2Min Oneshots <3

Moves Like Jagger

Title: Moves Like Jagger
Genre: College AU, Party Romance
Length: 2782 words
Written: July 31st, 2025
Published: August 4th, 2025

Top: Minho
Bottom: Seungmin

Prompt: At a packed university house party, Seungmin—a reserved, sharp-tongued vocal major who doesn't even want to be there—catches the attention of Minho, a smug dance major known for stealing the spotlight (and hearts) with nothing but a look and a groove.

A/N: if you see some grammar/vocabulary errors please let me know because English is not my first language.

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The bass from inside the house thumped like a heartbeat, echoing down the driveway. Flashing lights bled out through the windows. Laughter. Shouting. Music. It was all too much already.

Seungmin stood at the curb with his arms crossed, hoodie up despite the warm night, jaw set like he's been dragged here against his will—because he had.

Felix was practically bouncing beside him, his bleached hair reflecting the glow of the streetlamp. "Come on, Minnie. Just for an hour. You never come out with us."

Changbin, holding Felix's hand, smirked as he nudged Seungmin with his shoulder. "We all know you'll hate it for twenty minutes, then end up singing drunk karaoke with Jeongin."

Jeongin snorted. "Bold of you to assume I'm waiting twenty minutes."

Seungmin eyed the house with open suspicion. "I don't get why we had to come to his party. Minho throws these just to flex."

Felix blinked innocently. "Maybe he just wants people to have fun."

Seungmin glared. "No. He wants people to watch him have fun."

As if on cue, a cheer erupted from inside the house—someone yelling "Minho!" followed by a bass drop. Seungmin sighed so hard it might count as cardio. He pulled his hoodie tighter over his head.

Jeongin looped his arm through Seungmin's. "If it sucks, we leave. Deal?"

Seungmin hesitated. Then sighed. "Fine. One hour."

"Stop sighing like an old man!"

"Yah, Yang Jeongin! I'm gonna tell Chan about your obsessive crush on him!"

"No! I'm sorry!"

As they walked up the steps and the door swung open, the crowd parted for him—not because he asked, but because it was instinct.

Minho was dead center on the dance floor, drenched in strobe light and sweat-slick confidence. His body moved like he'd been carved out of rhythm itself—sharp snaps of his hips, precise rolls of his shoulders, a swagger that was not rehearsed but lived.

He danced like the song owed him something. Every flick of his fingers, every turn of his waist, dared someone to match him. No one could.

He was in black jeans, ripped just enough to tease, a sheer button-down shirt clinging to his chest, half unbuttoned. Silver rings glint on his fingers, and a chain hanged low on his neck—swinging with every move like punctuation.

People around him cheered. Some danced with him. Others just watched.

Hyunjin, drink in hand, leaned over to Chan and Jisung near the DJ table. "He's doing that thing again."

Chan laughed. "The 'I'm too hot for this planet' routine?"

Jisung, eyes following Minho, grinned. "He's not wrong."