"Let's not wait for grass to grow!"
SYNOPSIS
You've been having a great time at the media agency you work at as a screenwriter by pledging allegiance to no one other than yourself. Your entire chilling privileges get taken away from you when you're assigned under the direct supervision of Lee Minho, the new division head who is ridiculously hot albeit massively insufferable.
Content Warning & Disclaimer
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Years spent as a screenwriter at this media agency, this was literally the closing line you kept typing and deleting for every single e-mail you replied to. You were making shit up for a living, which gave you an indescribable amount of joy, not to mention handsome paychecks with all those credits in your name as well as a rare amount of job satisfaction for doing what you love with great people around you. That being said, your job was to write scenarios, not answering random-ass emails about the most minuscule things right in the middle of a writing frenzy. You and Nayeon had an agreement that she would let you know if there was anything you needed to pay attention to in your inbox that day in exchange for… well, nothing. That was what being someone’s ride or die meant.
That Monday, there was an unusual buzz surrounding the large open office space, hushed chatter of the people translating into palpable excitement about something you weren’t yet aware of. You dropped your bag on your desk and asked Nayeon as you were sitting down.
“What’s the fuss about? Are we getting our bonuses early?”
“The new division head,” Nayeon pointed at your computer, “Check your email.”
You woke up your computer from sleep mode and saw a welcome message from the HR mentioning some Lee Minho being assigned as the new division head.
Your division.
“I don’t know which cousin of Iron Man these people are imagining but this name alone gives me insufferable 70-year-old disciplinarian vibes. I don’t like the sound of this.”
“Yeah, about that. This e-mail is not gonna find you well,” Nayeon broke the news to you, “Scroll down to the end of it.”
If there was one thing you really liked about your job, that was being free as a bird. Although you were a part of a writing team, you technically didn’t have anyone overseeing your work—you only reported to the big boss Ms. Davis who was more than happy with how creative and prolific you were. Therefore, they had absolutely no problem leaving you alone, but the decision caused a bunch of people seethe in utter annoyance due to the special treatment.
That Monday was the day your haters rejoiced after seeing the part of the email that included your name.
“…under direct supervision of Lee Minho…”
“Aw, MAN!”
“Y/N, you lucky bitch!” your teammates crowded your desk, clearly aware of the new hierarchical structure.
“Lucky? This is called mobbing!” you threw yourself back in your chair, “All my chilling privileges are being taken away from me!”
“You haven’t seen his bio yet, have you?” Nayeon grinned, “It’s in the attachment.”
You dragged the cursor over the file that contained whatever epic war hero accomplishments this person had while still whining with choked sobs.
“Yeah because reading some fucking bio is going magically give me the rights to bei- WOWZA!”
“I know right?” Nayeon bit the end of the pen she was holding, “Those cheekbones are worth risking a disciplinary HR hearing if you ask me.”
“Okay, let’s not jump to conclusions. Maybe this won’t be so bad, right?” you couldn’t help the smile invading your lips over how ridiculously gorgeous this man was. Not to mention the fact that he couldn’t be any further from the nagging grandparent you pictured him to be. At that moment, the phone at your desk started ringing.
“Yellow?”
“Mr. Lee is expecting you in his office.”
You put the receiver back in its place and widened your eyes at Nayeon, “The moment of truth came sooner than expected, the fuck?” She just cackled at the complete 180 in your first impression of your new supervisor within a span of ten seconds.
“Spineless bitch.”
You walked up to the private office area at the end of the open space to inform his assistant you arrived. Once she let you know you could go in, you took a deep breath and knocked.
“Yes?”
You peeked through the door, “I heard I’ve been summoned?”
“Sit.”
Your supervisor gestured to the chairs in front of his desk and carried on with whatever he was doing before your arrival. You just sat there waiting for him to at least introduce himself, but the silence dragged on as he kept busily typing something. While nervously tapping your hands on the metal armrests, you hit your palm on the edge of it.
“Shit!”
Minho finally channeled his attention towards you no matter how briefly, and cocked a brow. You immediately proceeded to apologize upon that judgemental glare.
“Oh, fuck, sorry. I got my cursing filter surgically removed. Hope you don’t mind.”
“You can say whatever the fuck you want when it’s just the two of us,” he responded without taking his eyes off the screen, “Learn to shut your trap once you step foot outside this door, especially in front of higher-ups and our clients.”
What does this prick take me for?
When more silence ensued, you started examining him. This Lee Minho was indeed an insanely stunning guy, more so from up close. Composure for days, but ironically enough he also seemed to have a bit of a temper. Way too formal for a media agency. He looked like the odd one out among a sea of colorful print t-shirts and jeans with his coiffed hair parted in the middle and that crisp suit hugging his body like he was about to attend a wedding. Or a hostile takeover negotiation. Nevertheless, under all those sharp features he still reminded you of something… much softer.
“If you don’t mind me asking, are feline genes running in the family? You legit look like a cat, sir.”
“And you look like you have attitude problems.”
What an absolute douche rocket.
“Yeesh, strict much?”
“This is a place of business. The waiting room for standup auditions is ten floors down,” Minho finally stopped his incessant typing and turned to you, “I’ve checked out your portfolio. Your credits are decent, but it’s gonna take much more than that to impress me.”
You reciprocated the cocked brow, legitimately thinking which hills this guy thought he manifested through sheer willpower, “I don’t understand why impressing you is required as long as I produce good work, sir.”
“You wanna keep your job, don’t you?”
Oh fucking great. Another performance-obsessed competitive asshole.
“I’ve kept it for the past couple of years just fine.”
“I don’t do just fine. I do annoyingly great,” Minho leaned back in his chair and gestured to your general direction, “From today on, so will you. Lose the spring break look.”
“I beg your redacted pardon?”
“You work for me, which means you’re representing me.”
Unfuckingbelievable. You invited him to be a little more reasonable just in case he possessed a conscience.
“You’re the only one wearing a suit in a goddamn media agency, sir. Maybe you can try to blend in with the writer crowd instead.”
“Maybe I’m the only one who gives a flying fuck about my job. Starting tomorrow, I’d better see you in business attire.”
