ICE ON MY TEEF!

Frankie|18|he/they|🏳️‍⚧️

[ateezsboytoy]

Hello there

hey..... my ult group changed.... again....

IM STILL GONNA POST ABOUT P1H BUT ATEEZ.... 🤭

Anyways im an OT8 but i get bias-wrecked literally every week

Maybe i'll start writing again because im actually crazy

MISSED YOU ALL AND I LOVE YALLLLLLLLL

[djostateofmind]

Gator and Steve midwestern twins

Like dating Steve and his dirt bag fuck boy brother “Gator” comes to visit from up north since they’re both midwestern. And slyly gets his dick in you behind Steve’s back

He would be so fucking evil and cocky and Steve would lose his fucking mind

Fucking gator in the spare room of the Harrington house while your mans asleep. Gator with his hands over your mouth. Saying the nastiest shit in your ear like “keep makin noises momma let my shit bag brother hear ya. Can’t please this pussy huh? Let him hear, I’ll show’m how to fuck ya real nice”

You’d be at the dinner table with them, Steve on one side and gator on the other and you’d be in a cute sundress and gators gonna finger you under the table while he talks to everyone around him and Steve doesn’t have a fucking idea

Then he’d stuff his fingers in his mouth lick them clean and just pretend it’s from his plate

“Damn Stevie boy, sure tastes fuckin divine” he’d say all nasty and sly and Steve would be thinking he means the dinner he cooked

Steve thinking you don’t feel well cause ur cheeks are hot and pink and you’re trembling

He’d take you upstairs to lay you down and you’d have to fuck the life outta him cause of what gator did and Steve’s just like damn baby what’s gotten into you??

Turns into a big dick contest like him and Jonathan. “I can fuck you better than my disgusting pig of a brother” Harrington and “you’ll never find a tongue like this on any man, not even my twin” Tillman

Steve wants to fuck a life into you, Gator wants to fuck the life out of you

[ateezsboytoy]

I can’t stop thinking about this one

[levanswrites]

lean on me

pairing: steve harrington x reader summary: touch-starved doesn’t even begin to cover it. steve harrington is affection-starved. love-starved. he’s been handing out pieces of his heart for years, getting nothing but scraps back. now, he clings like glue—always leaning, always touching, like his body craves closeness and he never learned how to pull back. and it would’ve all been fine… if this wasn't supposed to be just a casual thing. if he hadn’t said I love you, with his whole heart, mid-fuck. warnings: 18+ mdni, fwb to lovers, piv sex, oral (f!receiving), touchstarved!steve, i'd call him subby in this but he's rlly just pathetically in love, unexpected L-bomb, domestic fluff, light angst, happy ending a/n: everyone’s moved on from that s1 scene where steve asks nancy ‘you don’t love me?’ but I’m still there. anyway. here’s 5k words of painfully touch-starved steve.

So, like.

This isn’t a real thing.

That’s the important part. The crux. The root of it all.

The problem.

It’s the reason you haven’t slept in your own bed in over a week. The reason there’s a stupid little bruise on your neck (seriously, who even gives hickeys anymore?) and the reason you know exactly how Steve Harrington takes his coffee (three sugars, no cream, no shame).

It’s not real.

Because if it were real, then… that would be something.

And you don’t do “something.” You don’t like “something.”

Because “something” has weight. Teeth. Expectations.

And Steve? Well.

Steve is—

He’s lonely.

That’s what this is.

No, seriously. That’s the whole thing.

You didn’t clock it at first. Thought maybe he was just hot and bored. Smooth in that lazy, practiced way that makes everything feel like a dare. He flirts like he’s handing out candy. Smiles like it’s a reflex.  

But it’s not boredom.

Steve Harrington is lonely.

The kind of lonely that clings to skin like summer sweat.

The kind that seeps in slow—after years of being everybody’s something and then, suddenly, nobody’s anything.

The kind that turns touch into a transaction. That turns you into a distraction.

He speaks in half-jokes and full smiles. Loose shoulders, quick grins. Charm so polished it starts to sound like an echo—hollow, if you know what to listen for.

But when he touches you—god, when he touches you—

It’s like he’s trying to memorize it. Like he’s scared he won’t get another chance.

And somehow, that’s what keeps bringing you back.

Not the sex. Though—yeah, okay. The sex is good. Annoyingly good.

The kind that makes you forget your name. That has you laughing one second and gasping the next. The kind where he holds your hand through it and whispers ridiculous, tender shit into your neck. Nonsense, really. Things no one should find hot, and yet… you do.

But that’s not why you stay.

It’s not the sex.

It’s what happens after.

It’s the way he presses a hand to your lower back when you shift beneath the covers, like he’s making sure you’re still there. It’s the way he gets up first, hair a mess, pulling on flannel pajama pants that hang low on his hips while he makes you scrambled eggs.  

Burnt edges. Drenched in pepper.

You wrinkle your nose and grumble about having breakfast at 2 PM.  

He slides the plate toward you with a smug little, “You’ll eat what I give you and you'll like it.”

You always grin.

“You’re lucky I’m easy,” you tell him, mouth full.

He shrugs, sips his coffee (three sugars, no shame), and says, “Yeah. I am.”

You think that’s a joke. Maybe. Hopefully.

You don’t ask.

You don’t ask a lot of things.

Like why he waits to kiss you until your hands are under his shirt. Or why he pulls you in like he wants to keep you there, and then lets you go as soon as the sun comes up. Why his eyes go distant when he thinks you’re not looking.

You tell yourself he just needs the connection. That you’re just a body. A placeholder. A habit.

But he gets so quiet sometimes. After.

That strange, suspended kind of quiet, when the sweat’s dried and the room’s gone still. When his arm is still slung over your waist and his gaze is locked on the ceiling like it's got answers he doesn’t.

Not asleep. Never asleep.

Just still.   

Like he’s bracing for impact.

Once—just once—you asked, “You good?”

And he said, “Yeah.”

But he said it in that voice. The soft one. The one he uses when he’s lying.

You could’ve pressed. But you didn’t.

Because this isn’t a real thing.

It’s just comfort.

Borrowed heat. Mutual use. Skin and breath and the occasional earth-shattering orgasm.

That’s it.

Until one night, he says something.

And it changes everything.

…

Steve Harrington is a leaner.

You noticed that before anything ever happened between you.

Before the late nights. Before toothbrushes and t-shirts that weren’t yours. Back when he was just a name, a familiar face at parties with warm drinks and bad music. The guy with the hair and the reputation.

One night, you ended up on the same couch.

By accident. Well, mostly.

You’d had one too many drinks and slumped into the cushions like your bones had melted. Someone handed you a bottle of water and asked, “You okay?”

That someone was Steve.

He didn’t say much else. Just sat next to you, a respectful distance away, not even close enough for your knees to brush.

You said something dumb. He laughed. Asked a follow-up question.

And that’s when you noticed it.

The lean.

Steve Harrington leans like it’s instinct. Like gravity doesn’t pull him down, it pulls him toward. Like his body craves closeness and he never learned how to resist it.  

But then when your hand brushed his thigh while reaching for a bowl of chips—

He froze.

Just for a second. A flicker. A sharp inhale. A blink-and-you’ll-miss-it kind of thing.

But you didn’t miss it.

You noticed.   

…

It started stupid. You tell yourself that a lot.

Especially when you’re staring at yourself in his bathroom, brushing your teeth with the toothbrush he bought you, trying to figure out what the hell you’re doing.

It was stupid. An accident, really.

He called one night. Said, "I can’t sleep."

You said, "That sucks."

Then: "Can I come over?"

And: "Sure."

Just sex. That was the deal. No strings, no expectations.

There were rules, in the beginning.

No cuddling. No staying over.

No kissing unless clothes were already off.

That one lasted exactly one round.

Because on the second night, he kissed you first. Before either of you had taken off a single layer. Like kissing was the point, not the sex.

And afterward? He held you. Just an arm across your waist, skin warm, breath steady. Like you were his favorite teddy bear. Or a security blanket that talks back.

And he didn’t ask you to stay, but when you fell asleep there, he was already awake by the time you opened your eyes. Lying there. Watching you.

Like he hadn’t slept at all.

It was fine. Totally fine.

“Just friends,” you’d said.

And he nodded. “Yeah. Totally.”

But his fingers were laced through yours when he said it.   

…

Sometimes he says things you don’t know how to hear.

Like that weekend after finals. Both of you a little drunk. Loose-limbed and grinning for no reason. Buzzed on cheap beer and end-of-term freedom, on the promise of summer stretching out like a dare. You were parked outside your place, engine off, windows fogging in the humidity. Music low, the kind of old-school ballad Steve pretends to hate but knows every word to.

You kissed him over the console of his Beemer. Messy, open-mouthed, like the world was ending and tongues were currency—a last-ditch effort to spend everything before it was too late. He laughed into your mouth, and you felt it everywhere.

Then, soft and slurred:

“Missed you this week.”

You smiled. Didn’t answer.

He kissed your neck like he could hide into it.

You didn’t ask what he meant. Didn’t ask if he meant your mouth or your body or just the convenience of you.

You just climbed into his lap.

Straddled him.

Ground down on him like you were trying to forget how soft he’d sounded. How scared.

And he let you.

Because Steve Harrington always lets you.

…

Tonight, it’s raining.

You show up at his door soaked to the bone, hoodie dripping, pajama pants clinging to your legs. There’s water in your eyelashes, in your socks, probably in your dignity.

Steve opens the door like he’s been waiting. Like he knew.

“Jesus, get in here,” he mutters, tugging you inside by the wrist. “You’re soaked.”

He peels off your jacket, pushes your hood down. His knuckles brush your cheek.  

His hands feel warm. Or maybe cold. You can’t tell anymore with him.

…

He makes soup.

Chicken noodle, way too much pepper.

You sit on the counter in dry clothes that smell like him while he stirs in silence; barefoot, bedhead, wearing sleep pants and an old Hawkins basketball tee with a hole in the collar.   

He hands you the bowl and watches you blow on the steam.

Then he puts on a movie neither of you ends up watching.

He sits close, arms touching from shoulder to elbow.

It’s nothing.

Except, with Steve, nothing always feels like everything.

Because he doesn’t move away.

He leans.

…

Touch-starved doesn’t even begin to cover it.

Steve Harrington is affection-starved. Love-starved. He’s been handing his heart out to people for years and getting scraps in return.

He was the king of a kingdom that left him stranded in his own tower.

Now, he wields proximity like armor. Like glue. Stick close, so maybe they won’t leave.

You sit next to him, he leans. You stand near him, his fingers brush yours. You yawn, and suddenly he’s cradling your head, smoothing your hair like you’re going through something traumatic.

You’re not.

You’re yawning.

And it would be funny, if it wasn’t all so completely, irreparably fucked.

…

The rain's louder now.

Not quite a storm, but loud enough that it fills the room with its own kind of hush. Soft and constant, like white noise between thoughts.

Steve leans back against the couch, head tilted, throat exposed. The light from the TV paints him in soft blues and grays.

You look at him too long. Then say, quietly:

“You don’t let people touch you much.”

He blinks. “What?”

“I mean, you do,” you say, glancing at his hands. “But not really.”

He lets out a breath, somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. “Okay, detective. What’s that mean?”

You shift, pulling your knees up.  

“It means…” you pause. “That you act like it’s natural. Like touching’s easy for you. But it’s not.”

His eyes drift away. His throat bobs.

Then, a low chuckle. Pained and impressed in the same breath. “Jesus. You should be a therapist or something.”

“So I’m right?”

He goes quiet for a bit. Just tugs the blanket higher over your knees.

“People think I’m good at it,” he says eventually. “Being… I don’t know, flirty.”

“You are,” you say, like it's a fact. And it is.

He laughs, soft and empty. “Yeah. Well. I’ve had a lot of practice.” 

He starts picking at a loose thread. Doesn’t look at you.

“But that’s all it is. Practice. I think… I think I just got good at pretending.”

A pause.

“My parents weren’t really... around. You know? And when they were, it was all rules. Appearances. Be polite. Be perfect. Don’t embarrass the family.”  

You stare at your lap. “That sucks.”

He stiffens a little. “I’m not saying it for pity.”

“I know,” you bump your knee against his. “And don’t worry, you’re not getting any.”

He snorts, soft and real.

But then his hand stirs in his lap, tightening around the blanket, white-knuckled. It’s subtle. A detail most people wouldn’t notice.

But you do.

You always notice.

So you reach out. Slip your fingers between his like you’ve done it a hundred times before. Laced together, palm to palm, thumb brushing over the tense tendons in his wrist.

He freezes. Just for a second.

Then his hand twitches. Loosens. Curls back around yours.

He holds on.

…  

Steve Harrington has always been golden.

Golden boy. Golden skin. Golden smile. The kind of person who walks into a room and soaks up all the oxygen without even trying. The kind people fall for in flashes, bright and fast and dizzying.

They love parts of him. The hair, the grin, the effortless charm. The storybook confidence that makes everyone else fade to grayscale. But if they looked closer—and most don’t—they might notice a flicker of something else. Something dimmer. Something tired.

You notice.

You always notice.

