7 Minutes in Heaven

The set of the ‘Boys Like You’ music video was a chaotic symphony of tangled cables, blinding strobe lights, and the lingering, sweet, intoxicating scent of artificial fog mixed with the spiked punch the girls had managed to sneak into the backstage area. It was supposed to be a Halloween house party theme, and the five members of ITZY were dressed as angels—though their current behavior was anything but heavenly.

Y/N stood near the monitors, a towering figure at 188cm and a solid 90kg of meticulously sculpted muscle, clad in a bespoke, dark charcoal Italian suit that usually commanded instant respect and obedience. Usually. Today, however, his strict, professional European demeanor was unraveling by the second. His dark brown eyes, normally sharp and calculating, were currently narrowed in profound, simmering exasperation. His short black hair was slightly ruffled from running his large hands through it, and the crisp, white collar of his dress shirt was currently missing its silk tie.

"You’re completely red, Y/N! Admit it, you lost!" Ryujin’s voice rang out, melodic and thick with the playful slur of someone who had enjoyed one too many cups of the forbidden punch. She leaned heavily against a prop table, pointing a manicured finger at him and giggling uncontrollably.

Beside her, Lia was practically vibrating with mischievous glee. She dramatically puffed out her chest, where the shimmering silk of Y/N’s stolen tie was scandalously tucked straight down into the deep, plunging neckline of her angelic costume. "The rules were simple, Mr. Manager," Lia purred, batting her eyelashes with exaggerated innocence. "Twenty-four hours. No complaining. No scolding. No matter what we did. And what did you just do?"

Y/N exhaled a long, heavy breath, the sound rumbling deep in his broad chest. "I politely requested that Ryujin stop using my shoulders as a personal jungle gym, and I calmly noted that stealing my tie and stuffing it into your cleavage constitutes a severe breach of workplace decorum. That was an observation, Lia, not a complaint."

"Wrong!" Chaeryeong chimed in, clapping her hands together, the sheer, glittering fabric of her angel sleeves fluttering like real wings. "You sighed! It was a very loud, very upset sigh! And your jaw did that incredibly scary clenching thing! You lost the bet, Y/N. Fair and square."

The idols had been a nightmare all morning. They were giddy, slightly drunk, and acting like feral teenagers, entirely leaning into the chaotic house party vibe of the video shoot. The more Y/N tried to remain objective and polite to secure his win—which would have earned him a month of their unquestioning obedience—the more diabolical they became. And now, they had him cornered.

"Fine," Y/N conceded, his deep voice carrying a dangerous, velvety edge that sent a visible shiver down the spines of the girls. "I lost. What is the punishment?"

The five girls exchanged wicked, conspiring glances. The air crackled with palpable tension.

"Since we are shooting a party scene," Ryujin began, her eyes gleaming with wicked delight, "we decided to play the ultimate party game. Seven Minutes in Heaven. In the backstage supply closet."

Y/N’s dark eyes swept over the five girls. "You want me to stand in a dark, dusty room with one of you for seven minutes. To accomplish what, exactly?"

"To suffer," Yuna piped up, crossing her arms. She bit her lip, her eyes dragging up and down Y/N’s imposing, broad-shouldered physique, lingering on the V-shape of his torso beneath the tailored wool. "And to see if the big, scary manager can actually loosen up for once in his life."

Before anyone else could speak, Yeji stepped forward. The studio lights caught the pale pink streaks woven through her long, dark brown hair, making them shimmer. She looked breathtakingly beautiful, an ethereal vision wrapped in a dangerously small amount of fabric. She wore a white, halter-style, strapless top held up by thin, almost invisible translucent straps that looked like they would snap under the slightest pressure. A single, large white feathered wing was draped elegantly over one shoulder, trailing down her delicate back. Her makeup was soft—a subtle, flushed blush high on her cheekbones and a light, glossy lipstick that made her lips look wet and devastatingly kissable. Pearl-like earrings with delicate dangling elements brushed against her slender neck as she moved.

