Hi!! welcome to my page <3 I haven’t written in a long time so please bear with me 🐻 I only write Ateez (sorry) but if anyone has any requests let me know!! MDNI!! everything here will be 18+!! 24
summary: in which your boyfriend’s best friend wakes up and watches
warning: possessive dom yunho, sub mingi, sub reader, unprotected sex, oral, squirting, masturbation, overstimulation, choking, multiple orgasms, voyeurism, creampie
genre: smut
pairing: idol yunho x afab reader x idol mingi
word count: 4.4k
masterlist
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The hotel room was dim, lit only by the faint amber glow of the city lights bleeding in through the curtains. The hum of traffic far below was a low lull, and Mingi had been out cold for nearly an hour, one arm flung over his head, mouth parted slightly in deep sleep.
You were lying on your side, facing Yunho, your knees barely brushing beneath the sheets. You felt his fingers first, light at your waist, then his breath, warm, sweet with sleep as he leaned in close. “Baby,” he whispered, his voice thick and low, heavy with need, “you’re killing me.”
You whispered back, amused, “He’s right there.” Yunho glanced over your shoulder. Mingi was a statue. If statues snored. “It’s just Mingi,” he said, fingers sliding beneath your shirt, his touch feather light. “Even if he did wake up… he’d probably just turn over and go back to sleep.”
“Or watch,” you muttered under your breath, teasing, joking, half testing him which made Yunho’s dark eyes flick up to yours, slow and heated. “Would that bother you?” he murmured, pressing closer, his hand slipping lower now, to your hip. “If he did?” Your breath caught. “You’d be so quiet for me, wouldn’t you?” he said, voice lower now, lips brushing your ear. “So good.” His fingers moved again, slipping between your thighs now, barely touching, just enough to make your whole body ache as his fingers trailed slow and deliberate down the curve of your hip, barely brushing beneath the waistband of your shorts.
“Turn over,” he murmured, voice husky against your temple. You blinked, breath stalling. “What?” He nuzzled closer, lips skimming your cheek, your jaw. “On your stomach,” he whispered. “It’ll be quieter.” You swallowed hard, eyes flicking toward Mingi’s sleeping form. He hadn’t moved an inch, blanket tangled at his waist, mouth slightly open. Dead to the world. Still… “Yunho…” His hand slid lower, palm heavy as it squeezed your ass beneath the sheets. “You’ll keep your face in the pillow, and I won’t let the bed move.” His voice dipped even deeper, dark and slow like honey. “I’ll fuck you slow, baby. You just have to be good for me.”
You hated how fast your body responded, heat pooling between your legs, your breath already shaky. “But….”
“Do you trust me?”
Your heart thudded as you nodded.
“Then turn over.”
The sheets rustled softly as you rolled onto your stomach, cheek pressed into the cool pillowcase. Your pulse fluttered as Yunho eased the covers down your body, his hand dragging them slowly off your back and your hips. He bent low, lips pressing to your spine. “So quiet for me,” he murmured, kissing a trail down your back. “So good…” his hand slid back up your spine, this time bunching the oversized shirt you wore, his shirt, higher and higher until it was caught just beneath your breasts so he could lean over you, pressing a kiss between your shoulder blades, the weight of his body sinking deliciously against yours.
You felt him shift behind you, the unmistakable brush of him thick and hard, pressing between your thighs as he lined himself up. “I missed this,” he breathed, dragging the tip of his dick through your folds once… twice… before he pushed forward, slow, achingly slow and you gasped because you couldn’t help it as he filled you, the stretch so deep and perfect that your mouth parted in a soft, helpless moan.
Yunho froze for a second, buried inside you to the hilt before he chuckled low under his breath, his lips at your ear. “Baby…” he murmured, amusement laced with warning. “You trying to wake him up?” You whimpered into the pillow, biting your lip as he pulled out just enough to make you ache, then slid back in slow, grinding his hips against you with a low exhale. “I said quiet,” he whispered, his hand slipping beneath your shirt to palm your breast, fingers teasing your nipple until you were trembling. “You can do that for me, can’t you?”
