A Place Called Home (Series Masterlist)

Rose & Thorns | masterpost

— summary: a lone rose, a little broken, until Jungkook came along and the two of you saved each other. and in doing so, Jungkook showed you a world where he shared with his six other mates.

— pairing: dragon!bts x reader

— genre: angst / fluff / poly!au / fantasy!au / dragon!au

— status: ongoing

— warnings: orphan reader, insecurities, anxiety, sweet reader who forgets to take care of herself, reader starving herself, mentions of Jimin’s bad eating habit, hurt and comfort

♢ part 01: “i’ll set you free”

♢ part 02: “so close yet so far away”

♢ part 03: “i need a little light”

♢ part 04: “it’ll be alright”

♢ part 05: “you’re worth all the pain”

♢ part 06: “alive”

♢ part 07: “one step forward, two steps back”

♢ part 08: “one day, my love, i’ll give you the world”

♢ part 09: “i’d do it all again a thousand times”

If It’s Lovin’ That You Want

“…to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; from this day forward until death do us part.”

Parings: Mafia Boss!Kim Namjoon x Wife!Reader

Genre: Arranged Marriage AU, Slight Mafia AU, Strangers 2 Lovers, Age-Gap(everyone’s legal),  Angst, Smut, A sprinkle of Fluff, Oneshot

Ratings: NSFW, Mature, R, 18+

Word Count: 10K

Summary: He’s dangerous (so they say), but he’ll give you anything you want. Even the things that money can’t buy. You just have to ask for it.

Warnings: Mature, Mafia related and dark themes, a little violence(she slaps him once), Insecurities, Cursing, Explicit Sex, Unprotected Sex, Very light Dom/Sub/Switch Themes(like probably none at all but just to be safe), Impreg Kink, Multiple Orgasms, Praise Kink, A little spanking, Oral Sex ( M. & F. Receiving), Thigh Riding, Slight hair Pulling, Squirting, Light Choking, Creampie, Throat fucking, Biting/Marking, Nipple/Breast Play, Knife Play(consent is given and he just pops a button on her shirt with it), Body Worshipping, Some Blood, Mentions violent acts, Fingering, Vanilla Sex(wow Dee), Crying. This is a slightly darker fic. Please proceed with caution.

A/N: Well here it is. This is just something I needed to do. Sorry, if you don’t like it. I apologize for any errors

Keep reading

The Mentor’s Child (a multi-chapter Shinsou x reader fic): Chapter 5

First Chapter | Previous Chapter

Warnings: none!

If you like my stuff you can buy me a ko-fi here!

Taglist: @universal-imagines​, @lucio-the-beautiful-goat​, @lostgirlheart​, @katsheen​, @estrellitaaart​, @complexhouseplant​, @vinaios​

A/n: And here’s the next chapter, along with a snazzy new picture that will replace the gifs in the beginning of the chapters! Thank you for your continued support towards this series and I hope you enjoy!

You sat in your classroom, not really listening as your teacher droned on and on about something. Normally you would at least try and pay attention or take notes but today your brain just wasn’t having it and you eventually just gave up. Akihiko would let you copy off his notes later anyways. So instead of being a good student and paying attention, you were zoning out lost in your thoughts. 

Specifically, you were thinking about what you said to Shinsou a few days ago during your training session.

You mentally groaned at how harsh you were. Sure he had commented on your quirk but he hadn’t even said anything bad or malicious. He was simply asking a question and you had let your insecurities get the best of you, causing you to be a little more mean than you had intended. It’s not like Shinsou knew your past or why you didn’t like your quirk, he was simply trying to get to understand you better and you had ruined it. He had even kind of complimented your quirk in a way, as he had commented it could be useful, but nope you had to focus on the bad parts.

Keep reading

Better than Perfect

You meet a cute rapper at the BBMAs.

Request: I would like to request a Yoongi x Reader Oneshot in which the reader is a young Singer-Songwriter and they meet at the BBMAs (it’s the readers first time there) :)

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Word Count: 3.7k

Genre: Flooooffy fluff

|mlist|

“You’re kidding.”

Sana shakes her head, biting her lip to hold back a grin. “Cross my heart. You’re nominated for Top New Artist!”

“Oh my god!” you shriek, jumping up and down. “I didn’t think– I can’t believe–”

“Hey, you earned this.” Sana’s eyes go from gleeful to focused in a second. “Now, we need to take advantage of this while we can. You’re not performing, which is fine– it is only your first time there. As for your outfit … I can cash in a lot of favors to get you something from Gucci’s new line, and then we have to practice interview questions… I think we can find you a late night spot–“

“Sounds great,” you interrupt, clapping your hands. If you let Sana go into Full Agent Mode, she won’t come back for a while. “I’m gonna head to the studio, text me when I can, y’know, do anything.”

Sana nods, gripping your arm. “Alright. Y/n, I can’t tell you how happy I am for you.”

You blink hard to hold back tears. “Th-thanks.”

“Get going, superstar.”

Twenty minutes later finds you in the extra room that you converted into a music studio when you first moved to the city. Biting your lip, you scribble lyrics into your battered notebook. Sure, you can dance– sort of– and singing is a strength of yours, but for you it’s always been about the lyrics. Nothing matters more to you than the message you send, and finding the perfect rhythm and syllable count to convey that message is always your goal. You’re just working on a new song, tapping out a beat on your thigh, when your phone rings.

“Hello?”

“AAAAAAAH!”

You laugh. “Hi, Sunmi.”

“You got nominated oh my god I’m so proud I’m already crying why didn’t you tell me?!”

You lean back in your chair. “I found out less than an hour ago, girlfriend.”

“That’s literally too long,” Sunmi whines. “I need time to plan your BBMA-winning party.”

“You know for a fact that I won’t win– my first nomination? No way.”

“You’re winning or I’m fighting you,” Sunmi insists. “You’re good, y/n, really good. You just need to go to the BBMAs and be your beautiful badass talented self and they’ll be throwing trophies at you.”

“Sounds terrifying.”

Sunmi scoffs. “Not as terrifying as me if my best friend doesn’t win. Call me when you’re getting ready for the BBMAs so I can help out.”

“Will do,” you laugh.

“Oh, and do you know Korean?”

To anyone else, it’s a weird question, but you’ve always been a polyglot– you pick up languages with ease. You’re fluent in English, Japanese, Spanish, Italian, Mandarin, and Russian.

“Not too well, but I’ll practice. Why do you ask?”

You hear Sunmi giggle. “Definitely practice, and no reason.”

You sigh in bemusement before hanging up and going back to your lyrics. You’re working on a power ballad, and you’re struggling with the balance between empowerment and unkindness. As much as you’d like to be strong and opinionated in your songs, you can’t afford controversey right now. “Having something doesn’t mean anything… I’m mine alone, don’t need a ring.” You stare at the words before scrunching up your nose and crossing them out. The lyrics need to be perfect.

Time passes, and soon enough the awards show is in less than a week. You’ve spent the last month practicing everything– interview questions, polite clapping, walking in heels, and (just in case) an acceptance speech. You’ve also worked on memorizing the names and faces of all the other nominees. It’s a lot, but at least you can prepare.

“Who would you love to collaborate with?” Sunmi reads from an index card.

“Probably Ariana Grande,” you reply with a smile. “She seems amazing.” Breaking character, you shake your head. “Was that too vague?”

“I think you’re good,” Sunmi replies, tossing the index card aside and reaching for the next one. “Sana told you to be vague, after all.” She squints at the latest question. “How does it feel to be nominated for Top New Artist alongside blah, blah blah?”

You giggle at your friend’s impatience. “It’s a huge honor. It still doesn’t feel real…” you falter, reaching for the perfect words. “Uh, I can’t believe it–”

Sunmi shakes her head. “Nope. You can believe it, remember? You can’t act like you’re not good enough.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “But I’m not. I’m not perfect enough–”

Your friend rolls her eyes. “When are you gonna stop thinking that? You’ve worked ridiculously hard. You’re the most talented person I know. Get over yourself, because you deserve this.”

You inhale shakily at her words. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”

“Good. Now I’ve got to get going, and don’t you have a meeting with Sana? Good luck,” Sunmi says, blowing you a kiss. “Dedicate your Grammy award to me in a few years.”

You smile at your friend. “Of course.”

As soon as she leaves, you get a text from Sana: My office. Now.

Faster than you think is humanly possible, you find yourself in Sana’s office.

“What’s… wrong…?” you pant, leaning on the wall. Sana looks up from her desk.

“Hm? Oh, nothing,” she says. “I just wanted you here quickly so I could show you these.”

With a flourish she holds up a set of clothes hangers.

“This is what you’re wearing to the airport,” she murmurs distractedly, handing you a stylish outfit. “These two are for your late night interviews, I forget which… Oh, this is for after the awards show, I got you an invite to Justin Beiber’s afterparty… aha!” she pulls out a dress, and your jaw drops.

You’re looking at the most gorgeous black dress you’ve ever seen, a dress shimmering as the light hits it.

“Isn’t it too much?” you whisper in awe. You reach out, but you’re scared to touch it. The cloth looks more expensive than you’ll ever be.

“Nah, you’re gonna wow them. Trust me on this,” Sana winks. “Wigs’ll be flying as soon as you show up.”

You take the dress, stroking the fabric in awe. “I hope you’re right.”

“Aaaand I’m joined by y/n l/n, who’s been making a splash in the charts! Y/n, how does it feel to be nominated for Top New Artist alongside such amazing new stars?”

“It still doesn’t feel real, honestly,” you laugh, alternating eye contact with the red carpet interviewer and the camera. Around you… so this is the hustle and bustle before an awards show. “I’m honored.”

“And who are you wearing tonight?”

You smile graciously. “Gucci.” Giving you just a hint of cleavage and hugging your curves in all the right places, you’ve never felt more powerful.

“Well, you look great, and best of luck to you tonight!”

You’re about to thank the interviewer when a sudden chorus of screams makes you jump. What the hell? You strain your ears, making out a consistent cheer.

“BTS! BTS! BTS! BTS!”

Holy shit, they’re here. You’ve done your fair share of googling on the nominees– BTS is easily the biggest boy band in the world, known for their dedicated fanbase. You’ve listened to some of their songs, and they’re talented to say the least– but you don’t have time to get distracted, as you’re soon approached by another interviewer.

Your feet are aching by the time the cameras follow the guests inside, and you’re led to your seat. Why a barely known singer like you has been seated in the very front row, you don’t understand, but you’re not complaining– Sana will be squealing at the additional screentime.

The front row is barely filled in by the time you sit down. There are seven empty seats to your right, and you’re left twiddling your thumbs, your body tense with nervous energy.

A few minutes later, you hear the roar of another thousand teenage girls, and you twist around. Looks like BTS has entered the building, and when one of the members raises their hand to wave the volume of the screams increases tenfold.

You stare in awe. That’s what it means to be famous. These guys… these guys have made it. They’re perfect. They’re talented. They’re… sitting next to you?

You hold your breath as the members settle in their seats. Beside you, if those Wikepedia articles you read are correct, is Suga. He’s… wow, he really is even more attractive in person.