“With all due respect, sir, you’re not my boss. I report to Ms. Davis and they happen to be fine with the spring break look,” you scoffed, very obviously getting annoyed by the second, “I’ve grown accustomed to certain luxuries around here like the comfort of my feet.”
“I’m not asking you to wear 10-inch fuck me pumps. A blouse and slacks would be just fine,” Minho adamantly declared, making it crystal clear that he wasn’t going to budge, “And I’m your fucking supervisor. You report to me, and I report to Ms. Davis. I’m not gonna have you be a liability to me in any capacity.”
Oh, fuck you till Groundhog Day Lee fucking Minho!
He opened his calendar on his computer and asked in that aloof demeanor of his without looking at you, “We need to rearrange your schedule according to mine. How flexible are you?”
You exerted a great amount of effort not to diss him on the spot. This man had an answer to everything, rendering him immune to snark, but you weren’t about to yield that easily. You decided to change your approach a little instead. He was a man, after all, which meant he was prone to short-circuiting, right?
“Not as much as I used to be. If you're gonna try pushing my legs all the way back to the headboard, we might have a little problem.”
While you were wheezing at your own joke inside, Minho didn’t find it amusing in the slightest.
“Do I need to make a call to HR?”
“Oh, come on, sir. I know you’re a Kappa,” you leaned back in your chair, “Aren’t you guys known as the most radioactive frat house of this hemisphere? I’d think you’d possess some sense of humor.”
“Where did you learn that?”
“I do my research. It was in your bio.”
“So you looked into me.”
“I mean, didn’t you?” you pointed at the folder on his desk containing some of the scenarios you had worked on, “We’re about to be work spouses for the foreseeable future. I wanted to know who I’m getting in bed with before consummating the marriage.”
As much as your lips were laced with a daring smile, Minho didn’t even flinch while listening to you. His expression read more like he was trying to figure out which planet you were visiting from.
“You’re really something else.”
“Appreciate it, your frattines.”
“It wasn't a compliment,” Minho curtly responded and turned back to his calendar, “For starters, I expect you here with me on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Do not book meetings without my knowledge during those days.”
“Fridays are happy hour, sir.”
“And?”
The one day that you were looking forward to the entire week, and this douchebag was insinuating he was gonna take that away from you?
Oh, hold the absolute fuck up right there!
“You deadass expect me to ditch happy hour? I’m a creative who happens to function on muse juice.”
“I don’t think I stuttered. That’ll be all.”
Your irritation levels hit an all-time high. This man was fucking impossible among many other things; such as smug, egotistical, arrogant, and way too confident for his own good. Now that he dismissed you like that, there was nothing much you could refute with to drag the conversation of workplace drinking rights. You got up to your feet, but you never possessed that strong of a willpower anyway. At the last second, you completely gave in to the urge to annoy Minho before you left and walked right next to him.
“I’d be lying if I said I look forward to working with you, your meowiness,” you attempted to scratch under his chin with a grin just to get blocked by the reflexes of a tiger. Minho suddenly grabbed your wrist and pulled you close to his face, his eyes crawling with something dangerous.
“Maybe don’t touch what you can’t handle, huh princess? For your own good,” he placed the tiniest kiss on your nose and turned to his screen like absolutely nothing happened, “You may leave.”
You couldn’t even comprehend what just transpired until after you returned to your desk. You touched your nose and that little moist spot on the tip of it flared something in the pit of your stomach. You clenched both your teeth and fists in sheer frustration.
Oh, it’s on, you motherfucker.
Minho’s firm shenanigans started in earnest on day two. Your desk was on his route to his office, which meant he was going to pass by to give you the Umbridge treatment.
“You're not wearing a blouse.”
“How rude, sir. Do you want me to walk around naked?” you dramatically gasped, “Yellow sweatshirts make me write better.”
The snark was shot down so hard you didn’t even see it coming. Minho unplugged your computer that had a draft open, effectively causing mild panic in you.
“HEY!”
"Do not come back here until you're in proper business attire,” he pointed his finger at you, “That being said, if you're not back within an hour, I'll replace you faster than the pudding cups in the fridge."
You blankly looked at his face, but that didn’t seem like an empty threat. At all.
“Fucking move!”
…and thus began the unbearable heaviness of smart casual.
You were in the middle of writing when your phone rang a couple of days later, totally barefoot under your desk because fuck any kind of shoes that didn’t have memory foam.
“Yellow?”
“Bring me the draft storyline for the next season of The Punchline and a black coffee while you’re at it.”
You looked at the receiver after getting hung up on your face in total disbelief. Nayeon asked you with a slightly concerned face.
“Everything okay? Who was that?”
“My supervisor.”
“What does he want?”
“Draft storyline,” you slowly looked up at her, “And coffee.”
While you were trying to process the fact that this guy actually started treating you as his personal assistant rather than a legit-ass writer, his office door opened, and Minho’s voice echoed throughout the large hall.
“LET’S NOT WAIT FOR THE GRASS TO GROW! CHOP CHOP!”
Then one Friday, while you were in his office concluding some finer points on an upcoming project you realized what time it was, and got up to your feet.
“Alright then, I’m off.”
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“Happy hour downstairs,” you shrugged. Minho, on the other hand, was completely displeased with the information you just dropped.
“Didn’t I tell you I expect you in my office on Fridays? You’re not going anywhere.”
“We just finished our discussion!” you emphatically declared, “I literally have no reason to be here anymore.”
Minho pulled out a large folder from his drawer, which looked like the catalog of the prospective projects, and slammed it on his desk.
“You do now. Sit your ass down.”
All in all, minus the 70-year-old part, your initial hunch about Minho being an insufferable disciplinarian seemed to be indeed true. He was basically making your life a living hell.
Mr. Lee is expecting you in his office.
Mr. Lee is expecting you…
Mr. Lee …
“Mr. Lee can kiss my motherfucking ass, oh my GOD!”
“That bad, huh?” Nayeon offered her condolences to you with her eyes, “You want some of our drawer vodka, sweetie? We’re technically clocked out for today.”
“Oh, you bet. At least next week I’m gonna be able to get one day away from the fu-”
“Y/N.”
