Sub!lee Know - Tumblr Posts

thinking about how there isn't enough on virgin!minho

like things get a little handsy and then you learn how sensitive he is... idk i just love subby whiny min but i haven't seen any inexperienced/virgin minho around :/

Made of Glass

pairing: lee minho x reader

warnings: dom afab reader (no pronouns are mentioned, reader does have a hole but i don't think anything else - besides minho referring to the reader as a goddess once), sub virgin minho, lots of build-up, little bit of a handjob, grinding on his bare dick, penetrative sex ( r receiving, haven't written it in a long time so don't get mad if it's shit😻), fluffy build up (they're in love your honour), he says he hates you a lot (but he doesn't mean it cause we love subby tsundere boys)

word count: erm...about 4.6k

-- MINORS BEGONE --

Minho wasn't ashamed of the fact that he was a virgin.

Untouched and "pure", undirtied by the hands of another some might even say. Specifically you, teasing him with light kisses and gentle touches.

And sure, he'd gotten to 2nd base in a high school relationship and older drunken mishaps but never anything more. Never as so far as to...feel certain things from another person.

Or from himself for that matter.

But no, wasn't ashamed that he was a virgin but he was maybe, perhaps, just a little bit embarrassed.

And he had absolutely zero idea how to breach the topic with you much less approach it.

You, who knew he was a virgin. Always so patient and careful with him.

Obviously, it should be expected that in the heat of the moment you stop when he freezes up or slows when he tenses up. But none of his previous partners had ever treated him so nicely, without getting angry or miffed off after at the very least.

They hadn't kissed his cheeks gently with a smile and conceded into a cuddle after it happened several times. They hadn't wrapped him up in their arms and turned on a movie, or delicately asked to talk about it after the fact.

You did though.

With no questions and no pressuring and no guilt-tripping. No anger.

He loved it. He loved you...as long as that had taken for him to come to terms with, with you and with himself.

He loved you.

And he was ready.

To...to, yeah.

And what better way than to just come out and say it? But that's embarrassing.

"I think I wanna...you know."

"Darling, sorry, can you speak up?" You looked up at him, yawning and setting your phone down on the coffee table.

He flushed and turned away, "um..." and he could feel every ounce of confidence in his body drain out of him like that.

Under your eyes, like this, you so attentive to listen to him. So nice, giving him your whole attention like he was the only thing that mattered.

You patted the couch next to you and he had no choice to sit down, falling into your arms like he was the missing piece to your puzzle.

He was quick to nuzzle his face into your throat, hiding against you. You just made him so nervous. Why did you make him so nervous still? After dating for this long, you shouldn't make him feel this way still.

Fluttery and gooey and nervous.

He'd say he hated it. The way you made his heart flutter...as sappy and love-drunk as that sounded.

He'd say he hated it when your hand cupped his cheek, turning him back to you. But he didn't hate it. Not one bit.

"I love you."

A grin split across your face, lighting up in that way you always did when he said those three words. No matter how many times he's said it, it would still drive you crazy like it was the first.

You giggled and kissed the tip of his nose gently. "Say it again for me darling? Just one more time, please?"

Now you were teasing him. But you couldn't help it. You loved teasing him so much. Loved fluttering kisses over his face and hearing him say those words again and again and again.

You didn't think you could ever get sick of it.

"Fuck you," He groaned but his tone with filled with anything but malice, making you laugh; letting him bury his head into your neck. "Fuck you for being so..."

"So what?" You challenged. "Hmm?"

His voice was muffled against your skin, barely legible, "So...insufferable." But he must like suffering then. "And intolerable." And he must have built up some tolerability, maybe because he was around you so much, indulging in you far too often.

You pulled his body against yours, leaning back to slot his body onto yours.

He was too eager to follow your lead.

To let himself be maneuvered so his hips were pressed against yours and your chest was aligned with his, so softly you moved him, so carefully you treated him.

He could feel your heart beating in time with his, fluttering and quick. He loved the feeling like he loved everything about you.

Fuck you for making him feel like this.

For the butterflies in his stomach. And the flush on his cheeks. And the hard-on between you and him, wishing desperately you wouldn't notice.

But of course you would.

You pulled his face from your neck, hands holding either side of his face, keeping him in place - like he'd want to be anywhere else.

"So I'm insufferable and you're...what?" Your lips pouted and he felt the overwhelming need to kiss them. To kiss you. Hard and fast and the way he needed.

He pretended to think but was only sidetracked by the feeling of your thumbs brushing over his cheekbones, tracing his lips and following down to his jawline.

"Mmm, I'm...handsome. And, uh," he let out an embarrassing breathy sigh when you lean in, kissing the corner of his mouth so softly he wouldn't be sure it was there if he hadn't watched you.

"And...?" You prompted, smiling coyly. You knew the effect you had on him.

You peppered kisses over his face, following where you'd touched him with your fingers seconds before. You nipped at his cheek and pulled away before he could properly reply.

"...pretty?" Though the words came out more as a question than anything else. "I mean-"

A giggle escaped your lips, "Hell yeah you are," you brush your nose against his, looking at him in a way so scarily intimate he has to look away first.

"Pretty..." you mutter, sighing. "Y'know, I think I can accept being insufferable and intolerable if you can accept being pretty," you whisper, guiding him back to you with a delicate kiss, finally to his lips. "And handsome," you murmur, smiling against him as he deepens the kiss, hands grasping at the fabric of your shirt.

You pull away with a small teasing smirk, "And beautiful, and gorgeous, and stunnin-mmph!"

His hands fist the fabric, pulling you in before you can continue with your stupid rant. Before you can focus on the way his heart pounds when you add on another praise.

You hum and recede into the motion, allowing him to push his tongue into your mouth, sloppyily, in the way oddly reminiscent of the way horny teenagers kiss.

In a matter of seconds he's turned the kiss from sweet to something not-so-sweet.

Exactly what he wanted, and maybe he wouldn't even need to suffer through the awkwardness of asking.

Everything he put in was returned by you in the tenfold, one hand moving from his cheek to the nape of his neck, the effects making you laugh against his lips. His form shivering into yours, full-bodied and obvious.

"Sensitive?" You pulled away, with a breath, mouth curling up. "It's okay, it's cute-mmph!"

He crashed his lips against yours again, effectively cutting off your words and your thoughts. Even if you continued to play with the nape of his neck, fingers teasing over the spot. The feeling only made him more and more desperate.

But if he was needy, you were nothing but eager to reply, deepening the kiss like you were trying to consume him whole.

"Darling," you mutter, too soft. "Minnie," you groan, holding him to you gently.

But you were too soft, too gentle.

He wanted more, he wanted you.

Unrestrained, doing what you wanted for once, using him like you wanted. Because he wanted it.

Wanted to not be treated like he was a piece of glass, in danger of breaking every moment. He loved how carefully you treated him but now he wanted to be treated rough, he needed to be treated rough.

But he didn't want to say it.

Slowly, he pressed his hips against yours, shuddering at the fizzle of friction sending sparks through his nerves.

"Minho," you sighed, nails scratching against his scalp making him whine. "Darling," with a particularly harsh nip to his lips, almost hard enough to break the skin - that was what he wanted.

A whimper built up in his throat only to be swallowed down. He wasn't that desperate yet. Even if every one of his movements seemed to argue otherwise, finding a clumsy rhythm in grinding against you, replicating and intensifying those sparks.

Building them up to what he hoped was more.

Even if the motions were clumsy and new. Curious but wanting all the same, the way he moved was raw, exploring and ruining. It made his head spin and everything else go foggy.

You dragged your mouth away from his, tugging his head up by his hair to lick your way down his neck.

A lick and an open-mouthed kiss, making him shudder and shake, heat emanating from the areas you touched and the places you pressed together.

Separated by stupid clothes but not enough to stop him.

He must look pathetic the way he thrusts against you, each discordant grind getting more desperate, more sloppy with the skim of your mouth. With the drag of your tongue down his jaw and pulse-point, heart thrumming beneath your lips. With every shockwave of euphoria that tingles down his spine, with every moan and whisper of his name that leaves your lips.

"Minho," "Minnie," "Baby," "Darling,"

His head is too fuzzy to worry about anything else. To think about the needy noises that leave him, he's sure he sounds lewd, and dirty.

From just dry-humping against you.

But it's not enough. He wants you rough and hard and on top of him. Showing him what to do, telling him what to do. To make him feel good, to make you feel good.

He falters imperceptibly. Should he...?

No, he doesn't want to. He can't. Because how is he supposed to ask you to-

He's caught up in his head but his body works on autopilot, reacting to the sensations that are bringing him closer and closer to cumming in his boxers.

Caught up in his thoughts but not so much so that he forgets about you,

and he certainly doesn't miss anything you say, like the words "Such a fucking good boy," nearly growled into his throat, voice husky and ragged as your teeth scrape down his skin.

Good boy?

He freezes. Heat pools deep inside of him, warm and making him painfully, painfully hard. The words push him nearly to the edge, and he can feel himself on the precipice of-

And then he's being shoved back, hard.

Harder than you meant to, but necessary for what you were about to do.

You pant, as does he, both of you flushed and trying to catch the breath stolen from your lungs.

No, no, not when he was finally getting somewhere, not when finally, finally he was getting what he wanted. Not when you were actually unrestrained and-

"I'm sorry."

His gaze snapped to yours.

"What?"

Your lips were red and parted, he was sure his weren't in much better shape. All he wanted to do was kiss them again, and again, and again.

He wants to hear you call him a good boy again.

"I-I'm sorry," you ran your hand through your hair. "I should've...I shouldn't have done that, I'm so sorry Minho." This time you were the one looking away.

"The fuck do you mean?" He snaps. It came out a little harsher than intended, he admits. But really, he was sitting here, horny and pent-up and just wanting to get fucked, and here you were, pushing him away and apologizing?

You blink, slowly, surprised.

And here he is, fuming.

Why won't you just fuck him?

"I'm sorry-" would you just stop saying that? His glare shuts you up. "Um," You only looked confused now, a furrow between your brow.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips. You watch it.

He wishes you'd just make the first move.

Because now he was going to have to say it. Out loud. To you. Not just mumble some nonsense and hope that you'd pick it up.

"I want you." He said simply, inching closer to you.

You nodded but made no move to continue anything. "Okay..." then a sigh. "I'm going to need you to elaborate just a little, Minho."

The flush across his cheeks spreads, down his neck and over his collarbone. Why did you have to look at him like that? Like he was made of glass or something? Like you cared about him so much it made him melt.

Fuck, he loved you.

"Look at me baby." You gently cup his face, turning him to meet your eyes. "You can tell me."

You definitely knew.

He could see it in your eyes, the worry giving way to a teasing look. Now you just wanted to humiliate him huh?

He hated you.

"Shut up."

You smiled, pulling him into your chest again, laying between your legs. Just like you were before. "Well that's not what good boys say, now is it?"

He pulled his face away, burying it into your shoulder to hide from your eyes. "I don't like you." His voice came out muffled into your shirt.

You only scoff out a laugh. "We both know that's not true darling. You love me." Voice dropping to a whisper, you lean into his ear. "Do I make you nervous baby?"

Someone just kill him now.

Put an end to his misery.

"N-no;" his voice still muffled in the fabric of his your shirt. "you're just-"

"Just what?" You challenge, fingers teasing into his hair, the way you know he likes it. "You're a big boy, you can use your words, can't you?"