You keep your eyes trained on the stage as the MC of the night begins to talk, but you can’t help but focus your attention on your peripheral vision. You’re entranced by the ethereal beauty of the men beside you.

“And we’ll be right back!” you hear the MC say, snapping you out of your fog. The first commercial break already?

You turn, and you’ve never been more grateful to your best friend– you’ve been focusing on Korean ever since Sunmi mentioned it, so that now…

“Hello,” you say to Suga.

He notices, his eyes widening in surprise. “You speak Korean?”

You hold your thumb and index an inch apart. “A little bit. I’m learning.”

“Hyung, we’re getting some drinks,” one of the members– RM, perhaps?– says. “You coming?”

“In a second,” Suga replies, his eyes trained on you. Something in his gaze sends shivers down your spine.

“You should go with them,” you breathe as the members file away. “The cameras will want to see you all together.”

“The cameras see us together enough,” Suga says, leaning back and folding his arms. “How do you know Korean?”

You shrug. “I’m good with languages. My friend told me to improve my Korean–” you laugh. “Now I know why.”

Suga smiles. It’s a cute smile: his lips pull up above his gums and his catlike eyes sparkle with delight. Inside your chest your heart flutters, but you calm yourself– you’re not here to pick up guys, and idols like him basically can’t date anyways–

“Are you nominated or here as a guest?” he asks.

“Oh, uh, I’m nominated for Top New Artist,” you say, beginning the sentence in Korean and finishing in English. “I’m small fry.”

Suga raises his brows. “Seems like a big deal.”

“Not as big as you,” you reply. “Top Social Artist, right? That’s impressive.”

“Yeah.” Suga tries for a smile, but his eyes dull a bit.

“Is… is something wrong?”

“Ah, no.” Suga rubs his temples. “It’s just… don’t get me wrong, a BBMA is a huge honor for a foreign group like us, but I feel like people care more about our fanbase than our music.”

He shakes his head, covering his face with his hands. “Aah, that sounded bad, sorry.”

“Not at all,” you reassure him. “Trust me, I’m a songwriter, and I get more questions about my outfits than my lyrics. It can be frustrating, huh?”

“You write your own songs?”

You open your mouth to reply when the lights start flickering to signal the commercial break’s end. The other members of BTS return to their seats as the MC takes the stage once more to introduce the next performer.

“Are you performing?” Suga whispers while the audience applauds.

“God, I wish. I’m not nearly famous enough,” you whisper back. “You are, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.” Suga winks at you, and you blush happily. “Look forward to it.”

You feel your phone buzz and you check it discreetly.

Sana: Quit flirting, there are cameras on you.

Your head snaps up and you notice the familiar red blinking lights of dozens of cameras around the grand room, some of them apparently trained on you. Or rather, you acknowledge, trained on the members of BTS.

You focus on the stage once more, glueing a smile to your face as two more trophies are awarded.

“After the break, Ariana Grande is back with her latest single!” The MC says, smiling brightly into the camera. “Coming up, Top Social Artist and Top New Artist. We’ll be right back!”

As soon as the lights brighten to signify they’re no longer broadcasting, you lean over to Suga.

“Gee, I wonder who’s gonna win Top Social Artist,” you tease.

Suga shakes his head bemuseadly. “No clue.”

“Turn around and make a heart with your hands,” you suggest. “Every single scream is a vote for you winning. And I’ve heard some of your stuff, you guys deserve it. Your lyricist should get a raise.”

Yoongi laughs. “I’ll tell the others, but I think we’re pretty well off already.”

“Huh?”

“Me, Namjoon, and Hobi-ssi, sometimes the others– we write and produce a lot of our music.”

“Really?” you ask in wonder. “I thought… I mean, you’re such big stars…”

Suga shrugs. “We love the music as much as the performance. Could you ever quit songwriting?”

“Never,” you reply instantly, and you’re about to say something else when the lights dim again. Suga turns back to the stage and for a second you can’t help but be struck by his side profile. He truly is inhumanly beautiful. And funny, and kind, and passionate… he is perfection, you decide.

Another buzz from your phone.

Sana: If u keep staring at him ur gonna be a meme before midnight smh

Blinking guiltily, you tune in just in time to hear the MC finish up the nominations for Top Social Artist.

“…and BTS!”

The accompanying screams drown out any hope you have of wishing Suga luck.

“And the Billboard Music Award goes to…”

You cross your fingers behind your back. Sure, you only met Suga this evening, but there’s something about him that makes you feel as though he’s an old friend. You want him to win.

“BTS!”

You clap politely as a clip of the group’s latest single begins playing. Suga turns and says something to you before standing, but it’s lost amid the rabid screams of the fangirls. The septet files onstage to accept the award and RM makes a speech, all graciousness and gratitude. When the music swells once more the group disappears backstage to take pictures, and a sudden realization turns your blood to ice: your category is next.

The MC makes a short introduction full of scripted puns and half-clever witticisms before introducing the nominees for Top New Artist. You’re screaming inside as you hear your name:

“…and y/n l/n!”

From the crowd you can hear the yells of some of your fans or those that’ve heard your latest single. The song blew up way past expectation, landing you this nomination.

“And the Billboard Music Award goes to…”

Time slows down. Or does it speed up? Are you even breathing? You don’t think so. Your skin prickles in anticipation and your heartbeat is deafening, but the cameras are trained on you and so all you do is smile hopefully, twining your fingers together. It’s fine. You won’t win, no way. It’s fine.

“Y/n l/n!”

Huh? You’re frozen for a second, surely you misheard, for a second you thought they’d announced your name, and around you people are clapping and the guy to your left is nudging you forward and when you stand up the cheers get louder and wait a second they’re cheering for you.

You walk– actually, you practically float– to the stage. Do you really deserve it?

You accept the trophy from the MC and step up to the mic.

“Wow.” You look at the audience and swallow. You have precious few minutes to speak, and you’ll use them.

“Every moment of my life is spent working towards becoming perfect,” you say. “Whenever I get close, ‘perfect’ seems to get farther away. And I’ve realized that being an artist means not being perfect, but being better. Thank you to my parents, my amazing agent Sana, of course Sunmi. Y’all make me better.” You smile at the camera. “But my biggest thanks have to go to my fans. You inspire me every day to become better, and you make me believe that I can be better. Every note, every lyric– that’s all you guys. Thank you!”

You walk backstage to the sound of applause, swelling with pride.

“Y/n! Over here!” A photographer waves you over, motioning to a backdrop. “Could you stand right here? Hold up the trophy– like that, perfect! Okay, we’re good. You can get back to your chair now. Door’s that way.”

Well, that was easy. You head in the direction the photographer indicated, turning a sharp corner and suddenly bumping into someone.

“Oh! My bad, I– oh.” You’ve accidentally run into another member of BTS– Jimin, you think?

You switch to Korean. “Sorry, I should’ve watched where I was going.”

The singer’s expression changes to delight at your words. “Yoongi hyung, is this the girl you mentioned?”

Suga suddenly appears from behind Jimin, and you let out a surprised squeak.

Suga chuckles. “Yeah, she was sitting next to me. Had the nerve to say she wasn’t fluent.” He eyes you teasingly.

You decide to ignore his snark. “What are you guys doing back here?”

“Jimin-ssi had to use the restroom, and I wanted to greet the top new artist,” Suga says with a smirk. “Whoever it may be.”

“Bullshit, you heard me win,” you reply.

He shrugs, and you notice Jimin has already hastened back to his seat. “Maybe I wanted to chat,” Suga continues. “Without the cameras, because I’ve already gotten scolded for talking to you so much.”

You laugh. “Hey, me too.”

“We never really introduced ourselves,” Suga says. He offers you his hand and you shake. “I’m Min Yoongi– Yoongi’s my first name– I’m a rapper, lyricist, and overall pretty average person.”

“Y/n l/n,” you reply. “Singer, lyricist, and overall incredibly awkward nerd.”

Yoongi laughs, a surprised and mirthful sound that makes your heart skip a beat.

“Are you going to an afterparty?” you blurt out.

Yoongi thinks. “Joonie mentioned… yeah, I think so, if our managers are okay with it.” He clucks his tongue. “Parties here are hard, with only one translator. It doesn’t give us a lot of freedom to move around.”

“That’s a shame,” you say, sudden confidence overtaking you. He’s been nothing but flirtatious all night, why shouldn’t you reciprocate? “If we were going to the same party, I could be your personal translator for the entire night.”

Yoongi looks at you, a mischivious glint in his eye. “Whose afterparty are you going to?”

“Justin Beiber’s.”

“Huh. Well, c’mon, we have to get back to our seats,” Yoongi says, gesturing to the backstage exit.

Just as you open the door, you hear the MC’s voice: “We’ll be right back!”

“A commercial break already?” you hiss at Yoongi, and he shrugs.

“To them, it’s all money, isn’t it?”

“Hyung!” RM suddenly rushes up to Yoongi. “We need to get changed, we’re on after the next two awards!”

Good luck, you mouth at Yoongi as RM leads him away.

Thanks, he mouths back, winking.

You settle in your seat as the commercial break ends and the next two awards are given away. From time to time you smile randomly– how could you not? Yoongi is by far the most attractive man you’ve ever met and he’s more than attractive; he’s just so cute…

You’re snapped out of your stupor by the announcement of the next performance: “And here’s the record-smashing phenomenon with their latest single. Give it up for BTS!”

After the performance, you’re still in a daze. They were just so good. You couldn’t help but be captivated by Yoongi’s raps. Whatever he may think, you’re not fluent, and so you only got about seventy percent of his verse but still it was so good…

You’re still thinking about it when you’re led to your trailer to change into your afterparty outfit, a tight-fitting but not uncomfortable cocktail dress. You’re still thinking about it when you arrive at the party location with no clue as to how you got there. You’re standing in Justin Beiber’s living room, positively dumbstruck, when you feel a tap on your shoulder. You whirl around to see–

“Yoongi!” you want more than anything to give him a quick hug, but you refrain. The other members surround him.

“Hi, I’m y/n,” you introduce yourself nervously. That much beauty at once is intimidating.

Yoongi says something quickly to the other members in a dialect you don’t understand, and the six of them surreptitiously melt into the crowd.

“What was that?”

Yoongi smirks. “I was promised a personal translator. I don’t want to share you tonight.”

Somehow his words sound far from innocent. “Whatever you’re thinking, I’m not that kind of girl,” you warn him.

Yoongi snorts. “I was gonna ask if you wanted to go for a walk in the backyard. Don’t worry, I’ll keep my hands to myself.” As if to prove his point, he jams his hands into his pockets.

You giggle, following him onto the perfectly manicured lawn. You and Yoongi stay outside for hours or maybe days, and at some point you look down and notice his fingers intertwined with your own.

“Didn’t you say you’d keep your hands to yourself?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Do you want me to?”

The word is out of your mouth before you have time to regret it: “No.”

Yoongi grins widely. “You’re too smart for a hurried party hookup. I have an idea, if you’re interested… it might mean we can see each other after I fly home?”

“Tell me.”  