You see the way his smile stutters, the half-second where it slips before he wrestles it back into place. The way he shrugs off compliments like they sting. Laughs off praise like it doesn't fester in his chest long after it’s said. Like he doesn’t believe a word of it, even when it’s true.

He’s used to it, you think. Being loved for the surface. Wanted for being golden.

Never seen for what’s underneath.

But that’s not the Steve you want.

You want this Steve—sleepy-eyed, soft-voiced, weirdly-good-at-playing-with-your-hair Steve.

The one in faded sweatpants and mismatched socks, slurping soup too loudly and pretending your knee against his isn’t the most intimate thing that’s happened to him all week. 

The one who sings along to bad radio ballads in the car and gets quiet when you ask him about childhood birthdays. The one who never learned how to ask for love—only how to give too much of it away.

You want the mess. The ache. The scared little boy behind the golden grin.

You want to know what song he hums when he’s doing his laundry. What memory makes him smile when no one’s watching.  

The parts of him that aren’t polished, the cracks that run through the gold. The ones he tucks away because he's convinced no one could ever love them.

You want the parts he hides.

…

You don’t remember how your shirt came off.

One minute you were doubled over laughing—some dumb line from the movie, something even dumber from Steve—and then he’s just there.

Mouth hot on your neck. Hands everywhere. Greedy and reverent in the same stroke, in the way only Steve Harrington can be.

He kisses down your throat, mumbling something against your skin. Something that sounds like, “You’re so beautiful,” voice so full it cracks a little.

Your fingers sink into his hair.

“Steve,” you breathe. “You’re shaking.”  

He lifts his head. Eyes wide and round and glassy.

“I just…” He swallows. “Wanna make you feel good. Let me?”

You nod, throat tight.

You’d let him do anything.

…

He eats you out like he missed you.

Like this is the only way he knows how to say it.

You’re sprawled across his couch, thighs over his shoulders, his arms hooked under your hips. Holding you open as he devours you. Sloppy, desperate, like he missed this, missed you, even though you were here just two nights ago. He groans into you like this is worship, and maybe it is. Maybe it always has been.

“Fuck,” he moans, voice wrecked. “You taste so good. So wet for me.”

Your fingers twist harder in his hair. He moans at that too; loves it when you tug him closer.

"Steve—"

“Yeah, baby,” he mumbles, mouth full. “I got you.”

You arch into him, thighs clamped tight around his head.

“I—fuck, I’m gonna—"  

He groans like he’s the one coming. Eats you through it, grinding his hips into the carpet, riding it out with you. Stays through the twitching and the aftershocks, still licking, like he can’t bear to stop, can’t bear to let you go.

And even when you’re spent, legs trembling, chest heaving, he doesn’t move away.

Kisses your thighs. Your stomach. Your breasts.

Soft, wet little marks. Greedy, but not in the way that takes. In the way that keeps.

You breathe through the haze, arm flung over your eyes because it stings too much sometimes, looking at him.

“You wanna fuck me now?”

…

He fucks you like a confession.  

Slow. Deep. Forehead to forehead. Breathing into your mouth. Nose bumping with each stroke, his breath hitching every time you moan.

Like he’s making love, even though that’s not what this is.

The room is quiet except for the slick sounds of skin on skin, and the soft hush of your name as he passes it from his lips over to yours.

“So good,” he breathes. “So fucking perfect.”

You curl your fingers around the back of his neck, pull him closer.

“I think about you all the time,” he whispers, hips rolling into you. “All the time. Can't—can’t stop.”

You tense, just slightly. Barely a hitch in your breath.

He doesn’t notice. Or maybe he does, and just barrels forward anyway, words spilling faster than he can catch them. He’s shaking again.

“Can’t get you out of my head. Fuck, you’re all I think about, I—”

And then—

He says it.

The thing.

The one thing you can’t undo.  

“I love you.”

…

Everything stills.

Steve stills. You still. 

He pulls back, blinking fast. Searching your face, fingers twitching against your waist.

You can’t breathe. 

“Steve…”

You say it like it hurts. Like it’s an apology. Like you didn’t mean to hear it, and he didn’t mean to say it.

He sees it, whatever’s written on your face. Sees it and folds in on himself.

His mouth twists, words souring on his tongue.

“Sorry,” he whispers. “I didn’t mean—”

You kiss him before he can finish.

Messy. Desperate. Mouth open, teeth clashing. Like you’re trying to shove the words back down his throat. Like if you just kiss him hard enough, they’ll sink back into him and never make it out.

He kisses you back, fast and clumsy. Picks up his pace again, thrusts turning erratic, rhythm gone. He comes like that—hands gripping too tight, teeth in your shoulder, breathing like he’s drowning.

He doesn’t say it again.  

Not out loud.

…

You told him once, weeks ago—maybe during the eighth or ninth time, when things were still light enough to float. You were lying in his bed, naked on blue linen, post-coital and quiet. You were staring at the ceiling. He was tracing circles on your arm.

“I’ve never said it,” you murmured.

He turned, frowning. “What do you mean, never?”

“Like… out loud. To anyone.”

“Not even to, like, a boyfriend?”

You snorted. Gave him a look. He just frowned deeper.

“I mean, it’s just words, right?” you shrugged. “Doesn’t really mean shit. Not unless you show it.”

He was quiet for a long time. Then he nodded, like he was filing it away.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “I guess.”   

…

The scariest part isn’t that he said it.

It’s how little changes after.

He pulls out. Kisses your forehead. Disappears for a towel, water, wipes, the whole post-sex routine. He wraps you in a blanket, like always.

He sits on the edge of the couch, shirtless and quiet. Still catching his breath.

But he won’t look at you.

You’re staring at the ceiling now. Body still buzzing, your mind a blur. Your chest feels raw, like you’ve swallowed glass and it’s still cutting on the way down.

Finally, you speak.

“You’re an idiot.”

His head turns, brows knit. “What?”

You sit up a little. “You’re an idiot. You can’t just say that mid-fuck and expect me not to spiral.”

He laughs, caught off guard. It’s soft. A little broken.

“I didn’t mean to,” he murmurs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just… came out.”

“Yeah. I noticed.”

He starts fidgeting with the blanket again.

“I can take it back, if you want.”

You pause.  

A long, slow beat.

Then you shake your head.

“No. Don’t.”

…

He’s sitting on the bed when you come out of the shower.

Hair damp, skin flushed from the heat, a line of steam following you out the bathroom. You’re toweling off the ends of your hair, not really expecting conversation. He’s quiet—bent forward, elbows on his knees, bare foot tapping a slow rhythm into the floorboards.  

Then, without looking up, he says:

“Do you want to stay over?”

You almost drop the towel. Frozen mid-motion, terrycloth bunched in your hands.

It’s not the first time he’s asked that. Not really.

There was one night, early on, when you came over to his place, still a little nervous about the whole thing. He’d made you come three times, then followed you out of bed, shirtless and flushed, and said:

“You could, uh… stay. If you want. It’s late. I don’t—sleep great. And I just…” He’d swallowed it. “Forget it. Never mind.”  

You’d made it exactly two steps before turning around.  

But that was then.

Now, five months in, you’ve never needed the words. Your toothbrush is in his medicine cabinet. Your hoodie is slung over the back of his desk chair. You spend most nights here anyway—falling asleep during half-watched movies and waking up tangled in limbs you no longer bother to count.

So the fact that he asks—now, of all nights—makes you pause.

“Sure,” You say quietly, then walk past him to grab the lotion off his nightstand like it's nothing.  

He doesn’t smile, not really. But his shoulders soften. His eyes go from holding tension to holding you.

He looks tired. Relieved in a way that makes your chest ache.

You slip under the covers, the way you always do. He follows. And for a beat, everything feels normal. Familiar. Easy.

He’s warm. He always is.

Your body knows the choreography—roll away, let him pull you in, slot your legs together until he’s all but spooning you. But tonight, for reasons you can’t name, you end up facing him instead. On your side. Eyes open. Nose to nose.

Close enough to feel the soft rise of his chest. To smell his shampoo. The expensive one you always make fun of, the one you pretend not to use.

Close enough to catch the exhale when he speaks.

“Can I—?” he stops.

You wait.

He licks his lips, gaze darting down to the space between you.

“Can I hold your hand?”

Your stomach drops, fluttering like a trapped bird.

Because what kind of person asks to hold your hand after they’ve had their hands everywhere else?

And why does that make you feel more vulnerable than anything he’s ever done?

You say, “Sure,” because you don’t know what else to say.

And then you do it. You reach out, he meets you halfway—fingers slotting between yours like they were made to be there.

His thumb skates slowly over your knuckles. His hand is warm, a little rough in places. Callused in a way that reminds you he’s probably fought for things—for people—before. Real things. Hard things. Love-shaped things.

Eventually, he shifts closer. Not pulling you into him. Just… aligning. Until your knees touch. Until your breaths sync.

He’s so close you can count the gold flecks in his eyes. 

Then, quietly:

“I meant it. What I said.”

You don’t answer right away.

Because something in your chest lurches and twists and stretches like it’s never been moved before. Like it’s being made into something new. 

“I know,” you say eventually, voice soft as worn cotton.

He swallows. Starts again, then stops. There’s a crack in his voice when he says:

“You don’t have to say it back. I know it’s not fair. That I said it like that. I just—” He looks down. Shrinks in on himself a little. “I couldn’t not.”

You reach out before he can spiral. Fingers to his jaw, steady and slow.

He flinches instinctively, then stills beneath your touch.

And god, he looks so young like this. Eyes glassy. Lips bitten raw. Desperate crease between his brows like he’s bracing for impact.

“Steve,” you whisper, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth. “I’m not mad.”

He searches your face like it might change mid-sentence.

“I just… I need time. That’s all.”

He nods. Once. Then again.

“Okay,” he says, and it sounds like breathing for the first time in days. “Okay.”

He squeezes your hand, like a question.

You squeeze back, like an answer.

…

You don’t plan it.

There’s no perfect moment. No grand confession. No string quartet swelling in the background, or a slow-motion kiss in the rain.

There’s just a Tuesday.

Or maybe a Wednesday.

One of those in-between days that doesn’t really exist. Gray sky. Light drizzle. Everything muted and quiet, just a little smudged around the edges.

When you open your door, Steve’s already there.

Curled into the corner of your couch in fuzzy socks, eating dry cereal out of the box and watching a rerun of something he’s already seen three times. His hair’s damp. Probably showered at your place again because its closer to the gym, or maybe he just likes your shampoo better than his.

You don’t even ask anymore.

He grins when he sees you. Tosses a Cheerio in his mouth and says, “How was hell?”

You toe off your shoes and shrug. “Corporate’s an absolute dream. Only cried twice in the break room today.”

He opens his arms without a word. “C’mere.”

You go.

He pulls you in without pretense, folding you into his chest like he’s been waiting all day just to do it. You melt into it, cheek pressed to his collarbone. He smells like your body wash. It does something to your ribs. Cracks them open. Lets the light in.

You sit like that for a while. Not talking. Not needing to.

Eventually, he gently nudges you off him.

“I’m making tea,” he says. “Don’t move.”

You do, of course. You follow him.

He's humming something tuneless, drumming his fingers on the counter while the kettle boils. And when it whistles, he moves automatically, like he’s done it a hundred times. Two mugs. Two tea bags. Your chipped dinosaur mug and his plain blue one. He insists it’s “just a mug” even though he always reaches for it first.

He doesn’t have to ask. He knows. Honey in both. Lemon in yours. He moves with the kind of ease that only comes from repetition. From caring.

He hands it to you without looking. You take it with both hands, the warmth of the ceramic bleeding into your palms.

And for some reason, that’s what does it.

Not the cuddling. Not the hand-holding. Not the sex, or the sleepovers, or the toothbrush he bought without asking

Just—this.

This moment. This man. This stupid kitchen and this cup of tea made exactly how you like it.

It hits you like a low tide: gentle, inevitable, impossible to ignore.

You’re still holding the mug when you say it. Still standing in the half-lit kitchen in your sad little apartment with the flickering stove light and the perpetually leaking faucet and the love of your life stirring a teabag like it’s the most serious task in the universe.

Soft. Barely above the whistle of the kettle.

“I love you.”

His spoon stops mid-stir.

He doesn’t move for a second. Doesn’t look up.

You think maybe he didn’t hear you. Maybe you should repeat it. Louder. Clearer.

But then—he smiles. 

Not the charming one. Not the grin he uses when for baristas or strangers or people who don’t know any better.

This one’s smaller. Like it snuck up on him.

He sets the spoon down carefully.

“Yeah?” he asks, still not turning around.

You nod.  

Then, braver: “Yeah.”

He lets out a breath like he’s been holding it in his lungs since February.

And without looking at you—like looking might make it collapse—he just says:

“Okay.”

Then, a beat later, with a kind of awe:

“I love you too.”

You step closer. Lean your head against his back, arms circling his waist just to feel him. He goes still under your touch, the way he does when something matters a little too much.

Then he relaxes. Covers your hands with his. Holds you there.

And the thing is, nothing else changes.