He shudders and swears he can hear your smirk. "I...- fuck you."

You tug on his hair, making him face you. You swear he has a eye-contact problem. Or maybe he just gets too nervous looking you in the eye.

Either way, he's too adorable not to coo at.

"I was imagining this the either way around, but whatever rocks your boat~" you purr. "All you have to do is tell me what you want."

His hips jolt against yours, heat filling his body. As soon as he does though, your free hand stills his hips, fingertips teasing under the hem of his shirt while you look at him expectantly.

He wants to hide again, but you hold him in place. Pinning him against you, not letting him look away, not letting him move.

He wants you so bad.

"Touch me..." He mutters, and your hand slides just a bit higher on his abdomen, your thighs squeezing just a bit tighter around his hips.

It's over for him. He knows as soon as your lips turn up just a bit more into a coy smile. "Where?"

When he doesn't reply soon enough you skim your hand up and over his ribcage. Breathing growing heavy as your other leaves his hair, trailing down his neck and over his shoulder, slipping just beneath the collar of his shirt.

"Here?"

Such a simple touch makes him feel hot.

"Or here?"

Slowly, your hand under his shirt makes its path towards his chest.

He gasps lightly when your fingers tweak over his nipple, delighting in the way he quivers, rutting against you. You click your tongue at him. "You know, I really can't do anything to you until you tell me what you really want." Lips ghost over his ear, nipping lightly at the shell. "Too bad, really. I could take such good care of a cute little virgin like you~"

His voice cracks under the weight of your touch; trying to clear his throat while biting back a moan. "I'm not cute-"

You cut him off with a kiss, tentatively, like you hadn't stolen his breath with a kiss only minutes ago. Like you're afraid to break him.

But he wants you to break him.

The kiss is too short for his taste but it effectively cuts off his thought process, making him nearly dumb against you. Not dumb enough to not catch the smile against his skin, "I'm not cute." But he sounds so cute. It only makes the smile widen, turning your attention to trail kisses down his neck, murmuring between each press of your lips.

"Yes you are." Kiss.

And for some reason, he can't argue.

"Remember?" Kiss.

"I'm...what was it?" Smile, kiss, lick.

"Intolerable?" A pause, but only for a second, taking the moment to drag your tongue across his throat.

"And you're cute," Stopping to suck on the spot where his pulse thrums, feeling his heart beat under your lips.

"And pretty..." Kissing, once again, over the pretty mark you've left on his pale skin.

"And beautiful...and stunning...and..." you pull away, looking to see his eyes hooded and pupils blown. "...not getting anything more until you can tell me what exactly you want here."

You pinch his nipple one more time before pulling away, leaving him cold, whining, grinding desperately between your legs.

He's hard enough, you wonder if he would've cum in his pants if you hadn't stopped.

"I..." he starts and you wait patiently for him to continue. If you've learned anything about Minho, it's that he's nothing if not embarrassed to voice his wants. Especially the ones like this.

You remember how he blushed and couldn't stop wringing his hands when you worked him up to ask to kiss you for the first time.

The way he couldn't look you in the eye, focusing anywhere else.

But he knows by now, you're nothing if not a tease, willing to play the long game to get him to tell you what he wants.

Fuck you.

Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you.

He's so hard though, it hurts. And his skin nearly burns with the need to be touched, to feel you on him again. And all he wants to do is let you have your way with him.

Something that won't happen until he tells you.

"Please," he whines. Though he knows it's not enough. He just wants you. "Please?" On him, touching him, teasing him, kissing him, consuming him. "I need it." pressing a sloppy kiss to your collarbones. "Just fuck me, I want you so, so bad." He pants, hands tugging at the hem of your shirt. "Wanted you so bad, for forever now."

God, you can't wait to fuck him.

A grin blooms across your face, one that he can barely process. "Thought you'd never ask baby."

Not before you're pushing him onto his back, onto the soft cushions of the couch, switching your positions before crawling on top of him.

"M' gonna make you see stars baby." You purr, and he can do nothing else but nod dumbly, looking up at you with wide eyes like you're something of a goddess on top of him.

And you will make him see stars. Not yet anyway.

His vision goes hazy though as your hands quickly move to pull his shirt over his head, leaning down to kiss him again.

Deep and hard, filled with promises and care.

You lace your fingers with his against the couch cushions as you kiss down his jaw and down his neck and his chest and-

He gasps when you lick over his nipple, wrapping your lips around one to suck on it lightly.

Your tongue swirls around it, free hand tweaking at the other, making sure not to ignore it.

His cock is so hard, he can feel it throbbing in his sweats. He's sure he's already leaked through his underwear.

He swears he could cum from this alone.

"Don't!" He gasps and you pull away quickly, concern etched across your brow before you see his face clouded with pleasure, mouth hung open to let out breathy moans. "Please don't." He squeezes your hand in his. "I'll cum if you keep doing that."

You melt, filled with the overwhelming need to make him cum by just playing with his nipples. How cute he'd look from having his tits played with.

"So sensitive, aren't you?" You coo.

Maybe another day though. Right now, you'll give him what he wants. What he's wanted for 'forever'.

"Shut up," he scowls though it's quickly wiped away when you pinch his nipple one more time, making him gasp.

Finally, you glance down at his sweats, tenting with his boner. "Well someone's excited for me." Seeing you stare at his crotch makes him excited. His already hard cock twitching in his pants. "You're so sensitive for me, aren't you, Min?"

He hates you so much, covering his face with the back of his arm. The fact that you're only telling the truth makes him want to hide his face into your chest again.

But you're too far away, and too focused on watching his boner through his pants, fascinated by how hard you've made him with so little.

"Please," he whispers, but the way you watch him, eyes full of hunger makes him throb even more.

Somehow, he gets a kick out of you just watching him, softly moaning at his eagerness, as he lets out a hushed whisper, "Please. Please y/n, don't tease me like this. I'm already horny." His legs spread open shamelessly.

"Awe, why? Can you not handle it?" You look up at him, at his blushing face and his needy eyes. You wanna kiss him so bad.

And so you do, getting close to his lips, your warm breath tickling him. Your hand runs over his clothed cock, teasing your nails gently over the head of his dick. His eyes widen as you begin to touch him over the fabric.

But your lips quickly silence him as you kiss him again. He moans into it, the feeling of your hand on his cock, stroking him lightly and your lips on his.

Your tongue pushes through his lips as you stroke him a few more times, squeezing him lightly in a way that has his back arching off the bed, pushing into your hand even more.

Panting, you pull back a little. "Such a good boy for me, Minnie." Before you're pinning his hips to the couch and looking at him one more time for conformation.

Then you pull his sweats and boxers down in one swift movement.

And then he does see stars as you slide yourself over his hips, grinding against his bare cock.

He thinks he tells you he loves you, that he worships you, that he adores you more than anyone on this planet. He thinks his hand squeezes yours so hard that you bring it to your lips, kissing his hand and telling him to relax. He thinks you grind against him slow and gingerly, watching to see his reactions.

Like he'd ever tell you to stop.

He'd rather die.

Shoot him in the head if he ever tell you to stop, because it sure as hell isn't him.

Again, he thinks. But he isn't sure. He isn't sure of anything really right now.

His head is a mess of sensations and feelings, whines pouring from his mouth until you kiss him again and again and again.

Whispering that he's a good boy.

He's going to cum, he's going to cum.

Stars explode behind his eyes as they roll back and he isn't even inside of you yet.

And then you stop.

And he thinks tears might be rolling down his cheeks. He needs you, he needs you so fucking bad.

"Please, please, please." He pants, trying to roll his hips up against you, failing to find any contact as you sit back on your haunches, just out of his reach. "Need you," he gasps. "Need you so bad!"

You push sweaty hair out of his face, kissing the back of his hand one more time before you pull away entirely. He whimpers and you coo. "Be patient baby, just need to do something."

He watches blearily as you pull off your shorts and tries to calm his racing heart and heavy breaths as you roll a condom over his length.

"One more minute baby," you hush as you kiss him. "Are you ready?"

He nods desperately, of course he is. He's waiting for this for so long. He's wanted you for so long. He's going to go insane if you don't-

He gasps.

You groan as you slide down his length, slowly burying him inside of you until he bottoms out.

If he though grinding was intense, this was like nothing he could've ever imagined. His mouth gapes open, an endless stream of whiney moans and needy whimpers flooding into the room, feeding into you as you lift up and sink onto his again, groans of your own mixing with his.

He can't think anymore - he doesn't want to. He only wants to fall into the feeling of your walls squeezing around his dick, warm and wet as you ride him and the feeling of your hand once again finding his.

Whispering into his ear that you love him so much as you turn his head into mush

"I…I can-" Minho tries his best to talk, to tell you how good he feels. He really does, but whenever the thought comes to mind, it just gets cut off with the liquid heat coursing through his veins.

By the intense feeling of everything that is you.

He's an idiot for not asking you to fuck him sooner.

"Yeah, baby?" You chuckle breathlessly when he fails to complete his sentence. "You feel yourself inside?" You bring your interlaced fingers to your lower abdomen, "You feel it?"

All he can do is respond with a loud sob as he nods his head to your question, hips bucking up into you, desperate to chase the high quickly approaching ever since you've touched him.

He's not going to last much longer.

"You fit so well inside me," you murmur.

He's going to cum. Of this, he's sure.

"Please!' He hiccups, but he's not sure what he's pleading for. "P-please!" For more? For less? For something - anything to stave off the inevitable, he doesn't want this to end. He doesn't want it to ever end.

You kiss his forehead, his cheeks, his jaw. You flutter kisses over his face, so softly compared to how you're fucking him into the couch so roughly.

"I love you, Minho."

"I love you so much!" He pants and squeezes your hand, his other grabbing onto the nape of your neck as he shoves your lips against his.

He's fucking beautiful, you think. Cute and pretty and beautiful, under you, falling apart.

It's the most gorgeous sight you've ever seen, and he's whining your own name against you lips, pleading between sloppy kisses for you to let him cum, to let him cum for you. 

You show your approval with a collision of lips and teeth and tongue as he tips over the edge and you follow suit. He sobs as he cums, shivering violently as waves of pleasure roll over his body, his back lifting into an arch, pushing himself deep into you with a followed whine.

Each moan and whine are muffled by your tongue pushing into his mouth but his hips still grind as he pushes himself into overstimulation, whining until you have mind enough to still his hips.

For a moment, the two of you are silent, chests heaving, both catching your breath as you pull away, looking at him.

"Minho?" His eyes are shut and his cheeks are painted red. "You okay baby?"

He murmurs something you don't catch, but you don't tease as you push the hair out of his face, sweat-soaked and tired, kissing his forehead once.

You make a move to get up off of him but he only wraps his arms around you, holding you in place. "Don't leave," he whispers, looking up at you with tired eyes. "Just stay, please. For a little bit?"

His sleepy eyes make your heart skip a beat. "Who are you and where's my Minho?" You tease softly, but give in nonetheless.

"Fuck you." But his tone is with filled with anything but malice, as he nuzzles into you like a happy cat.

"I just did." You giggle.

"I love you so much." He mutters, kissing your shoulder. "I love you so fucking much."