You jumped in your seat upon hearing Minho’s voice. You even made a habit of not uttering his name more than two times for good measure, but he still kept appearing out of nowhere.
“You’ll be pitching to the representative from the publishing house next Thursday. It’s for the book adaptation you’ve been working on. 8 PM at Four Seasons.”
“That Thursday’s a national holiday, sir.”
Just as he was leaving, Minho turned around and looked at you as if you just declared water was wet.
“So? Do you ban yourself from going to restaurants on national holidays?” he sneered, “8 PM. Be there or leave your badge on your desk if you have no intention of showing up.”
And just like that, he took off. This fucker just always had to say the last word, didn’t he? Nayeon pushed the plastic cup containing the liquid that smelled like green apples towards you. You downed the drink in one go and yelled at the top of your lungs.
“FUCK my entire life!”
“Is he trying to make me quit my job? Is that what it is?”
You were in the office kitchen having coffee with Nayeon who was also clad in smart casual attire herself in solidarity. She was the one suggesting hanging out there so that you could breathe a little.
“Come on, sweetheart, why would making an idea bank quit be in his best interests?” she made a fair point, “I think he’s testing your limits. To see where you’ll draw the line.”
You almost slammed your mug on the table, replaying all the times Minho frustrated the shit out of you in your mind.
“How dare he acts like I’m this incompetent rookie who hasn’t written a single fucking line in their life before.”
“Uh- Y/N.”
“He needs to fucking get laid or whatever. He’s clearly stressed and he takes it out on me. I’m not his fucking punching bag, you know?”
“Y/N.”
“He’s constantly breathing down my neck. And how hard is it to learn to make your own goddamn coffee? I’m not your fucking assistant!”
“Y/N!”
“WHAT?”
“Hey there, princess.”
Your blood froze upon hearing that voice. When you slowly turned around, you noticed a very laid-back Minho leaning on the doorframe with arms crossed over his chest and a smirk on his face. All of a sudden, the tension in the room became so palpable that Nayeon felt the need to remove herself from the kitchen.
“Huh? What? I’ll be right there,” she bolted after her imaginary conversation and left you alone with Minho. You didn’t even know what to say to defend yourself. No matter how much you felt that you were right, nobody really deserved to hear themselves get roasted like that. That was why private conversations existed: to talk behind people’s backs.
“Came to make my own goddamn coffee,” Minho walked towards the coffee maker and you felt your throat getting dry for some reason. You sat there in silence until he grabbed his mug to leave.
“I uh- I’m- I didn’t…”
Minho looked over your direction upon your incoherent mumbling, slowly walked towards you, and leaned in for a whisper.
“If my stress levels are bothering you that much, then fucking do something about it,” he placed a soft kiss on your earlobe and left, skyrocketing the amount of bewilderment that was just about to die down.
Hahaha, what?
Once you came back to your senses, you returned to your desk, and thanks to whatever stars aligned, Minho didn’t smother you for the rest of the day.
Then came the night of the long-awaited pitch meeting.
Minho had no idea you had a uniform designated for these meetings scheduled in fancy places. Black pants and blazer with a matching bralette under it. A simple look but as classy as ever. In fact, so classy that it managed to briefly stun the great Lee Minho judging from the way his lips parted upon seeing you like that.
“Did you get your own tongue, sir?” you asked seductively only to end up with a wheeze, “Get it? ‘Cause you’re a cat.”
Minho shook his head as if he was waking up from a nap, “Can’t believe I was on the brink of telling you you look nice. Jesus.”
“Hey, hey, hey! Say it properly!”
“Nope.”
You followed after Minho as he entered the restaurant, and before going any further he nonchalantly informed you about his plan for the night.
“This guy likes playing games way too much for his own good. Just do your pitch and I’ll take it from there.”
“What in the corporate fuck, sir?!”
“Trust me on this.”
“Maybe you trust me for once. I happen to know what the fuck I’m doing.”
When you tried to walk away, Minho grabbed your wrist and turned you around.
“Listen to me. I only brought you here with me because I thought it’s better if the client heard the idea directly from the source, but I’m not gonna let you cost me the biggest deal of my entire career, got it?”
Oh, this man… This goddamn know-it-all… The instant fury he managed to induce with one thoughtless comment of his… How cavalier could someone possibly be?
“Cost you? Cost you?”
You fucking snapped.
“Who the fuck do you think you are? Just because you’re in corporate you think you know better than me? I’ve been screenwriting for far longer than your ass ever stepped foot in my building, fucking christ!”
You stomped inside in sheer rage and Minho followed suit after you. Once you reached the table reserved for the night, your person of interest stood up to shake Minho’s hand.
“‘Sup bro? Minho, right?”
Bro?
You were so sure that the frat address was going to tick Minho off that it completely caught you off guard when he offered this man a smile instead.
“Pleasure to meet you in person. This is Y/N—our lead writer for this project.”
“Well, hello,” he took your hand and placed a kiss on it, “Can’t wait to hear what you have in store for me. Drinks?”
The meeting was going well at first. You were in your element doing your thing, painting a verbal picture of your vision for this particular project all the way up to potential casting suggestions. Your peripheral attention was still on Minho, and you were sure he wasn’t expecting you to go all in like this. The satisfaction of metaphorically flipping him off melted you inside. However…
You know that feeling when you start getting some weird vibe from a person for absolutely no reason at all? They just exist and you’re like ‘What the fuck is up with you?’
Yeah, that.
You had never felt this way with a client before. Granted, some of them were unhinged, but even they were aware of what professional boundaries entailed. This guy kept eyeing you during your entire speech, but not in the way an intent listener would do. It was straight up making you uncomfortable, and the prolonged exposure to his gaze started getting under your skin, causing you to struggle to keep a straight face. The second you stopped, he didn’t even give a chance for Minho to take over.
“I like the general direction, but maybe it’s better if I brought my own writers on board. I feel like there’s a creative gap between the original vision and yours.”
Oh, shit.
The story you had been working on tirelessly day after day. Your baby. You were convinced you were going to pop a huge bottle of Dom Perignon the second you finished your pitch, but instead?
When you least expected it, the man leaned in towards you and reached for your hand over the table.