You still drink your tea. Still argue over who gets the remote. Still end up half-asleep on the couch with pretzel crumbs all over the upholstery and Steve mumbling nonsense into your shoulder.

But later, when he takes you to bed, he says it again.

Not in the heat of it. Not as a plea. Just a soft, quiet:

“I love you.”

You don’t panic.

You don’t question it.

You just say it back. Steadier, this time.

“I love you.”

He grins against your mouth. “About time.”

You roll your eyes.

He kisses your nose.

…

“I just—I’m sorry, but I really think this one tastes the same as the other one.”

Steve’s in an argument with the beekeeper lady at the farmer’s market. About honey.

She gasps like he’s insulted her bloodline, then launches into a spiel about how wildflower honey tastes completely different from clover honey—something about the blossoms and the weather and the bees' mood.

You, standing ten feet away with an armful of Honeycrisps, don’t even try to save him. You just lean against a crate of pumpkins and watch the disaster unfold.  

This is your Saturday now.

Groceries and small-town drama. Coffee stops and joint laundry loads and dumb little errands that somehow feel like sacred rituals because he’s there.

He jogs back to you a minute later, holding a jar of orange blossom honey.

He's grinning like an idiot. “She loved me.”

“She called you ‘boy.’”

“Exactly. Affectionate.”

You bump his hip. “You’re a menace.”

“And you love that about me.”

You glance at him, lips twitching.

You do.

You really do.

…

It’s been eight months.

Eight months of toothbrushes side-by-side. Of his socks in your drawer and your hair ties in his bathroom.

Of grocery lists that say things like “Steve’s weird granola” and “that cinnamon roll candle" you've been dying to try.

Of falling asleep on the couch and waking up in bed because he carried you. Of him saying “morning, baby" in that morning-after voice then smirking when yours is too hoarse to respond.

Of fights that don’t break things, just bend them. Of learning how to disagree without flinching. How to apologize without pride.

Of knowing it’s safe now. Not perfect, not painless, but safe.

…

One night, he’s reading beside you in bed.

Trying to, at least.

The book’s open in his lap, but he’s clearly dozing off mid-paragraph. Lips parted, breath steady.

You’re on your side, just watching him.

You don’t let yourself stare too often, but he’s so soft like this. Soft in a way he only is at home. With you.

There’s a scar on his collarbone you’ve never asked about.

You probably could. He’d tell you.

You think you will, someday.

But right now, you're happy just tracing it with your fingertip. He stirs, nuzzling your shoulder like he’s chasing warmth in his sleep.

And then, half-conscious, he murmurs:

“You’re it for me.”

You go still. Heart in your throat.

And then—just as simply, just as truthfully—you say:

“You are too.”

He hums at that. Smiles against your skin.

Wraps an arm around your waist and lets the world fade out.

…

In the morning, you’ll make him coffee the way he likes it: three sugars, no cream, no shame.

He’ll kiss your shoulder while you pour it, thank you with a sleepy voice and wandering hands.

You’ll sit on the couch, eat burnt toast, and laugh at some dumb segment on the morning news.

He’ll offer to fix your car. Again.

You’ll roll your eyes and say no. Again.

He’ll grin.

He'll drive you to work.

And just like that, the day will begin.  

Like it did today.

Like it will tomorrow.

Like it will every day after.

a/n: when I tell you I took a super long nap yesterday and then stayed awake the whole night... this is what came crawling out of my brain at 4 am... wrote this in like 3 hrs so i'm sorry if this is all over the place 🥲

i always love hearing your thoughts abt my silly little stories! feel free to reblog/comment/come find me in my inbox :)

update: this fic sort of has a sequel now! from steve's pov this time :)))

my masterlist

[ateezsboytoy]

I just sobbed

[thepresidentofwhat]

“i’m a tøp” “i’m a bottom” well i’m taking over my body back in control no more shotty i bet a lot of me was lost t’s uncrossed and i’s undotted

[ateezsboytoy]

Being an adult is crazy.

Wdym I just started a fire in my fire pit and now I’m reading about Javier Escuella 😔

[jichandesuu]

Warning!Nsfw audio

Yunho feels super sensitive against your hands┆⤿ 💌 ⌗

[ateezsboytoy]

EHEHEHEHEHEH

[everyonewooeverywhere]

puppy boy!yunho is consuming me🧍‍♀️

thinking about sleepy, sloppy makeouts with yunho when you’re both tired from a long day and can’t even find it in you to sit up straight.

you’re laying in his bed under his sheets and everything around you smells just like him. your legs are tangled with his and he makes sure he slots a knee between your legs. his hands groping at your thighs and your waist.

it’s simultaneously so comforting and so overwhelming. his mouth on yours is gentle yet messy. it’s not passionate, it’s slow and lazy but desperate. and the way he subconsciously grinds into you is the cherry on top. he’s so hard it hurts, so he keeps practically humping you.

but he has no desire to take his dick out of his pants. the way the fabric of his sweatpants serves as a thin layer between the two of you as he keeps grinding is enough. a soft whimper comes out the back of his throat each time his cock rubs against you.

and when you pull back he’s a mess. his face is flushed beyond compare, and his ears are red and hot. his pupils blown out and his breathing uneven. just so desperate for you.

he’s still grinding against you even when his lips leave yours. and you have to cup his cheek to make him look you in the eye. “does it feel good, puppy?” you mutter as you run your fingers through his hair and scrape your nails along his scalp.

he nods with tears in his eyes. “mhm..so good” he chokes out with a slight crack in his voice. biting his lip in desperation.

“keep going sweet boy,” you whisper against his lip as he keeps grinding on you. you’re not kissing him anymore but your face is so close that he can feel you breath against his lips. “make yourself cum…”

his hips stutter and a broken whimper escapes him as he feels himself losing control. and you glance down just in time to see the cum stain his gray sweatpants. he shakily pulls you closer to him, crying at the way your body rubs against his sensitive cock.

you smile softly up at him, planting little kisses along his jaw up to his bright red ears. and with you lips just so slightly brushing his ear you give him the last little bit of praise he needs, “good puppy.”

and he melts into your arms so you can hold him in your arms and stroke his hair just like the good puppy he knows he is.

….lol this got a little out of hand. this was not originally smut 🙂

[ateezsboytoy]

MROWWWW

[thirstkanaphan]

Wooyoung brings sub-fandoms together 🥰

Mingi, you’ll get your turn tomorrow!

[nouearth]

a day at the office.

jim halpert x male reader.

summary: what happens when jim finds out that there's a secret place in the warehouse that's used for sleeping? hint: it's not used for sleeping.

wc: 6.6k. genre: smut. warnings: coworkers, top!jim, bottom!reader, bigdick!jim, spit as lube, fingering, milking, over-stimulation, spitting, kissing, lots of french kissing, breeding, public sex, established relationship, au where pam is with someone else, jim has a bi-awakening, seasons 1-4 jim!

It was a call-back that he’d been expecting. It didn’t take much of an utter of the familiar client’s voice, the principal of Dunmore High School, to assure Jim that he had already secured another renewal of paper supplies for the school; an impressive three-year loyalty from the school, but who was counting?

Jim held the phone and watched you at your desk, two sections diagonal of him. He looked pleased when the client began voicing out compliments because of his efficient service, smiled because you were absolutely terrible at playing computer Chess despite lowering the difficulty settings, and beamed when you caught his gaze, warm like the mug of coffee sitting by the small picture frame of your dog on your desk.

It was impossible to know if you could hear what Jim was saying, but the grin on his face told more than a thousand words and you bid him a thumbs up when he looked up from his notepad after scribbling the client’s purchase.

“All right, and before I let you go, our customer service representative will follow up with a short survey regarding our products and services.” A question followed after. “Yep, similar survey as last time—you got it. All right, it was a pleasure doing business with you. Take care.”

Despite originally feeling aversion for his job, he couldn’t lie about feeling some sense of accomplishment whenever he secured a huge order. Not to mention how much of an ego booster it was since he earned a commission out of the sale. Gradually over time, Jim found himself to be one of the top salesman at the office, convincing himself that his stay at Dunder Mifflin would only be temporary.

Then the gratification completely ceased, weakly fluttering like a limp balloon, when he looked at the time on his taskbar.

It was only 10 AM.

This is going to be a long day. Jim groaned, slouching in his seat because the negotiation felt like forever, sucked out all of the energy left in him during the half-of-an-hour call despite fueling himself with caffeine and random fruits he’d stolen from his roommate. They were nearing that gross, wrinkly stage anyway.

When he turned his attention back towards you, the phone was in your hand, the other typing on the keyboard what Jim presumed would be the client’s answers to the survey questions. There was always a smile on your face, even if the client couldn’t see you. And then tone in your voice. It was inviting and personable, a voice that made people feel safe and heard, as if that mattered at all because how could buying paper feel anywhere near dangerous? 

Or maybe it was simply because Jim was too high on his own infatuation for you, that he was mostly projecting his appreciation.

A couple of hours had passed, 1 PM, and Jim managed to make a few sales here and there. A couple of clients hadn’t finalized their choice of supplier yet, but Dunder Mifflin was certainly being alluded as the option once he offered free deliveries on the count that they ordered a certain number of shipments of paper. That always sealed the deal.

To be honest, other than enduring many of Michael’s annoying antics with Dwight being his right-hand man, most days in the office were exactly as mundane as today was turning out to be. Usually, he would find himself passing time by hanging around your desk, catching you up on the weirdest news he discovered through a deep-dive in the internet.

And you wouldn’t believe what’s about to happen next…

What..? Don’t tell me they found the fing— Yep, they found the finger in the chicken tenders. Cooked. Medium-rare. Crisp to the bone. Blistering. Oh god—that’s horrifying! Jim—

And usually, they were lies that he made up on the way to your desk, mainly because he loved drawing a reaction out of you. And you were also extremely gullible, which made it all the easier to do so.

But as far as today was concerned, you were knees-deep into your responsibilities. Phone calls concerning shipment delays siphoned you into brief turmoil because—of course there were going to be delays, we’re in the middle of February where the earth was working in mysterious ways to conjure up snow days!

As much as Jim wanted to cut the phone line off when a client had suddenly erupted into an audibly loud one-sided yelling match—he was winning, of course—it always impressive how calm and composed you were under those circumstances.

Though, while he acted the same way regarding his approach to customers, he preferred to give people time and space to calm down. Whereas you accessed the situation and carefully structured how you sounded to hopefully pacify their anger. Your voice was gentler, but it never faltered into a frailness that made you a pushover for the client to rag on. Rather, it was stern, especially authoritative when you would assert, “Sir, I understand this situation is very frustrating for you, but I am here to help. And I cannot help you if you do not tell me your order number. And it would also be very much appreciated if you lowered your voice.”

You were fairly new to the company, a little over two years in your position, and every day, as a little more of you unfolded, you’d shown Jim why you were hired on the spot. You were practically the face of what Dunder Mifflin desired, of what any company expected really; friendly, collaborative, hard-working, efficient, all those cliché keywords on a résumé. 

A golden boy, Jim liked to describe you as. He didn’t mean anything negative by it, simply by evidence of your personality at first. But when he mentioned that moniker for you one day, of course you laughed like it was the funniest thing Jim had told you since you’d introduced yourself, because you were a people-pleaser. Easy to get along. Charming. Handsome. Bright. Golden. 

That was you.

Honestly, Jim never expected to cross ‘fall in love’ off his New Year’s resolutions right before the year even started. He also never thought he’d strike out ‘discover your bi-awakening’ in any timeline of the universe—only because he didn’t even know he had a type in men—but the future worked in wondrous, confusing ways. Though, if someone actually asked for him to describe his type, it would be indescribable because Jim doesn’t know exactly what made him fall in love with you, except for the fact that it was you. Your presence. Your personality. Your looks. You.

Jim liked how you would say greet everyone ‘good morning,’ but it was him that you held in high-regard. He liked how you were shorter, like many others in the office were compared to him, but you had a build, or maybe a presence, that made him want to take you in his arms and never let go. He liked how you would end up snorting at his jokes because he never found his jokes incredibly funny. It was mainly a tactic, or rather an invitation for you to know that he wanted to be friends. With every laugh that spilled out of your mouth, fortuitous snorts that would embarrass you when Jim kept the joking going, a mutual bond was shortly formed and it felt even better than scoring a huge sale.

He liked how you were generous, tossing a bag of chips on his desk after a visit to the vending machine, and he’d suspected that you’d been watching him too, because you always got his favorite flavor without Jim ever telling you the minor details of his insignificant life.

He also liked how confusing it was to like you, to suddenly develop a crush on a man like he had just discovered a new aspect of life. There was something exciting and new happening in his mundane world, giving him a newfound motivation to come to work other than to pay his bills. He thought he discovered everything about himself by his early 20s, but you’d shown him that life truly does throw you off-course, or in Jim’s case, on the right side of the path. 

He casted doubts about his sexuality early on, pondering that loneliness had caught up to him and constructed an entirely different narrative as a last ditch effort to set him on an expedition to find love again.

But would loneliness really be influential enough to compel him to suddenly kiss you in the parking lot after having dinner together? He recalled you gasping, pulling away, thankfully not because you were repulsed by him, but because you were in complete shock that Jim was even into men in the first place. 