"And I love you too."

a/n: I did it ^-^, who's proud of me!! also haven't written reader being penetrated in a looooong time, so if it's shit, oh well :p

pls leave feedback, i need motivation to finish my other teaser fics😭

Masterlist

You can view my request options here

STRAY KIDS

-Lee Know:

"Ok but bratty sub male idols..." (drabble-ish)

SHINee

-Lee Taemin:

"Ok but bratty sub male idols..." (drabble-ish)

"sub!Taemin vs Pet Play" (drabble-ish)

CRIMINAL MINDS

-Spencer Reid:

"Smooth Criminal" (full fic)

"Home Run" (full fic)

-"Special Consult" (full fic)

⛓️˚₊‧⁺⋆♱ ruin me - part II lee know x f!reader

There are no words in any language he speaks that could explain what he’s feeling, so instead he pulls you into a kiss, one that wipes his brain free of anything except an almost primal need, and an even more primal sense of pride that he is able to kiss you like this now. Uninhibited. Uncoordinated. Needy. Filthy. Tongues tangling until there’s spit dripping out of the corner of his mouth. The whimper you press into his mouth tells a story of a desperation he never in his wildest dreams thought you could feel about him. He could sob. Maybe is about to, when you rip yourself away, push yourself up with a hand next to his head, and then, suddenly, curl your other hand around his neck and Minho roars, stars exploding in his vision from the intensity with which his eyes roll, his body locks up. OR minho's obsessed with you. turns out, you're obsessed with him, too. and you match his freak better than he could've ever anticipated.

word count: 10.2k words

author's note: phew part 2!!! this got ambitious, lads!! the tenderest, and horniest tenderhorny bdsm shit you will ever read. This one’s real dirty, so please heed the warnings! and while the kink is definitely under negotiated in this fic, I tried to create a realistic portrayal of how consent can look, and how the energy can ebb and flow, how you can go in and out of a scene. be safe everyone!! but also enjoy the filth. Not enough perv!minho out there. he’s not pathetic enough, not down bad enough, in most x reader fics. I have been wanting to write him like this for a looooong time, so really, why am I surprised it got this long

warnings: they match each other’s freak, in a weird fucking way; he’s obsessed with pudge and pubic hair (like a man should be); undernegotiated kink, please don’t engage in this kind of stuff without extensive communication!; very explicit bdsm things: panty stealing, choking and breathplay, on oneself (DON'T!!!) and on someone else, painplay, ball slapping, degradation, praise, spit, dacryphilia; breeding; implied butt stuff (m receiving)

link to part 1

skzms masterlist // ko-fi

A wet dream. His best, filthiest, dirtiest, most magnificent dreams and then some, that’s what it feels like when you push him onto the bed, curl two fingers into the chain of his necklace, your necklace, and slot your lips over his in a hot, searing kiss.

It’s everything. You’re everything. Everything he has ever wanted. Needed. Desired, loved more than anything. Your lips are soft, your spit sweet, the way you move against him controlled but demanding in a way that makes him want to just open his mouth and let you have your way with him. When you nip at his bottom lip, jolts of electricity shoot between his legs and his cock is throbs. He’s so, so close despite being entirely untouched.

And God, every inch of you he can get his hands on – it’s all so fucking perfect that he struggles to make sense of it. Every new inch of you that his hands touch is so new and so perfect – he wants to try and catalogue it all, store it away in his head for a rainy day, when he touches himself, when he’s three fingers deep and sobbing into his sheets. Just in case this is a dream.

Your tongue licks over his bottom teeth and Minho moans. It’s not a dream.

You’d pushed him against the wall as soon as the door closed behind you, one hand fisted into the collar of his shirt, and his breath had caught, his whole body taut like a bowstring – but you didn’t kiss him. You were trembling, breathing heavily, mirroring the desperate shake in Minho’s impossibly tight body, but you didn’t kiss him, only let your forehead fall against his and mumbled out a we need to talk about this first before dragging him to his room.

And talk you did. Standing in front of him, flushed and gorgeous, and just a little self-conscious. That alone nearly sent Minho to his knees in front of you. You’re my best friend. I’ve wanted this for a long time. If we do this, I can’t just be your friend. I want us to be more. The words had just tumbled out of your rose petal lips as if saying them was easy, as if they weren’t words Minho had never in his wildest dreams thought he’d get to hear from you. He’d breathed out your name, taken a step closer, fingers itching to touch, to feel, to finally sink his teeth into what he never thought could be his, but you’d stopped him, a steady palm in the middle of his chest, eyes pits of a darkness so deep it made the hairs on Minho’s neck prick up. Traffic light. Red for stop, yellow for slow down or try something else, green for good. Got it? Minho, nodding blindly, excitement shivering through his veins, his cock already filling out in anticipation. You blinked at him, something even darker running through your eyes like molten glass. Don’t look at me like that. Minho, sucking in a breath. Like what? Barely audible. Breathed out a laugh that wasn’t one.

Like you want me to ruin you.

This time, Minho’s legs did buckle, stumbling backwards, until his ass hit his mattress. A desperate breath, a pleading, something in his voice he’s never heard before. You, stalking towards him, one step at a time, a look in his eyes like you were ready to tear him to pieces. His wildest, dirtiest dreams, coming true.

Ruin me, fuck, please, ruin me.

You straddled him, turning his brain into goo with your sudden proximity, rattling off a laundry list of dirty things you wanted to do to him, waiting for a nod or a shake of his head – the latter of which he had previous few to give you. Most everything you mentioned coming straight from his filthiest dreams. It was a miracle he could listen at all, your breath fanning over his face sweet like steamed red bean buns, the plush of your ass on his thighs, the heat of your body slowly settling into his until he felt like he no longer existed as himself, like he was only a vessel for you to do with as you pleased. At the end, you only looked at him for a long moment.

We’ll talk more about this later, but were you honest with me? Are those your only hard no’s?

The words reached him through a fog, through a dense, all-consuming desire to kiss you. He nodded again, blearily, blinked up at you, met your eyes; dark, predatory, yet oddly loving. He shivered, a full-body thing that you watched impassively, your expression giving nothing away. Then you leaned in. Whispered the words that made Minho whimper pathetically before your lips met his and his entire body exploded into fireworks.

God, you’re perfect.

Minho has never believed in God, but he thinks kissing you is the closest thing he’ll ever experience to heaven.

The weight, the heat of your body – he has imagined it so many times, but it’s so much better when it’s really you. When it’s the plush of your thighs caging his hips against the mattress. The drag of your chest against his as you lick into his mouth.

Your fingers find his jaw, press into the sides until his mouth falls slack with an embarrassing sound, somewhere between a moan and a gurgle, before you lick into his mouth. The smell of you, your shampoo, your perfume, the smell he has sucked out of so many of his sweaters, is all around him, threatens to overwhelm him. He wonders if his sheets will smell like you when you’re done. He might have to sleep on the couch. He might not be able to handle it.

Your hand is still on his jaw, fingers digging into the hinge of it, when you pull back, blink your eyes open, stare at him. Pinned to the bed, under the delicious weight of your body, he lets you stare your fill.

“You never said …” you suddenly murmur, and Minho blinks. Raises his eyebrows in question. “When I said I didn’t want this to be a one-time thing. That I wanted to be more. You never said if you wanted it, too.”

Minho feels his heart plummet. Oh God, how could he not have … how could he …

He tries to say something, but because of your hand on his jaw, all he can do is gurgle. So he settles for nodding, his eyes wide, blinking rapidly.

You watch him struggle, and smile. It’s disorientingly soft for how harsh your grip on his jaw still is, nails digging into his skin and all.

“Shh, it’s okay, bunny,” you mumble, and Minho squirms. His cock throbs at the nickname. “We can talk later, I just needed to know you want me the way I want you. For good. Forever.”

Minho swears his heart gives out at the words. He strains, tries to get the words out, pleads with you with his eyes, and you seem to understand.

“Okay, good,” you whisper, and then you pucker your lips – and spit right into his mouth.

Minho’s eyes roll into the back of his head. You let go of his jaw and his mouth snaps closed immediately, swallows your honey sweet spit before the words tumble out like they were just waiting to be freed.

“Forever. Want you forever. Have wanted you. Always. I lo … I love you. I love you. Please.”

Too much? Too soon? It barely scratches the surface of how he feels for you. Those words seem paltry compared to what you do to him. But he can’t think when you’re so close, when you just kissed him for the first time, when he hasn’t even gotten to kiss you for a second time yet.

Your eyes crinkle at the edges, and you smile, so wide your cheeks bunch up and your nose scrunches adorably and Minho makes a helpless noise in the back of his throat.

You dip down, rub the tip of your nose against his, giggling when he needily tries to push up, tries to mush his lips onto yours again.

“Oh, Minho,” you sigh, and it’s better than every moan of his name he has ever picked out of your daily interactions and manipulated until they fit into his fantasies.

You wait until he meets your eyes, a little cross-eyed from how close you are, before you whisper a soft “I love you, too” and lean in.

This kiss is raw. Softer, slower, but so full of feeling – and maybe he was worried that his sentimentality ruined the moment, but that fear is assuaged by the sheer desperation with which you kiss him, the little sigh that you breathe into his mouth that makes a shiver run down his spine.

“Where are they?” you mumble into his lips without pulling back, and Minho doesn’t have to ask what you mean.

Blindly, he shoves his hand under his pillow and pulls them out. Black lace, crushed and crumpled and humiliatingly obviously spit stained. He’d sucked on the seat of them until he was choking on his saliva just this morning, his mind swimming with the knowledge that you knew, that you would come over later that day ‘to talk’ – the mind-blowing possibility that you might feel the same.

You pull back, and he watches you blink at them, the fingers of the hand resting on his chest curling into his sensitive chest, making the sensitive nerve endings there explode into an exquisite pleasure-pain. You breathe out a curse, dip down to kiss him again, your whole chest flush with his, your weight on his chest and your lips on his making it hard to breathe, but all it does is make his cock throb harder. He might come at this rate, only from your lips on his and the fact that you’re the one robbing him off his breath instead of his own hand.

You pull back until your lips are merely brushing his, your eyes still closed, as your hand slides up the arm, to the hand that he’s clutching the panties in. You stop at the wrist, circle your fingers around it and squeeze. Minho’s breath catches in his throat.

“I came in them,” you mutter, lowly, and Minho’s sanity slips. “I humped my pillow, thinking of you.”

This can’t be real. This can’t be real. He must be dreaming. This cannot be real. He lets out a guttural, feral moan.

“I had come up with the plan then, already. I knew I was going to leave them there, hoping you would pick them up. I … I came so hard, Minho,” you shiver out the last words and Minho’s arms finally move from where they were uselessly resting against the sheets, wind around your body to pull you against him, trying to feel more of you, his hips grinding up into your hip helplessly. “I came so hard thinking of you taking them.”

Minho can’t help himself. There are no words in any language he speaks that could explain what he’s feeling, so instead he pulls you into a kiss, one that wipes his brain free of anything except an almost primal need, and an even more primal sense of pride that he is able to kiss you like this now. Uninhibited. Uncoordinated. Needy. Filthy. Tongues tangling until there’s spit dripping out of the corner of his mouth. The whimper you press into his mouth tells a story of a desperation he never in his wildest dreams thought you could feel about him.

He could sob. Maybe is about to, when you rip yourself away, push yourself up with a hand next to his head, and then, suddenly, curl your other hand around his neck and Minho roars, stars exploding in his vision from the intensity with which his eyes roll, his body locks up. He pulls your hips flush with his cock, at the same time as he presses his hips up so hard it almost hurts. He’s throbbing, one second away from coming into his pants. You tighten your fingers. Minho gurgles out another moan. This is everything he has ever wanted.

