “But maybe you could use your left hand for force and use your right for support.” He pushed your hand and demonstrated the force needed. “And you go faster when centering than you do when shaping.” Once the clay turned into a dome, he pressed your thumbs into the center. “See? Just like that!” he said, his voice a mix of encouragement and mischief. You could feel the warmth radiating from him as he adjusted your grip, and it was hard to focus on the clay with all the sensations swirling around you.
“Okay, okay, I think I get it,” you replied, trying to suppress a giggle while concentrating on not ruining the dome shape. “But this still looks like something I wouldn’t want my mom to see.”
Taemin chuckled softly. “Maybe we should aim for ‘abstract art’ instead of realism then,” he teased. “The key is to embrace the imperfections.” He leaned in closer so you could hear him over the whirring wheel. “Just remember—if it doesn’t look good at first, we can always squish it back down and start again.”
You nodded, feeling more at ease with each wheel rotation under your hands. The rhythm was therapeutic. Even if your creation wasn't museum-worthy yet, you were having fun experimenting with shapes and forms alongside Taemin’s playful guidance. As minutes passed and laughter filled the air from playful jabs about your artistic choices, something clicked into place—not just in terms of clay, but also in how comfortable you were sharing this moment with him. Maybe crafting imperfect dildos wasn’t such a bad way to spend an afternoon after all.
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Summary: When you recieve a series of messages from your boyfriend's best friend confirming your suspicions that he's been cheating on you, you go to his house to confront him. Instead of being greeted by your boyfriend, however, you're greeted by his dad, Minho. When you tell Minho what happened, he decides that he's willing to do anything to make you feel better.
Warnings: INFIDELITY, Bf's dad!Minho, age gap (Minho is written to be in his mid 40s and Reader is written to be in her early 20s), unprotected sex, creampie, slight dom/sub themes, oral (f receiving) use of the title "sir," praise kink, Reader and Jisung have an incredibly toxic relationship, attempted gaslighting, implied round 2. If you think I missed a warning, please let me know!
Tags: @yoonguurt, @kwanisms
A/N: The dynamic between Reader and Jisung is heavily inspired by F.U. by Little Mix. If you haven't listened to it, I definitely recommend checking it out!
Fic is under the cut.
When you saw that you had a new Instagram dm, you had no reason to expect it to be anything other than your friends sharing a meme or your boyfriend sending you a cute post that made him think of you. The message was incredibly different from your expectations, however.
You opened the message and saw a collection of pictures sent by Jeno, one of Jisung’s friends. Each one showed messages where your boyfriend told Jeno about various times that he’d cheated on you with Minjeong, one of their other friends. It honestly would have hurt less if he’d been with anyone else, but you’d told Jisung countless times about your concerns regarding his excessive closeness with Minjeong specifically. Each time you asked him about his closeness to her, however, Jisung would call you crazy before telling you that he loved you and promising that nothing was going on between them.
As you could now see, however, every single one of those promises had been bullshit. You’d been suspicious for a while, but now you had the proof right in front of you. As you read the messages, you started to feel sick to your stomach, and you didn’t know if crying until you couldn’t breathe or just killing Jisung sounded more appealing. Before you did anything else, however, you sent Jeno a message that said, “Thanks for telling me. I had a feeling, but it’s nice to know for sure.”
“It’s no problem,” he replied. “I just thought you deserved to know.”
You closed Instagram, and that was when the tears started to fall. You loved Jisung more than you’d ever loved a romantic partner before, so finding out that he’d betrayed you was devastating. Sure, he had his faults, but you still loved him. You even defended him every time your friends expressed their concerns due to his reputation for being a bit of a player. You knew all about the rumors, but when he asked you out, you really wanted to believe that he’d changed. Now, of course, you knew that he really hadn’t.
Once you didn’t have any tears left to cry, you decided that it was time to confront Jisung. As you got ready to leave, however, you couldn’t help but worry that you wouldn’t be able to do it. After all, you’d tried to end your relationship before. Every time, though, all he had to do to get you to change your mind was bat his pretty eyelashes, tell you that he was sorry, and kiss you with those soft lips that just drove you crazy. It was the same routine you’d been through with him a hundred times before. This time, however, you were determined to stand your ground, despite your worries and his manipulative tendencies. You were going to tell him that the two of you were done and mean it this time.