Jim never realized how much he brought up his ex-girlfriends to overcompensate for this sudden attraction for the opposite gender until you brought it up.

I don’t know yet, about all of this… I’m still figuring things out, but I really like you, (M/N).

Jim, I think you had too much to drink.

All I had was a Sprite—

He pondered that night, then many more until it began weighing on his conscience.

But he oddly found himself kissing you again a month after, properly this time, in his Subaru when he took you home after your car broke down. He felt like a volcano erupting when his lips landed on yours, soft and delicate like the first time he kissed you. His breath rattled into your own hesitation with every exhale, but then you took him in, let him in, and Jim melted. 

And then calmed, stilled, when you led, cupping his jaw to keep Jim from pulling away, and instead closer, leaning over the armrests of each respective seat and center console. The leather pressed uncomfortably into his body, but when you slipped your tongue inside of his mouth, he was spellbound, then purged of any feeling other than the ones you’d enthralled him with.

As you assured him on that night, with a late night conversation that refused to let you out of his car and Jim out of your neighborhood street, that was when he found himself.

Huh.

What?

Nothing… Usually my gay-dar is pretty spot on, so if I knew you rocked that way, I would’ve flirted with you early on.

Okay, one; never mention gay-dar to Michael or Dwight ever, because then they’ll go ‘I told you so’ on me. And two; you had a crush on me? Tell me more.

You’d be surprised how much height can make a gay man go feral, Jim.

Seems like you managed yourself pretty well, don’t you think? That you know of.

You animal…

Another hour passed by as Jim willingly let himself be sucked into a black hole of thoughts recalling those moments with you, those ‘firsts’ that could keep him distracted for another two hours or so. Alongside his first kiss with you, there was the first time he touched you; clumsiness took his hands to roam around your chest, stomach, then erection until you blew from Jim’s increasing interest, and then profound knowledge in your body.

He kissed you elsewhere other than your lips. It started off with your neck, then your shoulders, chest, and so-on, until his lips suddenly began wrapping around your own length without warning, sucking you off with cloddish, yet enticing attempts that made you laugh, because Jim was greedy, awkward with his tongue, but that didn’t stop you from wanting him to yourself.

You pulled him off and made him lean back on the couch instead, settling on your knees and then rewarding his service with your own mouth, to show him how to properly work a cock. Jim was never a man that was enticed by blowjobs, only because a mouth never felt gratifying enough, but with every swirl of your tongue, every spit that dripped off of his thick cock and back into your mouth, he was fully convinced that he was a changed man by the time he filled your mouth. 

He then intruded deep inside of you because to fully have an understanding of your body, he needed to explore every inch, every surface, every crevice. It was on his bed, in his messy room that Jim tried to hurriedly clean before you came in, that could barely accommodate room for two, but it was you who made it work when you straddled on his lap and rode him instead. You’d never felt so full, you said it yourself he was balls-deep inside of you.

And jesus christ, Jim knew he was big considering the women he’d dated were apprehensive about taking him, barely taking his cock before surrendering. It gave him deja vu with the way you held your eyes shut, bracing your position by having one palms on his chest, and the other guiding his cock carefully into you, controlling the stagger of your breath to the best of your ability. 

In the moment where he’d expect you to stop pushing yourself and tell him to settle for a blowjob instead, determination set you aflame like the painful stretch Jim had been providing you with, and with three more pulses to your breath, a brief break to apply more lube on Jim’s erection and your hole, you were entirely breached when Jim aided your hips and pushed you down until you were flushed against his body, flesh sticky and sweaty from your persistence.

You’re amazing… Jim, I’m close. Harder—

It was a memorable night, a messy one where you offered to change his sheets, and Jim swore he could’ve gone all-night if they hadn’t had work the very next day.  Instead, he held you close, panting and continuing to fill you despite your protest to shower, gazing into your eyes while you held his stare with a warmth that might have rivaled his own infactuation for you, and smiled.

I really like you.

I really, really like you too, Halpert.

And now Jim was here, fantasizing in his seat with an aching hard-on, but absolutely guilt-free this time, because it’d been a few months since you two made it official.

It took several pings from Jim’s computer to put his musing to a halt. He leaned forward to view the unread messages, tending to his erection with a few gentle squeezes, then peeked over his monitor with a grin when he realized it was from you.

[M/N]: lunch? [M/N]: hellooooo

[M/N]: if you don’t answer i’m ordering ahead without you [M/N]: wow you’re really out of it [M/N]: stare deep into space if you hate me [M/N]: wow, jim.

“Hey,” A gentle kick to your shoe knocked your attention up to Jim, where he greeted you with a warm smile as soon as your gaze fell on him, a coat draped over his arm. “What are you feeling today?” The weather wasn’t too cold, the coat mainly providing an obstruction to the evident outline in his khakis.

Glistening, you returned his smile tenfold in brightness, sprouting from your seat to stretch your arms over your head, loosening the tuck of your shirt crinkle by crinkle until you felt a pleasing crack to your back and shoulders. “Anything’s fine. Sushi? Wait, no—we had that last week.”

“You have…” Jim rolled a sleeve up to check the time on his watch, and your eyes immediately pivoted towards the veins in his forearm, endearing and taunting. “…the two minutes it takes to get to my car to decide.”

“Wait, but that’s not even enough—“ He turned his body so you were complaining towards his back, broad and firm through his blue dress shirt. You’d never felt so envious of a piece of clothing hugging tight on his body when that could’ve been you.

“Up and at ‘em, a minute and twenty seconds now.” Jim began walking towards the entrance, chuckling as he could hear you scramble through your desk in search for something. “Gotta find my wallet first—“

“Seriously? It’s already been thirty seconds now!” 

Turned out, all that rushing was for nothing as Jim had other plans when he pulled you past the exit to the parking lot, and instead another floor lower, and then another, until you and him reached the warehouse. He acted on impulse, his sudden thirst for you taking the reign of his actions that he didn’t exactly know what to do had the warehouse not been empty. Luckily, it was and Jim would keep that in mind for the future.

“Uh… Jim, why are we down here?” The warehouse was bigger than you last remembered from the brief introductory tour you were given. Though, to be fair, you were running on a half-mug of coffee, and the adrenaline rush of meeting everyone for the first time hadn’t worn off yet.

“You’ll see,” Jim shrugged, nonchalant in his demeanor as his gaze was seemingly in pursuit of something above him along the rows of storage shelves and units. “Don’t want to ruin the surprise for you.” The words rolled off of his tongue suspiciously, and beneath the growing smile on Jim’s face that was supposed to keep you calm and composed like it did on normal circumstances, was something that did the opposite, riling a wave of conflicting feelings within you.

Especially when Jim began to climb a ladder and step into a shelf space in the back of the warehouse that was hidden impressively well from the entrance.

“What—What are you doing?! Get down here!” Your eyes widened in panic, scanning the space from left to right multiple times in case any of the warehouse employees were within vicinity. “Jim!”

“It’s fine, come on up!” He waved you up once he got himself situated, head awkwardly bent and shoulders slant because of the shelf barely accommodated for his height and build.

“No way. We’re going to get fired if we get caught.” You frowned, crossing your arms as you stared up at him, baffled.

“You know, it would help your case if you weren’t standing where everyone could see you.” Jim reasoned and you huffed after. “I promise, we won’t get caught. I’ll keep an eye out. And if it helps, Darryl told me about this area. Toasty in here too.”

Apprehensively, you took ahold of the ladder railings and climbed your way to the shelf space where Jim awaited for your arrival, anticipated with a smug smile as he held out his hand to pull you in once you took his palm.

The shelf was in the darkest corner of the room. A few lights above had been burnt out for quite some time, and the large boxes of paper supplies that surrounded the perimeter casted shadows that ultimately provided an agreeable space despite your original complaints. In this case, as you cataloged the pillows and one throw blanket around you and Jim; a comfy place to rest your eyes.

“You took me here… to nap.” You stated matter-of-factly and stared at him disengaged, but nonetheless foraged a pillow behind your head and snuggled up to his left side when he opened his arm up. 

“The things I do for you. Absolutely no appreciation whatsoever.” Jim joked, then pinched your nose with a chuckle. The gesture always managed to pull a smile out of you, and he already anticipated you mirroring it back at him, to which he keenly blocked with a strong hold of your wrist. Then another when you attempted sneak attack with a neck-chop with your other arm.

“You know…” Your voice wandered to a deepness, a slight hush as if anyone around you could hear. “You could’ve just told me you were horny.” You tugged your hands in resistance.

“What—How did you know?” Jim broke out into a toothy smile despite being caught red-handed.

“I mean, you weren’t exactly hiding your boner that well. A hand isn’t going to cover that.” You nodded your head towards the size of his bulge, the center of Jim’s khakis creasing when his erection greeted you with a throb. The boxes of paper supplies couldn’t shelter Jim had they tried.

“Hey, are you shaming me for having a big penis? Wow, (M/N). I thought you were different.” He loosened his hold on your wrists, but nonetheless kept them within his grasp to guide your right hand to his inner thigh, dropping the other after. He leaned in, his gaze pivoting to your wet lips when you licked your lips. The scent of his cologne, along with the way Jim’s eyes glazed over you like a piece of meat, stirred something inside of you. Your pants felt tighter than a couple seconds ago.

“If blowing you until you finish in my mouth is shaming, then…” Jim’s hand pressed on top of yours to move you upwards to his bulge, but you resisted, a teasing grin beamed towards the smug smile on his face before you enchanted his lips with a soft, languid kiss. “Call me a monster.”

Jim abandoned your hand to take ahold of your jaw, cupping the underside of it softly while his thumb caressed the structure with composed strokes. Your breath tasted like coffee, sweeter than how Jim preferred his own cup, but perfectly delectable when it came from your tongue. 

“You stole my line.” He joked again, then kissed you harder; a stroke of his tongue parted your lips again in desperate need to take you, in a sloppy pursuit of some kind of reward for his terrific work this month. His tongue explored your mouth, panting among both parties, your own wet flesh gliding and slipping against and around his needy endeavors, prompted by the gentle squeezes and strokes on his erection, and it didn’t take very long before you were completely captivated by Jim and the way he took you, your body going limp except for the growing tent in your pants.

You palmed him through his khakis. Your hand barely moved up his thigh before you could feel a long and thick lump residing beneath the crinkle of his left pocket, and a moan slipped from your throat because you could never stop marveling over the size of Jim’s cock. “We only have twenty minutes.” It was a complaint rather than a reminder. The clock ticking in your head peeled you away from the captivating kiss, frowning because there was so much you wanted to do to Jim, for him.

“Better get to work then.” You felt his hands suddenly begin to work at your belt, unbuckling them with deft and efficiency. Impatience left the leather hang loose, flopping stiffly as Jim unzipped your pants, and then pushed them down to your ankles after turning you on your side, your back facing him.

Jim snapped your briefs below the smooth curve of your ass, plumping them with the help of the tight restraining digging into your skin and pushing your mounds of flesh upwards. It was a delicious invitation for him to spank your right ass cheek once to watch how his slap reverberated off your flesh in soft jiggles, then another because your hushed whimpers were the perfect accompaniment to the force of his palm.

“Couldn’t stop thinking about your ass today.” He confessed while the strong kneads to your ass, palms of thick flesh groped and spread, provided proof to his confession.

“Yeah? Is that why you couldn’t keep it in your pants today?” You groaned when something wet and lean slid nimbly inside of your hole without warning. Tight and warm, you squeezed around Jim’s lone finger as it thrusted inside of you. Whimpered when it curled, another finger joining after a couple of flicks of his wrist, with the intent to wreck vengeance on the source of his erection.

“You know it,” His voice ghosted over your ear, closer than you expected, and your head knowingly turned to meet his lips for a yearning, sloppy kiss that Jim mutually had been craving all day for. He pushed himself closer to you, your mouth and his parting open and lingering as tongues mingled for an open-mouthed kiss. It was wet and sickly, enough to get you high on the act alone, cock throbbing when Jim closed his mouth around your tongue and sucked the spit bubbles off your tongue. All of that simultaneously stirring butterflies in your stomach while he worked your hole open, presently stretching you out with three fingers barreled into your cavity. 

Usually three fingers was enough to take Jim’s cock. It was uncomfortable, at times painful when you barely stretched yourself. But you liked that you could feel every inch of Jim’s muscly cock pushing you open. You likened it to rolling out a tight muscle after a tough workout. Painful, but incredibly satisfying once you felt him turning you out. Plus, it never failed to make Jim incredibly gratified, his cock somehow growing harder, thicker while he was shelved inside of you.

It wasn’t the most ideal position; you were facing boxes of copy paper that instantly evoked shame, the Dunder Mifflin logo plastered across the cardboard seemingly mortified by the lack of restraining when it came to your boyfriend. It wasn’t often that you two involved yourself in public sex, but when Jim was either too impatient to wait at his apartment, or you needed something to recharge you in the middle of the day, those circumstances mainly resided in his car. You bought extra blankets to cover up the windows too, though ultimately, they served no purpose because you were here—ass out, jerking yourself off to the hastened sound of Jim’s belt unbuckling, khakis and boxers shoved down to his ankles similar to yours in turn.