“I want you so bad. My filthy, pervy, best friend.”

His vision speckles, his heart thumps in his chest. His breath comes out in short bursts.

“Don’t you think I saw you staring? Don’t you think …”

You let go of his neck and oxygen rushes into Minho’s lungs so fast he has to screw his eyes shut so he doesn’t pass out. You lift yourself off him, and he nearly sobs at the loss of warmth. He doesn’t need to look down to know there’s a wet spot on his sweats. He hears you laugh, hears the note of condescension in it, and his cock twitches in his pants. Clearly, you see because you laugh again. He’s so overwhelmed, he throws his arm over his face and whimpers pathetically.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” you snarl, and Minho shivers with something that is almost fear, but he doesn’t dare remove his arm from his face. “Do you think I can’t see it …,” you trail off dangerously.

And then, so quick he can’t even wrap his head around it, mean little fingers curl into the waistband of his sweats and his boxers and rip both down his legs in one fell swoop. Minho gasps, arm flying off his face and back flying off the bed, his hard, aching cock slapping heavily against his abdomen. When his eyes fall on you, you’re staring straight at it.

“Do you think I can’t see your cock bulging in your pants when you get hard?”

You meet his eyes and Minho blinks, nods, then shakes his head. He doesn’t have the wherewithal to figure out if that was really a question, if you wanted an answer, what answer you wanted.

You smile at him, almost eerily, before you drop your eyes back down to his cock and go back to staring.

“So big,” you hum, and Minho shivers. His cock twitches. “So pretty, too. I wonder if you even know what to do with it.”

Minho’s nails dig into the sheets so hard he wonders if they will tear. He needs you to touch him. He needs it more than he needs air. But you won’t, you just keep staring.

“P-please,” he croaks out, and your head snaps up to him, eyes filled with faux surprise.

“Please what, you nasty little thing? Aren’t you literally currently getting off on me staring at that useless dick of yours?”

Minho whimpers, and he swears he feels tears prick at his eyes. He swallows them down.

“T-touch …,” he chokes on a whimper.

You breathe out a laugh, and Minho thinks he might actually cry.

“Not so fast. Need to see what I’m dealing with here, first. On your hands and knees, now.”

Minho’s body computes the order before his brain does, already scrambling up before his thoughts catch up. When they do, he hesitates. Looks from you to the bed, and back. You seem to understand. You smile.

“Such a good boy,” you purr, and he sinks his nails into his thighs. “Face towards the pillows.”

Oh, God.. He’s imagined this. So many times.

He turns, plants his shaking hands on the mattress. He’s naked from the waist down, except for his socks. He’s still wearing his t-shirt. And the necklace, of course. His ass is still planted on his heels, too shy to lift it, though he knows you want him to. Can feel it. But a part of him wants you to ask.

He’s shaking.

You tsk behind him.

“Come on, bunny. You know what I want. Get your pretty little ass up. Show me.”

Minho does as he’s told. Puts more weight on his trembling arms. Props himself up.

The cool air against his ass, against his hole, is maddening. He wonders if you like what you see. Wonders when he last shaved. It's not like he's getting any. The last time he tried sleeping with someone, he couldn't even get it up. Came in three minutes when he got home and touched himself to the thought of you, though.

He follows blindly when he feels your fingers guiding his legs closer together, barely registers the brush of your touch against his cock before it’s gone again, his balls tucked behind his legs, his shaft resting along the backs of his thighs. He’s so exposed.

You hum appreciatively. One warm palm finds his ass cheek, caresses, kneads the flesh, the other smoothes over his calf, up and up over his thighs, until it’s resting on his hips. It feels like you touch him like that for forever, and he gets so lost in the sensations that he almost screams when a dry finger brushes against his hole.

You shush him soothingly and somehow, it does calm him. His breath is already coming in erratic bursts. He feels his cock twitch against his thighs. You probably see it. You probably see everything. The thought makes a few droplets of precum dribble from his tip. He’s mortified. It only makes him harder.

“Do you like your little hole played with, bunny?” you ask, sweetly, and he doesn’t even pretend to hesitate. He nods frantically. You hum like you’re stowing away the knowledge for another day.

“We’ll try that another time, won’t we? Because only good bunnies get their hole played with. And you’ve been bad, haven’t you?”

The line should be cringey, but your voice is so soft, almost dreamy, and it works. He shakes his head. Then nods. Then stops in despair.

You laugh. He blushes crimson, knows you can see it on the tips of his ears.

You don’t respond, instead you’re quiet and then-

Minho screams when your palm makes sharp contact with his balls. The pain zaps through his oversensitive body and then settles deep in his abdomen, where it turns into liquid hot arousal. His arms give out and he faceplants into his pillows.

“Been staring at me for so long. Staring at me and then getting hard. With that big cock of yours bulging through your pants.”

You slap his balls again and this time he expects it, doesn’t scream, only yelps, screw his fingers into the sheets. Another dribble of precum drips from his tip. It hits his calves. God, he has never been this wet before.

“How long have you been touching yourself to the thought of me?”

Minho barely computes the question. His whole body is trembling, waiting for the next slap, his mind bleary and foggy.

Your palm comes down on his thigh, then his ass, and then his balls, one after another, so fast he barely has time to catch his breath. This time, he moans.

“Answer me, Minho.”

The arousal in his guts pulls tighter at the way you say his name.

Stern, a little mean. Dimly, he realises he will come soon.

You say his name again, warningly, and he blinks the fog from his eyes enough to answer.

“Always,” he gasps out, screw his eyes shut in humiliation, “since we met. Always thought you were the most beautiful person I’ve ever met. Couldn’t stop thinking about you …”

He cuts himself off with a high, keening moan, when he feels soft fingers run over his balls, massage the soft skin. You’re touching him. You’re touching him.

“Go on,” you mutter, and he does. He would do anything you ask.

“Couldn’t … couldn’t stop thinking about you. W-wanted you, yes, to touch you but also … so much … ah … more. I always loved you, I promise, I promise.”

He nearly sobs. It feels insane to finally say all of this out loud. To say it to you.

You hum, a soft, appreciative thing. It makes his heart do somersaults in his chest.

“And you didn’t think to tell me?”

The slap catches him off guard this time, and he yelps, his back arching, the arousal pulling hotter.

“‘M so-sorry …” he howls, “I didn’t think … never thought you … you could want me like that … you were too … perfect …”

“So instead you touched your cock to fantasies of me spanking you? Being mean to you?”

Minho nods, and the next spank sends a full-body spasm through him. There’s a violent heat, building in the very core of his body, and his legs start trembling.

“Stupid boy,” you mutter, and the softness in your voice, laced in with the annoyance, the humiliation pulsing behind his eyes, and the next slap, hitting him just right–

Dull pleasure explodes through his body, and he comes with a tiny, choked up moan, back arching, chest and face pressed into his sheets, his cock spurting his load down the back of his thighs, hot and sticky.

The orgasm is astringent, thin and sharp, like the pain still lingering from your slap, and he sobs into the quiet of the room. You’re frozen behind him, probably in shock. Staring at the mess he made of himself. He fists his hand into the pillow next to his head. Tries to hold on. Feels himself start to spiral.

Suddenly, you get up, your weight lifting off the mattress, the sound of your socked feet leaving the room, and his usual post orgasm shame slams into him like a freight train. He doesn’t even move, stays with his face buried in the drool-stained pillow, his ass in the air, cum drying on the back of his thighs. The pillow feels like it’s getting wetter, and it’s only then that he realises that he’s crying. Not a full on sob, but a steady sniffle, dripping into the cotton until he can feel it wet his skin.

He doesn’t hear you come back into the room, nearly jumps out of his skin when he feels a warm, wet washcloth run over the backs of his thighs. The touch is barely there, almost utilitarian, if it wasn’t for the gentleness with which you touch him, hold him in place, caress over the skin. It’s so soothing. When you ghost the towel over the sensitive underside of his cock, he sniffles into the pillows. You make a soft sound under your breath, and the next thing he knows, he’s slowly being guided onto his side by your gentle hands.

He doesn’t even try to hide his tears, couldn’t if he tried, his arms aching too much to move them to hide his face. But he doesn’t avert his eyes from the ceiling, tries his best to ignore your stares burning into him. He can’t face it yet, whatever it is you feel.

Only when he feels you slowly unfurl his legs, helping him straighten them out, knead them between your warm palms, does he look down. You look like an angel. So pretty. So gentle. Tears blur his vision. He doesn’t want to have fucked it all up. He can’t live if you don’t love him any more now.

When his body is stretched out, resting clean and comfortable again his sheets, you lie down next to him. Place your gorgeous head on his pillows, fold your palm underneath your cheek, reach out the other to card through his sweaty hair. Minho thinks he can feel the touch in his entire body.

For a long moment, it’s quiet. You’re looking at him. He’s staring at you. He tries not to blink. He doesn’t want to miss a single moment. A small smile steals its way onto your lips, and he feels tears gathering in his eyes again. God, he’s so fucked up over you.

Before he can cry again, you gently scoot closer to him, your gaze dipping down to his lips, your nails dragging over his scalp soothingly.

“Shh, it’s okay. You’re okay. I’m here. Did so well, for me, my sweet boy …”

Your voice sounds far away, but your words make the dread melt from Minho’s bones so fast it makes him dizzy. Replaces it with a quiet, helpless kind of love. He can feel your breath on his lips. He closes his eyes. When you kiss him, he kisses back.

It’s only a closed-mouth kiss that you press to his lips, then another, and another. Soft. Almost chaste. Until Minho presses forward, makes one linger. Gently, still fragile, scared, he parts his lips, runs his tongue over the seam of your lips, greedily swallows the little sigh you make in the back of your throat. You open your mouth to him, slide your hand into the hair at the back of his head, and he presses closer, licks into your mouth. Tentatively, he places a hand on your waist. Holds his breath. Waits for your hum of approval, you arching into his touch, before he finally lets his hand explore the body that’s been haunting his every waking hour for the last years.

The dip of your waist is sweet. It fits perfectly under the curve of his arm when he winds it around you, pulls you against his chest until he can feel all of you against him, your belly softly rising and falling against his, your tits squished into his chest, thighs pressing together, before one slings over his. He can feel the strap of your bra under your shirt. He curls his fingers into it for just a second, entertains the thought of ripping it off you. Of the punishment you might dole out. It makes his cock twitch. He’s sure you can feel it, but you seem distracted enough, your fingernails dragging down his bicep, slipping down to his waist, to snuggle even closer, press your body into his like you want to make a home in it. He wishes you would. Carve out his chest and crawl in. Make yourself a home in his bones. He’d keep you safe.

Slowly, slow enough for you to be able to protest, should you not want it, he drags his palm down the dip and curve of your back, until his fingertips start gliding over the thick, mouthwatering swell of your ass. His pinky snags on the pocket of your jeans when he slides down to cup your cheek. Then he squeezes.

Dumbly, he watches, feels, as you gasp into his mouth, your hips twitch forward into his body your hand tightens on him, tries to drag him closer, though your bodies are already pressed so close he loses track of where he ends and you begin. When he kneads your ass again, you rock your hips forward again, and he slips his thigh in between your legs almost instinctively. Your legs clamp around it and with the next squeeze of your ass, you gently moan into his mouth, suck his bottom lip between your teeth and grind against his thigh. He can feel the heat of you through your jeans.