“Of course, any gap can be closed if we spent some time together. One-on-one co-working sessions maybe?” he caressed your hand, “I might require some persuasion, though. We all know how big the scope of this project is, don’t we?”
You were thinking of ten different ways to put this waste of a human being in his place, but by the time you decided on which line to obliterate him with, Minho had already taken the matter into his own hands. Quite literally. With a harsh slap on the man’s hand.
“Yeah, not happening, bro.”
“What the fuck is the matter with you?” he stretched his hands to the sides as if his wingman was out there cockblocking him. Minho stood up from his seat and pointed his finger at him.
“If you think I’m gonna let a lowlife like you disrespect the best talent I have like that, you got another thing coming. This non-versation is over.”
Minho grabbed your bag to signal you to follow him and walked towards the bar area on the other end of the restaurant. He sat down on one of the stools and placed your bag on the bar top while ordering two whiskey sours for you and himself. You were still incredulous about what just happened for a lot of reasons. When you found your own voice again after the first glass, you finally broke the drawn-out silence.
“I can’t believe you basically told him to go fuck himself like that.”
“I calls ‘em like I sees ‘em,” Minho responded while looking at his glass.
“What happened to the biggest deal of your career?”
He turned to you with an unusual softness in his eyes that you had never seen before.
“Some assets are worth more than the deal itself.”
It shouldn’t have tugged at your heartstrings that hard maybe, but it did. You couldn’t stand Minho just mere hours ago, yet there he was, unafraid to show you a side of him that you didn’t even know existed, probably the courtesy of the whiskey sours he was downing like there was no tomorrow. You were so not used to feeling this type of way about him that you attempted a lighthearted comment to change the mood.
“Oh, I know you didn’t just say something nice about me,” you gently slapped him on the shoulder, “Is someone drunk by any chance, sir?”
One smile followed by a brief pause later he just went for it.
Never in a millennium would you be able to imagine a situation where you could feel Minho’s lips on yours, but he went for it, immediately shocking you from head to toe with how electric that was. So soft. So warm. Perfectly fitting in the gap between your lips like somebody shaped his mouth according to the mold they created after yours. When he broke the kiss, he spoke with his eyes still closed.
“You taste like I’ve always imagined you would.”
Always?
No thoughts, head empty. It was just the texture of Minho’s lips invading every single one of your synapses.
“What- What do I taste like?”
“Familiar.”
Minho parted his lips like he was about to say something, but stopped himself at the last second and heaved a sigh instead.
“Good night, princess.”
You just sat there as he left, pinned to your place and zoning out due to immediate brain shutdown. Your heart rate shouldn’t have been that high, but nothing was going per usual lately anyway.
You kept thinking about it.
The way he carried himself. How he was always in that prim attire like he had to be ready to make a court appearance at a moment’s notice, demeanor in stark contrast with how ceremonious he looked. He made being successful look so easy as if things were just dropping on his lap while he was actually working his ass off, and you knew that for a fact after being in such close contact with him. He didn’t get only on your nerves—he was probably irritating half the world population with how seemingly condescending he was, but it was only that night did you notice why he must have been this blatantly cocky. Nobody ever operated in a way to make people hate them by default unless they wanted to keep folks at bay for self-defense purposes. Then you stole one moment of vulnerability from him, and before even being able to properly process that, he awakened something else inside you.
His lips. How wet it was. How safe it felt. How one drop of his color began staining you inside at lightspeed.
You kept thinking about it the entire night.
The next morning at the office, you felt this weird sense of emptiness like somebody robbed the building the night before although everything was in its place. When his assistant informed you that Minho was going to be away for a week for a business trip, you didn’t expect to feel… disappointed like that.
You didn’t even realize how much you got used to his presence around you. His annoying-ass antics, the way he kept bombarding you with questions, the satisfied smile on his face when you had an answer for each of them and effectively conclude you were on top of your stuff… All of it sneakily crept into your life as a constant that just had to be there. You noticed you wouldn’t mind making him a cup of coffee if he asked for one at that moment.
On the morning of his return, Minho almost didn’t recognize you when he saw you looking like the way you did in the elevator.
“You’re… wearing a suit,” he looked down at your feet, “And heels.”
“Good morning to you too, sir,” you dramatically bowed, “Why the surprise? Would you like me to take it off instead?”
“Excuse you?!”
You cackled at his panicked response, “Oh, come on! I’m just joking,” you gestured to the formal attire that made you look like Minho’s co-counsel for whatever case he was defending, ”Consider it a token of appreciation for the other night.”
His lips slightly parted, marginally incredulous of what he was hearing. For the other night? For the whiskey sours? For the k-?
“The sleazeball you repelled?” you continued when more silence ensued.
Minho shook his head, “Right, yeah, don’t mention it.”
The elevator door closed and you two just stood there without saying a word. You finally asked him the question that was drilling a hole in your head.
“So you’re gonna hit that or what?”
Minho was very clearly, albeit unusually, flustered at your words. He always had a clapback for everything, but for some weird reason that morning he seemed to have left his heckle briefcase back home.
“What the hell’s gotten into you this morning?”
You looked at him with a blank stare, “I highly doubt the button to our floor would be considered scandalous. Geez,” you reached the button block and pressed the one leading to your destination.
Not that you were able to forget it in the first place, but Minho’s bewildered state reminded you of your kiss again. You walked up to him as if you were on autopilot and you leaned into his ear for once.
“Unless you had something else in mind?”
His gaze shapeshifted. Maybe Minho wasn’t that far off with what he thought you were talking about. That playful smile of his manifested itself again.
“I clearly remember telling you not to touch what you can’t handle, princess.”
You walked into his reddening aura, “What if I can?”
“What if you can’t?”
Your eyes darted to that perfectly shaped mouth again, and you were sure he was thinking about the same thing this time around. Maybe you weren’t that far off with assuming you and Minho wanted the exact same thing. The closer he approached your face, the more of his scent invaded your nose, getting you way too drunk as if you started daydrinking. You could practically feel the outline of his perfect lips when…
Ding!
Both of you immediately scooted away from each other like somebody hit you with a paddle on the head.