Yeji looked up at Y/N, her dark, cat-like Asian eyes locking onto his with a predatory intensity that made the breath catch in his throat. She saw the way his jaw ticked. She knew he was handsome—devastatingly so—but right now, looking at the restrained power radiating from his massive frame, a sudden, heavy coil of raw heat pooled low in her belly. She bit her glossy lower lip, a genuine spark of pure, unadulterated lust overriding her playful teasing.

"I'll do it," Yeji said, her voice dropping an octave, slipping from idol-sweet to something darker, richer. "I am the leader, after all. It’s my responsibility to sacrifice myself and make sure our manager pays his debts."

Yuna let out a dramatic, frustrated groan, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "Oh, come on! That’s so unfair! I wanted to go into the closet with Y/N. Look at him, he looks like he wants to murder someone. It’s incredibly hot."

"Too late, maknae," Yeji smirked, never breaking eye contact with Y/N. She stepped closer to him, the sweet, intoxicating scent of vanilla, cherries, and warm feminine skin washing over his senses. "Lead the way, Manager Y/N."

Chaeryeong giggled wildly, her cheeks flushed as she pointed toward the heavy wooden door of the equipment storage closet at the back of the room. "Love ITZY challenge time! Get in there, you two! We’re setting the timer!"

Y/N maintained his stoic expression, his broad shoulders stiff as he turned and marched toward the closet. He opened the heavy door, revealing a pitch-black, narrow space smelling faintly of cedar wood, metallic camera equipment, and dust. He stepped in, his massive frame taking up more than half the available space. Yeji followed gracefully, her wing brushing softly against the doorframe. As soon as she was inside, the door slammed shut behind them, plunging them into absolute, suffocating darkness, save for a razor-thin sliver of neon light seeping beneath the door crack.

The click of the lock turning echoed loudly.

"Seven minutes starts now!" Ryujin yelled from the other side, her voice muffled by the thick wood.

Minute 1: The Standoff

The silence in the cramped space was immediate, heavy, and thick with an electric charge. The temperature seemed to spike instantly, the sheer body heat radiating from Y/N’s massive, 90kg frame filling the small pocket of air. Y/N stood with his back pressed firmly against a rack of cold, metal shelving, his arms crossed over his broad chest. He could hear the soft, rhythmic sound of Yeji’s breathing in the dark, the faint rustle of her feathers as she shifted her weight.

"This is ridiculous," Y/N stated, his deep, resonant voice vibrating in the tight space, sounding louder and far more intimate in the pitch black. "I hope you understand, Yeji, I won’t do what people normally do in 'Seven Minutes in Heaven'. We are simply going to stand here, wait out the timer, and then get back to work. I am your manager. I maintain professional boundaries."

Yeji let out a soft, breathy laugh that sent a strange, hot shiver down Y/N’s spine. The sound was too rich, too knowing. In the darkness, her eyes began to adjust to the faint bleed of light from the floor. She could see the imposing silhouette of him, the sheer width of his shoulders blocking out the back wall.

"You're so stubborn, Y/N," Yeji teased softly, her voice carrying a playful, lingering warmth. "Always the strict European professional. But no one is watching now. The cameras are off. My members are outside. What’s the point of pretending you don't feel the tension in this room?"

"There is no tension. It is just a lack of ventilation," he replied smoothly, though his heart was already beginning a slow, heavy, traitorous thud against his ribs.

"Liar," she whispered, the word floating toward him like a physical caress.

Minute 2: The Provocation

The first minute ticked by, and the static electricity in the air grew unbearably dense. The scent of Yeji’s perfume was intoxicating, wrapping around Y/N’s throat like a silk noose. Yeji took a slow, deliberate step forward, her white sneakers completely silent on the concrete floor. The space was so narrow that her movement brought her dangerously close to him.

Her body brushed against him, seemingly by accident, but the friction of her soft hip against the tailored wool of his trousers was explosive. The sliver of light from the floor cast upward, illuminating the sharp, delicate lines of her collarbones and giving Y/N a distinct, heart-stopping glimpse of her soft, inviting cleavage pushing against the fragile white fabric of her top. Her dark, cat-like eyes glinted in the dimness, staring up at him with a look that stripped away every ounce of his authority.