Minho’s cock is already hardening; so fast, and so soon after coming, that it aches. But your body underneath his hands, so beautifully responsive, so clearly enjoying him touching you–

His hand wanders, slides down the expanse of your thigh, down the outside, then back up, sweeping over the top, his thumb dragging over the inside seam of your jeans, until his fingertips find your waistband.

When he pulls himself away from you, he’s breathing heavily. There’s a string of spit that hovers in the air for a solid second, before it breaks, wets your bottom lip. He leans in, licks it clean, presses a chaste, almost reverential kiss to your lips. Much as he wants to let it linger, he doesn’t. He pulls back until he can look at you again and finds you already staring at him. Doe-eyed, yet wild. He has to swallow a growl, like a feral fucking animal. His fingertips trace the waistband of your jeans, knuckles brushing against the impossibly soft, sweetly pudgy skin underneath your belly button, until he reaches his goal. He taps his fingers against the metal button, looks at you with a question in his eyes. You nod.

Your breath puffs against his face in shallow bursts as he pops the button, his mind playing a highlight reel of all the time he’s imagined his as he slides down the zipper. He doesn’t even bother pulling your jeans down, only leans back enough so he has enough space to shove his hand down your pants. It feels a little dirty this way. Like you could be anywhere. In the car. In a restaurant bathroom.

His fingers brush past coarse, trimmed hair and God, he loves that you haven’t shaved it all off. He wants to bury his nose in it, wants to breathe you in until he never forgets your scent. The cotton of your panties is sticky against his knuckles when his fingertips make contact with the hot, slick heat of you. You gasp, and his cock twitches, and he can’t help the wanton groan that tears past his lips.

With the awkward angle, he can really only dip his fingertips in, and it’s not enough, not even remotely, so much so that he feels greedy, feels maybe more courageous than he should. He kisses you harder, pushes you backwards with every greedy press of his lips, until you’re lying back against the pillows and your legs fall open, and he can shove his hand further down your pants and finally–

Your body arches into his, your fingers fist the material of his shirt, when he sinks his fingers into your slick properly. A wet finger finds the button of your clit and his mind shuts down, the only thing he can think of is you. Your heat, your body, your pleasure. He would die in service of it if he could.

His cock is half hard and aching, where it’s lying against his thighs, and he hisses when the sensitive skin of it brushes against the harsh material of your jeans in the most delicious way. He sinks his ring finger into your heat and one of your hands wraps around his chin, forces him to look at you.

The insistent strength of your grips makes fuzziness bloom in his consciousness again already.

“You sure you’re good for another round?” you whisper.

It’s a silly question. As if Minho could rest, knowing he hadn’t pleasured you yet. As if he could rest without knowing what your orgasm tastes like.

Blearily, he nods, grinds his hard cock against your jeans again. He hopes he stains them. If it were up to him, you’d leave his apartment tomorrow with his cum stained all over your clothes. Make sure everyone out there knows you’re his.

“Soft or rough?” you offer, and he nearly melts. You’re so sweet. But you don’t know how insatiable he is for you. How sweet the the roughness feels to him.

He twirls his finger, rubs it against the silky walls of your pussy. The feeling of it sucking him in makes his eyelids flutter and his train of thought fizzles out.

“Rough,” he manages to choke out, his free hand curling around your wrist, dragging your hand up to his throat until you get the memo, but you stop there suddenly. Stare down, like you just realised something.

“The necklace,” you murmur, and he swallows thickly. He’s scared that you smell it on him, the desperation. That it’s somehow written on his face, branded into his skin, how often he has choked himself with it as he was spilling over his fist.

“Did you know …” you murmur, as you reach out, play with the metal. Your fingers are so close to his throat, he barely dares to breathe. His blood thrums in anticipation.

Then your fingers tighten, and you pull and suddenly, there’s metal wound tightly around his throat and the thin little stick end of the closer peeks out of your closed fist.

“It’s a slip chain,” you whisper, eyes trained on Minho’s face.

It feels so good like this. Tighter, a more even pressure. Oh, he had no idea it could feel this good. Stars dance in Minho’s vision and his hips rut forward, his cock grinding and drooling heavily against your jeans. Finally. Claim. Mark. His brain no longer feels like his own.

“I barely dared think about it when I bought it. But I couldn’t help myself …”

His vision goes spotty, and he doesn’t know whether it’s from the lack of oxygen or the fact that all this time, he had worn the necklace, had worn his devotion to you wrapped around his neck like a dog and now … you tell him you thought about it, too.

All too soon, he thinks, you let go and the oxygen rushing back into his lungs makes Minho nearly collapse into your chest. He moans hoarsely and you hum in response.

“But it’s dangerous. You have to promise me you won’t use it like that when you’re alone.”

Minho blinks. Your tone has changed. He’s trying to figure it out, but his brain isn’t … doesn’t …

Slowly, you pull his hand from your pants and he frowns. Did he do something wrong? He doesn’t think he did, but … you don’t want him to touch you any more?

“Promise me, baby,” you repeat, and he just blinks at you. You seem to finally realise when your face softens, your hand comes up to cup his cheek. He nuzzles into it instinctively, his eyes slip shut. You swipe a thumb over his bottom lip, and his mouth falls open instinctively. Your breath hitches.

“Are you worried because you like playing with the necklace? Hm, bunny?”

Minho nods. Without opening his eyes, he nuzzles closer into your palm. Your attention on him is so addicting. Your thumb finds his bottom lip again, pushes in until it’s resting against his tongue. He wraps his lips around it. Sucks, just a little. You curse under your breath.

“God, you’ll be the death of me. Don’t worry, bunny, we can still play with it,” you purr, and Minho’s brain goes to static, “I’ll choke you as much as my dirty little bunny wants, but alone is too dangerous. Bunny could get too into it. Hurt himself.”

He feels himself nodding. He guesses it makes sense.

You pull your thumb from his mouth, shush him gently when he whines at the loss of its weight on his tongue. But all complaints die in his throat when he realises what you’re doing.Calmly, you shove

down your jeans, exposing your panties. They’re not black, like the ones he stole, but grey this time, but they have the same lace detailing around the waistband. His mouth goes dry when you pull them off your legs nonchalantly, dark where they were sticking to your slick cunt. He can’t see your pussy from here, only the tantalising V of it, your sweet belly and the little curl of pubic hair on your mound, but he feels like he can smell it. His brain zones in on it like he’s a hunter, and it’s his prey. He needs to … he needs to touch … he needs …

“Promise me, and you can touch,” you say, gently, but firmly, and he blinks back at you. His tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth and the words barely want to come out.

“I … I promise.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“Promise what?”

Your hand winds into his hair and the touch shudders through his entire body. His eyes flutter shut, and he grinds his cock forward, mewls when he finds your skin instead of jeans now.

“Minho …”

He sucks in a breath. Wills his brain to focus for one more second.

“I … I promise I won’t play with the n-necklace w-without you …” You hum, press a soft kiss to his lips, and he nearly tumbles into you when he tries to chase your lips.

“Good boy,” you hum, and Minho preens.

The hand in his hair holds tighter, starts pushing him away from you, and he blinks his eyes open in confusion, before he realises where you’re guiding him.

He lets himself be pushed down, between your legs. His mind swimming when you part your legs for him, expose where you’re wet and needy and so pretty , without shame, and the trust you put in him isn’t lost on him, not even in this state.

Your little clit, pink and sweet and swollen, peeks out from underneath its hood, wedged between the lips of your cunt, and he reaches out before he can stop himself. Brings a thumb there. Drags the silky pudge of it aside so he can see more. Spit pools in his mouth.

When the top of your foot makes sharp contact with his balls, it makes his whole body jump – and he drools a little bit. You laugh. Almost a little mean, yet nowhere near mean enough. He wonders if he will get to tell you to be meaner. He wonders if you’ll want to be.

Nonetheless, he flushes red hot, wipes the drool off his chin with the back of his hand.

“I don’t need to even tell you what you did wrong, hm?” you mutter, disappointment laced into your voice. He shakes his head, swallows thickly. Mumbles an apology. You hum, then your eyes harden.

“Shirt off,” you order, and he rips it off his body so fast he nearly falls over. When his eyes focus back on you, you’re staring at him. Eyes roaming over his shoulders, his chest, the hint of abs on his stomach.

Minho takes a deep breath. Steels himself for what he’s about to ask.

“You, too …? P-please …?”

He blinks his eyes at you innocently. You stare at him, and sit up, and pull your top over your head.

And as much as Minho tries, he can’t stop his eyes from straying, gluing themselves to every newly exposed inch of skin. How your tits strain against your bra, how the straps dig into your shoulders. The goosebumps that litter your skin when you reach behind yourself, undo the clasp. He nearly drools again when your tits tumble free. They’re as perfect as the rest of you. The perfect size, jiggling prettily, when you lie back down. He watches as your big, soft nipples slowly pebble in the cool air. Notices little streaks of stretch marks around the side of them. He wants to trace them with his tongue, wants to suck your tits into his mouth and feel your fingers tug at his hair and–

“Bunny, you were about to do something, weren’t you?”

Minho blinks back into focus when he realises he’s just been sitting between your legs, staring at your tits for an embarrassingly long time. But the fuzziness in his brain prevents him from feeling any real shame. And so does the soft condescension in your voice.

“Oh, goodness,” you coo, and it’s so sickly sweet it makes Minho’s attention snap back to you, “already so stupid, and we’re not even doing anything yet.”

His eyebrows draw together. He wants to say something, but his brain won’t work the way it should. Instead of thoughts it’s just static.

You sigh, shake your head.

Static. Sadness.

“We’ll have to see if you can even manage to make me feel good,” you sigh, and Minho vaguely shakes his head, clumsily reaches out, digs his fingers into the soft skin of your calves. He wants to lie down, already, wants to eat you out for as long as it takes, as long as it takes for you to shake through an orgasm. He’ll learn. He’ll be patient. He’s not too proud. Your pussy on his face would be a privilege. He’d do anything for you. Anything.

“Aw, sweet thing,” you hum, and he realises he just said all of that out loud. His mind spins. His cock throbs.

“Well, if all else fails, at least you have that big, gorgeous cock of yours,” you hum, and the object of your appreciating twitches needily between his legs. He’d always hoped you’d love his cock. Big, girthy, but not too much. Sensitive. Hard. Leaking. He hasn’t had many partners, but they’d all loved his cock.

“Bunny …” you call, and he realises he zoned out again. “Why don’t you finally put your mouth to good use, hm? Before you get distracted again. Maybe that’ll keep you busy enough.”

And despite how badly he wants it, he freezes. Stuck staring at you with a wish lodged in his throat that he can’t find the words for.

“What is it, baby? What’s your colour?” you ask, and this time, it’s free of any condescension. You’re really checking in on him he realises. It’s okay. You want him to feel good. He’s safe.

“G-green,” he mumbles, swallows, “c-can I have a k-kiss?”

