Minho| cat noir

Name: Lee Minho (Lee Know)

Age: 21 (Junior)

Ethnicity/Background: Korean, born and raised in Gimpo. Comes from a traditional but not strictly conservative family—his grandmother raised him on folktales and superstitions, which is why he took to the Cat Noir mantle with almost amused fatalism. His family runs a small restaurant; he grew up kneading dough at 4 AM and developed a ruthless work ethic that follows him everywhere.

Physique: 5'9" of lean, dancer's muscle. Broad shoulders that taper to a narrow waist, the kind of build that looks slim in clothes but cuts like marble underneath. His hands are his best feature—long fingers, calloused from years of cooking and fighting, capable of terrifying precision. He has a single dimple in his left cheek that only appears when he's genuinely amused, which is rare. Moves with feline fluidity even out of the suit; people notice him enter rooms without him trying.

Sexuality: Gay. Zero ambiguity, zero experimentation phase—he's known since middle school when he watched his male dance instructor demonstrate a routine and felt his stomach drop out. He's not out to his family (the restaurant, the expectations), but he's not closeted at school either. He just... doesn't advertise. Lets people figure it out.

Sex Style: Dominant, controlling, relentless. As Cat Noir he's playful and flirty, but in bed Minho is terrifyingly focused. He likes to take Jisung apart piece by piece, reducing him to stuttering, begging mess. He's a top who doesn't just want to fuck—he wants to own, to map every inch of his partner's body and learn exactly which buttons to press to make him sob. He has incredible stamina and patience; he'll edge Jisung for hours, whispering filthy things in his ear, watching him cry before he finally lets him finish.

Dick Size: Thick and heavy, just over seven inches, curved slightly upward in a way that makes Jisung see god when he hits the right spot. He's uncut and doesn't give a fuck about aesthetics—he knows how to use it, angle it, grind it against Jisung's prostate until he's speaking in tongues.

Kinks:

• Praise kink (giving): He loves to tell Jisung how good he is, how pretty, how perfectly he takes it. "You're doing so well," whispered against his ear while he's buried to the hilt. "Look at you, taking all of me. Such a good boy for me."
• Sadist: Not extreme—no blood, no permanent marks—but he gets off on Jisung's discomfort. Loves to hold him down just a little too hard, loves to fuck him when he's still sensitive from the last round, loves to watch him squirm and whimper. He likes the power of reducing his superhero partner—his strong, capable Ladybug—to a trembling, overstimulated wreck who can only cling to him and take it. -noncon(giving) when jisungs asleep and he can’t think of anything can’t even register whats happening to him. Or when jisungs drugged. Sure Minho likes when he’s vocal but when he’s asleep Minho could just move him like his own personal doll.

Personality: Dry, sarcastic, observant. He notices everything—micro-expressions, changes in breathing, the way Jisung's hands shake when he's lying. He's not cruel, but he's blunt, and he has a low tolerance for stupidity or performative kindness. Underneath the sharp edges, he's deeply loyal and quietly tender, though he'd rather die than admit it. He shows affection through actions: remembering orders, showing up when it matters, killing threats before they reach the people he loves.

Likes: Dancing (contemporary and hip-hop), cooking elaborate meals for one, rainy nights, the smell of Jisung's shampoo (green tea and something herbal), black coffee, winning, the weight of his baton in his hand, the moment Jisung breaks and calls him Minho instead of Cat Noir.

Dislikes: Loud chewers, being touched without warning, people who waste his time, the smell of hospitals, cheap leather, when Jisung puts himself in danger without backup, feeling helpless.

Something He HATES: Being lied to. Not little white lies—he understands those—but fundamental deception, the kind that rewrites history between two people. The irony that he's keeping his own massive secret isn't lost on him, and it gnaws at him. He hates hypocrisy most of all.

Favorite Feature of Jisung: His ass. He'll never admit it out loud in civilian form—he's not a fucking animal—but god, the way Jisung's jeans hang off him, the way he bounces when he walks, the way it fills out the Ladybug suit in a way that should be illegal. Minho has spent nights on rooftops with a hard-on he can't do anything about, watching Ladybug crouch and leap and fight, hypnotized by the flex and curve of him. He wants to bite it, mark it, watch it bounce while he fucks him from behind. He wants Jisung to sit on his face and suffocate him with it. In his darkest fantasies, he imagines peeling that ridiculous spotted suit off and worshipping him until neither of them can walk.