“Er erhm, yeah um- I’ll see you around,” Minho took off towards his office with quick steps. As much as you felt slightly frustrated over getting kissblocked by the elevator doors, you ended up chortling to yourself at the prospect of something new to be excited about in what seemed like forever.
That wasn’t the only good thing that remained from that day.
“Yellow?”
“Mr. Lee is exp-”
“Coming!”
Unlike your usual mumbling accompanying your feet going backwards, you practically dashed to his office for the first time when you got that call from his assistant.
“You asked for me?”
“Yes,” Minho pointed at his screen as you walked towards his desk, “Take a look at this.”
It was an email coming from the publishing house which contained a lengthy apology featuring the news of the sleazeball getting fired over the disastrous evening and an invitation to discuss your pitch again with the higher-ups this time.
“FUCKING YES!”
“We got this in the bag this time,” Minho smiled contently, “I trust you.”
Just when you were thinking how much you appreciated the sentiment behind his words, Minho hit you with something unexpected.
“You don’t have to come, though.”
You furrowed your brows in confusion, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s gonna be a bunch of guys again. You might be uncomfortable.”
You couldn’t help clenching your teeth over the insinuation of positioning you as this damsel in distress, “I happen to have grown up around guys, the majority of my best friends possess a Y chromosome, and I’ve been to basketball courts more than I’ve been to nail salons when I was a teenager, your cockiness. I think I’m fine in the comfort department.”
“That’s… I’m… Bec-”
Minho started stuttering when he realized the unintentional offense his sentence contained.
“I didn’t say that because I don’t want you there, you know that, right? I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”
Your gaze softened a smidge and you walked up to him.
“Now I do, your purriness.”
Your hand slowly reached under his chin to scratch it. When you gently dragged your nails on his skin, he let you this time. You didn’t even realize his gaze glued on you was pulling you closer to his face by the second, and on the brink of finally getting your fix to satisfy that Minho withdrawal, his phone rang. You immediately got up to your feet and headed to the door.
“I- sh… Yeah, I’ll catch you later, sir.”
From that point on it was a string of relentless teasing attempts to see who was going to break first. Innuendos all over the place, defendable flashes of skin, comfortable sprawls on desk chairs, stolen touches, breathy whispers into ears, literal edging without the stimulation, the longest drumroll of the century that was the prelude to something so dangerous. Both of you knew that, but neither of you was openly initiating anything. It was like the greatest battle of pride, and the tension between you was escalating at such a rate that if someone so much as clicked a lighter around you two, the entire neighborhood would instantly burn to the ground.
The teasing olympics crossed the office threshold the night of the pitch re-meeting. It was supposed to take place at the rooftop restaurant of a fancy hotel, and you just had to bring out the big guns this time to make Minho finally cave. That unyielding stubbornness got to such a point that getting him to finally admit he had a thing for you was going to feel much better than actually fucking him.
Or, you know, so you thought.
Minho was waiting for you at the hotel lobby when you walked in, flaunting a little black dress with your hands stretched to the side as if to say ‘The queen has arrived’ and rightfully so.
“Because fuck blouses, am I right?”
“Affirmative,” Minho flashed a smirk while he was putting his phone away in the inside pocket of his blazer, “You’re still not sitting too close to these guys, though.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because I say so. Move that pretty ass,” he landed a light smack on your hips and made his way to the elevators. You smiled.
“Gentlemen,” Minho greeted the three men in suits at the rectangular table covered in a beautiful linen tablecloth and glasses of scotch. He quickly occupied the only empty seat next to one of them, exactly diagonal to you, and basically forced you to sit by yourself on the fifth chair. It was all fun and games at first. Just a group of professionals having a conversation about a collaborative project over drinks and good food, a pleasant atmosphere overall, and all that jazz.
Things started getting a little risqué when Minho placed his hand on your thigh under the table while listening to the project timeline, possibly courtesy of his third glass of wine, and started occasionally squeezing it. No, you didn’t mind it at all, but like hell you would give him the satisfaction of having the literal upper hand. With your eyes still on the project lead of the publishing house, you took off your stiletto on your right foot with the help of your left and began stroking Minho over his pants.
Because two could play that game.
Gotta give credit where credit’s due, he was doing one hell of a job keeping a straight face when you could feel him get hard under your foot. You decided to land an even bigger blow and sneakily dropped your fork under the table.
“Oh shoot, I think it dropped right under you. Could you get it for me, please?”
It didn’t. It was actually right under you. When Minho disappeared under the table, you spread your legs wide so that he lost his mind over the fact that you weren’t wearing any underwear. Meanwhile, you kept listening to the shower of praises about your attention to detail in your work.
“Needless to say, great work with all of this!”
“Well, thank you so MUCH!”
That sudden increase in your volume was due to Minho swiping his tongue on your pussy. He got back up, discreetly licked his lips, and called out to a waiter, “Can we get another fork, please? The lady over here is very slippery,” he turned to the gentlemen, “I mean… What was that called again? Ah, yes, butter fingers.”
A burst of clueless laughter erupted around the table. Right at that moment, the person to your right offered you something you most certainly did not expect.
“Would you consider a position at our firm instead? We're more than happy to establish a department just for you.”
“Nope. Not happening,” Minho urgently answered on your behalf and proceeded to drink the rest of his wine.
“Geez, would you let the woman decide for herself, Lee?”
“Well, I'm not letting anyone steal her away from me, so…”
You felt your heart grow three sizes in your chest. Nevertheless, who were you if you didn’t respond with as much sass as possible?
“I appreciate the offer very much. If he ever gets on my nerves, I’ll let you know.”
“Then until that day comes, shall we make a toast to our newest partnership?”
You spent another half an hour at that table, basking in the glory of your most recent triumph and positively glowing due to the wine buzz spreading throughout your body. You and Minho excused yourselves from the table and headed to the elevator to make your way down to the lobby.
“So you’re gonna leave if I get on your nerves, huh?”
“I mean you already kinda do, so maybe I should consider it,” you retorted while walking into the elevator. Minho pressed the button behind him.
“Yeah and that’s why you’ve gone commando today. Not because you wanna drive me crazy or whatever.”
You loudly laughed at his comment, “You’re way over your head with this shit, Minho.”