Once you were certain that you were ready, you drove to Jisung’s house and knocked on the door. You were surprised, however, to see his dad open the door instead. You stood frozen for a minute, unsure of what to say to him. You hadn’t really spoken to Mr. Choi much outside of family events that Jisung brought you along to. The biggest reason for that was the fact that you found him to be incredibly intimidating. You would have been lying if you’d said that he wasn’t also incredibly hot, though. He was significantly taller than you, with dark eyes that seemed to stare right into your soul every time he looked at you and a voice that you were certain should have belonged to an angel instead of a human. God, you really needed to get your thoughts under control. He was your boyfriend’s dad, for fuck’s sake.
In an attempt to shake the inappropriate thoughts, you asked, “Hi, Mr. Choi. Is Jisung here?”
“No, sorry. He went out with Minjeong earlier,” he said with a slight frown. “He always seems to be out with her, anymore.” You were pretty sure that you weren’t supposed to hear the last part, though, so you ignored it.
“I figured as much,” you responded, your voice starting to break.
“Is everything ok, (Y/N)?”
“Everything is fine, Mr. Choi. Thank you.”
“You can call me Minho, you know.”
You hesitated before you said, “Ok. In that case, thank you for asking, Minho, but everything is fine.”
“(Y/N), forgive me for saying this, but it really doesn’t seem like everything is fine. You sound like you’re trying not to cry. Why don’t you tell me what happened?”
Something about the softness in Minho’s voice made your walls crumble in an instant, and before you knew it, you were crying again. In between sobs, you told him about everything, from the screenshots to the number of times you’d tried to leave before and changed your mind, though you didn’t know how much he could understand. Once you calmed down a bit, you just sighed and said, “I can’t do it anymore. I love him, but he’s hurt me too many times.”
Seeing you so distressed because of his son devastated Minho. He’d thought that he raised Jisung better than that, but now he was starting to doubt himself. He would have a talk with Jisung about how he treated you another time, though. Right now, his priority was comforting you. When he was sure you were done talking, he pulled you into a hug and said, “Why don’t you come in? I could make you some tea, and we could talk a bit more. It might help.”
You were quiet for a minute while you thought about whether you should accept Minho’s offer. Initially, you wondered if Jisung would be weirded out by you hanging out with his dad without him. Then, you remembered that the entire reason you’d gone to his house was to tell him off for cheating on you, and suddenly you didn’t give a shit about how he would feel about it anymore. Without any further hesitation, you said, “That sounds wonderful. Thank you.”
“It’s no problem at all,” he said as he opened the door the rest of the way.
You’d been in Jisung’s house before, but this time, you felt significantly different. Whether it was the reason you were there or the fact that you were there without Jisung, you weren’t entirely sure. Either way, though, walking through the door felt strange. As you entered the living room, you couldn’t help but think that this was probably the last time that you would be there. The thought was disappointing if you were being honest with yourself. Since you had started dating Jisung, you’d felt so at ease every time you were in his house.
You were snapped out of your thoughts by Minho asking you if you still wanted some tea. You hesitated for a minute before you said, “No thank you. I’d just like to talk if that’s ok.”
“That’s perfectly fine. If you change your mind, just let me know.”
“Thank you.”
The room was quiet for a minute before Minho asked, “So, you said that you found out because someone sent you screenshots?”
“Yeah. Jeno sent me a message on Instagram with screenshots of messages that Jisung had sent him about hooking up with Minjeong.”
“I’m sorry that he did that to you, and I’m sorry that you found out the way you did.”
“There’s no reason for you to apologize. It’s not like you told him to do it,” you said with a laugh.
Minho knew that it was wrong, but when he saw you start to smile, he couldn’t help but think that you were absolutely beautiful. Hearing your laugh put a smile on his face and butterflies in his stomach, which was something he hadn’t experienced since Jisung’s mom had divorced him a few years prior. While he was embarrassed that he was feeling attracted to you, he also had to admit that it was nice to have those kinds of feelings for someone again.
The two of you continued to talk, and you found that you felt significantly better. Something about the gentle way that Minho spoke to you while he comforted you gave you the confidence that you needed to finally end your relationship with Jisung for good. Before you did, though, you decided that you wanted to have a bit of fun as revenge. Without giving yourself time to think about whether it was a good idea, you moved closer to Minho and kissed him.