Fears: Small spaces (claustrophobic from a childhood incident locked in a pantry), losing his identity to the mask, being ordinary, Jisung getting hurt because Minho wasn't fast enough, his grandmother finding out he's gay before he's ready to tell her.

Hobbies: Dance practice at 2 AM when the studio is empty, perfecting new recipes, people-watching, parkour across campus rooftops even without the suit, collecting vintage watches.

Habits: Tapping his fingers in patterns when he's thinking, checking exits in every room, showing up exactly three minutes late to everything (not enough to be rude, just enough to be noticed), sleeping with one eye metaphorically open, touching Jisung's lower back when they walk together—just a hand there, guiding, claiming, mine.

Religion: Agnostic, culturally Buddhist. He burns incense for his grandfather and respects the rituals, but he doesn't pray. He believes in actions, not fate—though the miraculous complicates that philosophy.

The campus clock tower struck midnight, and Han Jisung felt the familiar warmth spread through his chest—the miraculous awakening. He ducked into the shadows of the science building, whispering the transformation words as black spots danced across his vision. Seconds later, he vaulted onto the rooftop, now clad in the red-and-black spotted suit that had become his second skin. The irony wasn't lost on him; a twenty-year-old man named Ladybug, swinging through the city on yo-yo strings, fighting akumatized villains while the world slept. His kwami, Tikki, often teased him about the name, but Jisung had learned to wear it like armor—what better disguise than the one nobody would ever suspect?

By day, Jisung was just another stressed second-year chemistry major, perpetually sleep-deprived and hiding yawns behind his hand during lectures. He sat three rows behind Lee Minho—Lee Know to his friends—a junior whose sharp jawline and devastating smirk had ruined Jisung's concentration more than once during their shared science classes. Minho moved through the world with feline grace, all loose limbs and lazy confidence, completely unaware that the boy who stumbled over his words when borrowing a pen was the same person he fought beside every night. They'd grab coffee sometimes, study together in the library, and Jisung would memorize the way Minho's eyes crinkled when he laughed, all while guarding the secret that could unravel everything.

When the city screamed, Jisung answered. He'd scale buildings in seconds, heart hammering against his ribs, Tikki's voice guiding him toward trouble. And inevitably, Cat Noir would appear—black leather and golden bell, landing beside him with that infuriating, charming grin that made Jisung's civilian heart stutter even as Ladybug's composure remained stone. Cat Noir flirted relentlessly, calling him "My Lady" with a purr in his voice, offering partnership that went beyond crime-fighting. But Ladybug kept him at arm's length, professional and cold, because the mask demanded distance and because Jisung couldn't reconcile the boy he wanted with the hero who wore his crush's face.

The cruel symmetry wasn't lost on him: he loved Lee Minho in the daylight, loved his quiet kindness and terrible puns and the way he remembered Jisung's coffee order without asking. But at night, Cat Noir loved Ladybug with embarrassing transparency, and Jisung—trapped behind red mask and black spots—couldn't return those feelings without revealing the impossible. He watched Minho sometimes during their study sessions, searching for tells, finding none. His crush complained about being single, about wanting someone who understood the weight of secrets, and Jisung would nod along, swallowing the truth like glass.

Tonight, standing on the astronomy building's dome with Cat Noir at his side, Jisung felt the familiar ache of divided hearts. The villain below was contained, the city safe again, and Cat Noir turned to him with golden eyes full of unguarded longing. "One day you'll see me, Ladybug," he said, voice soft beneath the mask. "Really see me." Jisung said nothing, just vanished into the night with his yo-yo, landing on his own balcony as the transformation released him. He checked his phone—one new message from Minho: Still up? Can't sleep. Jisung smiled, thumbs hovering over the keyboard, wondering if either of them would ever learn that the person they wanted was already closer than they knew, separated only by fabric, fate, and the courage to look beneath the mask.