The thin, almost invisible straps of her halter top looked so incredibly fragile against her pale, flawless skin, making her look both angelic and sinfully inviting. Slowly, deliberately, Yeji raised her small, delicate hand. Her fingertips made contact with the fine fabric of his suit jacket. Y/N flinched slightly, a sharp intake of breath hissing through his teeth, but he didn't pull away.

Her fingers trailed slowly, agonizingly up the lapel of his suit, tracing the firm, hard muscle of his chest beneath the layers of clothing.

"You weren't thinking about work when you looked at me on set earlier," she murmured, her voice a sultry, velvet purr that made his pulse thunder in his ears. "Don't deny it. I saw you, Y/N. When we were rehearsing the choreography... you were looking at my legs."

Y/N’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. He tried to summon his cold, authoritative tone, but it came out husky and strained. "I was checking the costume for wardrobe malfunctions. The slit in your skirt is unacceptably high for the dance routine."

He tried to sound indifferent, but his breath hitched uncontrollably as her small, warm fingers left his lapel and grazed the sensitive skin of his neck, her nails lightly dragging over his rapidly beating pulse.

"And did you find any?" Yeji whispered, taking another half-step forward. She leaned in, closing the final inch between them. Her cute, small breasts brushed firmly against the unyielding, muscular wall of his chest. The contact was electric, burning straight through his shirt and suit jacket. Her cat-like eyes searched his, looking for the cracks in his armor. "Or do you need a closer look?"

Y/N squeezed his eyes shut, his fists clenching at his sides. He was fighting a losing battle against his own biology.

"You’re always so strict, so perfectly professional," she continued, her voice dropping into a breathless, intimate register. "It’s exhausting, Y/N. Why don’t you just... let go for seven minutes? The girls can't see you. The cameras aren't here. There’s no agency, no contracts. It's just me."

Minute 3: The Breaking Point

The third minute bled into existence, and the closet felt like the inside of a furnace. Yeji wasn't backing down. She rose onto her tiptoes, the delicate dangling elements of her pearl earrings chiming faintly with the movement. She was entirely in his space now, the heat of her small, 46kg frame pressing intimately against his massive 90kg bulk.

She ran both her hands boldly over the hard, rigid plains of his chest, her palms sliding over the dense muscle of his pectorals, feeling the erratic, violent pounding of his heart beneath his dress shirt. She tilted her head back, offering the long, elegant column of her pale neck to him, her beautiful cat-like eyes half-lidded, heavy with a potent mix of alcohol-induced bravery and raw, dripping desire.

"Look at you," she teased, a wicked smile playing on her glossy lips. Her thumb brushed daringly over his nipple through the fabric of his shirt, drawing a low, involuntary groan from deep within Y/N’s throat. "You're a giant, muscular man, and you're shaking because a girl is touching your chest. Loosen up, Manager-nim. Enjoy the view. Enjoy... me."

She rolled her hips forward ever so slightly, the soft cotton of her skirt brushing against the front of his trousers. Y/N’s hands, which had been rigidly glued to his sides, twitched. His large fingers curled into fists to stop himself from grabbing her waist and crushing her against him. He was a man drowning, and she was the water pouring down his throat.

Minute 4: The Demonic Angel

If the first three minutes were a slow simmer, the fourth minute was a raging boil. The sweet, innocent angel act completely evaporated, leaving behind a creature of pure, unadulterated provocation. Yeji leaned closer, her soft, glossy lips hovering mere millimeters from his ear. Y/N could feel her sweet, alcohol-laced breath puffing hot and damp against his skin, sending a violent shudder down his spine.

Her words became explicit, dirty, and dripping with slutty intent, shredding the last remnants of his iron-clad self-control.

"I bet you think about it," she breathed into his ear, her teeth lightly grazing his earlobe. "I bet when you're alone in your hotel room, you think about pulling these stupid invisible straps down. I bet you think about what I look like underneath. You want to ruin this pure white outfit, don't you, Y/N? Tell me you want to ruin me."