“Want to collaborate? I heard that clip of you singing earlier, god, I could write a thousand songs for that voice of yours.”

“Collaborate… with you? On a song?”

“Not if you don’t want to,” Yoongi says hurriedly.

The human embodiment of perfection– better than perfection– is asking to collaborate. “Are you kidding? It’s the opportunity of a lifetime, in more ways than one.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You lean towards Yoongi until your noses are mere centimeters apart. The space between your bodies feels electric. “Whatever you want it to.”

A/N thanks for the request, @minanna01! I hope I did your vision justice. As always, my inbox is open and feedback is welcome and appreciated :)

Top 5 anime you think are criminally underrated!

This is a really good question, and it was VERY difficult to keep myself to only 5. These are all anime that I think deserve a much wider viewership! (Plus five more!)

I ended up spending waaayyyy longer on this than I thought, I can’t imagine how much I would have written if you’d said top 10. I can literally talk about anime forever. Here’s some I wholeheartedly recommend.

1. Shojo Kageki Revue Starlight (Action, drama, romance)

This is my newest love, as of yesterday, when I binged the whole thing. The best way I can describe it is by mashing up other anime. Take Revolutionary Girl Utena, iron out about three layers of metaphor, and trim off all of the dark themes related to the Rose Bride. Then throw it in a blender with Madoka Magica and Love Live!, add half a cup of Gay Concentrate, and serve up the result: A character-driven drama about girls at a performing arts school, who settle their differences in magical-girl-fantasy duels styled as impossibly gorgeous theatrical stage-combat musical numbers. Beyond the flash and high concept, there’s a well-written cast, solid emotional core, and really engaging plot.

2. The Eccentric Family (Drama, comedy)

This show is my favorite genre of fantasy; mythical creatures living in the modern world, right under humans’ noses. In this series, humans only know tanuki as the cute little raccoon-dogs, but tanuki are really sentient shapeshifters whose goals are to outsmart the humans who live in the cities, pester the tengu who rule the heavens, live a life of freedom and trickery, and not end up on the inside of a hunter’s trap. The story follows a family of a mother and four sons whose widely-respected father was killed to end up in a human’s hot pot, as they try to enjoy their lives, live up to his imposing reputation, and unravel the increasingly suspicious circumstances of his death.

I have called this one “deceptively light-hearted” when describing it. My friend got halfway through the first season and came back to me with the verdict, “consider me fucking deceived.” This show has weight and does not pull its emotional punches, but neither does it ever stumble into becoming grimdark. Its worldbuilding is solid and the characters are all fantastically developed. Plus I wrote a whole post about one of the main antagonists(?) who I hadn’t even mentioned here.

3. Dennou Coil (Mystery, sci-fi)

Dennou Coil is a masterclass in worldbuilding, in my opinion. It’s a near-future sci-fi world, basically if Google Glass had taken off and become as common as cell phones are today. Many people don’t see the real world, they see the virtual textures of the world as they’re rendered through the glasses. Kids in one city have learned to mess around with codes, collecting tradeable fragments that break off the edges where the system glitches, chasing viruses that hide in pockets of obselete code in abandoned areas of the city where the software doesn’t get updated often. They spend their time after school saving virtual pets from being accidentally deleted by the city’s antivirus, trading tall tales about kids who get caught by the antivirus and get their glasses bricked, and spinning urban legends about ghosts waiting just behind anything that’s visibly rendered, waiting to steal kids when they least expect it. Every detail they introduce is critical to laying the foundation for the mystery that forms the show’s plot.

Everything about this world feels real in a way I’ve never seen in a sci-fi anime. It’s all grounded in a clear understanding of programming, and lives by show-don’t-tell. The stakes aren’t life-and-death; the kids tagging glitches like graffiti to distract the city’s antivirus software are only at risk of ruining their glasses, at least at first. The plot and escalation is perfectly-paced, and the mystery is so satisfying to piece together as it unfolds.

4. ID:Invaded (Sci-fi, action, thriller, murder mystery)

This show is like Psycho-Pass meets Silence of the Lambs. To catch a serial killer, you need to think like a killer, and nobody does that better than killers. A contraption called an “id well” can manifest an uncaught killer’s unconscious mind as a bizarre, unique, deadly terrain driven by stream-of-consciousness, and convicted murderers turned “detectives” dive into these wells to try to solve the mystery each well presents and discern the identity of other killers before they can strike again.

This show is a tightly-written, perfectly paced, edge-of-your-seat thriller. The two layers of mysteries inside and outside of the wells balance high-octane, big-screen action with tight, tense realism. Plus the soundtrack is an absolute banger.

5. Ping Pong the Animation (drama, sports)

Imagine if I told you that there was a show that, in 11 episodes, unpacked how patterns of relationships are repeated across generations, how the tradeoff between talent, practice, and who you are outside of your achievements can scar the spirits of kids, and what it feels like to wrestle with the tension between your core understanding of yourself and how others expect you to be. Imagine if I told you that every major character goes through massive restructurings of their fundamental sense of self and how they see others, and that every single arc comes to a well-rounded and satisfying end. Imagine if the animation style pushed the limits of both realism and absurdity, landing somewhere between rotoscoping and caricature, pushing the impact of action and stretching the character’s expressiveness without betraying faces that are animated like real human people. Imagine that it had a dub so fantastic that it sits next to Baccano and Cowboy Bebop in my mind, shows where the cast threw themselves into their roles with their whole hearts.

Now imagine that I told you that this story is told in the context of high schoolers playing ping pong, and that it’s arguably the best show I’ve ever seen. Go watch this show.

silly guy radar explodes

Melanie - Hey, was the Black Death caused by a Corruption Avatar, d’you think ?

Jon, not looking up from his book - We didn’t do everything, Mel. Sometimes shit just happens

Melanie, rolling her eyes - It’s a yes-or-no question. Not much of an Eye Avatar if you can’t answer that, are you ?

Jon - I am not going to dignify that with a response

Melanie - Anyways, I was just asking because I think the whole situation was really quite well-done

Tim - How morbid

Melanie, a little bit indignant - Oi, Slaughter Avatar, remember ? Anyways, so did they create the Black Death or no ?

Tim, squinting at her - Why are you asking me that ? D’you think I’m a Corruption Avatar or something ?

Melanie, deadpan - Yes

Tim, rolling his eyes - Fuck off

Jon, still not looking up from his book - Will you two pipe down over there ? I just got to a good part !!

Tim - He dies at the end

Jon, finally looking up to glare at him - I know, Timothy. I’m the fucking Eye Avatar, of course I know. But it’s not about the twist. It’s about the plot setups and executions, not -

Tim - The author’s a homophobe

Jon, throwing his book aside - Fuck you

Melanie - Will someone please answer my question ?

Tim - Oh, for the love of - fine !! (pulls out phone) Lemme just phone her real quick. I’m sure she’ll be glad to have her business interrupted by your inane questions !!

Jon- Who’s “her” ?

Melanie - What business ? Worm breeding ?

Jon - Wait, worm-breeding ? Tell me it isn’t-

Melanie, nodding soberly - Prentiss

Jon, indignant - Tim, do you have the fucking zombie on speed-dial ?

Tim, rolling her eyes -She’s a useful associate, alright ?

Jon - She’s a corpse !!

HEAVEN NAVIGATION.

in a universe where humans owning hybrids is considered normal—even encouraged by society. hwang jiyu works at kq hybrid recovery facility and meets not one, but eight hybrids that turn her world upside down. little does she know that she provided them with what they call their home and heaven.

✧ release date: august 17, 2020.

✧ genres: ateez au, hybrid au, fluff, and angst.

mentions of abuse, blood, etc. if you are uncomfy with any of these topics, please read with discretion or don’t read at all.

✧ taglist: currently don’t have one, but if you would like to be a part of it, feel free to send me a dm or message!

✧ notes: this is spin–off of my ateez 9th member au! please feel free to check jiyu out! :)

✧ reading order for the full details:

seonghwa → yunho → hongjoong → mingi → yeosang → san → wooyoung → jongho

PARK, SEONGHWA

✧ as a feral wolf hybrid that was violent with all of the employees assigned to him, seonghwa was subjected to be put down. however, jiyu being the softhearted feral hybrid nurse she was, she decided to save seonghwa no matter what it took.

KIM, HONGJOONG

✧ the tiger hybrid managed to escape from south korea’s top illegal hybird ring fights. of course, they didn’t let him go so easily. losing his chasers in a forest, covered in blood—his and others’—he decided to accept his fate of death from his wounds until a female and two other hybrids managed to take him from death’s grip.

JEONG, YUNHO

✧ being abandoned by your owners is never fun. but yunho takes it as a chance to explore the world as his owners were never the kindest people. having wandered around jiyu’s condo, seonghwa discovers the lost puppy and said puppy is offered a second chance at a place to call home.

KANG, YEOSANG

✧ this fox hybrid was brought into the recovery facility covered in scratches, whip marks, blood, and every other injury you could imagine. due to this, yeosang has trouble trusting humans, as he was afraid they could just hurt him all over again. until he meets jiyu, his “angel nurse”.

CHOI, SAN

✧ this fellow stray cat hybrid has been hanging around jiyu’s condo for as long as he could remember, although jiyu may not have noticed him. the cold winter breeze and jiyu’s open bedroom window prompts him to sneak into her bedroom one night. it was just suppose to be one night, but the gods must’ve been smiling upon him.

SONG, MINGI

✧ this abandoned, shy bunny hybrid loves hanging around the open field area of the recovery facility. one day, with the help of jungkook, another bunny hybrid, jiyu meets mingi. after days of mingi being too shy and running away from her, a bag of carrots and mint chocolate ice chip cream was all it took to seal the deal.

JUNG, WOOYOUNG

✧ this mischevious dolphin hybrid escaped an illegal experiment lab and has wandered the ocean for almost a year. all he longed for was love and attention—maybe even a family. who knew his “little” prank on jiyu would be the beginning to all of his wishes being granted.

CHOI, JONGHO

✧ like hongjoong, this fluffy brown–bear hybrid was captured for hybrid ring fights. fortunately, he was rescued by a hybrid rescue team when they caught wind of the illegal fights occuring. he ended up being transported to kq hybrid recovery facility. fate has its ways and he ends up in jiyu’s care.

Wrapped Up | Lee Minho

Pairing: Lee Minho x reader (college!au, f2l)

Summary: The dance soc is not the place to flirt but you promised yourself you’d try new things this year, and when the boy wearing the colourful cosy sweater approaches you with a compliment you can’t resist but respond to him.

Genre: smut, romance, fluff (pwp)

Wc: 12.4k (I am so sorry)

Rating: 18+

Warnings: dirty talk, sensory play (ish), creampie, mirror sex, clothed sex (not dry humping but that too), fingering, oral (f receiving), Lino's a keen bastard and I am obsessed with that cardigan that is it.

A/N: Thank you for looking over this fic and the amazing feedback @btssmutgalore (this one is for you) and thank you @notyouroppar for patching up my plot holes even if all you wanted was to eat your cake! Insanity part 2 but I wanted to write it, and I hope it is enjoyable to read.