You knew that what you were doing was wrong, but you loved the feeling of Minho’s lips on yours. Sure, part of the excitement you were feeling was because you were doing something you weren’t supposed to, but that wasn’t the only reason for your lack of care. As his lips moved against yours, you couldn’t help but think that Minho was a much better kisser than Jisung, probably because he had far more experience.
Sooner or later, however, you did pull away to catch your breath. When you did, though, you saw a look that you could only describe as utter shock on Minho’s face. That was when you really processed what you’d done, and you felt terrible. As the panic started to set in, you said, “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. It was-”
“Amazing?”
“I mean, yeah, but it was also wrong. I’m sorry, I have to go.”
The last thing that you wanted to do was leave, but you knew that it was probably for the best. So, you stood up to grab your purse. Before you could get too far, though, Minho called out, “Wait.” You turned to face him, and he continued, “I don’t want you to go. If you want to go, then I won’t keep you, but you don’t have to.”
When you heard Minho say that he didn’t want you to go, a wave of relief washed over you. You really didn’t want this to be over yet, so you said, “I’ll stay, then.”
You sat back down on the couch, and before you could think about the consequences for too long, you kissed Minho again. Somehow, this time was even more exhilarating than the last. You never wanted it to end, and if the soft groan that slipped out as his lips moved against yours was any indication, neither did Minho.
After a few minutes, Minho deepened the kiss, and you tangled your hands in his hair as a familiar feeling of need started to build between your legs. You wanted to be ashamed of how little time it took for you to start thinking about fucking him, but you were too horny to care. It had been too long since the last time you’d gotten fucked, and now you were determined to change that. The tension between you had grown to be too much for you to bear, so you pulled away just enough to whisper, “I want you. Please?”
Minho smiled and asked, “What do you want, sweetheart?” with a teasing tone in his voice. You went quiet, and he added, “Come on, baby. If you don’t tell me what you want, I can’t give it to you.”
“Just want you to touch me. Please?”
Minho pretended to think for a minute before he started to kiss your neck, biting the skin occasionally. You moaned softly at the sensation, and it only worsened the tent that had started to form in his pants. He desperately wanted to be inside you, but he was more than willing to wait for that if it meant that he could watch you squirm at the slightest touch. It was a little bit mean, sure, but he just thought you were so cute.
Once Minho was satisfied with the patchwork of hickeys that he’d left on your neck, he pulled away just long enough to pull your shirt over your head. Once he had your shirt off and your bra undone, he gave your breasts the same treatment that he’d given your neck. You wanted to be upset that he was teasing you so much, but you really couldn’t find it in you. Especially when the way he touched you already felt so good.
Minho continued to kiss his way down your body until he found a comfortable position in between your legs. Before he went any further, however, he looked up at you and asked, “Are you sure you want this, sweetheart?”
“I’m sure. I want you.”
“Lift your hips up, angel.” You did as you were told, and Minho made quick work of removing your pants and underwear. When he finally saw your pussy, he groaned and whispered, “Fuck. So pretty.”
You whined softly, suddenly feeling shy as you realized that Minho was still fully clothed. Any shyness you were feeling was quickly forgotten, however, when he started to gently suck on your clit. The sensation drove you crazy, and without really thinking about it, you moaned loudly and said, “More, sir. Please.”
Hearing you call him “sir” made something snap in Minho’s brain. Before you knew what was happening, he started sucking faster and inserted two fingers into your pussy. You continued to moan loudly as Minho fucked you with his fingers, and every noise that left your lips drove the man insane. He could have said that he didn’t love the way you tasted on his tongue, but that would have been a complete lie. As much as he loved tasting you, though, he also desperately wanted his cock inside of you.
“Fuck! It feels so good, sir,” you moaned.
“I know, baby. You’re doing such a good job for me. Can’t wait to feel this beautiful pussy around my cock.”
“Please, sir. I want you to fuck me.”
“I promise I will, baby, but I want you to cum on my fingers first. Can you do that for me, baby?” You nodded vigorously, desperate to please Minho.