“What did you just call me?”
Ding!
Minho. You called him Minho. Not sir. Not some snarky nickname. You looked out of the elevator door and noticed a change of scenery outside.
“This isn’t the lobby.”
“No, it’s not,” he flashed a card with a grin that mirrored itself on your lips.
“When did you even—”
Minho grabbed your hand and walked to a room nearby with quick steps. Once he walked in and closed the door, he trapped you against it and pinned your hands over your head.
“You clearly need to be reminded of who’s the boss here.”
“HA, hope you don’t mean you?” you tried to get away from his firm grip in an attempt to push him against the door, but apparently your comeback capabilities were only limited to the verbal realm.
“Who else, princess? We’re finally alone.”
He slowly slithered one hand between your thighs and groaned at how wet you were. He could kiss you, but all Minho did was let his lips ghost over yours.
“This is what you wanted all along, isn’t it?” he spoke barely an inch away from your face, “That’s a dangerous game you’re playing there. Teasing me for days just to see when I would snap.”
“Looks like I fucking scored.”
Minho dragged his middle finger over your pussy and showed you the trail your juices made.
“Who scored is up for debate.”
You took his finger in your mouth while maintaining eye contact, simulating the exact way how you would suck him off if he let you. The way he furrowed his brows was telling you more than what you needed to know.
“Try and deny how much you want me, I fucking dare you,” Minho’s lips kept ghosting over your skin, “Making up excuses just to touch me. To kiss me. You think I’m not aware of how much I turn you on?”
You chuckled, finding the situation he was in very amusing, “I have to laugh. You literally have a raging hard-on staring at me.”
He smirked, content with how hard you were trying not to moan over the mere sight of his prominent erection.
“I’m not the one flashing that sopping wet pussy in public.”
“I’m not the one trying to get a taste also in public.”
Minho came as close as he could to your face and demanded with deliciously seductive intimidation.
“Say you want me.”
“Say you can’t resist me.”
“Say you wanna touch me.”
“Say you wanna kiss me.”
“You say it.”
“You say it!”
You wanted to die upon finally feeling his lips on yours again, much more intense than your first time, devouring you all over. Minho’s hands found their way to your breasts and he kept fondling them as he kept kissing you.
“Just admit it. You walk around the entire day thinking about sitting on me, don’t you?”
“Like you don’t think about copping a feel every time I walk into your office,” your rejoinder was instant, “You call me in every two seconds for what? Stop eyefucking me first, fucking christ.”
“Bold of you to assume I don’t wanna just bend you over my desk to fuck you into oblivion,” he dragged the bust of your dress down at one go and groaned at the sight, “These are only mine to look at.”
Your nipples were already perky at that point, but the way Minho sucked on them, he was adamant to get them so hard that they would delightfully hurt.
“You're mine to taste, princess,” he pulled your face in again to continue the sweet assault on your lips.
You gently pushed him towards the bed while taking off his blazer and maintaining contact with his lips. Once his legs hit the edge of the bed, Minho dragged you to the bed with him. You began gently grazing his neck with your teeth as you kept unbuttoning his shirt.
“Savage. I fucking love that.”
With one swift move, he caged you under him again and brushed away the hair on your face.
“Say my name again.”
“Minho.”
“God, you mess me up so bad.”
You could keep kissing Minho the entire night, and that would legitimately be enough. The way he kissed was just so so so passionate that it wouldn’t even surprise you if you came from that soon.
“I wanna explore every inch of you.”
At long last, Minho rid you of your dress to appreciate your body properly. He heaved a deep sigh over the wonderland spread right before his eyes and made his way between your legs.
“Flash that pretty pussy for me again,” he gently parted your legs, “Properly this time. I wanna see everything.”
Seeing how much your folds glistened under the dim yellow lights of the room, Minho couldn’t help hissing at the sight.
“Fucking look at you. Soaked all over. I turn you on that much, huh?”
“Oh, shut up.”
“This isn’t some pitch meeting,” he chuckled, “it’s just you and me. You don’t have to pretend.”
Minho caressed your thighs and peppered kisses all over the supple skin as you kept watching him lose himself in you.
“You’re in my bed now. You can tell me what you like,” his eyes met yours again, “If you tell me, I might do it, you know.”
Minho placed his thumb right above your clit and gently dragged it upwards. That mere contact was enough to get you to whimper.
“You like getting slurped on, princess?”
Stop talking or else I’m gonna cum on your face.
“You should know,” Minho spoke in a firm tone while clearly salivating over you, “Nobody does it like me.”
“Oh, FUCK!”
It was true. The sensation was incomparable to anything you had ever experienced. Minho’s tongue gliding over every single corner of your pussy, teasing you all over and getting you completely drenched for him felt like he was doing it for his own pleasure rather than yours. His appetite was absolutely unmatched, and without even realizing it, you started riding his face. Minho smiled into your pussy over the enthusiasm he induced in you.
“So eager. Just the way I like.”
He latched his plush lips to your clit and started sucking on it in earnest, tongue still teasing it every once in a while. His eyes were closed like he wanted to block as many of his senses as possible so that he could focus on your taste only. The way he kept moaning against your pussy was almost like the sounds of contentment while eating a delicious meal.
“God, your taste… I’m blocking Mondays from now on,” he dragged a long stripe from your entrance up till your clit, “You’re just gonna sprawl on my desk and let me eat you out for hours.”
“Minho….”
“That’s it. Tell me who’s making you melt into a puddle, princess.”
His tongue returned to your swollen clit again with just a smidge more pressure on it but still getting you as wet as possible. Your moans getting louder and your legs shaking around Minho’s head signaled him that he was pushing you closer to the edge three steps at a time.
“Give in to me.”
You groaned at the loss of contact, but even in that position the urge to battle with Minho was so real.
“What if I don’t want to?”
“Be my guest if you wanna get edged the entire night. I have absolutely no problem with that, baby.”
You clenched so hard around nothing over the pet name that it was impossible Minho wouldn’t be able to notice that.
“You like it when I call you baby?”
That should have been the last thing to be embarrassed about considering what you two had been doing for some time now, but there you were. You didn’t know how to answer him.
“I told you to tell me what you like, didn’t I?”