Copyrights for the story and banner @joyfulhopelox

That being said please enjoy! I would love to hear from you so please leave me a message! 💌

He was wearing that stupid sweater again. Another gruesome day in the dance studio. The preparation for the upcoming show for the holidays made you stay behind for hours to practice. And your best friend, danseur extraordinaire Lee Minho who dragged you into the production was wearing that stupid brightly coloured jumper. Again. And by the looks of it, the strip of skin and peek of collarbone you got when he made certain movements meant he was scarcely wearing anything underneath it.

“Anything wrong?” His voice broke you out of your concentration, the surprise of having been addressed whilst you were busy staring at the bright fluffy sweater imagining what may be underneath it, making you jump.

Prying your eyes away from his chest, you met his amused expression, aware of your own flustered one. “No, why would you say that?” You asked quickly, swallowing hard at the mischievous look he was throwing your way. If anything, Lee Minho was a serious tease, but a harmless one. He always found new ways to make the heat rise up under your skin by teasing you, but he’s never made a move to follow through with it.

And as much as you wanted it to happen, he was your friend, and you couldn’t risk your friendship for something like that. So you chose to ignore his teasing most of the time, brushing it away with light jokes hoping it would deter him from continuing. Unfortunately, your plan backfired when he became more and more insistent, his jokes switching to light touches here and there and compliments with every opportunity he got.

“You were staring,” he shrugged, taking a swig of his water, his breathing still heavy from the effort. You tried to disprove his point by avoiding the wet trail of sweat that mapped his jawline, slowly making its way down the smooth skin of his neck only to disappear underneath the hem of his jumper.

“Are you not hot in that?” You threw back at him, forcibly turning away from him if only to evade the satisfied smirk you knew all too well.

“Depends, want me to take it off?” He fired back and you gasped, appalled at his preposterous proposal. Despite your strong reaction, your mind instantly wandered to places you told yourself you would not touch. Minho was not ugly. In fact, he was the exact opposite - high cheekbones, defined jawline, and a slightly downward pointed chin, all making him incredibly good looking. Enough that you would find yourself thinking about his lips and what they would feel like pressed all over your skin. The lustful thoughts suddenly intruding in your mind made you squirm and it was you who ended up feeling too warm.

“N-no, thanks,” you said, clearing your throat vigorously in hopes that it would serve to clean your mind of your own thoughts. Trying to change the subject, you ran through the choreography in your head, your feet trying to copy what you remembered from your class earlier that day.

“No, not like that. It should be like this,” Minho interrupted you, his body automatically catching up with your moves and correcting you. Taken by surprise, you stopped moving, your eyes narrowed in annoyance, breath coming out in rasps from the effort.

“No, it’s not, not my part,” you disagreed with him once your breathing levelled and you could stand up straight. Coming face to chest with him, you took a step back.

If you were squaring back with him, you needed to not be in close proximity. His being alone made you malfunction. “My part goes slower at the beginning and then quicker at the end. I’m the third row,” you told him matter of factly.

Minho was silent for a second before he sighed, shaking his head. Turning away from you, he grabbed his discarded water. “Do you really think,” he said, taking a sip out of it before putting it back down and moving nearer to you. Swallowing hard, you forced yourself to stay rooted on the spot. The impulse to move away from him and put some distance between the two of you was too strong, you could barely think let alone argue an intelligent point. “Do you really think I don't know what row you are in?” He repeated making you look at him in confusion.

He looked serious, his eyes framed by light coloured bangs shadowing them, his lips pursed in concentration. It was all you needed for your heart to stop beating and your breath to cease.

“I’m always keeping an eye on you and what you’re doing, Y/N,” he simply said. The way his voice lowered as he said it made it sound so natural that for a second you almost believed him. Then you remembered he was normally the one to step in when the dance teachers needed extra hands.

Still flustered and disappointed at yourself for entertaining these thoughts, you looked away. “Clearly not, there is a different part to the choreography than what you’ve just shown me,” you didn’t know why you were so adamant to prove him wrong. Maybe it was the disappointment of not being more special in his eyes, or maybe it was the stubbornness of not wanting to admit that his intense stare on you in every class meant the exact opposite. But, you felt the strong need to argue your point and refute his. “Regardless, I won’t get them. It’s too hard.”

“Y/N…” he trailed off, sighing, frustration clear in his voice.

“Minho, what–?” Unable to finish your sentence as he pulled you to him, hand holding onto your wrist, the other keeping you secure by the waist, you struggled to make sense of what was happening. One moment you were arguing about dance moves, the next you were enveloped in his warmth, the soft material of his sweater brushing the inside of your palm.

“What are you doing?” Your voice wavered, your hand subconsciously grabbing onto his top, the plush feeling offering the comfort your heart needed.

“You said you don’t get the steps. I will show you them,” his voice wasn’t louder than a whisper, but the pointed way in which he said it, eyes staring intensely into yours, made your toes curl. In awe at the determination you found in Minho’s eyes, paired with the way his fingers gripped onto your own flimsy sweater entranced you. You couldn’t help but mindlessly nod, letting him pull you slightly to the middle of the room. Stood there, you refused to look away from him, his eyes still trained on you, lips slightly parted – he was a vision.

“You have to move, Y/N,” he gently coaxed, his feet slowly shuffling, pulling you along with him. “You can’t dance if your feet are not moving.” The mischievous look flashed again in his eyes, yet his smile remained gentle and comforting. Under his movements, your feet followed – slow and uncertain. One step, two step, three step, four.

“That’s it,” Minho encouraged, his face breaking out in a smile. Your hand twitched on his jumper, your fingers accidentally scraping at the skin underneath, making him hiss.

“Shit, I’m so sorry,” you said, gasping, going to pull away. His quick reflexes prevented you from doing so, the arm around your waist pulling you back in before you could move further away. Not expecting his reaction, you stumbled over your feet almost stepping over his.

“There is no need to apologise, shall we try again?” He asked, not waiting for an answer.

Minho’s feet had already started moving, his movements quicker and more certain than before. Feeling as if you were going to trip once more over your own feet, or worse, his, you looked down worriedly. The way he moved had always enthralled you, so much precision and confidence. But the way he moved now paired with your own shabby movements as comparison, made it so you couldn’t look away.

“Ah, embarrassing,” you muttered to yourself, willing your feet to be more graceful. When it didn’t work, you sighed, feeling another wave of dejectedness washing over you.

“Hey, eyes up. This is not a waltz, I will need to move behind you,” Minho announced, not giving you any time to redress yourself before he pulled away, not further than a few centimetres. You could feel the air whoosh around you as he moved, his body emanating heat, the goddamned sweater brushing against you as he went. Settling behind you, he encircled your waist once more.

“Now slowly,” he instructed and you obeyed, eyes still trained on Minho, your feet followed the movement. “You will need to look in the mirror. Eyes up. On yourself. Dance with your reflection.”

His words made you groan. You didn’t have the best relationship with mirrors, especially not when dancing, the lack of self confidence that came with being a newbie in the studio put a damper on any outrageous moves like that.

“This is stupid, Minho, let’s drop it,” you whined, trying to pull away. Stepping away from him was easier than before as he was not holding your hand anymore, but he followed right behind you, his hand gripping at your top. You whined for him to let you go, entirely self-aware of how sweaty and grimy you were.

“We’re dancing, Y/N, not having sex,” Minho said and you gasped at his outrageous behaviour. Turning your head to look at him, you felt the heat rush to your face, your knees almost buckling at the impish smile he threw your way. “Unless you want to of course,” he winked, gauging your awed expression.

Feeling like a fish out the water, your mind reeling with possibilities, you breathed easily when he didn’t push for a response. Instead, his expression turned serious, and you found yourself admiring him. He had a certain spark in his eyes whenever he was dancing – probably because that was the only time he was genuine enough. Having experienced Minho’s teasing for so long whenever you two spoke, you tended to forget that he could be serious on occasion. Dancing always being the one you saw him most often in.

“Now, look at yourself. If you can’t do that,” he took a step closer, his hand grabbing your wrist again, “ look at me.” He was close enough now that you could feel his heat through both of your jumpers once more. You couldn’t help but listen, the tone in his voice leaving no room for argument. You looked up, your heart beating rapidly against your ribcage.

Catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, you felt your skin grow hotter. Your hair was in disarray, your flushed skin was shiny, the beads of perspiration from earlier giving you a glow, your lips were swollen from biting them too much in concentration. What made your stomach clench and the heat pool all the way down your spine was the look he was throwing you in the mirror. Not looking better than you, Minho sported the same flushed face, his hair mussed from dancing earlier , the sheen of sweat more prominent on his skin. When your eyes met in the mirror, his darkened for a split second, and you felt your throat constrict.

“Let’s go,” he moved. “Keep your eyes in the mirror, watch me.”

It was not the appropriate context and you could have sworn at yourself for allowing your thoughts to wander where they shouldn’t. But, the slight waver in his voice told you that his words held more meaning than dancing. Letting your feet move, you mulled over what he meant, your mind furthest away from dancing.

“Eyes on me, Y/N,” Minho sounded strict, yet his fingers gently reached to grab your chin, pulling your head back up and holding it in place for a few seconds, asserting himself.

Showing you once more the movement, you tried to focus on the way his whole body moved. It wasn’t hard, he was demanding your attention from the moment he started moving. However, you were not thinking clearly, and certainly not about the dance.

His jean-clad thighs, tight enough that you could see the muscles moving underneath the material as he showed you the steps, paired with the goddamn sweater were drawing your thoughts to your aching core.

You struggled to keep up with him and your own thoughts at the same time and, when your concentration completely broke and you took a misstep falling flat onto your ass, the dam broke. Swearing out loud, you could feel the tears gather in your eyes, the frustration building up until you couldn’t take it anymore. Aware of Minho’s gaze on you, you tried to play it off by reaching for your bottle of water.

“Maybe I should just call it quits now,” you grumbled, throwing the bottle you drank out of far into the corner. Sweat was dripping down the side of your face, and the inertia after the vigorous exercise made your joints ache. You wanted nothing more than to be in a bath at home, curled up and crying. Feeling the tears in your eyes you sniffled, you didn’t want to show him your pain, but you couldn’t stop yourself.

“Shit, are you ok?” Minho quickly approached you, his warm hand attaching itself onto your shoulder.

His voice sounded panicked and, as soon as he realised you were close to tears, he crouched in front of you, eyes full of worry and teeth gnawing at his lips. Even in this state, you couldn’t help but set aside your pain and marvel at him. How he managed to distract you in such a way you’d never know. But then again, you’ve had a crush on him for the longest time; rekindled by a chance meeting on a train. Wearing the same stupid coloured sweater.

=====

Rush hour was the bane of everyone’s existence, you were certain of this fact. Anyone who claimed to not see it that way either had no idea what they were talking about or were lying straight through their teeth. There was nothing worse than being stuck on a train, a can on wheels, for at least half an hour, pressed up against one thing or another. If it wasn’t the pole of the train, it was against the doors or, worse, another human whose life was made as miserable as yours by you squishing into them. When the same scenario happened that day though, you swore things would never be the same. For the first time, being pressed like a bug between the door and someone else didn’t feel like hell. It felt comfortable.