“Shoot,” Jim grunted irritably. You turned your head over your shoulder, curiously finding the source of his evident annoyance along with him as Jim began searching through his coat pockets, only after taking a long peek at the glorious throb of his cock.

“What? Having regrets already?” You grinned, and you discerned a vacant smile of his own, Jim’s mind occupied by a multitude of thoughts.

“I forgot the lube. I thought I put it in my pocket, guess not…” A sigh of disappointment came after Jim’s habit of clicking his tongue whenever he felt any kind of feeling. “Well, I guess we could try—“

You suddenly took Jim’s hand and spat in it, Jim watching wide-eyed, stunned, while you pushed a few more out with your tongue since saliva never had the ideal longevity and viscosity of lube. “Hurry before it dries.” You turned back calmly, beckoning for his cock with a push of your ass. 

“I’m in love with you.” Jim breathed out, a toothy smile you could imagine from the giddy tone of his voice. The spit in his hand was then used to lube his thick cock, in a thick sheen you presumed from the sticky sounds that tingled the tips of your ears, then the base of your tightened balls.

“Prove it to me.” You folded the arm you were lain on behind your head, cushioning the weight of it while your other hand reached back to lather his cock in your saliva after spitting a few more times into your palm. You felt veins pulsing strong with every stroke, a weight of thick cock that made your wrist sore, and then as you pivoted towards the pink glans of Jim’s dick, a bulbous head that intimidatingly maintained the girth of his shaft.

“You’re going to regret it.” He said smugly, adjusting himself closer and lower to match your smaller build. His moans were bitten back, swallowed down with hard gulps while you were carried away in providing him a temporary relief that you were too impatient to ignore.

Your hand continued stroking him off, your saliva sticking on his cock and then eventually in between your ass as you guided him towards your entrance, immense warmth emanating from the blood surging through his cock veins. “Have I ever?” 

“No,” Jim replaced your hand, making it return back to fondling your balls, and teased by running his cock over the crack of your ass. You felt his cock bolt with a spring, taunting when the plump head pressed its slick pre-cum to your pucker. He loved how he could see your ass clench in desperate efforts to lure him in, but it was futile as he’d return to sweeping over your hole with languid swipes, drawing out whimpers that signified that your impatience was running thin. 

“And I love you even more for that.”

He suddenly pushed. Your breath got caught in your throat from the abruptness of it all, and your body immediately tensed in turn, frozen in place when a burning sensation from beneath alerted you to stay put and just breathe. Jim groaned, already feeling the swell of your pucker refusing to let the head in, so he pulled himself out and restarted. Harder, he pushed his cock inside of you again, persistent despite your body naturally arcing forward to escape the emerging pain, but his hand on your hip pulled you back, anchoring your withering body, until the thick inch of his cock slid in.

“Careful—F-fuck, Jim.” Your stomach was in knots as it always was when he would first push inside of you. Feelings, conflicting ones of need, want, and regret battling for the throne of your body, of your mind, as Jim kept pushing, sliding in and out, rough and impatient because he needed you to open yourself up for him.

He was so big, too big at times, and you felt so pathetic because you thought you’d get used to him by now; used to the way you felt so full even when only his head had penetrated you; used to how your hole stung as more of Jim sheathed inside of you, slowly with a couple of thrusts aiding its insertion. 

“I know, I know…” He breathed with a rattle, the tightness in your cavity gripping pleasurably around him as he thrusted with only the first few inches in, absolutely riveting that he couldn’t help but let his desires dominant his methodical approach in letting you adjust to his large size and instead, making you to take it all at once with one long and deep push.

“J-Jim!” A scream abruptly left your throat and before you could let another slip out, his hand suddenly came up to cover your mouth, pressing his palm hard to your face and squeezing your cheeks. Your eyes shut, and your body writhed from how Jim’s cock roughly worked you opened. You felt uncomfortably full, beyond stretched to your limits as Jim was balls-deep inside of you now, but most importantly, you felt so wanted.

Bounded by the strong hold around you; his hand squeezing your cheeks in his palm to muffle your moans; his cock penetrating you deep and hard with fast and needy rhythms; his lips soft against your neck before they surprised with a painful suck to your jawbone; you were enraptured by Jim’s dominance over you, leaking from the tip of your cock in heavy drips while he fucked you from behind, the metal of his belt clacking with every precision of his thrusts.

“You’re so tight. Fuck. No one can take my dick like you.” Jim panted, embellishing your neck in hot breaths before climbing to kiss you on the lips again once you were prompted to turn your head. 

It was the small sounds from you that drove Jim nuts. They spilled into his mouth without restraint, an open-mouthed kiss again as he licked into you, suckled on your tongue, and let drool join your own slick mess at your chin. Tiny whimpers and occasional gasps when he hit your prostate fed his thirst for you, knowing that only he could drive you this mad; fumbling over your begs and surrendering because his cock was too good for you to think properly and find your words again.

“Harder. Harder.” You gulped, your demands muffled as Jim had his thumb in your mouth now. After, you went back to sucking his thick thumb off, tongue laving him in circular motions, as best as one could as Jim sped his pace and fucked you into oblivion. “Harder.” You gritted your teeth, hustling through the burn as the saliva had dried off his dick by now. You were beating your cock, pumping it with an ample amount of strength that rivaled Jim’s hips against you, motivated by the ticking countdown of your lunch break coming to an end soon.

It still stung. You barely had time to adjust to him before you were completely taking Jim’s cock as if you were a cheap flashlight he bought online, a piece of silicon that he’d break. Your hair bounced, sweat-dripping down your forehead while you felt his own sweat dripping of his forehead and staining your dress shirt. The back of your shirt felt damp, heat building up at your back-side as Jim had enclosed around you with an embrace that thawed any ounce of pain and replaced it with intoxicating pleasure. An onslaught of thrusts kept you writhing by your toes, then curling into the blanket that had bundled beneath your feet.

Harder. Your demands were immediately met after Jim pulled himself out completely, as if he was recharging his strength, lubed his erection with a spit to the palm, then shoved himself back into you with one strong thrust, sending your body into an arc that he’d immediately restrained back with a push to your abdomen, forcing you to take his cock in full stride. Your ass rippled like the rattle in your moans, flesh clapping loud whenever Jim met his groin to your skin, and you couldn’t get enough of it, the sounds glorious in your ear. Your hole clenched in vain as Jim always managed to power through and forced you open again, hollowing you out until your pucker shaped itself to the exact size of his thick cock.

He would marvel at the gape when he pulled himself out again, for his own sake as he was nearing his climax, and spread your cheeks open. “Just for me?”

“Just for you.” You used the small break to catch up on your breath, wetting your parched throat with multiple gulps as you turned over your shoulder to catch him staring, finding it futile as your throat felt brittle again.

He clicked his tongue multiple times, that habit again whenever he felt something, when the rim of your hole tensed up at the multiple spanks he’d given you, seemingly swallowing at nothing but air, until he breached himself back in, angling his hips perfectly to press at your prostate.

It was nearing—your climax. You rarely touched your cock, abandoning it because your arms tend to be locked behind Jim’s warm embrace around you, but it sprouted strong in between your legs, aided by the repeated violation against your prostate. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head multiple times, Jim’s large cock knocking the breath out of you with every snap of his hips, pounding into the swelling of your insides.

“Oh god, Jim—“

That spot again, he never missed once in hitting your prostate, a storm of delight torpedoing the pit of your stomach as Jim impaled into you like lightning. Jim muttered something under his breath, striking on your skin as he bit into your neck, then pressed hard against your hip bone.

“I’m gonna—“ Jim gripped at your hips harder, a slur of words near your ear making goosebumps raise all over your body, beneath the layer of sweat that had dampened your clothes. 

“Too, me too—“ You huffed, closing your eyes, but deftly finding Jim’s lips when you turned your head to kiss him one more time. An immediate tangle of tongues was enforced, your mouths mutually opening on impulse while he held your head comfortably to keep you from straining your neck. You moaned, reeled your tongue back from the slippery closure of his mouth, and cried out as your pucker clamped down on his large cock moving inside of you. Your hole throbbed around his girth with exquisite spurts that came from within, pulsated with the veins that had adorned Jim’s cock delectably, grasped him like a tight sleeve that refused to let him go. 

When you opened your eyes, you were blinded by the lights that had donned over you instead of casted shadows, a heavenly choir celebrating with holy bells when your balls tightened once before loosening when your cock erupted thick cumshots onto the boxes in front of you, painting the cardboard in thick layers of yourself, of your desires, with the help of Jim’s cock, pounding strong ropes of cum out of you until they’ve hit every box like target practice. 

“Fuck.” Jim let out a deep groan, pushing painfully into you, his hand reaching over to milk your cock until you were only spewing out the tiniest bits of cum left in your emptying sack. Your whimpering and the convulsion of your body, as he continued to milk your cock, triggered Jim to finally break within a couple more thrusts and a deep grunt, his cock exploding hot and thick in the confines of your ass, flooding your tender hole with his thick cum loads.

“Jim.” You whined, drawing out his name. His cum was dripping out of you, a few thick droplets rolling to the side of your ass as Jim’s thrusts were beginning to shallow, but never once pausing. “Fuck—“

“You feel so good like this.” Jim was creaming your insides, using your ass to ride out his orgasm and milk his hard cock inside of you, even when he was beginning to feel sore at the base of his balls. You whimpered quietly, knowing it was such a waste of cum dripping out of you like that, but also because you felt your cock hardening again despite just now recovering from Jim’s devious hold on you.

“We’re going to be late if you keep this up.” You should’ve known better. Any time you offered him a reason not to do something, Jim was motivated to do the opposite. 

His thrusts remained the same, shallow yet deep against you, and right when you thought you felt soaked in your ass, Jim pressed another low grunt to your lips, snapping once into you and rattling another moan out of you, before the convulsions bound his body to your backside once again, and let him spill another load inside of your creamy hole.

Jim shuddered, feeling drained and especially aching as his cock went limp and slipped out of you, the only connection between you and him being the sticky cum that had webbed his cock and your ass together as you involuntarily pushed his cum out of your tender hole in a daze.

“Think you can work the rest of the day like this?” The pleasure subsided into exhaustion, a wave of drowsiness hitting you and Jim like a truck despite the uncomfortable pool of cum sitting beneath you two. Jim kissed your shoulder, then pulled your briefs back up, your pants following after.

“No way.” You laughed, lightly punching at his shoulder after buckling your belt because now all you wanted to do was use what the shelf was actually purposed for: sleeping. “You owe me a hot bath later.”

“Tch, the things I do for you. You're ungateful.”

"You love me for it."

"I do."

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. andif you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

[ateezsboytoy]

I’m going crazy

[reputjara]

no lube, no protection, all night, all day, vertically, horizontally, missionary, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, doggy, backwards, sideways, upside down, on the floor, in the bed, on the couch, in a chair, outside, in a train, on a plane, in the car, in the shower, on the street🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

[ateezsboytoy]

I miss you, pathetic early seasons Jim Halpert 😞

[mingislildevil]

Please he’s so sweet 😭

[ateezsboytoy]

I’m going to cry now

[niretic]

Another day, another— ‘Why is my mouth not stuffed with San’s juicy melons dripping under the summer sun?’ ‘Why am I not devouring Mingi’s supple ass like a starved and desperate man?’ ‘Why is Jongho’s head not in my lap and my fingers in his hair?’ ‘Why am I not lovingly gazing at Seonghwa while he builds legos and yaps about his little interests in real time?’ ‘Why is Hongjoong not recruiting me into his cult of debauchery and hedonism?’ ‘Why am I not watching Wooyoung desperately bounce on my strap?’ ‘Why is Yeosang not my wife?’ ‘Why is Yunho not my other wife?’

[ateezsboytoy]

You get me

[minkieater]

first time with mingi ִ ִ ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ

smut minors dni | wc ~4k

after your third date with mingi, you were impatiently ready to take things further. you traded a fancy restaurant for your living room, roses for snacks, a bottle of red wine for a six pack of beer sitting on the second shelf of your fridge. mingi was cozier than he’d been, sweatpants and a hoodie hanging loose off his body, glasses on his beautiful bare face. you think you might prefer him this way— as sexy as he looked in a black button up and slacks…

you sat on your couch, drinks and snacks sprawled across your coffee table, a massive blanket covering both of your bodies. you were curled into his side, head lying just below his collarbone, legs sprawled across his lap. he had one arm across your legs, the other in your hair, fingers scratching at your scalp: it all felt so domestic. like mingi was meant to be here, with you, as if this wasn’t only your fourth date. 

mingi sat spread out— knees wide, back leaned into the cushions, head lazily placed atop yours. he felt so massive as you clung to him, it was dizzying, you never considered yourself inherently small, but next to him? with his six foot build, broad shoulders, thick thighs, hard chest— he felt so strong beneath you, you knew he could flip you around if he wanted to. the thought was too incriminating for the close proximity you were in. 

the last date had ended with you and mingi lazily making out on your doorstep where you almost invited him in, but you weren’t ready yet— you hadn’t mentally prepared yourself, so you sent him off with swollen, wet lips and pants tighter than they were when he walked you up. tonight was different— you told yourself tonight was the night, you prepared yourself, but sitting with your body wrapped around him made you consider that maybe you’d never be ready for him. 

he made it easier, though, the more his fingers played with your hair, the more you relaxed into him— although it didn’t stop the fidgeting. you don’t think you paid attention to the movie after the first five minutes— mind immediately dropping to the gutter once you felt him under you. 