Minho flashed a reassuring smile, endeared over you getting unusually shy all of a sudden, not to mention when your legs were spread wide for him like that. You swallowed that last drop of pride and let it rip.
“I think I really like it when you call me that.”
“Call you what?”
“Baby.”
His smile grew bigger when he heard the word spilling from your lips.
“I think I love it when you say that,” Minho placed a tender kiss on your thighs, “Tell me everything you want. I wanna please you right.”
You stroked his soft, caramel hair and told him the wish he was so eager to grant.
“I wanna cum to those pretty lips working me.”
Minho closed his mouth over your pussy on cue and started drawing languid stripes, immediately starting to wrap the coil in the pit of your stomach.
“Minho…”
He had learned what his lips on your clit did to you by then and he absolutely loved witnessing that. Every time you moaned his name, it drove him crazier, forcing him to increase the speed and the pressure of his tongue lapping at your clit. When you tugged at his locks, overwhelmed with the amount of pleasure he was giving you, Minho’s soundwaves against your pussy transformed from content hums to loud moans, resolute to taste that most intense flavor you could possibly give him.
“Fuck, Minho. Minho. MINHO!”
You arched against his beautiful face, convulsing frantically as he kept sucking on you to let you ride out your high. When he realized you became way too sensitive, Minho punctuated his ministrations with a kiss and made his way up to you.
“You taste amazing. Want me to show you?”
You were far too gone to be able to say anything so you just pulled his face in for a kiss that quickly evolved into a full-on makeout session. Minho kept swirling his tongue in your mouth, sharing your own taste with you. You could feel how hard he got on your crotch.
“I wanna see you,” you tugged at the waistband of his pants.
“Wanna undress me?”
What a fucking redundant question that was. You straightened up to peel his shirt off him first, trapping his lips between yours all the while. When you unbuckled his belt and got rid of his pants and underwear at one go, that sight was…
Oh my fucking god!
“Damn, Minho!”
“Like what you see?”
“Wh- You’re massive!” you blurted out without thinking over his size, “No wonder you live your life as a walking ego.”
He slapped a smug grin on his face, way too satisfied at your reaction, “I’ll get you used to it. Touch me.”
You palmed his length and languidly stroked him while Minho reached for your lips again. You laid him down on the bed and got comfortable between his legs yourself. Minho placed one hand below his head and started watching you like a private show as you squeezed his cock between your breasts.
“Fuck, that feels so good.”
You let him enjoy your ministrations for some time accompanied by his soft moans. When his thick thighs were glaring at you like that, it was impossible to focus for much longer, though.
“Jesus fuck, look at these. You’re gorgeous.”
“Pretty, huh? Wanna sit on them?”
“At some point, yeah,” you made your way down between his legs, “Right now I just wanna sink my teeth on them.”
You weren’t about to willingly hurt him, of course. It was just gentle grazes on his thighs, some a bit more savage than the others, but always followed by lots of kisses to soothe the sizzle. You moved your face over his cock, kissed the sensitive skin all over, and finally wrapped your lips around him. It took a minute to get used to his girth, but you eventually found a steady rhythm to get him to lose his mind.
“GOD, you get me weak as fuck when you taste me like that.”
You never expected blowing someone could feel this good for you. Minho seemed to be proving time and time again that enthusiasm to please was indeed everything. Turns out, feeling strongly desired by someone, feeling the attentiveness of your partner to what would please you was the key to severe arousal. And when you were turned on that much, literally nothing would be off limits.
“Ah, yes! Look how well you’re taking it. Not even gagging,” Minho guided your head on his cock, “Proof right there you were made for me.”
This beautiful beast being this vocal was legitimately the reason you could cum untouched. Minho’s moans and grunts over your stimulations were the sexiest things you had ever heard in your life.
“Fuck I’m so close. Faster.”
“Where do you want it?” you briefly stopped and kissed his length coated with your wetness, “Down my throat? Or inside me?”
Minho twitched really hard in your palm, breathing way too labored by then.
“Can I- can I really cum inside?”
You climbed on top of him to kiss him as an answer. He didn’t waste any time and laid you down on your back, a little too excited over what was about to go down. You weren’t trying to stroke his ego when you saw Minho for the first time—he was indeed so thick that he was struggling to slide inside you.
“Too big for you, princess?”
“Slower,” you instructed him “I can take it.”
“Of course you can, baby.”
Minho kept gently moving into you until he managed to push the tip in. That feeling alone was enough to get his arousal levels hit through the roof.
“Fuck you’re tight. You haven’t been fucked properly at all, have you?” he flashed a mischievous grin, “Now we know why you run that pretty little mouth all the fucking time.”
He settled between your legs as if he was wearing a seatbelt before taking off for a long ride.
“I’ll work you open. You’re gonna fit so well around me.”
“Jesus f- Minho!”
When he started moving, the way he rubbed against your walls was nothing but delectable. He wasn’t moving that fast and hadn’t even made it to the end of you yet, but there you were squirming under him out of undistilled pleasure.
“Tell me how good my big cock makes you feel, baby. Tell me.”
“God, you feel incredible inside me,” you tugged at your hair, “I can feel every inch of you.”
You felt him twitch upon your words and Minho picked up his pace just a measure. You were convinced that the curvature of his cock was just made for stimulating that sweet spot inside you. Even when he barely grazed it, you clenched around him, signaling where exactly it was located.
“Damn, you’re hitting all the right spots.”
“Like… here?” he changed his angle to focus on his new target.
“Oh fuck, fuck!”
Minho was about to go insane over how you were reacting to him, inadvertently going faster every time you cursed like that.
“Deeper, baby. Fuck me deeper.”
Any deeper and he would die due to ecstasy overdose, but he was nothing if he didn’t please you exactly in the way you wanted it. You were feeling your second orgasm approaching, but you weren’t ready to let this end yet. You stopped him.
“Let me ride you.”
When Minho traded places with you, you immediately climbed on top of him and started sinking on his cock. It felt so fucking good that his eyes rolled all the way back.
“God, yes. Sit on it, baby,” he grabbed your hips and squeezed them, “Stretch yourself on me more, come on.”