That day you had the misfortune of leaving university later than you normally would, your assignments seemed to be piling up by the hour and you struggled to concentrate. It didn’t help that you went out with your friends to celebrate a birthday the night before, got drunker than you would normally and declared loud and proud that you would gracefully exit your celibate ways. When your friends made fun of you, reminding you how unlikely it was for you to have a spontaneous date or one night stand, you retaliated quickly promising that by next week you wouldn’t have had either or.

Remembering all that the next day during your classes was a hammer to your head; alongside your hangover, it made you want to crawl underneath the desk and pray for a swift death.

“Excuse me,” a soft voice whispered. Broken out of your thoughts, your body further being pressed against the door, you closed your eyes for a moment prepared to experience the harsh feel of someone’s coat against you and the stench of a day’s worth of cheap cologne and body odour.

Surprisingly, none of these hit you, but rather the gentle brush of soft wool combined with a sweet scent assaulted your senses and you opened your eyes confusedly. The array of colorful patterns that greeted you made you frown—it was rare that anyone wore anything outside of the earthy spectrum of colours. What furthered your confusion was the soft material that brushed against your hand from time to time when the train would take a turn and the person wearing it would lean further into you.

You resisted the urge to reach out and pat the material, not wanting to come across as the creep on the train. Intrigued by their fashion choice, you tried to focus on the other aspects of the person. Trailing your eyes away from the buttons of the sweater, you couldn't help but note their height and the amount of skin that was displayed right in front of you.

Gulping, you slowly pried your eyes away from the defined collarbone that would peek out of the edge whenever the person’s body moved closer towards you. If you would have been in a different situation, you wouldn’t have hesitated to turn around to save yourself from the embarrassment of ogling someone. However, you were stuck between this person and the door with little room for movement. Accepting your fate, you sighed dejectedly, regretting it immediately as the sweet cologne invaded your nostrils once more.

Carrying on with your inspection felt like an intrusion now, yet you couldn’t help yourself as curiosity got the better of you. The person was tall, but not as tall to impede you from getting a perfect view of his face. You bit your lip, the urge to groan in frustration dying in your throat. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that he was good looking. With a softly defined jaw, plump lips with a slight pout, high cheekbones and incredibly soft looking skin, he looked like a winner in the looks department and his brightly coloured sweater only served to accentuate that.

“Goddamn,” you muttered to yourself, gripping the strap on your shoulder. You would remember those features anywhere, the features that tormented you in dance school as he mocked your skills until he brought you to tears.

“Are you ok? I’m not squishing you, am I?” You jolted at the question, eyes immediately snapping back in focus. Finding the handsome yet forbidden man staring at you in concern, a slight frown on his face didn’t surprise you as much as your response did.

“Don’t worry, I’d rather get squished by you than groped by a pervert,” you replied instantly, feeling the embarrassment crawl up your skin and heat up your face. Not one to let your words out without a filter, you felt mortified at your bravery.

You didn’t think he’d be able to get more handsome, but as he snorted at your comment, his lips slightly parted in laughter you realised how wrong you were.

“Do you always place that much trust in good looking people? Or is it just me?” He asked, the humour in his eyes making your palms sweat in mortification. Mortification because you easily recognised that face now that you stared at it long enough.

“Pffft, you’re not that special, who said you’re good looking?” You smartly responded, congratulating yourself for your swift comeback. You could’ve kicked yourself for not realising who he was sooner.The unmistakable lips and high cheekbones should have given him away.

“You were staring,” Minho responded, too quickly for your liking. Wondering how long he’s noticed you giving him the once over, you cleared your throat scrambling to find a good enough answer when your eyes caught sight of his lanyard.

“It’s not like I can look anywhere else,” you mumbled, shuffling on your feet. “Anyways Minho, what are you doing on this train? Do you live around here?” You inquired, eyes narrowing suspiciously. Trying not to cringe at your own prodding, you kept your eyes on his as a last attempt to make yourself look confident.

“As a matter of fact, I go to university around here. Now I’m questioning who the perverted one is. It’s been so long, Y/N, never thought you’d turn up in my life like this,” he laughed lightheartedly, leaning in towards you. The strong scent paired with his demeanour made your breath catch in your throat and you pulled back as much as you could. Your thoughts were jumbled, the realisation of your situation finally dawning on you. This was Lee Minho, your crush since middle school and your tormenter since before that.

“Trust me, it wouldn’t have happened if I could’ve helped it,” you muttered looking away from him, missing the slight frown that crossed his face. The train was close to pulling into the station, the jostle of the tracks paired with the shuffling of passengers desperate to make it to the door through the crowd caused you to stumble. Back hitting the door of the carriage, you yelped, the slight awkward angle that you hit it at made it pulse in pain.

Minho grabbed your shoulder a bit too late, his eyes widened as you hurt yourself. He winced as you let out a yelp. He could almost feel the bruise and could imagine it wasn’t a pleasant experience. “You good?” He asked worriedly. Not wanting to allow him to be privy to your moment of weakness, you shrugged.

“Who’s the pervert now?” Before he could respond, a look of confusion still etched onto his face, the train stopped announcing your stop. “Ah, well I have to dash,” you muttered, not bothering to look back as you exited the train hurriedly.

Later you would find out, he went to the same university as you did, and he had been going there for a while, you just never happened to cross paths. But when you decided to be brave and go for extracurricular activities that you wouldn’t normally go for, such as the dance society, you literally bumped into him.

=====

Running like a madwoman before you were about to enter a dance class was not a good idea and you knew it. You would be out of breath before the hour even started. But with the amount of presentations you had to take care of, and the pit stop you made by the coffee shop before heading to the dance club made you later than you’d intended. Sad that you had to down the rest of your drink before even getting to fully enjoy it, you legged it to class. Cursing softly under your breath, you realised you were already ten minutes late, something not so bad when it came to an elective, but this happened to be the first day of class. And you’ve just managed to brand yourself as the late one.

You didn’t even care that you were running at risk of bumping into anyone who may be rounding the corner until you slammed into a body, the force of it knocking you back. Almost losing your balance, you yelped as a hand grabbed you roughly stopping you from planting your bum onto the hard floor.

“Woah there. Are you alright?” A soft voice asked, sounding concerned. Too dazed to apologise, you could only nod, your sole focus set on regaining your breath.

“Yes, I’m sorry, I am late for class,” you said panting, gaze focused on the floor. You were feeling dizzy, the impact serving as a good reminder that you were not someone who had good stamina. Making a mental note to yourself that running across campus was probably something you shouldn’t attempt ever again, you straightened up. Feeling like the ground was not at risk of running away from you, you were ready to properly apologise to the victim of your mad dash when you came face to face with a familiar sweater. Eyes widening in recognition, you stumbled back a step grateful for the hand still holding onto you. “Oh.”

Minho chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “It’s ok. Just be careful, you don’t want to hurt yourself,” he bent down towards you, lowering his voice, ”or anyone else for that matter.”

“I, uh, thank you,” you swallowed hard, his proximity to you making you dizzy once more. His sweet scent, the one that followed you even after you have exited the train, enveloped you and you fought the urge to inhale. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bash into you like that. Did I hurt you?” You said panicked that you may have caused him harm, his words finally registering in your head. Without thinking, you immediately touched the arm that was still firmly holding onto you, prepared to check for any bruises until his laughter stopped you.

“I am ok, Y/N. You’re not that strong,” Minho teased, his eyebrow raised in amusement. “Where are you off to in such a hurry?” He watched as your face contorted in horror.

“Crap! Dance class! I am going to be late,” you let your head drop in your hands, ashamed at yourself for being so late. When Minho chuckled at you, you reeled back looking at him flabbergasted. “Do you think this is funny?” Appalled by his reaction, you prepared to yell at him about how important time keeping was for you, until he shook his head, the amusement never leaving his eyes.

“No, not at all. I am just laughing at the fact that somehow we managed to not only intersect as complete strangers on a train when we were friends before and we seem to be in the same university. But we are also part of the same society,” he chuckled, pushing your shoulder lightly as he started to walk down the corridor. “Don’t worry, I am their best dancer, if you go in with me you won’t look as bad, newbie,” Minho teased and you fought the urge to roll your eyes, not believing his audacity for a second.

“Pshhhyea right,” you mocked, making him throw you a look of disbelief.

“Well, I guess we will see. You will eat your words, Y/N,” he warned as you came up to the doors of the dance room.

And eat your words you did. In high resolution, eight step choreographies and nights where all you could think of was him and the passion he put into moving.

==========

“Y/N? Are you ok? If you need to cry, just cry,.” his voice brought you back to the present, the amusement at the memory of when you met him having passed, you felt useless once more.

You didn’t know whether it was the pent-up frustration or the comfort his touch brought you, but you found yourself leaning onto him, the onslaught of tears hidden by his sweater. Your body was shaking with the force of your sobs, your hands grabbing tightly onto the plush material of Minho’s top in a last attempt to find some grounding.

Hiccuping your apologies before another fresh wave of tears made you tremble in his arms and when he brought you closer to him, your face slotted in between his shoulder and neck, you didn’t hesitate to wrap your arms around him. Everything came out of you at once, your struggles and pain pouring out of you in waves, not stopping until Minho gently shushed you.

“It’s ok, let it all out. I’m here,” he wrapped his hands around your shoulders, his hand gently patting your head in a comforting manner.

When you profusely apologised the next second, he tightened his grip on you, his lips mindlessly pressing down onto the crown of your head. The soft pressure made you pause, the blood rushing to your cheeks. Even through the tears, you could feel the rhythm of his heartbeat, the pulse rapidly increasing, making your sobs subside to light sniffles. Not able to process what had happened, you stayed in his arms until your heart stopped banging about your chest and the heat in your cheeks subsided.

“You’re not a failure, you’re one of the best dancers we have. You’ve not only learned everything from scratch and managed to hold your own against some of our older, more experienced members, but you also got chosen to perform for this round. Plus I think –” he cooed, his voice ringing clearly in your head. Minho paused for a second as if trying to decide whether he should carry on or not, before he took a deep breath in. “I think you’re one heck of a partner,” he admitted so softly you almost didn’t catch it.

“I can’t even get down a simple step sequence,” you breathed, feeling a fresh new wave of tears well up in your eyes.

When you finally pulled away, you tried to scoot as further away as possible from him, your hands busy with clearing the marks on your cheeks.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, feeling flustered. You refused to meet his eyes, the reality of what’s happened hitting you like a freight train. “Oh God, I’m really sorry,” you hurriedly added, noticing the wetness on his skin. Without a thought, you pulled your own sweater over your hand reaching out to pat him dry until his hand gently grabbed yours.

“Y/N, please don’t,” he softly whispered, his voice sounding strained. Frozen, you hesitantly looked up only to meet his eyes. His brows were furrowed as if he was in pain, his bottom lip between his teeth and his eyes darkened.