“you comfortable?” he pulled you from your thoughts, his voice husky yet soft— he caught you and he didn’t even know it. 

you tilted your head up to look at him him as a meek yeah fell off your lips, you saw the moment of realization: when his eyes darkened, glossing over ever so slightly, lips parted barely a centimeter to take a quick inhale. he could see it all over you, you could see it all over him— the acceptance, the want, the need. 

you tilted your chin up first, catching his lips between yours. he groaned into it, hand in your hair tightening at your roots, tilting your head backward with the force he kissed you back with. you gasped into him, lips still moving in a steady rhythm, taking his bottom lip between your own and then his top one, right handing sliding across his clothed chest. 

he deepened the kiss, tongue slipping into your mouth, massaging yours— your head was elsewhere, within seconds your makeout turned hot and heavy, your skin was burning for him. he pushed you back onto the couch with slight questioning force and you answered with no pushback, letting your back hit the cushions freely, arms immediately shooting for his neck to pull him closer. 

he crawled on top of you and you hooked your legs around his hips, fingers tangling behind his neck, feeling the short brown hairs that stood at his nape. he kissed you harder, tongue messily entering your mouth without any shame— you whimpered as your legs tightened around him. 

“shit,” he groaned in response, his voice impossibly deeper as his hips bucked involuntarily, meeting your center which made you both let out high pitched, drawn out noises of pleasure. 

you breathed into each other’s mouths for a moment as you took a pause, the only other noise being the sound of your heartbeats as you both realized where this was headed. he sat up on his calves, running a hand through his hair, you begged your eyes to not drop to his groin, to ignore the clear tent in his sweats. 

“mingi?” you asked a question with just his name, voice small, quiet. he took a breath as if he needed to calm down— in case you didn’t want to take this further. “i want you,” it was almost moaning the way your voice relayed everything you felt, every ember of passion that he ignited the moment he pulled you on top of him. the loss of contact was brutal, you felt cold with the blanket long forgotten and mingi’s body heat so far away. 

it was as if you flipped a switch with how quickly he responded, yet he still asked the question as he crawled on top of you again, “are you sure?” 

“yes,” you said through a breath as your legs hooked around his hips and your fingers tangled in his hair, you needed him closer, his warmth and his weight. 

he groaned before his lips attached to your jaw, sloppy and wet as they trailed from your ear to your chin— back to your lips, then down the column of your throat. your center was throbbing for it— him, aching with a pulse only he could satisfy. your hips pressed into him as his hands traveled up your waist beneath your shirt, using his hips as leverage to grind yourself against him as he felt your skin. 

the noises that left his lips were lewd— husky breaths, deep groans, whimpers when you rolled your hips against him just right. a smile crept onto your face, everything about him, every move he made was so hot you thought you’d explode if you didn’t get more friction. 

“so beautiful, so soft,” he mumbled as he flipped your top above your chest, hands exploring your bare skin, thumbs flicking over your nipples beneath your bralette. 

“take it off,” your voice was long gone— you didn’t sound like yourself anymore— already. you arched your back and he used two fingers to unhook your bra, pulling it over your head with your top. 

nipples hardening under the cool air, he warmed them with his breath before his plump lips wrapped around your left one, thumb coming up to run over your right. you moaned, back arching into him, your lower half trapped beneath his build. his other arm traveled up your waist, just feeling, exploring, caressing— the stimulation was mouth watering, you had no filter, noises leaving your lips without thought. 

“perfect fuckin’ tits,” he announced without even looking at you, mouth moving to your other nipple, wet lips making a trail of spit between them. your head was buried into the cushion, hips begging to be set free, to move, to be touched. 

mingi could feel your desperation and he loved it, he let you squirm, let you beg for it— mingi loved to feel wanted, and your reactions told him you needed him. he was on cloud nine. 

“more,” you mumbled, more under your breath than out loud, and mingi was quick to obey. thumbs hooking into your waistband he pulled them down, lips following, hot wet kisses placed down your torso. 

you squirmed as the cool air hit more bare skin, antsy for more, for his lips, his hands, his fingers— anything he’d give you’d take greedily, then still ask for more. 

his lips hit your hips, teeth nibbling at the bone beneath your skin, making you suck in a harsh breath. he smiled as he got your pants off, hands traveling up your legs, rough palms against the soft flesh of your thighs. he peeled them open, met with dark lace and a smell so sweet he struggled to take his time. a kiss to your ankle, to your calf, just below your knee, he licked the underside of your thigh and your moans grew in pitch and volume. 

it was music to his ears as he pressed another just beside the lace, hands ghosting over your hips, he knew you were impatient but he wanted to savor every moment, every noise, every movement of your hips jutting towards his face. you whined as his thumb skimmed over your center, putting pressure on your clit, still over your panties. 

“don’t tease, please mingi, need you,” he had to ignore your pleas as much as it killed him to– he needed to take it slow, even if you were soaked through the thin lace already, you needed to finish once or twice before he’d even consider fucking you properly. 

“patience, baby,” he once again didn’t look up, too focused on hooking his thumb under the lace, pushing it to the side. his mouth watered as he got a proper look at you, core glistening under the dim light coming from the movie you stopped watching, for a moment he thought he’d start drooling if he didn’t dive into you immediately. 

he licked a fat stripe up the center of your folds and you moaned fully, back arching and head falling backward, the soft weight of his tongue was heavenly. mingi was intoxicated then, one taste of you and he was under a spell, falling deep below the surface of his own greed. he pushed your panties further aside as your legs spread wider, licking into you again, lips sucking on the bundle of nerves at the top. 

your hands flew to his hair, fingers tightening at his roots, keeping his head in place. your voice was high pitched, still breathy and gone as you moaned out, “yes, so fucking good, baby.” 

mingi melted at the praise, if he was motivated before there was no denying it now– his own head growing fuzzy as he ate. tongue licking stripes, dipping into your core, lips sucking around your clit: he felt like an animal. one finally eating after months of hibernation, his saliva mixed with your wetness covered his chin, listening as your moans quickened. 

the tightening in your core was quick– so quick you almost couldn’t believe it. his tongue flicked your clit and you tugged at his roots harder, chanting, “right there, don’t stop, oh fuck–”

he listened as your tone heightened at the end of your instruction, he knew you were close, he needed you over the edge. he kept his rhythm steady, flicking at your clit at a repetitive pace and your moans grew until they got caught in your throat, hips shaking– he had you. 

the pleasure in your abdomen was blinding as he pushed you to your high, it crashed over you in steady waves, your breathing had completely stopped somewhere in your long, dragged out orgasm. as you finally felt the aftershocks and your grip lessened on his hair your breath came back to you in deep heaves, every nerve ending in your body tingling, eyebrows knitted together and jaw slack without any sound. 

“you did so good for me baby,” he cooed, then licked his bottom lip, scooping the wetness off his chin with his index finger and bringing it between his lips. you should feel embarrassed at the lewd display but you couldn’t find it in you– that orgasm was one of the best you’ve ever had, you didn’t have the time to with how quickly he was on top of you again, pressing a kiss to your lips. 

“came hard, huh?” he teased, hands petting at your stomach then traveling up to your chest. 

“mm, yes,” you moaned at the touch, octaves deeper now, “want you inside me.” 

“let’s go to your room?” he pressed another kiss to your lips, palms rubbing along the side of your thighs. you nodded and he helped you up, quickly walking across the hardwood of your floor to your dimly lit bedroom. you mentally thanked yourself for leaving the lamp on your bedside table on. 

you laid down on your perfectly made bed, still stripped down to your panties where mingi was still fully clothed. the change of environment brought consciousness back to you, cheeks flushing at the realization– you laid propped up on your elbows, “mingi, you have too many clothes on.”

he chuckled as he kneeled onto the bed between your knees, hands immediately reaching up to pull his shirt over his head by the collar. your lips parted as he revealed his abdomen, breath escaping your lungs. you immediately sat up to touch, his skin was soft and warm, toned and hard and sexy. you pressed kisses along his stomach as he kneeled level with your head, your hands trailing up his thick thighs as his came down to play in your hair again. your plan was to take your time, it was your turn to taste him, but he pushed you onto your back– “need to see you cum again.”

“wanna make you cum,” you argued even if his words made your abdomen clench. 

he shook his head and then kissed your cheek, “next time, wanna make you feel good tonight.”

how could you argue with that?

he kissed down your jaw as both of his thumbs hooked under the straps of your panties, you lifted your hips so he could pull them all the way off. his hand quickly came to your center again, you gasped as he let a finger slip between your folds. still sensitive, you shuddered, hips backing off his touch. he followed them, finger pressing onto your clit, placing careful pressure before working it in a circle. you moaned, giving in, eyes softly closing– he pressed his lips to yours, soft and sweet and the opposite to what he was doing between your legs. 

he slipped a finger inside and you gasped, mingi took the opportunity to slip his tongue inside your mouth, missing the way your eyebrows furrowed in pleasure. he started pumping slowly, curling inside you until your lips stopped responding, too far gone in the feeling. 

“come on, can’t have you going dumb before you get the real thing,” he teases with a smile, you crack your lids open just to whine and his smile grows– “this is just one finger, what will you do when it’s my cock? hmm?”

the teasing was nothing but added pleasure, moans flew from your lips as he hit the spongy spot inside you, making your entire body twitch. he giggles before adding another finger, you think he’s enjoying this way too much– if he could hear your thoughts, he’d agree. he curls them again, his pressure growing firmer, his thrusts getting faster. you could feel it again, the pit of pleasure steadily growing, your body getting hotter. your moans picked up, the filter leaving you again, eyes falling shut and jaw going slack. 

“fuck,” you cried, “you’re– too fucking good at this,” you spoke between moans, hands flying to his bare, strong shoulders, gripping to hold you steady, keep you grounded. 

“give me another,” he encourages, “open up for me, baby.” 

you don’t know how much more open you could be– legs spread, bent knees pressed against his thighs, the strength of them effectively holding them open, restricting any movement. you could feel yourself clenching around him, but you couldn’t stop, the feeling of his thick fingers curling against you was too fucking good. the pressure grew heavier, pleasure pooling at the pit of your stomach, feeling as if soon you’d overflow. 

“come on,” his voice was strained now, mouth hovering over yours, his breath floating from his lips to your own. “cum again, then you can have all of me. wanna feel you so bad.” 

his words were enough to push you over, toppling beyond a ledge so high you began free falling, eyes screwed tight, breathless and brainless for even longer than the last time. you thought your body might begin steaming soon, with the heat of his own and the sheer pleasure he’s giving you– it was all too much. you were unabashedly moaning now, cries leaving your lips, the intimacy of having him so close to you was dizzying. your brain became mush a long time ago, the fog only worsening, blinding you as much as your orgasm did. 

“yes, there we go, good fuckin’ girl,” his praise was like a prayer, “cum all over me, wanna taste it.”

oh– he was just as far gone as you. you scrambled for his waistband like your orgasm was no obstacle, “need you,” you whimpered, giving him no time to think as you yanked his sweats over his hips. 

you needed to be closer, it wasn’t enough, you needed more. mingi didn’t argue nor hesitate, rolling his sweats off his ankles, “condom?”

you shook your head too fast for the responsible part of you to intervene. “got tested, just pull out.”

he tilted his head with an intake of air, “you trust me to pull out of this pussy?” 

“fuck it, i’ll take the pill,” you decided, and somehow even more adrenaline coursed through mingi’s veins. his smile was wide as he threw his sweats to the floor, and your eyes widened at your view. 

“holy shit,” you couldn’t hold it back, salivating at his length– rock solid, standing straight up against his stomach, pink and leaking and impatient, “i need you inside me now.”

firm fingers grabbed onto the flesh of your thighs, he leaned down to spit on your core, using his tongue to spread the wetness– not that you needed any extra help after two orgasms. “such a pretty fuckin’ pussy, could eat you every day.” 

your hands grabbed for his length, one gripping him at the base as you spit on the other, meeting to spread your spit along him, mixing with the precum that dripped down his tip. he whimpered as you touched him, a beautiful sound, one you wanted to hear with him buried in the back of your throat. another time. 

“take a deep breath for me,” he said as he lined himself up, your thighs laid atop his, body sprawled out beneath him. you obeyed, breathing down to the bottom of your lungs as he pushed in slowly, you both moaned at the same time, in the same way– relief. 

“you’re huge,” you say, eyes screwed shut as he inches himself in, you weren’t sure if it was a compliment or a complaint. 

“you can do it,” he responds with a cocky smile, “open up for me.”

again with that sentence, you supposed he meant relax for him. you beckoned your body to untense, starting from your fingers to your toes, your face to your hips, and he moaned in relief. “yes, just like that,” his voice was strained, eyes trained on your core as he sheathed himself at your base, the small tufts of hair at your base tangling as they met. 