You nodded into the pillow, your hands clutching the sheets as he started to move again, deep, slow thrusts that lit fire across every nerve. “You feel too good not to be loud,” he teased, his voice smug now, hips rolling smoother, harder. “But you don’t want Mingi to know how good I’m fucking you, do you?” Another quiet moan slipped out and Yunho grinned. “Thought so.”
You whimpered as he buried himself deeper. Every slow thrust had your body trembling beneath him, your legs spread just wide enough under the sheets to let him move the way he wanted, deliberate, controlled and deep. His hand remained curled under your shirt, cupping your breast, fingers rolling your nipple until your hips jerked back into him like muscle memory and another moan slipped from your lips, soft, breathy and desperate. And then Yunho’s hand moved. Smooth and sudden, he slid it from your breast up to your mouth, covering it gently but firmly.
“Shhh,” he murmured, lips brushing your ear, voice a slow whisper of smoke. “I told you to be quiet.” Your eyes fluttered shut. The weight of his body behind you, the heat of his hand over your mouth, the slow press of his dick filling you again and again, it was too much, too good, too risky. And across the room, Mingi shifted in the other bed making Yunho go still immediately, still buried inside you, hand frozen over your mouth. The only sound was the hum of the AC and the thunder in your ears.
Then… nothing. Mingi just turned over, muttered something incoherent in his sleep, and settled back into steady, oblivious breathing as Yunho leaned down, his chest against your back now, voice low and sinful. “Told you,” he whispered, lips curving into a smirk against your skin. “Even if he did wake up, he’d just go back to sleep.” But he didn’t pull his hand away. If anything, he pressed it firmer against your mouth, his other hand gripping your hip as he began to move again, slower, deeper thrusts that dragged along every inch of you.
He fucked you like he had all night, like his best friend wasn’t sleeping just a few feet away. Every time you gasped, he gave you a warning squeeze. Every time your body tightened around him, he whispered praise against your neck. “You’re so good for me,” he murmured, his pace never faltering. “So quiet, even when I know you wanna scream.”
Yunho’s thrusts stayed slow, but they’d grown heavier, more intentional. His hand stayed wrapped over your mouth, palm damp with the soundless moans you kept trying not to let out. The other was anchored at your hip now, keeping you in place, guiding every roll of his hips into yours with precision. He was breathing harder now, quiet exhales brushing your shoulder as he bent over you, his chest pressing to your back, his dick dragging deep with each measured thrust. And you didn’t hear it. You didn’t see it. But Yunho did.
A shift across the room. A faint creak of mattress springs. A sudden absence of snoring. Yunho glanced up from the curve of your spine, eyes lifting just over your shoulder toward the other bed and froze. Mingi. Eyes half lidded, face barely visible in the shadows. Awake and watching. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stared across the dark room, one hand resting under the covers, the other loosely curled by his face. His expression was unreadable, half asleep or maybe just mesmerized, but he made no effort to look away.
And Yunho held the stare. His lips curled into the faintest smirk as he gave one slow, deliberate thrust, his hips grinding into you just enough to make your eyes roll back, a soft whimper muffled against his hand. You didn’t notice the shift. Didn’t notice the way Yunho’s attention was split now, half on you, half on his best friend watching silently from the dark as he bent lower again, lips brushing your ear. “You’re doing so good,” he whispered, voice silk and fire. “Being so quiet for me.”
And then, eyes still locked on Mingi’s, he thrust again, deeper this time and Mingi’s fingers twitched beneath the sheet making Yunho’s grin deepen. But you? You were too far gone, blissfully unaware, face buried in the pillow, body arching back into every punishingly slow stroke as Yunho licked his lips, gaze never breaking because he knew exactly what he was doing. He didn’t look away. Not when Mingi’s eyes stayed on him. Not when the blanket over Mingi shifted just slightly, just enough to catch the movement of his hand sliding lower beneath the sheets.