It didn’t take long at all for the knot in your stomach to start to tighten, which was how you knew that you would soon be giving Minho exactly what he wanted. You wanted to warn him that you were close, but you couldn’t have gotten the words out in time if you’d tried. You came undone around his fingers and tongue with a loud moan of his name, and he’d never wanted to fuck another person more than he wanted to fuck you in that moment.
Once you came down from your high, Minho carefully stood up and kissed you once again, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue. You hated to admit it, but you were quickly getting addicted to the feeling of Minho’s lips on yours. You were certain that you only felt this way because he’d just given you the best head you’d ever had, but you were really considering a more serious relationship with Minho. That would have to happen after you officially broke up with Jisung, though.
Before you could think about it much longer, though, Minho pulled away from the kiss and asked, “Would you like to take this to my room?”
Still in a bit of a daze, you nodded and quietly said, “Sounds good.”
“Follow me, sweetheart.”
It was silly, but you couldn’t help but feel giddy every time Minho called you “sweetheart.” It had to be the way he said it, considering you’d never really liked the nickname much before. Honestly, though, most things sounded better when he said them. At this point, you were pretty sure that he could read the dictionary aloud and you would get butterflies in your stomach.
Before you could think about your newfound love for Minho’s voice much more, though, you found yourself in his bedroom. You’d never been in this particular room of the house before, but you had to say that it felt a lot cozier than Jisung’s room. The walls were painted a warm brown, and the soft lighting made you feel right at home. It was too soon to say with any certainty, but you were pretty sure that you could get used to spending time in Minho’s room.
You wanted to say something, but before you could, Minho pinned you to his bed and started to rub his clothed erection against your bare pussy. You moaned louder than you intended to, and you begged, “Please, sir. Want you inside me.”
“Fuck, baby. Need you so bad.”
Minho stood up just long enough to rid himself of his clothes before he was back on top of you. As you watched him strip, the only thing you could think about was how badly you wanted him inside you. You wanted to beg him again to just fuck you already, but before you had the chance, you felt him carefully aligning his tip with your entrance. He gave you one more look to confirm that you wanted him as badly as he wanted you, and when you nodded, that was all he needed to slowly push his hips forward.
When you finally felt Minho inside of you, the only thing you could do was wrap your arms around his neck and moan. He was bigger than you were used to, and you knew that it would take you longer than usual to adjust, but you also knew that you could take him. Once he checked in with you again to make sure that you were ok, he slowly started to move. It hurt just a little bit at first, but the pain quickly turned to pure pleasure as you adjusted to the sensation.
“You’re taking me so well, baby. It’s like this pussy was made for me.” You moved your arms from around Minho’s neck and covered your face, feeling shy as a result of the way that he spoke to you. He quickly moved your hands away from your face, however, and said, “Don’t get all shy on me now, princess. Let me see you.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good girl.”
Something about hearing Minho call you a good girl just melted your brain. It was like you couldn’t think about anything except him, and all you wanted was to make him proud of you. If you could think straight, you’d probably be embarrassed at the state that your boyfriend’s father had you in. In the moment, though, you loved it and only wanted more.
“Harder, sir. Please?” you begged, digging your nails into his back as he fucked you.
“Fuck. You’re driving me crazy, sweetheart,” Minho said with a groan as he started to pound into you faster.
The moans and whines that left your mouth as Minho fucked you were like music to his ears. It was embarrassing to admit it, but he knew that he wasn’t going to last much longer, especially when he saw the way your tits bounced as he fucked you. He didn’t really care about that, though. As long as he got to see you like this again, he was ok with however his body chose to respond to you.
Within minutes, Minho felt his release start to approach, just like he knew it would. With a moan he said, “Fuck, baby, I’m close. Where do you want it?”
“Inside, want you to fill me up,” you cried out, looking up at him with tears starting to form in your eyes.
Seconds later, Minho stilled inside of you, a string of expletives leaving his mouth as his orgasm hit him like a truck. As he continued to fuck you through his release, you started to get desperate to reach your own. You tried to bring a hand down to your clit to speed up the process, but before you could, Minho moved it and brought his own hand to where your bodies were connected.
Once Minho started to rub your clit, it didn’t take long for you to feel yourself getting closer to the release that you wanted so badly. You wanted to give him a heads up that you were close, you really did. When you opened your mouth, however, a loud moan came out instead, and your entire body tensed as you rode out your second orgasm of the day.