“so good, so fuckin’ tight, baby,” he let his head droop between his shoulders, forehead just a millimeter from yours, your hands reached up to cup his cheeks. 

you whispered into his lips as you tilted his head up, “move.” you attached your lips to his as he pulled out and quickly realized that was a mistake, lips parting but unresponsive as he began rocking into you, filling you with every thick inch of him. 

stressed moans poured into his mouth from yours, the pleasure was tantalizing– he filled you up perfectly, cock curved upward to hit that spot inside of you with every stroke– you immediately knew you wouldn’t last long. the pleasure from your two orgasms were nothing compared to what he felt like inside you: full and dripping, the noises that came from your meeting were embarrassingly wet. squelching, you couldn’t bother to blame the heat in your body on embarrassment– it was him, his body heat, the sweat forming on your forehead from the force of him as a whole. 

you could get used to this. earth-shattering, it was, feeling yourself mold to his size, as if you were built to take him. your body rocked from the force, chest bouncing from his thrusts that grew harsher, moaning and whining and crying into his groaning lips. 

“pussy so good,” he moaned, voice heavy and husky as your thoughts aligned, “it’s like you were made for me.”

“i was,” you respond with the strength of nothing but sheer will, “all yours, mingi.” 

“fuck,” he groaned with a particularly harsh thrust, “say that again.” 

“i’m yours,” you moaned, nails digging into his shoulders, “all fuckin’ yours.”

“‘m not gonna last,” he said, voice breathy as if he was holding back. he took a hand between your legs, two fingers working circles into your clit, “need you to cum for me.” 

you arched your back into him, hips meeting his thrusts, the pressure beginning to build almost immediately. your brain was somewhere else, words blending together, “wan’ you to fill me up, mingi. make me yours.” 

he whimpered, high pitched and unashamed, “gonna fill you up so good, baby. fill you up with my cum.” 

you moaned into the shell of his ear as the pressure blew, rocking into you harder than his thrusts, your joints locking up and nails no doubt clawing shells into his shoulder. your moan was nearly a cry as you came around his length, clenching, squeezing him with everything you had– he followed right after, hips losing their rhythm, releasing small gasps as his hips came to a still, releasing into you. 

you could feel the warmth as he unloaded, feeling fuller than you’ve ever been in your life. he fell onto his elbows above you, hips still flesh against yours, stomach heaving into your own, breathing into the space where your neck meets your shoulder. he took a moment before he pulled out carefully, rolling onto his side. 

“you okay?” he asked, a hand searching for you, finding relief on top of your stomach. 

you took a second to answer, dazed, eyes already fluttered shut. it was nothing more than a weak mhm that fell from your lips, and he responded with an innocent giggle. you could see him without opening your eyes, you knew he laid there with a lopsided grin and a moving chest, his eyes shaped like crescents. it brought a smile to your own face with an even weaker chuckle leaving your lips. 

“let’s get you cleaned up, lover–” he placed a kiss on your cheek, but your eyes didn’t open– “shower or bath? … do you have a bathtub?” 

a real laugh fell from your lips, it took every ounce of energy you had left. when you felt the slight trickle of him leaking out of you it shocked reality back into your senses, your eyes shot open. “oh shit– bath, carry me there?” 

you were right: lopsided grin, heaving chest and crescent shaped eyes laid beside you, but he was quick to move, scooping you up bridal style, walking you to your bathroom. you sat on the toilet while he filled the tub, but he joined you in the hot water, a strong wall behind you as the water soothed the post-sex ache. 

he kissed the top of your head from behind you– “i think this might be a bad time to ask, but we’re exclusive now, right?” 

you smiled as your head fell to his shoulder, “yeah, baby, ‘m all yours.”

[ateezsboytoy]

EHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE

[mingislildevil]

INSANITY

[ateezsboytoy]

Why is this video 9000 hours long?

[vampzity]

can I request yunho cock warming while playing video games

why ofc anon!! ty for this lovely request hehe ^^

—

don’t hate the player | J.YH

pairing: bf! yunho x f! reader

desperate to spend time with your boyfriend, he ask for you to sit in his lap as he plays his video games. perhaps he’ll give that to you, that and some more.

[warnings]: MDNI 18+!!, smut, cock warming, unprotected sex, praising, degrading, hair pulling, breast fondling, clit play, pet names (princess, baby, bunny, slut), anything else i missed … ?

word count: 1.7k

“Baby c’mere.”

You looked up from the bed, noticing the familiar warmth in Yunho’s eyes as he called out to you. His hand tapped his lap softly and he gave you a soft smile.

You got up, walking over to him as he quickly put his game on pause and moved out from the desk to give you some room. He looked up at you, his hand coming up to caress your jawline carefully.

“Wanna sit?”

You nodded your head happily, about to climb into his lap when he stopped you. He looked down at your legs, his hands coming up to tug at the strap of your sweat pants. He looked back up at you, a smug smile appearing across his face as he adjusted himself in the chair. You watched as he pulled his cock out from his sweatpants, it slightly hardening as he stroked it softly.

You stood there, your face heating up as you eyed his leaking cock. He snapped his fingers in your face, catching your attention before his fingers pointed to your pants once again.

“You can’t sit on me like that princess.” he pulled you close to him, lifting up your shirt slightly to kiss your waist. “Take em off for me.”

You felt his lips press against your stomach, inching down to the band of your sweats. He looked back up at you, a soft smug showing on his face.

“Please?”

You nodded, dragging your pants down your legs as your underwear followed. Yunho watched intently, his hand coming up to caress your thighs softly. He slipped his fingers between your legs, feeling the slight bit of your arousal coat them. His ran circles around your clit, watching as your knees buckled from his touch.

He met your helpless eyes, his thumb now swirling around your bud slowly. You whimpered quietly as you felt his lanky fingers play with you, only making you feel more desperate by the second.

Yunho moved his fingers, his hand grabbing onto your thigh and pulling it toward him. He pulled your thigh over his leg, your cunt just hovering over his cock.

“Take your time baby, I know I got some length.”

You held onto his shoulders, one of your hands holding his dick in place as you lowered yourself onto him. He entered you slowly, feeling your walls clench around him as you adjusted yourself onto him. Yunho groaned out in relief, feeling his cock twitch.

“Fuck, fuck. So big.”

You began to grind in his lap, throwing your head back as his tip brushed against your cervix. Yunho titled his head at you, grabbing his controller from the desk. he wrapped his arms around you, bear hugging you in place to stop your riding.

You whined out in mercy, watching as he ignored you to continue playing his game.

“I asked you to come sit.” he rolled his eyes at you, his fingers smashing at the controller as he tried to maintain focus.

“Not ride me like a slut.”

He continued to play the game, leaving you to sit and wallow in desperation as his cock poked and prodded inside of you. In which he wasn’t paying much attention to. Yunho would jump, yell, angrily pound his fingers into the controller all while his movement dancing around inside of you.

You squirmed, you whined, you did everything possible to get him to pay attention to you— to let you ride him into the sunset. Just for him to ignore you completely.

“Please Yunho, feels so good.”

He scoffed at you, his eyes glued to the screen as you sat there in agony.

“No. If you ask me again, I’m making you get off of me.”

You rested your head on his chest, whining in defeat as his cock twitched inside of you. He placed his chin on your head, his hand rubbing your back softly. Your hands squeezed the fabric of his shirt, squirming slightly against his cock. Yunho let out a soft breath, trying to contain himself from pounding into you.

“You really want it that bad bunny?”

You nodded, keeping yourself nuzzled in his arms. He pulled you out of his grasp, his hand moving your face to meet his gaze. Your face was completely red, embarrassed from how you could do nothing but sit there and accept what he was doing to you.

A small smile crept on Yunho’s face as he kissed your forehead softly. He placed the controller on the desk and pulled his headset off, letting a small groan escape him as he adjusted himself in his chair.

His thumb caressed your cheek softly before he leaned down to your level. His lips brushed by your ear as his hand snaked to your waist.

“And if I give you what you want, will you behave then?”

You agreed quickly, biting your lip. Yunho sighed, a soft chuckle leaving him as he tilted your chin upward to meet his gaze once again. He leaned in for a soft kiss, sucking at your lip as his other hand held into your waist firmly.

“Well I’m all yours princess. Let’s make this quick, yeah?”

He moved your hips against him, your body tensing at the sudden feeling of his tip grazing you. You moaned into his mouth as he kissed you, feeling your walls close in around him when his hand moved upward. He groped your tits, fondling them in his large hands as his thumb flicked your nipple.

Breaking the kiss, you threw your head back, quickening your pace just slightly as he curved inside of you.

“You like that baby?” His gaze was fixated onto you, watching as your eyes were squeezed shut from the pleasure.

“Mm, so good.”

Your hands rested on his shoulders as you attempted to ride him quicker. His hand squeezed your nipple, earning a small whimper from you as you succumbed to the pleasurable pain. Yunho watched as you did all the work, multiple pants escaping you as he groaned to your rhythm.

“Fuck, baby. Keep going like that.” Yunho had both hands on your waist, mouth agape.

“Keep fucking me like the needy slut that you are.”

He watched as you used all your strength to bounce on his cock, his angry tip knocking at your cervix with every moment. Your wet folds coated his length, only making it easier for him to slide in and out of you. You clenched around him, your sweet moans mixing with the sound of your arousal.

Yunho held you down, stopping you just for a moment. He rolled his chair away from the desk and to the body mirror— which only he could fully see as your back was faced toward it. He smirked playfully as he admired your figure in the mirror, seeing at how you were too embarrassed to even catch a glimpse yourself.

“What? You don’t wanna see how dirty you get for me princess?”

His hands cupped your ass, pushing them up and down to signal for you to continue. Taking the hint, you rode him again, giving him a front row seat to his cock moving inside of you.

He watched your folds pulsate around his girth, only edging him further as he was already trying his best not to cum inside of you so quickly. He spread your ass slightly, getting a better view of the arousal seeping from your aching hole.

“What a pretty sight.”

You burrowed your head into Yunho’s neck, your whimpers turning into deep moans as you felt yourself getting closer to the edge. He moved his hips slightly, abusing you with his harsh thrusts.

“I’m gonna wear out this pretty pussy of yours.” He grabbed onto your chin, pulling your face to meet his lusting brown eyes.

He thrusted his cock into you, keeping your hole spread as a small white ring formed around his length. He watched as you closed your eyes, your mouth dropping as breathless whimpers escaped.

“And when I’m done?”

He flicked your nipple, feeling your cunt clench around his length as your movements grew faster. His free hand cupped your cheek, pushing your body up and down on top of him.

“Gonna cum Yunho..”

Yunho admired your state, his fingers squeezing at your sensitive bud as his cock rammed into you. He kissed your forehead softly, wiping the small amount of sweat that accumulated on your head.

“Is that so bunny?” you nodded your head, pleading to get off as he stretched you out. “Must you always be so needy?”

Yunho pulled you off of him, getting up slowly as your pleasing whines filled his ear. He flipped you over, making you face his PC while his tall body hovered over you. He arms wrapped around your waist and rested his chin on your shoulder, his breath hitting the side of your neck.

“You gonna keep whining or let me help you?”

Your breath hitched at his words, making you turn your face away in embarrassment. He kissed your cheek softly, sticking his cock back into you without a warning. You held onto the desk as you felt him ramming into you, showing no mercy.

His arm stayed wrapped around you, his other hand running up your back. He grabbed onto your hair, pulling your head back softly.

“Feel so good princess.” he angled himself in you, his tip hitting your sweet spot just perfectly. “Wanna cum in this little pussy.”

You moaned out in pleasure, your hands gripping the desk as you struggled to keep yourself upright.

“Maybe next time you’ll learn not to rush me, yeah?”

Yunho fucked you relentlessly, abusing your poor cunt with every thrust that he dealt. His cock leaked into your hole, desperate to release and fill you up.

“Fuck, I hate to hurt you like this baby.”

He left go of your hair, his hands holding onto your waist as his thrust grew harsher. He threw his head back, groaning furiously with every slam into you.

“But you take me in so well.” He moved your waist against his own, a mixture of your shared moans and skins smacking echoing throughout the room.

Within seconds, he poured his hot load into you, fucking himseld through his arousal as your own mixed with his. His thrusts slowed and he sat back in the chair, holding you ontop of him as he rested his head against your back. He placed his ear against your back, hearing your fast heartbeat.

“You gonna sit here and behave now?”

You nodded out of breath, trying to regain consciousness in your legs. He laughed to himself, running his hands along your thighs gently.

“Good. I wouldn’t like to ask you to again.”

a/n: jellooo everyone! anyone who was in my previous taglist for the valentines event, i moved to my official taglist! if you’d like to be removed just lmk! :3

taglist: @dvrktvnnel @scarfac3 @h4untedgrl @dollywoo @rvereri @joonezra @jjongibears @kittykat-25 @yyaurii @hwasddeongbyeoli @losrpark @motherseonghwa23 @inniesfanblog @stephanieeeyang @galaxy4489 @bangchanswh0re @fangirljas929 @desirehorizon @channiesluvrclub @katsukis1wife @unbel1eve4ble @sojuxxi @bbykaixx @felixleftchickennugget @gncbnahc @jwnghyuns @kjr-army @atiny1 @nopension @shinebyeoli

★ comment to be added to the taglist or fill out the form here!