He watched. Controlled. Kept his rhythm steady. All while you writhed beneath him, unaware that your entire body had become a private performance. For him. And now for Mingi as well. You whimpered again, eyes squeezed shut, back arching helplessly against the slow, possessive drag of Yunho’s dick inside you. His hand was still over your mouth, his other gripping your hip so tight it would bruise by morning. His breath hitched once as he watched the outline of Mingi’s hand begin to move, slow and steady, under the blanket.
Yunho’s lips brushed your ear again, voice low, but there was something else behind it now. A sharpness. “You’re taking me so well, baby,” he whispered, just loud enough for both of you to hear. “So wet for me… always so ready.” You let out a muffled moan, head turning toward the pillow, desperate and overstimulated as Yunho’s gaze flicked back to Mingi. Still watching. Still moving under the sheets, hand clearly wrapped around his own dick. Good.
Without warning, Yunho slowly pulled out of you. You whimpered in protest, wriggling your hips back toward him, but he was already moving, shifting, rolling you onto your back with careful hands making You blink up at him, dazed. “Yunho?” He shushed you with a kiss, slow and soft, one hand brushing your hair out of your face. “Shhh. Want to see you.” Before you could answer, his hands gripped your thighs, spreading you open, lifting your legs up, bending them at the knees and hooking them over his broad shoulders.
You gasped. The stretch. The angle. The intimacy of it. Was almost overwhelming as he pushed back in making your hands fly to your mouth, eyes wide as his dick slid back inside you with one slow, perfect thrust. Yunho groaned, quiet but guttural, his eyes never leaving yours. His grip on your thighs tightened, jaw flexing as he pulled almost all the way out and pushed in again, deeper, smoother, harder. “You’re so tight like this,” he rasped. “So fucking perfect.”
You could barely breathe, barely think, caught between the sweet stretch and the shameful thrill of getting fucked just feet away from your boyfriend’s best friend. But he wasn’t sleeping. Mingi’s eyes were wide now, the blanket tugged a little higher up his chest as his hand moved steadily beneath it. He was panting, trying to stay silent, trying not to move the bed. And Yunho was watching every second of it like it was his own personal reward. He looked back down at you, smiling through grit teeth. “Look at you,” he whispered. “Trying so hard not to scream for me.”
You bit your lip hard. Your whole body was coiled tight, legs trembling where they hung over his shoulders, your nails digging into the sheets. And Yunho leaned down, folding you in half more, driving even deeper as his voice dropped to a murmur, for your ears alone. But his eyes stayed on Mingi. “You’re mine.” He murmured against your skin, his voice rough, ragged, but controlled just like everything else about him.
You moaned, quiet and ruined, your hands gripping the sheets like you were trying to stay grounded. And then he grinned. That crooked, dangerous grin he only wore when he knew he had all the power. “And my best friend,” he whispered, dipping closer, his lips brushing your jaw as his voice dropped to a low, amused purr, “is getting himself off to us right now.”
Your eyes flew open. “WHAT?” You tried to turn your head, but Yunho caught your jaw, holding it gently, kissing the corner of your mouth like he hadn’t just detonated a bomb in your chest. “Mmm mmm,” he murmured, voice like velvet sin. “Eyes on me, baby.” And then he started to really move. Not slow this time. Not soft. He drove into you with one powerful thrust, then another, his hips slamming against the back of your thighs with each stroke, the angle hitting so deep it had your mouth falling open in a silent cry.
“Now you’re being loud,” he groaned, burying himself to the hilt. “What happened to being quiet for me, huh?” You whimpered, blinking through tears as your entire body rocked beneath him as he leaned down again, pressing your legs further up, deeper inside you now, your body stretching around him, made to take him like this. “Can’t help it?” he cooed, taunting, lips curling against your cheek. “Knowing he’s over there watching me fuck you like this?”