Your eyes turn impossibly softer, and without a second’s hesitation you sit up, grab him by the wrist, gently pull him closer until he can lean in and press his lips to yours. It doesn’t last for more than a few seconds, but he leans into it with everything he has, drinks up every ounce of love you offer him until he feels drunk, until the static in his head turns warm, like a million bees buzzing around the sweetest honey. It makes him dizzy, floaty, barely aware of his body lowering itself onto the bed, his hands wrapping around your thighs, your waist, his mouth opening and his tongue lolling out, laving over your most intimate place. The staticky mess in his head goes quiet only long enough for him to hear his own debauched moan he laves into your folds..

Tart and sweet like raspberry syrup. Addicting like it’s laced with something. The smell of you, the smell he’s been chasing in the cotton of your underwear for the last week, only tarter, sweeter, muskier. Real. He wants to fucking drown in it.

Your folds are slick and slippery under his tongue, only aided by the drool that slips out his mouth, his tastebuds going haywire. When he laves over your hole, there’s a whole new world of flavour. Something hotter. Sweeter. Creamier.

He chases it, laves at your hole until your legs start closing around his head, before he finally licks into it, past the soft muscles, fucks his tongue into the impossibly small, burning hot space of it, and all the finds is more of the taste he can’t get enough of. It’s even purer there. He laves over your walls, revels how they flutter around him, clench when he’s especially deep. He sucks against your skin, moans as drool and slick slide down his chin.

His mind is completely gone, and when you gently tug at his hair, pull him from your hole and up to your clit, he dutifully starts licking there, too. Licks over your clit, circles it with his tongue, flicks it until your hips start twitching, jerking so hard he can barely keep his mouth on you, so hard he has to dig his hands into you more firmly, and it helps. It also makes your pussy quiver, and as if on cue, he slides down to your hole again and oh, you’re only getting sweeter. He licks at you again, and again, presses over your clit, then slides down, laps at your hole that’s still, somehow, getting more delicious, cream and peaches and musk–

Distantly, he hears you moan, hears you whimper his name. Not bunny, or baby, his name. It shakes him out of his stupor. Almost drunkenly, he pulls away. Feels a drop of your slick, of his spit, slide down his chin. The hand in his hair slips down to rest on his cheek. He blinks up at you and oh. He’d never thought you’d look like this.

Your head is thrown back and you’re flushed, from the apples of your cheeks, down your neck, your chest heaving with heavy breaths, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on your body like a thousand diamonds. Your thighs, trembling next to his head, your belly twitching sporadically. He shudders out a breath and you look down at him, make eye contact with him over the swells of your body, and he wishes he could paint so he could immortalize this view. Your makeup is smudged, a strand of your hair is plastered to your forehead. You look absolutely debauched. Fucked out. Perfect. You’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Oh god, he wants to make you come.

He would've dived back in right then and there if it hadn’t been for your hand sliding back into his hair, fingers tightening in the strands, tugging him to stay upright.

Oh. Right. He was meant to listen. To learn. Instead, he got so lost in it … Are you mad at him now?

“Stop eating me out like you’ve done this before,” you growl, and Minho’s poor, fuzzy brain ties itself into a knot of confusion. “You’re making me fucking jealous. Don’t make me think of you with someone else.”

Oh. He almost laughs.

He almost laughs because … how could you think there could be anyone else? Since the day he met you, he knew this was it for him. It was you, or no one. Anyone he may have had before is only a distant memory, mediocre pleasure, bodies he doesn’t remember, tastes that never did more than mildly gross him out. Right here, between your legs? With the way you look at him, touch him, talk to him, he feels like a virgin all over again. He wants to relearn pleasure. Wants to map it out on your body for the rest of his life. And maybe the next one, too.

Your brows furrow, face scrunching up in annoyance, and he feels giddy. You’re jealous. Jealous of him. Of him.

With a rough little shove, that embarrassingly makes Minho moan very loudly, you push him back, until he’s sitting back onto his haunches. Then you turn around, reach back for his hand and tug him closer.

“Fuck me,” you order, and Minho nearly chokes on his breath.

“F-from behind?” he squeaks out, his brain threatening to melt out of his ears at the mere suggestion.

You nod, shuffle back until you’re right in front of him, stick your ass up and let your upper body fall into the sheets. Presenting your ass, your little hole, your sopping wet pussy to him on a silver platter. When he doesn’t do anything, you wiggle your hips impatiently. Enticingly. As if the view of your naked back, the slope of your waist, the little jiggle of your ass wasn’t enough to drive Minho insane.

He might not survive this.

“Fucking fuck me like you’ve never touched anyone else before,” you hiss, reach out for one of Minho’s pillows, shove it underneath your face, “and make it hard. I wanna feel your cock every time I sit down for at least the next three days.”

Minho reels. You’re filthy. You’re perfect. His hands find your waist, dig into the soft skin, into the soft lines of your stretch marks. He hopes you let him learn them by heart one day. Maybe if you’re still here tomorrow, when the morning sun streams in through his windows. He’d like to kiss you then, all over your body. Explore every inch of it. Worship it like you deserve.

Because he feels almost out of his mind right now. Brain still fuzzy, overwhelmed with the knowledge that you’re here, naked, and jealous. He can hardly remember how to have sex at all. How to make his limbs go through the motions. How to keep enough control of his body to not come immediately when his cock is inside of you. He has soiled innumerable, uncountable sets of bedsheets and pillowcases just imagining this. And now you’re here, naked, jealous of whoever came before you.

“Come on, bunny, or have you really forgotten how to use that big cock of yours?”

Minho breathes out. Tries to shake enough of the fuzziness out of his head to be able to do this. He wants to do this right. Needs to do it right.

With shaky hands, he reaches between you, takes a hold of his cock, hisses at the contact because God, he’s so turned on it actually hurts. He doesn’t know how he will hold out, but he grits his teeth – he will have to. He wants to fuck you with his cock that you called beautiful, and he wants to feel you come around him, and then he wants to breed you f-full …

Nope, he can’t go there right now. He really can’t. He won’t make it. He lines himself up with your hole, watches entranced as your folds part around him, your slick coats his tip – and then he pushes in.

The head of his cock pops in and Minho … loses it.

“Oh fuck. Oh, fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuuuuuuuck.”

He curses until he bottoms out. Loud. Way too loud for a Thursday at 7pm in his busy apartment building. He doesn’t give a fuck. Your naked body is in his hands. Your slick, wet hole is sucking him. Taking all of him. His head nudges at your cervix. It’s a perfect fit. It’s a perfect fit. He almost starts crying.

But before he can, you swivel your hips forward, and then backwards again, fuck yourself back on his cock so perfectly, he nearly doubles over. Nothing has ever felt like this before.

“God, you do feel good,” you moan into his pillow, and Minho just whimpers helplessly. “Such a pretty cock. All for me.”

Without allowing him a second to catch his breath, you do it again, pull back almost all the way before you press his cock back into your pussy, then, again, and again, the slide of it getting easier with every swivel of your hips.

You fuck yourself back hard, slam your ass into his pelvis and the head of his cock brushes your cervix, and he throws his head back, his hands that were previously hanging helplessly by his side, scramble to find your waist. He digs his fingers into your skin, tries to ground himself.

With his cock buried all the way inside of you, you start grinding your hips in slow, torturous circles, and Minho’s cock twitches violently, deep inside of you. You laugh, breathlessly.

“Are you gonna do something, bunny?” you ask, the condescension still clearly audible, even through the veil of arousal. “Come on, I know you wanna. Filthy boy. Come on, hump me, like the horny dog you are.”

Minho nearly blacks out. The embarrassment settles deep into his guts, burns brightly, making his balls tighten already.

“W-wanna … so bad …”

You coo, clench your walls around him tightly, and he keens, nearly doubles over and crashes into you.

“Then go for it,” you coo, “come on, bunny, with a cock that big I’m sure I’ll still feel something at least.”

He feels like the luckiest man alive. Like he’s nothing but a feral, horny dog that you’re tugging into place so he can hump you. He’s the luckiest man alive because you let him and you like it.

He tightens his grip on your waist, sinks one of his hands into the plush of your ass, pulls back, and then fucks into you at the same time as he pulls you back onto his cock, and it’s the best thing he has ever felt in his entire life.

“Yeah,” you breathe, “do it again. Just like that.”

And he does. Every thrust punctuated with a helpless moan, he starts fucking into you, slowly, savouring every drag, until your pussy gives way for him so easily, the drag against your walls gets so wet and easy, that he speeds up. One hand screwed into your ass, using the thickness of it to pull you against his cock, he starts slamming into you in earnest.

He’s moaning. Wantonly. Loudly. Dimly, he realises that you are, too. Just as loud. Your hand fisted into the sheets so hard your knuckles are turning white.

He lets his body take over. Rolls his hips, grinds against you harder with every thrust. His knee slips slightly to the side on the sheets, and it angles his hips differently, and you moan loudly into the sheets, your pussy gushing wet and hot around him. He drills into the spot again and again, rolls his hips, rubs the sensitive underside of his cock against your walls until he thinks he might pass out, the pleasure rocking through him threatening to consume him.

When you swirl your hips to meet him, his hips stutter. But you do it again, drag over his cock with a practised swivel of your hips. Practised. With someone else.

Suddenly, the tables have turned. Now he’s the one consumed by a murderous jealous rage.

He doesn’t know if you feel it in the air, if something changes in the way he moves, but suddenly, you’re moving, pushing yourself up on your shaky arms, reaching a hand behind you, reaching out to him, and he doesn’t hesitate to lace his fingers with you. Pull you up. The changed angle makes you gasp, your fingernails digging into the back of his hand.

“Fuck,” he gasps out, his hips faltering, settling into a slower, more controlled pace, “baby. Baby. Y/Nie …”

He’s babbling, but he can’t stop himself.

“I love you. I love you so fucking much. Please, don’t … don’t fuck anyone else ever again. Want you to be yours. Want to be your only one. Please. Please.”

His voice is high and thin. He’s babbling and pleading, and you whimper, and then you grind backwards, grind his cock inside of you deeply, and he feels the shudder that goes through you shiver through the walls of your cunt. He’s connected to the deepest part of you and the knowledge alone makes him dizzy. Blindly, he falls forward, plants one palm into the bed in front of you. Your soft back catches him. His face lands in your hair. He breathes you in like a starved man. You’re here. You’re his.

“F-fuck, bunny,” you gasp out, and it’s so close to Minho’s face that he can feel your voice rumble through your body. It’s unreal.

With one hand resting on your belly, resisting the urge to worship every inch of it with his fingers, he cautiously pulls back, just a little bit, and then sinks his cock back into you. The twin moans you let out, bounce off the white walls of his room.

“I love you, too, bunny, you’re the only one,” you gasp out between the little moans punched out of you with every rut of Minho’s cock inside of you, “never felt … never felt like this, bunny. Baby. Minho.”

His name again. Minho feels faint. His lips find the skin of your shoulder, brushes against every inch of it he can reach. Tongue, teeth, lips. Licking up the saltiness of your sweat, the heady musk of your body.

He feels drunk when he starts to set a cautious rhythm. Pulls back as far as he can, without having to unglue himself from your back, because he thinks he might die if he does.

Your pussy feels hot. Swollen. Wet. Abused. It throbs around him. He wishes he could stay buried inside you for the rest of his life.

Both your bodies move with every thrust of his hips, and his slow pace picks up again soon because it’s addicting, hearing the noises punched out of you, feeling every single tremor of pleasure shiver through your skin. His free hand finds your tits, wraps around one of them, thumb and pointer finger finding your nipples. Soft. Soft soft soft like everything about you. He pinches meanly and you gasp quietly. Not so sensitive there, he notes, carefully, in the compendium of you that he will fill out for the rest of his life.