“Minho,” you whispered, the pain in his eyes making your heart clench with worry. “Are you ok?”

For a second, it seemed like he was about to keel over in pain, his eyes closed a frown etched onto his face. Your heart was beating faster and faster, mind reeling with possibilities as to what may have made him hurt like that. Your hand still in his, you pulled lightly at it in an attempt to free yourself from his warm hold. Even through your sweater, the heat radiating off of him was burning itself as a memory onto your skin. The movement seemed to have snapped something in him—in the next second your hand was freed and Lee Minho was as far away from you as possible.

Confused, and a bit hurt you stared at him, your hand cradling the one he pushed away from him to your chest. You didn’t know what happened, but the way he paced the floor, the soles of his sneakers squeaking against the polished wood, a concentrated look on his face told you he was done talking. Deciding to not push it, you cleared your throat and hoisted yourself up onto your feet.

“Right, well seeing as this turned into something none of us wanted, I will be calling it a day,” you announced, hoping to keep the hurt from your voice. You weren’t expecting him to treat you like this after letting you cry into him, but you assumed you’ve pushed a limit and you not only felt the need to extract yourself from the situation, but also to apologise. “I’m sorry if I made this more uncomfortable than needed.”

The way he stopped pacing when he heard your words and the incredulous look on his face surprised you entirely.

“You think…” He trailed off, hands running through his hair before he continued. “You think you made me uncomfortable?”

You didn’t know what to answer, stuttering, your mind completely confused at the turn of events. Did he think it was the opposite way round?

“I thought I made you uncomfortable,” he huffed out, his pacing resuming once more. Not able to withstand the frenzy with which he behaved, you grabbed the end of his sweater, stopping him before he did another full round.

“Minho, stop. You’re going to wear the floor down, or even worse, your own shoes,” you tried to joke, but the worry in your own eyes spoke of a different feeling. “You never made me uncomfortable, why would you even think that?” You questioned him, your grip on him tightening in case he tried to evade your questions once more. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the slight flicker of uncertainty behind them but you decided to press on. You needed answers, his behaviour an odd occurrence.

“Did I ever give off that feeling?” You tilted your head to the side, observing his reaction.

Not able to believe what he was hearing, Minho’s eyes locked on yours, his brows furrowed. “No, that is stupid,” realising he might have offended you, he was quick to add, “I don’t know, I kept making jokes, and I kept pushing my feelings onto you, thinking that one day they may be reciprocated. Then you go and do something to make me think that they are.”

You could feel your breath catch in your throat at his confession, but the slight pull against your hold told you he was prepared to flee once more.

“Don’t,” you pulled him towards you, not realising the strength with which you did. Instead of him stumbling into you, you managed to pull yourself closer to Minho as he resisted. Closer than before, you could once again smell him, his scent never changing even after hours of practice, he still smelled good to you.

“Don’t what? Get my hopes up? Have feelings for you?” He whispered, his eyes trained on yours before they flickered to your lips. “Because I do. And I can’t do anything about it. It’s been months. I tried to tell myself it’s not useful, that I should be indifferent. And yet, here I am miles away from even reaching that indifference.”

You couldn’t feel the way his heart sped up at the small smile you offered him, but you could see the light in his eyes as you stood up on your tiptoes to press your lips to his.

With a low moan he parted away from you, your slightly parted lips red and bruised from his kiss, breath coming out in pants - you wanted more, and you decided to ask for it.

“Minho,” you called his name sweetly, watching carefully as he opened his eyes, the soft look in them almost making you falter. But the heat in your stomach and the way you could feel the palms of your hands sweating over his sweater pushed you to vocalise your thoughts to him.

“Hm?” His hand still held onto the back of your neck. You shivered in pleasure at the way his thumb subconsciously traced circles around the sensitive point underneath your earlobe.

“If I asked you to fuck me, right here right now in this dance studio, would you do it?” You felt your breath catch in your throat, the courage leaving you as soon as the words left your mouth. His silence was concerning, and for the first time in your life, you felt like burying yourself underneath the earth. Cursing at your own stupidity, you breathed out a sigh. “Ah, look - forget I said anything. Let’s just -”

Minho couldn’t believe his ears, the way you asked him such a filthy question after having kissed him like that, your hands digging into his shoulders, your body moulded onto his made him bashful. He knew what the answer would be, no doubt, but before he gave in to his wishes, he needed to make sure that you knew what you were asking of him.

“You -” he cleared his throat, his voice coming out raspy. “Are you....?”

You knew what he was going to ask. You haven’t dated him, and you weren’t that close, but you knew him well enough to know how considerate he was of others. Despite his teasing persona and tough exterior, he would always make sure that everyone was alright. And of course, this was no exception.

Not allowing him to think too much about it, and not having the courage to speak about it again, you pushed your lips onto his again, your hands burying themselves into his hair. “Shut up and make me scream your name, Lee Minho.”

He didn’t need you to ask him more than once. Fuelled by your demanding tone, Minho gripped your hips tightly pulling you closer to him, his lips pressed onto yours, his tongue seeking the warmth of your mouth. Allowing him to do as he pleased, you pulled at his hair lightly, eliciting a low groan from him. Pulling away, his eyes hooded with desire, he smirked at you making your knees weak.

“If that is what you want,” his fingers dug into your hips before he turned you around to face the mirror, your back to him. Bending you slightly, he made quick work of your pants, pulling them down in one swift movement. “That is what you get.”

Minho didn’t give you any time to respond before he dropped to his knees, his mouth attaching itself to your clothed cunt. Not wasting time, he sucked at the underwear, soaking it through with his saliva as well as your juices before he pulled away.

“You taste so good. I could sit here and eat you forever,” he hummed, his fingers latching onto the side of your panties, pulling them down. The way you moaned and pressed your hips into his hand asking for more made him forgo tasting you for the time being.

Pulling himself up and you against him, he prodded at your entrance with his fingers, one hand tightly on your hip, the other sliding underneath your sweater, cupping your breast.

“So needy... First you ask me to fuck you into oblivion in the dance studio,” Minho grunted, parting your legs slightly with his knee. “A studio everyone will be in tomorrow with no knowledge of what has happened. That is incredibly dirty,” he softly bit into the smooth flesh of your neck, his tongue flicking to lick the area between bites.

You should’ve felt embarrassed for being so wet without him even having entered you, but the way his fingers prodded at your folds, sliding up and down, coating themselves into your slickness wiped all thoughts away. Pushing your hips back against his hand, desperate to feel more of his long slender fingers in you, around you, you mewled when he found your clit.

“You‘re so wet and ready for me, aren’t you, Y/N?” Bending over you, his clothed dick pushing into the soft flesh of your ass, he whispered lowly, as his finger started to circle your nub softly at first, picking up the pace when you prompted him with your ass.

“All this wetness, just from dancing, hm?” He teased, knowing full well it wasn’t the dancing. Feeling his cock twitch at the prospect of his dancing making you this hot, he pushed harder against your ass, the material of his jeans rubbing against his length.

In the process of bending you over and discarding your bottoms, your top had also risen up, allowing you to feel the soft sweater brush against your skin. The sensitive area of your lower back and ass being caressed by it made you shiver craving more of that. “Minho, more,” you moaned, finding it hard to express yourself.

“More what?” He bent over again, the finger circling at your clit relentlessly flicking at it. You could feel the wetness pooling out of you, making a mess of your inner thighs, but you couldn’t worry about it, not when you had a mission.

“Please,” you begged with shaky fingers grabbing at your top, going to pull it off of yourself. The clumsy movement only served to push the material above your breasts, finding it hard to take it off completely without pulling away from Minho’s fingers. Minho paused slightly, his fingers lazily pressing on your clit, the change in movement making you whimper in need.

“Want me to help?” He asked amusedly and you prepared to tell him off for ruining the mood until he pulled his fingers away from your pussy. The room was not well lit as you didn’t turn on the lights, and it was dark enough outside to make it difficult for you to see anything.

Despite that, you could see as clear as day how wet his fingers were, the shine of your slickness making you flush for a second.

“Mmm, look at this,” he scissored his fingers in the air, a string of fluid forming between his fingers as he did so. “Such a naughty girl. You’ve coated my fingers completely,” he drawled, and you watched enthralled as he slowly brought them to his mouth, slipping them in. You couldn’t take your eyes off of him, the heat increasing in your abdomen as he pulled the fingers out, his breathy moan as he tasted you on his hand, his lips smacking as if you were the tastiest thing he’s ever had.

“Delicious,” Minho purred, bending over you. You were so focused on him tasting you that you forgot what set you off in the first place. When he bent over and the material of his sweater brushed over you, making your knees buckle, you begged him to touch you again. Your need to feel him against you gripping at your throat.

“Minho,” you breathed, hips circling grinding against his hardened dick. He seemed bigger than before, his tip poking at you through his thick trousers and your toes curled with the knowledge that it was your taste that made him this hard.

“I want you to tell me what you want,” he coaxed, his clean fingers going to unbutton his top. Jerking, you whined your disapproval.

“No, keep it on. I want to feel it,” you blurted, afraid that he would take it off before you could express yourself.

When he paused, his hand hovering over his buttons, you felt the embarrassment wash over you. You were never into sensory play, but there was something about that sweater that made you crave the feeling of it. You wanted to know what it would feel like for it to brush against your back, teasing the sensitive skin there as he fucked you from behind.

It didn’t take long for Minho to catch onto your wishes seeing as he already had an inkling about your preference towards his sweater. He's seen you stare at it multiple times, each time more and more insistent. It was the reason he started wearing it more often, each time more adventurous than the previous one.

At first he wore a top underneath, but as he slowly figured out you were inclined towards him more as he wore it, he wondered if he could push it. The last few times Minho forwent the top, choosing to only wear the sweater buttoned up as a top. He didn’t miss your stares, or the increase in breathing whenever he moved, displaying more of his skin.

He also didn’t miss the way you subconsciously started to touch him more. If he were to admit to himself, you were not wrong, his sweater did feel like heaven over his skin. The warm material brushing over his nipples made him twitch in his pants on more than one occasion. That paired with the brush of your hands on his arm from time to time prompted him to go and relieve himself in the toilets quite often.

“Ah,” Minho sang, smirking at you in the mirror. Gulping, you stilled, wondering what was playing on his mind. “You dirty girl, you want to feel my sweater don’t you?” He asked, his hips pushing into you.

You couldn’t hide it anymore, the heat underneath your skin and your wanton pussy clenching at air made you nod, thrilled at the prospect of having your wishes granted.

Minho never thought he’d be so turned on at the thought, but as soon as you nodded, he felt something shift in him, an animalistic growl leaving his throat. Not in a rush, he looked at you darkly, the smirk not leaving his features.

“I see, well… who am I to not grant you your wishes?” he asked, the hand hovering above your ass falling down onto the skin making it sting. Yelping, you arched your back at the feeling, grinding your hips into his hand as he kneaded the flesh. “First, I need to hear you beg.”