You finally turned your head and saw Mingi. His eyes blown wide, cheeks flushed, chest rising and falling fast as he sat halfway up in bed now, one hand fisted under the covers, the other braced behind him. He looked wrecked. Desperate. Guilty and aroused all at once. And the sight of it made you choke on a gasp as Yunho kept moving, dragging a hand down your body, rolling your nipple between his fingers as he pounded into you. “Don’t stop now,” he groaned, kissing the corner of your mouth. “He’s already seen everything.”
Yunho was a man possessed now, hips driving into you like he was chasing a high he knew only you could give him. Your thighs trembled where they clung to his shoulders, every stroke sending waves of heat rippling through your core. You were clenching so hard around him, gasping with every thrust, your fingers tangled in the sheets like they were the only thing keeping you tethered. He felt it. He knew you were close. And so did Mingi who was still perched in bed, frozen but visibly falling apart, his chest rising and falling fast beneath his tank top, eyes locked on where Yunho was splitting you open.
Yunho turned his head just slightly, lips parted in a breathless smirk. Then, without warning he ripped the blanket off the both of you and yossed it aside like it was in the damn way. The room was dark, but not dark enough. The lights outside bled just enough silver through the curtains to illuminate your slick thighs, the glossy mess coating Yunho’s length every time he pulled out, and the way your soaked pussy clung to him like a vice, starting to squirt as he kept rutting, pounding into you, grunting, digging his fingers into your waist and slamming into you again, harder, deeper, and your body snapped.
You arched, crying out. And then you broke. A wave of liquid shot out of you, soaking Yunho’s lower stomach, the sheets beneath you, everything. “Fuck,” Yunho hissed, head tipping back as he felt you squirt fully around him, your body twitching violently with the force of it. He looked straight at Mingi, his voice smug, breathless, and absolutely filthy. “She always does that when I fuck her just right,” he groaned. “Makes the prettiest fucking mess.”
Mingi’s mouth parted, his eyes wide and dark, jaw slack as he watched your body convulse under Yunho’s, still trembling, overstimulated and leaking. You were panting, wrecked, barely able to process the aftermath as Yunho leaned over you again, licking sweat from your neck and whispering, “You should’ve seen his face, baby.” And then, with a slow, deep thrust that made you whimper. “He’s never gonna forget this.”
You were shaking, thighs trembling against Yunho’s broad shoulders, your chest heaving, lips parted in a dazed, fucked out expression. And still he didn’t stop. Yunho dragged his dick out slow, savoring the squelch of your soaked cunt clinging to him before slamming back in again deeper making you entire body jolt. “Y….Yunho…” you gasped, a sob laced with pleasure spilling from your throat. “I…. I can’t…”
“Yes, you can,” he growled, thrusting harder now, both hands gripping your waist as he rocked into you. “You’re gonna come again for me, baby. Right here. Just like that.” He shifted one hand lower, thumb slipping between your bodies to find your swollen clit, rubbing tight circles as he pounded into you relentlessly. And the pressure…. it was too much. You shook your head, back arching, voice cracking, “Baby….. it’s…. fuck too much”
“Oh, I know,” Yunho breathed, dragging his teeth over your collarbone. “That’s why it feels so fucking good.” You didn’t even hear Mingi anymore. Didn’t notice the way he was breathing harder, the way the sheets rustled with movement across the room as fucked his hand imagining he was buried inside you along with Yunho. But Yunho did. He lifted his head just enough to glance over his shoulder, eyes locking with Mingi’s and grinned. And then, softly… tauntingly, “You gonna come with her, Mingi?”
Mingi froze, just a beat, before his head tipped back, a low moan slipping out, finally, completely involuntary. The sound of him made you blink, dazed and to clench Yunho a little harder as he leaned in again, voice a low, dangerous hum at your ear. “He’s fucking his fist right now watching me fuck you. And I haven’t even really started yet.” Your eyes flew open, the reality hitting you like lightning as Yunho’s hand slid to your throat, not tight, just there. Possessive. Calming. Claiming. “Look at me,” he whispered. “You’re mine. He knows it. He can fucking watch.”