[ateezsboytoy]

This is perfectly how I imagined this 😁😁😁

[sugawhaaa]

tell me why i had the most vivid, scrumptious, and wet dream about hongjoong the other night AND I CANT STOP THINKING ABOUT IT like bro called me in my dream and did the whole "keep talking thing" AND THEN PHONE SEX?? GAWDD when i tell you i was foaming at the mouth when i woke up- my dreams have been so vivid and wild bcs of the meds ive been taking but like IM ENJOYING THIS 😩😩

HONGJOONG ONE-SHOT

Say my name

Warnings//genre:: SMUT, phone sex, masturbation, sex toys, dirty talk, degradation (?)

Pairing:: neutral!hongjoong x neutral!fem!reader

A/N:: istg I love wet dreams 😭 that may sound kind of weird but life would be so boring without them 💔 also sometimes when I take my meds too close to when I go to bed I get wet dreams too so yk every now and then I just "forget" to take them and take them later in the night ^^

Atz masterlist::☎️

Hongjoong was away on tour and throughout the day he had been spamming you with photos, videos, and texts about his experiences in Europe right now. The concerts were going well and he loved to know that you were watching them from afar as well. It was just after dinner and you were doing some laundry when you got a call from Hongjoong. You set the towels you were folding and pick up the phone.

"Hey babe what's up?" You smile as you speak into your phone.

"Just missing you," you can hear the giddy smile in his voice.

"What else is new?" You chuckle and he laughs before sighing. "So what did you do today? I watched the concert, you did such a good job," you lay down on your bed, crossing your legs over the sheets as you continue doing laundry.

"You think so?" He said excitedly. Though Hongjoong wouldn't admit it he loves little praise like that. Things like "You did a good job" or "You're doing really well".

"But hongjoong what are you doing up at this hour? It's nearly midnight for you," your concern was etched into the way you spoke and you hear Hongjoong let out a raspy sigh. Then you hear him shifting in his blankets, grunting softly as he gets himself comfortable.

"Well, I just couldn't get my mind off you baby," he cooes and you can practically see the smirk on his face. "I needed to hear your voice," he whines slightly as he speaks and you chuckle softly.

"Is that so?" You think of a way to carry out Hongjoong's desire.

"Keep talking babygirl, anything. Tell me about your day, what's on your mind, or how much you miss me~" His voice is rough and tired after all the excitement he's been through today. Little did you know he had something up his sleeve with this request. As you tell him about your day he takes off his pants, without you knowing of course.

When he was up thinking about you earlier in truth he was fantasizing about you and was now in a situation. He was so hard and just needed to get off to you specifically. Not just a photo or the thought of you, he needs you to be there as he cums. He secretly touches himself as you talk so innocently, unaware of his inappropriate behavior. Hongjoong gnaws on his lip as his hand coils around his cock, gliding up and down. However, since Hongjoong had gone quiet when you were talking you stopped your rant.

"Hongjoong? You still there?" You ask into the speaker and Hongjoong gasps softly.

"Yeah, I just..." he sighs, his voice deep and raspy. "I miss you, baby, I wish I could be with you right now," Hongjoong replies before biting his lip hard, trying to silence himself.

"I know Hongjoong," you smile, still oblivious to his ministrations. He has to hold back a moan when you say his name.

"Say my name...again please," he's hardly even trying to hide the fact he's fisting himself anymore, he's too tired and desperate.

"H-Hongjoong? What are you doing right now?" You say into the phone and Hongjoong lets out a hot gasp.

"I couldn't help myself..." he whines before increasing the pace of his hand. "The way you talk on the phone is just so sexy and I-I miss you so much," he groans. "Please keep talking to me baby, make me cum," Hongjoong's desperation becomes audible as he jerks off so fast his hand is basically a blur. He moans into the phone, loud and clear for you to hear. Honestly you weren't too sure what to say to him but he sounded so desperate to hear you, you needed to say something.

"Turn your camera on," you say calmly into the phone and his hands pause. He brings his phone down and turns on his camera. "I want to watch you cum," you say as you hold the phone close to your face. He sets up a pillow in front of him before placing his phone on it so you can see his twitching cock standing up in front of the camera. Precum coats his cock, shining in the dim hotel room light. You find your mouth watering at just the sight of him.

"I'm so disgusting," he throws his head back, gently jerking himself off. "I've been hard all night thinking about how bad I wanna fuck you," his back arches as he fists himself at the same speed as earlier.

"You're so dirty," you smirk and he moans at your words.

"Yes..." His brows furrow as his hips buck up. "Fuck I'm gonna cum! Keep talking, please, keep talking dirty," his words are slurred and unclear but you get the memo.

"C'mon, cum for me baby," you encourage and you watch the snap in his body before he starts trembling, cum spurting out onto the sheets before hitting the camera.

"Shit," he groans, his head still reeling with lust as he reaches for his phone. You watch as the camera faces the ceiling, coated in his cum. You feel your body physically respond to such a visual and your craving for him is only increased.

After some rustling from the speaker, you see Hongjoong wipe off his phone with a tissue.

"Wish that load was inside me, looked good," you tease and Hongjoong laughs. Little does he know you are undressing yourself to join in with his fun.

"You're telling me, I miss you so much," he whines before seeing you turn your camera on, legs spread as you shyly bite your lip. "Fuck baby," he runs a hand over his face and through his frizzy blonde hair. Without warning you begin to touch yourself before using toys, and Hongjoong watches you with rapt attention. His eyes are glued to the screen like that of a moth. "You're so beautiful," he comments, a small grin forming on his lips as he brings his hand back down to his throbbing core.

As the two of you pleasure yourselves in sync you both mumble words of desperation, wishing you could be with one another. "C-Can you say my name again?" Hongjoong pleads softly between whimpers. You do as he asks, repeating his name over and over as you inch closer to your peak.

"Ah, please Hongjoong," you moan out into the empty room. "Can I cum?" You say as you toss your head back and Hongjoong's eyes light up, jerking himself off faster.

"Mmm, not yet baby," he replies, clearly pleased that you needed his permission to cum. You whine in response yet you still obey him. You spend a good amount of time edging yourself and teetering over the edge before hongjoong finally gives you the go ahead and you cum simultaneously.

Though it wasn't in person it wasn't any less satisfying. Hearing him moan, his head thrown back, eyes fluttered shut and his lips widely parted. It was such a beautiful sight, seeing him so lost in pleasure that he couldn't even control the way his body twitched and quivered slightly. "Fuck, that was intense," he chuckles as he lays back on his bed. "How are you baby?" He asks, slightly out of breath.

"Above the clouds," you smile, falling back against your bed as well.

"We should do this more often," he smirks with a little chuckle. "Still not as good as being there with you," he sighs before an awkward silence falls upon the two of you. "Can we stay on call while we sleep?"

[ateezsboytoy]

Oh my lord

[suunani]

pretty when u cry ( song mingi )

▍ a completely stupid argument, and now mingi is crying for your attention.

content : 1.1k words, male reader, boyfriend! mingi, desperate! mingi, angst & fluff (?), mingi whine…, really suggestive at the end lol, mingi calls reader 'baby', requested here!

it was supposed to be a nice, chill night.

you and mingi were curled up on the couch, watching some random show, when the dumbest argument of your entire relationship broke out. it started with you casually mentioning how good pineapple tasted on pizza.

mingi had gone rigid.

“you like pineapple on pizza?” he had asked, turning to you so fast it was like you’d just confessed to murder.

“…yeah?”

silence. then, pure disgust settled over his face.

“you’re serious?”

you frowned. “what’s wrong with that?”

“what’s right with that?” mingi countered. “that’s, like, the worst topping ever. it’s soggy. it’s wrong.”

you scoffed. “it’s sweet and salty. it’s delicious.”

“it’s an abomination.”

“mingi, it’s not that serious—”

“it is that serious,” he pointed at you, eyes narrowing. “i don’t know if i can look at you the same way after this.”

and that? that was where he fucked up.

because now, you were annoyed.

he had been dramatic over stupid things before, but this was next-level. you had half a mind to kick him off the couch, but instead, you decided on something worse.

you ignored him. full-on silent treatment.

and mingi was not handling it well.

for the past twenty minutes, he had been trying everything to get your attention.

he had tried whining. he had tried cuddling into your side. he had even pouted — full lips jutted out, eyes wide and pleading — but you refused to acknowledge him.

at first, he had just been playfully frustrated.

but now? now, he was genuinely suffering.

“baby,” he whined, dramatically draping himself across your lap. “please, just look at me.”

you didn’t move.

he groaned, shoving his face into your stomach. “you’re really mad over this?”

more silence.

mingi sighed and pulled back, staring at you. you were still facing the tv, arms crossed, expression blank.

he swallowed. “you’re really not gonna talk to me?”

nothing.

mingi inhaled sharply. “okay.”

then, to your absolute shock, you heard a small, shaky sniffle. your brows twitched. another sniffle.

you glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, and—

oh.

oh, shit.

his eyes were glossy, his bottom lip trembling. his lashes fluttered rapidly, trying to hold back the tears that were already beginning to spill.

he sniffled again, then rubbed at his face with his sleeve.

“i just… i don’t know what i did wrong,” he muttered, voice cracking slightly.

you blinked. “mingi…”

his head snapped up, eyes wide, hopeful. “you’re talking to me again?”

you frowned. “are you crying?”

he sniffled. “i am not.”

you stared at him.

he sniffled again, rubbing at his eye with his sleeve.

“i just… i hate when you ignore me.”

your chest tightened.

but then, you noticed something else.

his lips were slightly swollen, from either biting them or pressing them together to hold back sobs. his nose was red-tipped, his expression soft, vulnerable, desperate. his wet lashes glistened under the dim lighting of the room, making his eyes look even bigger.

he looked stupidly pretty.

mingi sniffled, staring at you, waiting.

you exhaled, reaching up to wipe a stray tear from his cheek with your thumb. he shivered slightly at the touch.

“you really cried over this?” you murmured.

mingi sniffled again, then nuzzled into your palm, blinking up at you like an abandoned puppy.

“i don’t like when you ignore me,” he admitted quietly.

his voice was soft, raspy, broken.

something in you snapped.

before you could think twice, you grabbed his chin and tilted his face up further. his breath caught as you ran your thumb over his lip, feeling the warmth, the slight dampness from his tears.

mingi’s lashes fluttered. “baby…”

your grip tightened.

“you look really pretty when you cry,” you muttered.

mingi froze.

a visible shudder ran through his body. his breath shuddered, eyes flickering between yours and your lips.

then—

“do you like it?” he whispered.

your fingers flexed against his jaw. “like what?”

mingi swallowed thickly. “when i cry.”

your pulse quickened.

he inhaled, shaking slightly as he leaned in. “because i’ll do it more if it means you’ll touch me like this again.”

fuck.

you clenched your jaw, gripping his face tighter, thumb pressing against his lower lip.

“you’re really pushing it,” you muttered.

mingi exhaled shakily, leaning into your touch. his hands found your waist, fingers pressing in just enough to make your skin tingle.

“is that a bad thing?” he murmured.

you didn’t answer. instead, you moved.

in one swift motion, you grabbed the back of his neck and yanked him forward, crashing your lips against his.

mingi moaned.

it was soft, breathy, but fuck, it was there.

his hands tightened around your waist, pulling you onto his lap. his lips were warm, needy, moving feverishly against yours as if he was trying to make up for the time you had spent ignoring him.

your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging slightly — he whimpered. something dark, hungry, settled in your stomach.

you deepened the kiss, pushing him further back against the couch. mingi let out a small gasp as your tongue slid past his lips, his grip on your hips tightening.

“fuck,” he whispered against your mouth. “you—”

you cut him off by biting his bottom lip.

mingi whined.

you smirked. “what was that?”

his breath shuddered. “you’re—”

another kiss. this one harder.

mingi’s head hit the armrest, his body pliant beneath yours. his chest rose and fell rapidly, his fingers trembling against your skin.

you pulled back slightly, just enough to see his face — his flushed cheeks, his swollen lips, his half-lidded, desperate eyes.

he looked wrecked.

and you weren’t even close to done.

“you’re not crying anymore,” you teased, voice low.

mingi swallowed, lips parting slightly. “maybe you should keep ignoring me, then.”

you huffed a quiet laugh. “you’re such a fucking brat.”

he smirked. “but you love it, right?”

you pressed your knee between his thighs.

mingi gasped.

his eyes flew open, cheeks burning. “oh, fuck—”

you leaned down, lips brushing against his ear.

“if you keep acting like this,” you murmured, “i might have to make you cry again.”

mingi shuddered.

“fuck,” he whispered, voice breathy. “please.”

his grip on your waist tightened.

and just like that, your forgotten argument about pineapple on pizza?

didn’t seem so important anymore.

[ateezsboytoy]

Woah.