Desperate for his touch, you obeyed, your eyes locked onto his, your flushed face proof of your desires. “Minho please, let me feel you,” you tried, but when he made no move apart from his fingers settling deeper into the flesh of your ass, you grunted again. “Please, I want to feel your sweater touching me as you fuck me hard from behind,” you pleaded – propriety be damned. You let all the cats out of the bag, not feeling in the least ashamed of what you were feeling.

“That is it, no need to say more,” he rasped, your words reaching his cock making him tense. His hands pulled away from your ass, reaching for his belt and unzipping his trousers.

You couldn’t see him in the mirror due to the angle but when you tried to turn around wanting to see him, you felt another sting to your left ass cheek. “No peeking, Y/N, you wanted sensory play, that is all you will be getting today,” Minho warned and you breathed out slowly.

Grabbing your shoulder roughly, he pulled you to him, straightening your back. Not quite touching, he pulled your top, prompting you to lift your arms so he could pull it off you.

“Is this what you wanted?” He panted, his arm wrapping around your front, pulling you flush against him. “Widen your legs.”

You bucked your hips against his crotch, enjoying the way his hardness poked at the sensitive area of your ass. You obeyed him, spreading your legs open, your head leaning back onto his shoulder. Minho’s demanding tone contrasted greatly with the affectionate way his fingers danced along the sensitive skin tracing the pattern of your ribs. You shuddered under his touch, your core throbbing at the teasing and comforting feel of his woollen sweater against your back.

“Minho, that’s it, yes,” you prompted him, arching your back to feel as much of him as you could. His teeth were still nipping at your neck when his hand found your nipple, deft fingers circling it in slow motion making the skin pucker.

“Dirty girl, you like the feel of the sweater don’t you?” He asked, testing his theory by pinching your nipple at the same time as he pressed himself harder into you.

The material roughly rubbed onto your skin with the movement making you shiver. You grabbed onto his wrist tightly pressing yourself further into him. The length of his cock freed from its confines slipped between the two of you, and you could feel its searing temperature on your lower back. Smiling impishly, you decided to taunt him, circling your hips in a slow movement rubbing him between your ass cheeks and his own abdomen.

Hearing Minho’s low moan vibrate in your eardrums as he buried his face in your hair spurred you on, your hips rocking faster, showing him exactly why you loved his sweater so much.

“Ah, look at you rutting so desperately, does that feel good?” You asked, your hand reaching behind you to grip as much of his ass as you could, digging your fingers, waiting for a reaction. “Do you know now, why your sweater drives me so mad whenever you wear it?” You punctuated each word with more friction.

The low groans and the increasing wetness against your ass told you what you needed, but you wanted him to respond. “Minho,” you whispered, your attention on his reflection in the mirror. His eyes were closed, his face scrunched up as if he was concentrating hard, the hand on your breast gripping tightly at the flesh.

Hearing you call his name so sweetly, after you’ve uttered pure filth, got his attention. Struggling to keep his breathing leveled and his mind clear, with your hips still brushing against his dick, Minho found it hard to not come then and there, so he opened his eyes. Looking at you, he could see your whole naked form in the mirror. The way your hips rolled enticingly, your spread legs giving him a full view of your wet mound, he could barely contain himself from shoving himself into you until he bottomed out.

It had been a long time coming – your relationship, the tension between the two of you. With each touch of skin in class, each teasing remark he would throw at you only to be countered immediately.

“Minho, eyes on me,” you said softly, your hips ceasing their movement, your hand slowly sliding away from his ass, dancing above the dip of your belly button before slowly sliding towards your needy clit.

The position you were in made it easy for your middle finger to slide in between your pussy lips, your finger expertly finding your clit. You’ve done this more than you could count, touched yourself, but you’ve never done it in front of anyone, and the thought both excited you and made you nervous at the same time. The slow circles you traced around your nub before you added more pressure shot a jolt of electricity up your spine.

“Ah, so good, Minho,” you didn’t know where that came from, never having uttered his name whilst you were pleasuring yourself, but it seemed to have done the trick.

Hearing you moan his name so wantonly, your hand working shamelessly away at your pussy on your own, your soft warm lips wetly mouthing his name in pleasure even though he was barely touching you, switched something in him. With your feet so lewdly spread open, it was easy for Minho to mannouver you so that he could slip his cock between your folds, the tip reaching where your fingers thrummed at your clit.

The sudden movement jolted you out of your own world, the pleasurable haziness clearing off your mind, and you suddenly realised what you were doing. You couldn’t feel ashamed, he wouldn’t allow you to, the sight you’ve just presented him with was to be engraved in his memory forever.

“Tell me, do you mutter my name whilst you come all over your own fingers, think of me when you’re pleasuring yourself like that?” he murmured languidly, moving his cock between your folds, coating it in your juices. “You’re so wet, you are after all a dirty girl, aren’t you?” He groaned, his hand letting go of your breasts, reaching out to grab his own dick.

His breathing stilled when your hand movement stopped, your heavy breathing being the only thing he could hear in the stillness of the air around you. Wondering if he’d gone too far, he went to let you go but you wouldn’t allow him to, your soft voice calling out to him. “Minho.”

With his attention back on you, you could clearly see in the reflection the way his eyes trailed over every inch of your skin available, the intense gaze only softened by the way he bit his lip softly. “It’s ok to be as rough as you want,” you reassured him, craving the uncouth Minho from a few minutes ago.

Your words gave him the permission that he needed, and within a second, something shifted behind his eyes, a darker look glazing over before he slid himself within you with a powerful thrust. Bottomed out and almost pressed all the way against the mirror, you could only let out a scream of pleasure, your hands fighting to steady yourself.

Minho stilled, fighting hard to not come straight away. Your teasing riled him up enough that he was hard and ready to go. Once your warm walls swallowed his cock, fighting to adjust to his size, squeezing against the intrusion, he felt his cock twitch within you, desperate to pound you senseless.

“Good girl, you’re taking me so well,” Minho praised softly, sliding himself slowly in and out of you, gauging your reactions in the mirror. Your eyes were closed, a silent moan painted on your lips.

“Want me to go faster?” He asked, slapping his hips against yours aggressively. “I want to stay like this forever, fucking you and filling you up with my cum.”

The implications of his own words hit him and he slowed to a lazier pace. Even at that speed, he was still hitting your sensitive area, and you felt the pressure building up in your abdomen.

“Can I come inside?” He asked tentatively, his voice hoarse.

Your mind was far away riddled with pleasure, your words barely coming out in a full sentence. “Minho, fuck, yes, fill me up with your cum,” you groaned, your voice breaking out into a moan when you felt his fingers anchor themselves in the flesh of your hips, his movements frenzied.

He was grunting just as loudly behind you, the material of his top now sticking to his own skin as much as yours, irritating the sensitive area. Snapping his hips frantically, the sound of your skin slapping together reverberated throughout the dance room.

“You like that hm, you like the idea of being filled up with my cum, don’t you?” Minho panted, bending forward. You yelped, hands shooting forward to prevent yourself from falling. His dick pounding into you at a deeper angle made your skin tingle with electricity as he hit the tip of your cervix repeatedly, the pleasure crashing over you in waves.

You didn’t realise when you leaned onto the mirror, the sheen of sweat on your hands making them slip with every thrust of his hips into you. Struggling to keep yourself upright, you arched your back. The movement caused your inner muscles to clench around him, gripping his cock tightly within your velvety walls, breaking the fast paced rhythm. Minho grunted, his need to carry on fucking you into tomorrow overpowering any other thought. Realising you were in a precarious position, close to crumbling onto the floor, he stopped moving, a look of worry crossing over his face.

“Are you ok?” He said, voice breaking from using it so aggressively earlier.

You nodded and spread your legs further apart in an attempt to give yourself more stability. Seeing you struggle Minho grabbed your left hand in his, his other letting go of your hip to encircle your waist. Without a word, he slowly moved you closer to the mirror, his lips peppering soft kisses on the sweaty skin of your shoulder. His dick still being lodged deep into your pussy drew a whimper out of your throat as it slowly pushed further in along with his movements.

“Hold on,” he softly instructed, placing your hand flush against the mirror, holding it in place with his own. The hand around your waist slid further down to your sensitive folds and anchored you on it like a harness. The position left you placing your whole weight on his hand, the pressure of his palm against your inflamed clit sending sparks up your spine, making you dizzy.

“Ah, fuck, Minho,” you croaked while grinding your cunt onto his hand, your slickness coating his wrist dripping down his fingers. From this position, you were completely at his mercy, the only thing that kept you secure was his hold on you.

Minho groaned, your name being the only thing on his lips. The more pressure he put against your clit, the further you leaned into his hand, your smooth warm walls contracting around him.

“You like that, don’t you?” he asked teasingly, thrusting his hips against yours once, eliciting a shuddered breath out of you. “You like being handled as you’re stuffed full of my cock, hm? Look how tightly you’re gripping onto me as if you’re afraid I'd let you go,” he said, his lips ghosting over your sweaty skin, making goosebumps appear with each pointed word.

“Do you want me to move?” He carried on, lazily slipping his length out of your wet folds until only the tip remained in you.

The reflection in the mirror caught his attention. His breath caught in his throat at the view, your slightly bent over body, your hand on the mirror clenched into a fist tightly secured by his larger one, his hand around your midriff covering your mound from view.

The way your eyes were closed, a look of pleasure etched onto your face, eyebrows furrowed in concentration, sweaty forehead covered the strands of hair that made it onto your face, lips red and swollen from biting them too much made him pause. Minho could see the way your breasts slightly juggled from the movement of your own hips against his arm

He couldn’t see your pussy or the way it was wrapped around him, but he could feel your wetness on his skin, his entire hand bathed in it, your velvety folds grinding against his palm. If he didn’t want to make you come first, he would have filled you with his cum then and there. You were beautiful, you looked thoroughly fucked, you wanted more, and you were his.

Needing to share this moment, Minho kissed your neck once more, slightly blowing on the overheated skin. “Open your eyes,” he coaxed, his hand on your wrist squeezing lightly to garner your attention. “Dance with yourself in the mirror, Y/N,” he softly instructed. “Look how beautiful you look, all like that, sweaty and lewdly spread like that - and only for me.”

Obeying him, you opened your eyes, catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Your eyes glazed over with lust, the sight urging the fire underneath your skin. You immediately honed into the way his hips lazily moved, feeling the way he slid in and out of you, deep within your pussy.

The lewd squelching sounds that reverberated through the darkened room paired with the languid kisses he placed on your skin forced your inner walls to spasm in pleasure, and you closed your eyes, enjoying the intimate moment. You could feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge - his movements paired with the way your mound rubbed against his arm drawing your orgasm out of you with a quick thrust of his hips.

“Fuck Minho, I’m going to come. Shit,” your eyes rolled back as your body came undone, your muscles tensing and tremors wrecked through your body from head to toe.

Minho felt you spasm around him, your pussy gripping onto him in a vice like, your wails of pleasure spurring him on. With an unrestrained growl, he tightened his grip on you, the hand on your mound pressed roughly onto your clit bearing down on it to prolong the peak of your orgasm. “You’re already a mess, wetting my dick like that, let yourself go, baby,” he demanded, his hips snapping into you at a rapid pace at the same time as he was watching you fall apart for him in the mirror.