She let out a soft, breathy moan as she ground her hips against his thigh, her hands sliding up to tangle in the short, dark hair at the nape of his neck.

Y/N’s mind went blank. The tether snapped. The manager was dead; the man was completely, ferociously awake. This angel is a fucking demon, he thought, a rush of primal heat flooding his veins.

"Fuck it," he growled, the sound rough, guttural, and animalistic.

His massive hands shot out, wrapping around her tiny, fragile waist with a possessive, bruising grip. He pulled her up forcefully, lifting her right off her feet. Yeji gasped, a sound of sheer shock and absolute delight, as he slammed her back against the wooden door of the closet. The impact made the door rattle in its frame.

He didn't give her a second to recover. He crashed his mouth down onto hers.

The kiss started deceptively gentle for a fraction of a second—a soft, tasting pressure of his lips against her glossy, parted ones. But the moment he tasted the sweet tang of cherry and wine on her mouth, the gentleness vanished, replaced by a starving, ravenous intensity. His mouth devoured hers, demanding and dominant.

Minute 5: Fever Pitch

The kiss exploded into something wild, wet, and desperately passionate. Yeji let out a muffled squeal against his lips, wrapping her arms tightly around his thick neck, anchoring herself to him as she stood fully on her tiptoes to meet his towering height.

Y/N’s hands slid frantically from her waist down to her hips, his large, strong fingers digging possessively into the soft, yielding flesh of her sides. He angled his head, deepening the kiss entirely. His tongue pushed past her teeth, invading her mouth with a slow, dominant sweep. The taste of her was intoxicating—sweet, hot, and dark. Their tongues danced and tangled in a slippery, wet frenzy, the heavy, sloppy sounds of their mouths sliding together echoing loudly in the tight acoustics of the dark closet.

"Mmm, Y/N... yes..." Yeji moaned, the sound vibrating directly into his mouth, fueling the blazing fire in his blood.

She broke the kiss for a mere second to drag her open mouth down his jawline, her breath coming in ragged, panting gasps. She peppered wet, hot, open-mouthed kisses along his throat, sucking hard at the skin right over his pulse point.

"You taste so good," she whispered frantically, her voice trembling with raw need, her hands gripping his hair and pulling his face back down to hers. "Don't stop. Don't you dare stop, Manager."

He captured her lips again, kissing her harder, deeper, sucking her lower lip between his teeth and biting down gently, eliciting another sharp, high-pitched gasp from the idol.

Minute 6: The Grinding

The temperature in the closet was infernal. Sweat beaded on Y/N’s forehead, his perfectly tailored suit feeling suddenly like a straitjacket. Yeji was a wild thing in his arms. She thrust her hips upward, completely abandoning any pretense of innocence. Her back was pressed flush against the unforgiving wood of the door, her wings crushed between her shoulders and the flat surface.

Y/N held her left arm tight, pinning it against the wall to support her weight as she practically climbed him. Their faces were a wet, tangled mess of saliva and heavy, desperate breathing. Their tongues fought for dominance, sliding and sweeping against each other in a filthy, beautiful rhythm.

Unable to contain his absolute hunger, Y/N’s right hand abandoned her hip, sliding fiercely down the smooth curve of her body to grab a fistful of her short, white angel skirt. He pulled the fabric up ruthlessly, bunching it at her waist, exposing her bare thighs and the thin silk of her panties to the cool, dark air of the room.

His large, calloused, 90kg-man hand clamped entirely over her soft, round Korean ass. He squeezed hard, kneading the plush, delicate flesh with a rough, demanding rhythm.

"Ah! God, Y/N!" Yeji shrieked into his mouth, her body jolting violently at the feeling of his hot, heavy hand possessing her bare skin.

She wrapped one of her legs around the back of his thick thigh, pulling herself impossibly closer. The friction was maddening. As she pulled herself in, her hips ground directly, forcefully into the center of his trousers.