With one particularly deep thrust, your pussy squelches around him, and he realises just how wet you are around him.

“G-gonna cum,” you mumble.

You wrap your fingers around his wrist, bring his hand up to your mouth and suck two of his fingers into your hot, wet mouth. Minho groans, fucks forward so hard he nearly sends you toppling over. You’re not phased, only lick around his digits until they’re soaked, and then, with an unrelenting confidence, drag them down, down, down, between your legs and oh of course.

The angle of his arm makes his body press closer to you, and he could cry for joy. Every deep thrust of his hips makes your sweaty bodies slide together. Minho laves over a bruise in the crook of you that he barely remembers sucking into your skin, and rubs his fingers over your clit and your response is immediate.

Your head falls back, comes to rest against his shoulder. He rubs deeper, harder, fingers brushing against where his cock is pounding into you with every swipe, trying desperately to not lose his head, trying to take in every single second of this.

Your body leaning back into him more, relying on him to hold you; your walls tightening, fluttering, squeezing him so hard he can barely feel his toes, so close is he to coming.

The beautiful tightening of your body culminates, and before he knows it you’re shaking apart in his arms. Trembling. Letting out a long, desperate moan, fucking your hips back against his cock, holding his hand between your legs, wringing every single drop of your pleasure out of his willing body.

Before you’re even done, he sinks his teeth into your shoulder, and he comes, too, pleasure throbbing through his veins, pounding through his head so hard he fears he may black out. Still rubbing your clit he bullies his cock as deep as he can, and then fucks in even closer, no doubt bruisingly punching against your cervix, but you don’t seem to care. You moan. Sob. Take every single drop of his seed, milk it out of his cock and into your greedy body.

You freeze there, for a second, breathing heavily, aftershocks racking through your body, through your pussy, still locked around him. Minho’s brain feels like it’s floating somewhere far above him. Blearily, he realises that he’s still blindly suckling on the skin of your shoulder, and he lets go of it with a pop. There’s a bright purple bruise where his mouth was. It makes a familiar flicker of shame lick up in his guts.

But before he can panic, you sigh contentedly, take his hand, slowly manoeuvre the both of you onto the bed without Minho’s cock even slipping out of you. Some feral part of him purrs in satisfaction. Wants to plug you up and keep you full of him all day, every day.

You come to rest in his arms, the little spoon to his big spoon, warm, pliant, slightly sticky, pulling him closer until he’s plastered against your back again, wrapped around him tightly, like you don’t want to let him go either. When you still try to pull him closer, he can’t help the soft giggle that escapes him. You smile. His heart skips a beat at the sight.

Lazily you squeeze his hand, pull it up until you can press a soft kiss to the back of his it. You hold it there, nuzzling your face into his skin, nudging your thumb with his nose. His heart threatens to beat out of his chest. You let the fingertips of your free hand softly over his arm.

“Did so well for me, baby,” you mumble, sleepily, “so well. Love you so much. Let’s rest for a moment and then shower, okay?”

The words make something in Minho’s chest bloom. The flicker of shame and anxiety is smothered by sheer light and warmth, and he realises now, what he was missing all this time.

He mumbles your name into your hair. You hum.

“Stay?”

You giggle, gently tug his arm tighter around you until he nearly topples over you, his sensitive, softening cock shifting inside of you.

With your eyes closed, and a giant smile on your face you bring his hand back to your lips, press a kiss the back of it again, before you start peppering kisses all over his hand, his wrist, anywhere you can reach. You tip your head back, wait until he presses a softm dazed kiss into your hair, before you blink open your eyes. Smile at him. “You’re not getting rid of me anymore.”

Minho smiles. Then he leans in and kisses you. Cups your face, runs a hand over your sweaty hair, breathes a million I love yous into your lips until you’re giggling again. In the morning, he’ll find the real words. All the scattered remnants of his burning, desperate love for you, scattered through his battered, bruised, body, and he will tell you, for real. He will tell you just how and and just how much he loves you.

But not now. Now he’ll kiss you, again and again and again, just because he can, until you call him bunny again, just to make him pliant enough to let you shoo him in the shower.

He likes being your bunny.

link back to part 1

skzms masterlist // ko-fi

🔖 general taglist: follow and turn on notifications for my library account: @skzms-library 🔞 I monitor ages over there, just like I used to do with my taglist. I will block minors and ageless blogs, and you'll have to message me again to get unblocked. so just have your age in your bio before you follow!

— sex chocolates & sub ! minho 💗

🏷️ dom!gn!reader, sub!minho, petname “pretty,” aphrodisiacs (sex chocolates), oral fixation, breast play, slight overstimulation.

minho looked up at you through heavy eyelids. he took in the view of your stunning figure from under only to be trapped in a deep kiss.

his lips and yours still have the lingering bittersweet taste of the fancy chocolates.

as his lips pressed harder against yours, his eager tongue swiped across your mouth. the kitten licks from his end prompted you to do the same. your tongues danced together, in such sync that it made your heads spin too fast, but he savored every single bit of it.

the taste of the cocoa delicacy couldn’t leave his mouth. neither could he take the wonderful aroma of the sandalwood scented candle. your touches felt fiery, as if a fever rushed through his system.

“sensitive, pretty?” you asked him.

minho blinked in rapid succession, attempting to focus, but failing miserably at the sight of your warm smile.

“oh, i feel sensitive too,” you giggled, giving him goosebumps.

it’s true, every single little sense in your system suddenly felt ten times worse. the fabric of his shirt felt too much but he started salivating at the feeling of your skin against his. it was difficult for him to describe, but you understood: he could tell by the deep gasps escaping your throat that you enjoyed the feeling of his body writhing under you. you enjoyed the sounds he was making too, moans that he could not be aware of due to his fixation on pleasure.

but too many words are too boring to describe how fucking amazing you both felt.

you undid his shirt faster than ever. he took your top off too, throwing it aggressively on the floor before lifting your hips to help you out of your pants. he took his off, too, but immediately succumbed to his hazy headspace the moment you held his waist.

“pretty boy’s getting eager.” you traced your fingers up his sides, watching him arch his back until his bare chest was up against yours. “gonna put this beautiful body to use, yeah pretty?”

“mhmm,” minho practically whined. begging through hushed exhales and watery eyes, he lowered his head to stare at your chest.

the idea that popped in his head caused him to blush so much that his cheeks were hot. it didn’t help that your hands trailed down his muscles, the underside of his chest, and his broad shoulders — he didn’t realize that he was mirroring the movements on you.

“kiss please?” he begged, so you kissed him. “another?” he asked, so you answered. he didn’t seem satisfied even if he was reeling in the taste of your luscious lips mixed with the bitter aftertaste of the sweets. he drooled mindlessly as he continued to stare at your upper torso.

minho traced an index finger from your neck down to your chest. “can…i…suck, please?”

that alone nearly drove you insane, but you kept it together.

and like any sane person, you wordlessly traced a finger from his chest up to his neck, before holding him by the nape and shoving his head right onto your nipple.

he immediately latched his lips onto you. it almost felt like instinct, especially with his arms soon wrapping around your upper half in a desperate attempt to support you and himself.

silently thanking you, he flicked your nipples with his tongue, dragged kisses around each nipple and even going across your chest. he left love bite after love bite on the surrounding skin, whining every time you chuckled at the sensation.

“pretty, that’s enough.”

you ruffled his hair and then pulled, making him look up at you, showing the mess he made with pink plump lips and an endlessly salivating tongue. you pulled his head up all the way to kiss his open mouth, tasting everything, never minding how your teeth clashed sometimes.

the second your mouth pulled away, though, he chased it, only to be held back by your hand on his scalp. he pouted.

“can’t i return the favor?”

minho nodded but hesitated slightly. he really wanted it, but he wanted to feel something more.

“aw, my pretty boy always wants something in his mouth.” two of your fingers made its way up to tap his lips. the featherlight touch felt like a thousand kisses from heaven.

“how about you suck on these while i taste you?”

without a second thought, minho opened his mouth and circled his tongue around your fingers. he started sucking, kissing, and playing with your digits as you did the same to his chest. you bit down more harshly than he did, the red marks on your skin looking like nothing compared to the purple near-bruises on his. he felt tempted to bite down too, but he restricted himself with a delicious, soothingly sweet moan.

at this point, minho was leaking, his bare cock thumping angrily against your thigh. the feeling alone made him want to release, but he held it in anticipation. it didn’t matter if you denied the orgasm or abused him until his limit, he wouldn’t mind. he couldn’t care less about his own dick.

he cared more about your lips on his.

“fuck, y/n, so fucking good,” his shaky voice vibrated against your fingers and sent tingles down your spine. “i’m gonna cum, please, help me—”

he came all over your lower half, jutting his hips up against your thighs that sat on his lap. you bit on his left nipple, prompting him to release every single drop.

after the entire scene, he still felt sensitive. minho wanted more, so did you, but everything was overwhelming. dizzy, he continued to suck on your neck as you both calmed down.

“what’s sweeter, me or the chocolates?”

minho popped his mouth off your skin to face you. his mind was purely hazed by now, all offered for you to use. his eyes were filled with lust and hunger, a romance that was laced with a dark and bitter flavor that you’ve never seen before.

he wanted you to take the bites, though: savor him well and eat him whole.

“you’re…sweeter than the chocolates.”

saw u reblog a pervy changbin post 😩 spare some pervy skz thoughts maybe 🤲

— skz and perverted thoughts.

sub ! skz ot8 , dom ! gn ! reader 

🏷️ perversion. somnophilia. voyeurism. blasphemy. invasion of privacy. individual scenarios of 8 pining perverts. sorry anon for the late response!

— you’re the reason why bang chan never sleeps.

he knows that neither of you are together…yet. you usually sleep over at his place though, a one-bedroom apartment with an uncomfortable couch, so you’re forced to sleep next to him. chan never tells you this but he gets hard every night you sleep over. he refuses to admit—no, he will never admit that he gets hard to the idea of you sleeping soundly next to him, in nothing but your sleepwear. 

chan constantly thinks about waking you up from your sleep after you’ve taken your clothes off. chan knows that you sleep without underwear — he watched you slip into your pants without putting anything under — and he wants your bare skin on his. he hasn’t seen your eyes fluttered shut in slumber since you two face away, but he thinks about how you could dominate him with the mere awakening of your irises. he wants to shock you so that you can shock him back. chan wants to feel your heavy breath on his heavier exhales instead of the gentle sighs he so desperately wants to wake. he wants to grind on your legs, dig his face in your neck, and whine as you take care of him while half-awake. 

but no, he can’t have that, he can never have that, so he fantasizes. stroking his cock, once, twice, thrice, four times, while you count your sheep to slumber at the same pace.