“You’re beautiful like that, coming all over my cock. Shall I make more of a mess of you?” Minho asked, feeling his own dam burst and, with a last deep thrust, he spilled his cum deep into you, painting your walls, claiming you as his. You whined as you felt him come, the strangled noises ripped out of your throat as your sensitive cunt milked him of the last of his drops.

“Let me taste you,” Minho said, his voice hoarse from the high he’s just experienced. You drew in a sharp breath. His unexpected request made you stutter, and you wondered if he realised what he was asking. In the aftershocks of your orgasm, you thought you did not hear him well, but when you turned around, your shaky legs forcing you to brace yourself against him for support, his serious expression left you speechless.

“You– you’re serious.”

It wasn’t a question, you were certain he meant it, but you just needed to express your feelings at this brazen statement. Not knowing how to react, you thought about it for a moment, your eyes trailing from his eyes down to his mouth. The moment you imagined his lips on you, sucking on your cunt, drawing out his own cum, you felt yourself getting hotter.

Minho nodded, noticing the way your eyes found his lips, shifting from one foot to another. Smirking to himself, he decided to give you one final push, knowing that if you allowed him this, you would not regret it.

Licking his lips, he breathed out slowly, trying one more time. “Can I clean you up? Look how messy it’s getting,” he pointed to the floor where a small amount of his cum dripped down it. It was only a few drops but the sight of it made you moan, your mind already settled.

“Yes,” you said automatically, taking a step closer to him. “Clean me up, you’ve made a mess, now you need to clean up after yourself, bad boy.”

You weren’t sure where the courage came from. Maybe it was from the way he drew a sharp intake of breath, maybe it was the way his hands immediately found the curvature of your hips, gently massaging the area, or maybe it was the way he dropped to his knees in front of you, his hands trailing to the inside of your thighs.

His deft fingers traced the soft skin, his face was so close to your pussy you could feel his breath on your sensitive nub. “Open your legs wider for me, love,” Minho prompted, his hands guiding you.

You whimpered as the cold air hit your core directly. The initial hesitation you felt being so exposed to his eyes didn’t last long, as he dove straight in with a hungry slurp, his tongue slipping right between your folds. The suddenness of his movement made your knees buckle, a loud moan being ripped out of your throat.

The lewd sounds from his mouth on you loudly echoed in your mind, fuelling the build up pleasure from his tongue lapping at you. You could feel the pressure of his hands onto your thighs, certain that he would leave bruises.

“Ah, Minho.”

He parted from your pussy with one last lick, his tongue flattened brushing your overly sensitive clit making you buckle.

“Steady,” he laughed, his soft voice sending shivers up your spine. He let go of your legs and interlaced his fingers with yours supporting your weight. You didn’t know if you had the courage to look down, instead you tried to catch a glimpse of him in the mirror, but the angle you were both at proved to be an inconvenience.

“You’ve got such a pretty pussy, so soft and you taste so good,” he dove in for a tentative lick, the tip of his tongue circling your clit. Unable to hold back, your eyes snapped down, his words almost enough to make you come.

“Are you ready, love?” Minho asked, locking eyes with you. His face was shiny and wet from both your juices, but the glint in his eyes told you he was far from done. Barely able to breathe, let alone speak, you threw him an uncertain look, unsure what he meant by asking you that.

“What do you- ahhh!”

Minho had no inhibition, his mouth finding your entrance without a hesitation, prodding at you scooping up his own mess with his tongue all the while massaging your walls. His hands let go of yours and you felt your world shift for a moment before he tightly grabbed your ass, burying himself deeper into your dripping pussy.

He didn’t let you breathe, licking and prodding like a starved man. His tongue traced your lips lightly, applying pressure on the sensitive bundle of nerves. Minho was determined to clean all of you out, he prodded you in all the right ways to make you approach your second orgasm.

You felt it building up the moment his tongue slipped into you once more acting as a substitute of his dick earlier, swirling inside of your warmth, tracing the inside of your velvet walls. The familiar feeling of needing to pee crawled up your spine until you felt yourself let go with a loud groan as tears gathered in your eyes from the intensity.

“Shit, I’m coming,” you let your head fall back as your hands found their way into his hair, holding him to you as you rode out your orgasm. The intensity of it almost made your knees fold under you and you would have fallen over if not for his hands holding onto your ass, anchoring you upwards.You felt his tongue languidly lapping at your clit, guiding you through your peak, the warmth travelling all the way down to the tip of your toes.

“That’s it,” he mumbled, his face still buried in your cunt, “give me more of you.” He lapped at your sensitive pussy until he felt you stop spasming, your whine of displeasure telling him you were too sensitive. Savouring your taste, Minho breathed out, his tongue licking your wetness off his lips, the feeling of satisfaction washing over him. He had never imagined you would let go with so little inhibition and the thought made him giddy. He made you come twice.

Out of breath and bodies slick with sweat, you pulled away from him, your eyes already searching for your clothes. The embarrassment of what happened a few seconds before washed over you like a douse of cold water. Having sex with him was one thing, but asking him to go that far and enjoying it so much that you came twice filled you with horror at what he may think of you.

It took him a few seconds to gather his bearings, the aftermath of his orgasm paired with both of your tastes on his tongue made him dizzy and euphoric. As soon as he heard your frenzied shuffle, his eyes wandered over to you, springing up, realising you were about to flee.

“Hey, what are you doing?” He asked cautiously, going to reach out for you. His heart threatened to burst out of his chest at the dejected look you offered him. He didn’t know whether he’d done something wrong or if it was something else. All he knew was that he couldn’t allow you to leave like that. Not when his heart hurt only by seeing the slight quiver of your lips.

“Please, talk to me,” Minho pleaded when you refused to respond. Despite your aversion to vocalise your thoughts, you didn’t make a move to stop him when he engulfed you in his arms.

Regardless of how sweaty and cold you were, you allowed yourself that moment, closing your eyes, you let yourself enjoy the warmth his hug provided, basking in the safety of his arms. For a few moments neither of you spoke — both taking in the feeling of peace that followed after your intense moment. To you, it felt as if being in his arms nothing could reach you, not even the tumultuous conflicted feelings rushing through your mind.

You knew you owed him an explanation, he’d been nothing but considerate towards you, yet, you’ve reacted this brashly without an ounce of regard towards his feelings. Gathering the courage to speak, your head buried into his sweater, the same stupid sweater that started it all, you took a deep breath in allowing his scent to calm down your racing heart.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me,” you muttered, hands reaching out to grip tightly at the material covering his back. Hearing his sharp inhale, you hurried to apologise thinking you’ve hurt him, only to be shushed gently.

“You don’t have to apologise, please. If anything it’s me who needs to apologise,” Minho countered, his voice caring despite the fear coursing through his body. Had he gone too far?

Unable to believe what you were hearing, you pulled away from him, your eyes scanning his face for any sign of deceit. Meeting his eyes stole your breath. His eyes were clear, albeit a bit sad, but the soft, almost dejected smile he offered you – an attempt to make you feel better, pressed on your heart.

Ashamed of your own doubt towards his feelings, you looked down, your fingers toying with his top. “It’s not just this stupid sweater,” you muttered, closely resembling a petulant child.

Minho looked at you in confusion, before he finally understood what you meant. He tried his best not to laugh, but the ridiculousness of the situation got to him, and he let a snicker escape.

“Wait, you think–” Minho carried on, the sadness he felt at the thought of you rejecting him replaced with utter happiness. “You think, I think, this” he motioned between the two of you, “happened because of a stupid sweater?” He couldn’t help himself, the way you looked at him so offended made you look so endearing he just had to kiss you.

His lips first pressed lightly onto the frown etched onto your forehead, kissing the lines away before they softly peppered your whole face in soft pecks. Pausing right above your lips, his hot breath fanning over your face, Minho whispered softly, “This was never about a sweater, nor was it about fulfilling any fantasies - though I would love to do that for as long as you allow me to,” you couldn’t help but shiver at the implications of his words, “I genuinely like you. But,” he paused to take a sharp intake of breath as if what he was about to tell you next hurt him, “if you don't, and all you want is this physical relationship…”

You were prepared to protest, but he shushed you softly. “Let me just say this before I lose the nerve to. If all you want is a quick fuck, I can also give you that. It would hurt, but I could only hold onto the hope that by being close this way, one day you will see me as more.”

Your heart clenched at hearing his words, you never thought he would put himself down in such a way that he would never assume that you liked him back the way he did.

“Minho,” you said, demanding his attention. Your pointed voice rang loudly in the empty studio, a complete contrast to his own voice.

“Hm?” He asked distractedly, his face was still close to yours, his soft lips ghosting over your own. Without saying a word, you motioned for him to wait. Gulping, you looked down at the sweater he was still wearing, the light sheen of sweat covering his soft skin. Resisting the urge to press your lips to his collarbones, you focused on his buttons, slowly undoing them one by one.

“Woah, Y/N, what-?” he looked at you incredulously, his eyes wide, however, he wasn’t making a move to stop you. Shushing him roughly, you undid the last button, trying your hardest to not revel in the way his skin felt underneath your palms as you pushed it off his shoulders. You had been right, he was not wearing anything underneath it, not even a vest.

Allowing your eyes to soak in what the sweater had been masking all this time, you clenched your fists to your sides, refusing yourself the need to touch him. You were aware that if you did, it was game over.

“What are you doing?” Minho tried again, his heart beating rapidly in his chest at the look you threw him. The fire in your eyes, your hands glued to your sides, lips pursed - you looked beautiful, and if you hadn’t kissed him next, he would’ve without a doubt.

“Shut up,” you said before you pressed your lips to his, your arms wrapping around his neck. Your naked and cold breasts pushed against his warm skin and you both shuddered at the difference in temperature. It took him a moment to gather his bearings and respond, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist pulling you further into him.

As you moulded your bodies and lips together, something shifted between the two of you. As fiery and frenzied as the kiss was, your hands never stayed for too long in one place touching everything you both could, commiting each and every curve to memory. You could almost taste the feelings between the two of you, the connection that was already there but you were both too blind to see it.

Pulling away from him, you finally rested your hands on his chest, enjoying the rhythmic thump of his heartbeat, and knowing it was as rapid as yours made you smile. Finally opening your eyes, you found his already on you, a dazed look on his face.

“Don’t be stupid, as much as I like that sweater,” you laughed at the ridiculousness of this whole situation, “and I would love for us to be physical, I don’t want anything more than I want you, feeling what you are feeling right now for me. I like you too, stupid man with a stupid sweater.”

Even though you knew you wouldn’t be rejected, your heart still stopped waiting for his next answer. The seemingly myriad of emotions crossing his face made you smile, until he settled onto one; the usual cocky one he had when he spoke to you. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at him, ready to slap him if he dared to say anything inappropriate.

“Minho,” you warned as he pulled you into him again.

He simply laughed before he responded by kissing your forehead lightly. “It’s good that you like me. Because I had 4 more sweaters similar to that one ready to come out and try to woo you.”

Mᴀɪɴ Mᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