Y/N groaned, a deep, vibrating, primal sound that rattled his chest. Underneath his bespoke suit pants, he was aggressively, painfully hard. His 18cm cock was completely stiff, an immense, rigid bulge trapped behind the zipper, throbbing with every beat of his heart.

Yeji felt the colossal size of him pressing right into the juncture of her thighs. The thick, hard ridge of his erection aligned perfectly with her wet heat, separated only by the layers of their clothing. She ground down hard against him, rolling her hips in a slow, agonizingly wet circle.

Minute 7: The Brink

The final minute was pure, unadulterated madness. They were lost in a vortex of heat, taste, and friction.

"Fuck, Yeji," Y/N rasped, tearing his mouth from hers to bury his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling the dizzying scent of her sweat and perfume. He pumped his hips forward, thrusting his massive, hard bulge blindly against her grinding pelvis. "You’re driving me insane."

Yeji threw her head back against the door, a string of dirty, breathless moans tumbling from her wet, swollen lips. She could feel the distinct, heavy shape of his 18-cm cock pressing so deep into her, even through the clothing, that it sent shockwaves of pure electric pleasure straight to her core. She was soaking wet, trembling uncontrollably, her delicate hands clawing frantically at the broad expanse of his shoulders, ruining the expensive fabric of his jacket.

She wanted him. She wanted him to tear her panties aside. She wanted him to break every rule, unbutton his pants, and bury that massive, terrifyingly beautiful cock deep inside her right here, against the dusty closet door.

"Y/N... please," she whimpered, her voice a desperate, slutty plea as she ground down on his huge bulge with all her might, seeking any kind of friction she could find. "I need it... I want you to fuck me. Please, right now. Just pull it out, Y/N. Please—"

CLICK.

The heavy metallic sound of the lock turning cut through the thick, heavy air like a gunshot.

Before Yeji could finish her breathless, desperate demand, the door handle turned, and the heavy wooden door was yanked outward.

A flood of blinding, neon light from the studio spilled into the dark space, washing over them in a harsh, unforgiving wave.

Y/N and Yeji froze, a chaotic, highly compromising tableau frozen in time. Y/N’s massive, broad body had Yeji completely pinned. His lips were still hovering millimeters from her bruised, wet mouth. His thick, muscular thigh was firmly planted between her legs. Her white skirt was shoved entirely up to her waist, and Y/N’s large, dominant hand was caught red-handed, gripped tightly around the bare, soft flesh of her ass cheek. The enormous, unmistakable tent stretching the fabric of Y/N’s suit trousers was on full, glorious display against Yeji’s thigh.

Standing in the doorway, bathed in the studio lights, were the four other ITZY members in their pure white angel costumes.

There was a second of absolute, stunned silence.

Chaeryeong let out a loud, high-pitched gasp, her face turning the color of a ripe tomato as she immediately slapped both her hands over her eyes to shield her modesty. "Oh my god! Oh my god! Too much! We saw too much!" she squealed through her fingers.

Y/N slowly turned his head, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath, his dark eyes wide and wild. He didn't let go of Yeji’s waist, instinctively shielding her body with his massive frame, though the damage was thoroughly done. Yeji hid her heavily flushed, breathless face in the crook of Y/N's neck, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

Yuna stood with her hands on her hips, her eyes darting from Y/N's flushed face down to the massive, prominent bulge straining against his zipper, and then to the hand gripping her leader's ass. She bit her lip, a look of distinct, overwhelming jealousy crossing her beautiful features.

"Holy shit," Yuna breathed, fanning herself with one hand. "Damn it. I knew I should have been the one to go in there. That is... unfairly hot. You’re holding her like she owes you money, Y/N."

Lia, still sporting Y/N’s tie in her cleavage, leaned lazily against the doorframe, a wicked, entirely slutty smirk spreading across her face as she looked at the absolute mess they had become.

"Well, well, well," Lia purred, her eyes trailing over Y/N’s thoroughly ruffled appearance and the undeniable, rock-hard evidence of his arousal. "Look at the big, strict manager now. Forget seven minutes in heaven, Y/N... it looks like you were about to drag our angel straight down to hell."