— minho feasts on whatever eye candy you are.

he can only keep to himself for so long, staring from the chair opposite yours. he’s too dignified; minho hasn’t made his feelings clear with himself, let alone you, so he can’t do much. all he can do is look from a distance. stare. drill his eyes into every single inch of your smooth skin until his pupils dilate. fuck, you’re just his type. oh god, you’re so close yet so far. 

and he wants you to be close. close the physical distance. close in on the friendship and become something more. close, moan “minho, i’m so close.” he wants to have you cum on him, finally let yourself go after ruining him to the point he’s writhing and crying under you. after staring at your hands intertwined with your best friend’s, he realized so badly that he wants your hands on his neck, knocking the wind out of his system. choke him until he wiggles and begs wordlessly for breath—or for more? he can’t tell. he’d be willing to give up the act of being so stuck-up around you and offer a rare sight that only you can see. but no.

the only sight you see of him is a good friend zoning out. minho looks so distant but he’s there, fantasizing, daydreaming about your body, how fucking good you would sound while praising him. you’re so distant, yet you’re right there, like a mere feast for his eyes, but he wants you to eat him alive, feast on him the same way.

— it’s only you who can distract changbin.

your voice echoes through his head. changbin can’t focus on anything else and his vision tunnels. you’re the light at the end of it.

you told him off numerous times to do his job right. it had been a bad day and he tried to sympathize with you — but getting turned on from being scolded doesn’t count. he can’t help the thought of being told to shut up before being called all sorts of names. he daydreamed about getting pounded on the desk, the chair—maybe the floor, where you can ride and degrade him? he wants your fitted suits discarded alongside his. changbin just wants you to lose it on him, use him to let every drop of anger out, slap him, mark him, spit on him, use him. show your true colors instead of acting polite. break in front of him the way he breaks beneath you.

suddenly, you tapped his shoulder, then his screen, sternly reminding him to “get the fuck back to work, darling.” he’d shift his legs to hide his painful and leaking erection.

the cycle continued. you’d scold him, he’d get too horny to function, making you scold him again until it was only the both of you in left the office working overtime. it’s so wrong, getting off on your emotions that you almost can’t control. but damn it, your voice is too pretty, he wants to hear it scream, tell him off, again and again.

— you made hyunjin question everything.

the search bar has “friend walked in on me masturbating.” hyunjin can’t believe he typed that. it’s so unlike him to search for things that weren’t substantial, but maybe self-discovery is just as important. you aren’t watching anymore. but the question just…doesn’t quite cut it. 

he types again. “friend walked in on me masturbating but i liked it.” the results are dubious, some suggesting that it’s normal. some are porn videos — he watched as a lean, tall man got pinned down by another person, getting punished by someone peeping on him. he’s deleting the words key per key, tapping backspace until he’s on the last few letters. “i think i like my friend.” no, he already knew that long ago. “i want to fuck my friend.” no, he’d been fantasizing about that for years. you’re the reason why he masturbated in the first place, thinking of how you could ruin him, fuck his mouth with your crotch, drain him of his cum, fucking his own release back into himself. holy shit, hyunjin, that’s so bad, so bad…

“i want my friend to fuck me.” bingo. but not quite — he just can’t remove the image of your shocked, flustered face, the way you went all red, the way you hesitated and panicked. did you like what you saw? because his dick does.

hyunjin types again. “voyeurism kink guide.”

— jisung shouldn’t get too excited over you.

shock was written all over his face when he found out you liked him back, that you rejected your other best friend all because of him. imagine him riding the highs of the validation, basking in the image of you two being a couple. he loved that you saw nobody else but him.

imagine him riding his pillow to chase his high of release, basking in the image of that plush material being your lower half instead. he loved that you fucked nobody else but him.

maybe he got too pumped over the wrong things. shutting the door behind him and refusing to eavesdrop any longer, he shoved his pants down, frantically freeing his hard cock, and thought of you. you, possessive, in love with him as he was with you. jisung wanted you to own him, make him yours. he wanted to be shoved in between your arms and held up on the wall first before plummeting to the bed, whining and crying nothing but your name. he wants to forget his own. he wants the hands of his longtime crush to crush him and leave his ass bruised and his back arched.

he’s filthy. jisung stared at his hands, coated in cum that won’t stop flowing, wondering if you’re cool dating someone whose first thought about you was sex. sex with feelings, he swears, but he huffs and keeps going, overstimulating himself.

— it was you and a train ride felix couldn’t stand.

he was trying to read the tale of orpheus and eurydice, standing in the moving train, but he ripped his eyes off his book the minute you stood in front of him. stunning, amazing. curse god for making the train cramped today, his erection kept brushing against your legs.

felix felt fire surge between his legs as he took a whiff of your scent, an alluring aroma making its way down his system. you looked like a dream, like a doll that god herself sculpted out of love. he wanted to get a taste of you. he wondered if this is what couples in public transport felt like, dragging their hands down each other, feeling the other up through and under the layers of clothing. how much could he leak when one of your fingers traces down his v-line? felix wondered about the thrill of getting caught, the thought of whimpering just a little too loud for other people to hear, to shift his legs in the wrong way, hitting the wrong person, alerting everyone of your lewd antics. but why, why did he want you to do this to him?

you stood tall until you didn’t, losing balance on him. you thanked felix for catching you, but you didn’t turn his direction for long. like orpheus, he followed you, his eurydice: he can’t let you face him after everything he imagined. he tried not to drool and stared at the back of your head, hoping to only see your face after the train ride.

— seungmin’s the sinner you shouldn’t forgive.

was it his fault if you locked eyes with him first? he looked at the altar and scanned the image of the deity before him, questioning his morals, a feeling he hadn’t felt ever since he kept a penny to himself in first grade. 

he heard you chant in the pew beside him. “i offer my body to you.” he heard you say it, over and over, parts of your body folding into prayer position. you were hypnotizing to witness. seungmin couldn’t help but eye down your irresistible features, watched the glow from the lights hit your face and body in just the right way. he wanted to touch you, a living statue, and he wanted to put a show in front of the altar. he wanted you to ruin him, his upper half hunched over the head of the kneeler. or maybe he wanted to kneel in front of you as he took you in his mouth, tasting every bit of you, licking every drop of your essence as if it were holy water.

you were a fallen angel. sent from the clouds down to the earth to test his temptation, and he was giving in. but you weren’t a messenger, you betrayed your god, and you indulged in his sin, never forgiving him, damning him to the flames of lust for an eternity. he’s gross, but you’re an angel, and he’s chanting his prayer:

“corrupt me, corrupt me, corrupt me, i surrender myself, my body and life, all to you…”

— you should put jeongin where he belongs.

he’s insecure. for the first time in the decade-long relationship, he’s insecure about his place in your commitment. jeongin wasn’t sure if you loved him that much.

that was, until he “accidentally” found your journal entries. he also “stumbled upon” the messages you wrote about him to your friends. he remembered this thrill, similar to the time in the early stages of your relationship where he’d snoop on things such as your plush toys, shirts, underwear…he got a bottle of your perfume just to spritz it on his pants, pretending you were jerking him off from below.

now here he was, surfing through your written words about how much you loved jeongin. you truly loved your boyfriend — but nobody was like him, fucking into his own hand while seeing you gush over him in your friend’s messages. he wanted you to gush all over his cock, his body, his face, only to slap him and scold him, forcing your arms on his cheeks to make him face you in fear. he wanted you to stop him from dealing with your stuff, telling him to mind his own things — exactly the same way you found out he was messing with your underwear before.

jeongin’s thinking please, just please, put me in place, don’t make me go anywhere else, i’ll never doubt you again. i’ll drown in you. 

a/n: @lino-nyangi sent me into a brainrot about sucking on min’s sensitive tiddies and this was born

you don’t think there are many other places you’d rather be than settled on top of minho, straddling his lap while your head is pillowed on his chest. 

he’s just so warm, so sweet and soft and comforting even if he would pretend to bristle at the thought. the way he mumbles his thoughts out loud like he forgets you can hear him, talking about everything and absolutely nothing all at once. the way he’ll move his hand to rub at your shoulder or your back or your scalp every now and then, whenever the thought passes by. 

today though, something is different. you can’t seem to get comfortable, and you wriggle this way and that to find that happy place that you just can’t reach. it’s when you nuzzle your head a little harder into his chest than usual out of frustration that it happens. 

he whines, and when you look up at him he’s matching your surprise on his face like a mirror. your brow furrows as the cogs turn in your head rapidly; did you hit a bruise? are you too heavy on him? does he want you to leave?

but when he exhales, his body shuddering a little further into the mattress under him, you realize slowly that he’s not uncomfortable. you look down and see his nipple pebbling up under his shirt, right where your head was moments ago. he’s turned on. 

“oh,” you breathe out, bringing a finger up to trace around his other pec. he lets out another whine, high in the back of his throat, and when you meet his eyes they’re desperate and a little wild. “you never told me you were so sensitive here.”

instead of an answer he gives you a look, his hips jerking up a bit. 

“you never asked,” he says, voice right but drawn out like he’s trying to sound unaffected. his mistake. 

while one of your hands was circling feather-light touches around his right nipple, the other was sneaking to the bottom of his shirt, and you took the opportunity to slide it under to his left one and pinch it between your fingers. 

his reaction is instant. he throws his head back, a moan slipping from his parted lips from where his mouth parted open. you sooth it after, massaging his skin, and it pulls another whine from him. little pants are escaping him and a blush is rapidly traveling down his neck to his chest, and you swear he’s never looked more beautiful. 

“off,” you demand, tugging at his shirt a bit, and he sits up just enough to pull it off. the movement jostles you a bit in his lap, and you can feel his cock hardening under you. you have to resist the urge to grind down against him when he settles back into the pillows, hyper focused on this new discovery. 

his chest is bare, pretty pink hues splotched all over, and you can’t help but run your hands over the skin. your nails rake over his abdomen, leaving little red paintbrush strokes in their wake. he’s an open canvas, all yours to ruin beautifully. 

he squirms when you lean further down, your breath brushing over his nipples. you look up at him through your lashes, knowing what that does to him, and his eyes are pleasing as they look back. he looks one movement away from pleading you to continue, but you don’t want that. you don’t want him to ask for it, you want to take it. 

you take him in your mouth, eyes fluttering closed as you concentrate on your task. you leave your mouth open, sucking gently and rolling your tongue this way and that, listening to the sounds he’s making for you; small whines in the back of his throat, gasps of shock when you change trajectory. when you switch to his other side he just gets louder, more desperate. you always think he sounds lovely, but the song you’re strumming out of him right now is nothing short of perfection. 

you grind into him, his reactions rendering you unable to stop yourself, and he ruts up into you in little helpless motions. his hands move to either side of your head, warm and trembling as he tilts you just right against him. his eyes are hooded and dark as he looks down at you, nearly possessive, and it sends a shiver wracking down your spine.  

you move your hips more purposefully, the movements of your mouth never slowing even when you start to get tired. you decide to bring your teeth into the equation, lightly scraping them over the sensitive skin of his chest. you suck gently at the spot, blowing cool air over it before leaning back a bit to look at your work. a red splotch is left behind, lonely on the smooth planes of his chest, and that can’t do can it? so you repeat the motion, over and over until his chest is dotted in spots and he’s shaking so much you think he might cry.  

you give one last bite right to his nipple and his eyes roll back as he shudders violently under you. his muscles go completely taught for a moment before he goes boneless, melting into the mattress. he’s staring up at the ceiling with wide, glossy eyes and his breath is coming out in slow pants that shake you as you lay back over his chest. 

“did you come in your pants?” you ask, knowing the answer but wanting to tease him by making him admit it anyways. 

“no?” his voice is high, betraying him along with the tremors that are still shaking in his thighs.  

“so you don’t want me to help you clean up the mess you made down there?” you ask, quirking a brow up at him. his answering pout makes you giggle. 

“i didn’t say that.”