As Minho coaxed you through your second orgasm at his hands, he couldn’t help but think once again that he really wanted to see you like this more often. Before that conversation could happen, though, he made a point to take good care of you. After he carefully pulled out, he helped you to clean up and get dressed. Once you were clothed and comfortable, he got himself dressed again, and he carefully climbed into bed with you. He then found a comfortable position and pulled you close, whispering sweet nothings into your ear as you relaxed into his hold.
You weren’t entirely sure how long the two of you stayed in bed together, but you had to admit that you really liked being held by Minho. After a while, though, you started to get a bit restless. He seemed to notice, and asked, “Do you want to go do something else?” You nodded, and he added, “How about we go to the kitchen? I could cook you something, if you want.”
“That sounds great. Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it, baby.”
Hearing Minho continue to call you “baby” even after the two of you stopped having sex made your heart do somersaults in your chest. You were embarrassed to admit it, but you really wanted to spend more time with him. Sure, you absolutely wanted to have sex with him again, but it was more than that, too. He had the kind of calming presence that you craved, and he was so much nicer to you than Jisung had ever been. You hated to admit it, but you were falling for your soon-to-be ex’s dad.
The two of you made your way to the kitchen, talking about whatever came to mind. While you sat down at the table, Minho got to work making the two of you scrambled eggs with toast and bacon. While he cooked, you continued to talk and get to know each other better. In the span of only a few minutes, however, the conversation quickly devolved into talking shit about Jisung.
“Hold on. How many times have you tried to break up with him?” Minho asked.
“Four.”
“And how long have you been together?”
“A year and a half.”
“You should have said something sooner, baby.”
“I didn’t think it was an option,” you mumbled.
Minho felt absolutely terrible for not seeing the way Jisung treated you sooner, but he was relieved that he could still be there for you in the end. He thought that you were such a sweet girl, and you deserved so much better than the way that his son had treated you. As the two of you continued to talk, he found himself thinking that he could probably treat you much better. Whether you wanted him to do that, though, was up in the air, at least from his perspective.
Minho sat down with you to eat, and you quickly found that the more you spoke to him, the more certain you were that you wanted more than a sexual relationship. He made you laugh in a way that you weren’t used to, and you loved it. Plus, his responses when you spoke showed that he really cared about what you had to say. You felt loved, respected, and seen in a way that you never did with your soon-to-be ex.
The two of you were so lost in your conversation, you didn’t even notice that someone else had come into the house until you heard Jisung ask, “What are you doing here, baby?”
Hearing the nickname that sounded so sweet leaving Minho’s lips come from Jisung instead left a sour taste in your mouth. Before you could think better of it, you said, “Don’t call me that, asshole.”
“Woah, what the fuck did I do?”
“You’ve been cheating on me with Minjeong!”
Jisung’s face went pale as the realization that you knew hit him, but he quickly regained his composure and said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, princess. She’s just a friend, we’ve been over this.”
“Oh really? Then what’s this?” you asked, opening your phone and showing him the screenshots that Jeno had sent you. Jisung immediately went quiet, knowing that he’d been caught. “We’re done, Ji.”
“Whatever, good luck finding somebody better than me.”
Before you could even think to stop yourself, you said, “I already did,” turning to smile at Minho.
Jisung quickly grabbed a bag that had been sitting on the counter and started to walk away, calling out that he was spending the night at Minjeong’s apartment. He then immediately got into his car and left, not wanting to think about what your words or the way you’d looked at his dad meant. Once he was gone, you immediately started laughing. Hearing your laugh made Minho smile, and before he could stop himself, he asked, “So, you already found someone?” with a teasing tone in his voice.
Your eyes went wide as you remembered what you said to Jisung, and you started to say, “Well, I mean-”
“I really hope that you meant me, otherwise I think that things might get a little bit awkward.”
You couldn’t help but start to laugh again. Once you caught your breath, though, you stood up, marched to where Minho was sitting, and kissed him. He immediately deepened the kiss, and a soft moan slipped out. He pulled away just long enough to say, “Fuck, baby. You’re gonna be the death of me,” before kissing you again, this time grabbing your ass as he did.
It was going to be a very long night for you, but you didn’t care. You wanted Minho, and you loved that he wanted you, too.
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