“See how you slide right in now? I can even feel your veins pulsating in me, fuck!”
“You’re taking it exactly like you should. Move for me.”
“God, I’ve never felt this full before,” you pressed your palms on his chest as you kept riding him, “You’re getting even bigger inside me.”
The more you were clenching, the more Minho was twitching inside in response. He wanted to let you go at your own pace, he really did, but you were just too fucking sexy for him panting and moaning his name like that. Of course he was going to lose control.
“You’re gonna be the fucking death of me. Can’t get enough of this pussy,” he landed a smack on your ass and started fucking you from under a little too enthusiastically for his own good.
“Fuck, MINHO!”
“Feels so good, doesn’t it?” he started going even faster, “Ah, how are you still this tight around me?”
When his rhythm started to become erratic, he slowed down, but you began riding him faster this time.
“Stop! Baby stop.”
“But I don’t want to.”
“Don’t make me beg. I don’t wanna cum yet.”
“But you’re gonna,” you leaned down to kiss him, “You’re gonna cum for me many times tonight.”
Minho held your face and looked right into your eyes, his fiery gaze setting fire to your soul as well as your body.
“You want me to cum for you? Is that what you want?”
“It’s what we both want. Don’t tell me you haven’t been fantasizing about this already.”
“Creaming you?” Minho chuckled softly, “It’s every fucking one of my waking thoughts.”
He pulled your body towards himself so that you were fully laying down on top of him.
“Come closer. I’ll fill you up to the brim with me.”
He started going at maximum speed, getting you to scream for him, and the louder they got the tighter Minho wrapped his arms around you.
“God, you’re such a fucking beast.”
“You bring out the worst in me, baby.”
“Give it to me harder. You know I deserve it.”
You wanted harder? He’d give you harder. Minho had been trying to tame himself for quite a while already. His extreme arousal combined with how tight you were around him, your labored breathing, and the moans he was inducing left him with nowhere else to run. You grabbed his face and emphatically declared.
“Give it to me, Minho.”
“Ah, fuck. FUCK!”
He wasn’t using a figure of speech when he told you he would fill you to the brim. As you rode him throughout his orgasm, Minho kept unloading into you, painting you white from wall to wall, some of his cum actually flowing out of you. You didn’t stop riding him even when he was out, so he kept writhing under you.
“Sensitive?”
“Fuck, please, I can’t think straight.”
“Shh, yes you can. Of course, you can,” you kissed him passionately, “I want your mind to be crawling with me only.”
“How is that different from what I do every day?”
You fondly smiled at his words, “Because now I know.”
You placed a kiss on his neck. When Minho pulled out of you, his cum started dripping down your thighs, staining you everywhere. You worked your way down to clean him, and he kept squirming due to overstimulation. He brushed your hair back to see you better.
“God, you’re perfect. Let me.”
Minho switched places with you again to let you rest for a while. He paid some much needed attention to your breasts, softly caressing and sucking on them, then worked his way down to your navel, your crotch, and finally made it to your soaked thighs to clean them. His cum tasted way better when it was on your skin.
“Fuck, so wet. How are you always dripping like that?”
“How unreal you are definitely helps,” you caressed his hair, “I fucking love what I see.”
He flashed that dangerous smile of his again, the telltale sign that he was about to do something lethal. Minho coated his middle finger with his saliva, slipped it inside you, and started sucking on your clit again. You began dissolving on his tongue immediately.
“God, Minho, yes!”
“Nice and loud for me, baby. Don’t hold back,” he slurped on your clit with obscene sounds, “I’ll get you even more soaked first. Then we’ll go for another ride.”
He hooked his finger inside to massage that spot that had you seeing stars and kept fingering you while getting absolutely drunk on you. Minho possessed this power of turning you on to the maximum with just the way he moved. Considering there was already leftover arousal in your body from just mere minutes ago, it didn’t take that long before you started squeezing his finger inside you.
“Cumming again?”
“FUCKING YES!”
You were definitely glowing differently when you came, but more so when he made you cum—Minho was sure of it.
“Fucking love watching this pretty pussy throb like that,” he cleaned his fingers and looked up at you, “You can take more, though, right baby?”
Within the span of half a night, Minho apparently developed the fastest habit of all time. He seemed to have a thing for making you taste yourself on him judging by how much he loved making out with you right after he ate you out. You were so fucked out but you didn’t even care. Everything about Minho felt like pleasure directly injected into your veins. You couldn’t possibly get enough of him.
You nodded.
Minho kissed your legs and placed them over his shoulder. He leaned into your face before moving and locked his gaze with yours.
“Look at me when we’re fucking. Just look at me,”
The second he slid right in with a lewd squelch, you were already falling into pieces. You didn’t know what exactly it was about Minho that made you feel like the absolute goddess of eroticism and a mere mortal slave born to serve him at the same time. The words he chose, how eager he was, the way he was obsessed with kissing, how you were able to rip his soul apart with a single moan of his name, his feline eyes crawling with pure desire, the little freckle on his nose, his perfectly sculpted face, his frustrating headstrong demeanor, his hands, his voice, him.
Everything. It was everything about him.
“You get me faded so bad, baby. I’m fucking addicted to you already.”
You held onto his biceps while Minho thrust into you with increasing speed, and sank your fingers into his smooth skin.
“Taste me. Taste me when you cum.”
Minho unleashed himself on your lips, consuming you whole like he was determined to melt your bodies together to form a single entity made entirely of passion. You clenched harder around him with every thrust, and once Minho sensed you were on the brink of snapping, he began hitting that spot with all his might, lips never leaving yours as you flooded him. Halfway through your own orgasm, Minho gave in to your contractions and soaked you back in return, and collapsed on your chest immediately after.
“I think I can get used to this,” Minho spoke from the crook of your neck while still panting, “Fuck happy hour Fridays, I’ll make you dinner instead. Then I’ll make you cum. You know, all the good stuff.”
You giggled at what a Minhoese proposition that was. Just the right amount of crass, but still with an endearing layer to it. You kept caressing his hair.
“I think I really like that idea.”
He launched his cheekbones for you with that bright smile of his and kissed you for the billionth time that night.
“Wanna go for another round?”
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