And then he slammed into you again and you cried out, sharp, loud, broken and Yunho groaned as you clenched around him, your orgasm crashing over you like a wave, body convulsing beneath him as slick poured out of you, your vision going white behind your eyes and Mingi’s moan hit the dark air right after. He couldn’t hold it back. His release ripped through him in silence and shame and awe, his chest heaving, hand still under the blanket, eyes wide and locked on you.
Yunho didn’t stop moving until your legs fell from his shoulders, until you were trembling and gasping and completely ruined. Only then did he slow, finally leaning down, pressing kisses along your jaw, his voice soft now, intimate. “You’re perfect.” Then, louder. For Mingi. “But she’s not done yet.”
Mingi knew he should’ve looked away. The second he opened his eyes and realized what was happening, what Yunho was doing to you just a few feet away, he should’ve rolled over, closed his eyes, pretended to still be asleep. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. He laid there in the dark, heart hammering against his ribs, trying to stay still, to stay silent, as he watched you unravel beneath Yunho, sheets pushed aside, shirt bunched at your ribs, legs shaking, gasping and moaning into his hand like it was the only thing keeping you from screaming.
Mingi’s hand had drifted down before he even registered it, sliding beneath his waistband, fingers curling around himself. Yunho was fucking you slow, deep, possessive. Every stroke was like a threat and a promise, and when your body arched and you squirted, Jesus Christ, Mingi nearly came right then. He’d never seen anything so raw. So fucking real. Then Yunho looked at him. Locked eyes across the room. And grinned. Like he knew Mingi would never forget this. Now here Yunho was like the devil incarnate saying you weren’t done yet.
Mingi blinked. Heart stuttering as Yunho turned his head and looked right at him, still inside you, his voice low, cocky, and utterly in control. “Come on, princess,” he murmured. “You already came once. You might as well come help me wreck her.” Your head turned weakly toward Mingi, eyes hazy, lips swollen and parted. You were still panting, your body a trembling mess, but you didn’t say no. You didn’t say anything. And that silence made Mingi’s pulse slam into overdrive.
“You want him, don’t you?” Yunho whispered, tilting your face toward his. “You’ve thought about it. I know you have.” You didn’t answer with words but your thighs clenched involuntarily around Yunho’s waist and he smirked. “That’s what I thought.” He looked at Mingi again. “Take your shirt off.”
Mingi hesitated, his whole body frozen between desire and disbelief. But then he saw the way you looked at him, tired, wrecked, but eyes flicking down his bare chest when he sat up, pupils blown wide with curiosity. With want. So he stood and walked toward the bed slowly and Yunho leaned down, kissed your throat, then looked up at Mingi with a grin that wasn’t just invitation, it was challenge. “You’ve seen what I can do to her,” he murmured. “Now show me what you want to do.”
Yunho's challenge hung in the air, his voice low and commanding as he kept his dick buried deep inside you, the slow grind of his hips never faltering. Mingi hesitated at first, his face flushed deep red, eyes darting between his best friend’s possessive stare and the way your body trembled beneath him. But the tension built thickly in the dim hotel room, the city lights casting faint shadows across all of you. And slowly, Mingi shifted, his own dick still hard and leaking from the earlier release as he dropped to his knees beside your bed, drawn in despite the disbelief etched on his features, until he was right there beside you both.
Yunho's hand stayed firm around your throat, not squeezing too tight but holding you in place with that dominant grip, while his thrusts remained deliberate and unhurried. He pulled back almost all the way before sinking in again, stretching you open inch by inch, making sure you felt every ridge of him. "That's it, Mingi," Yunho murmured, his tone laced with taunt. "Come taste her. She's dripping all over my dick, and I know you want it."
Mingi swallowed hard, his breath ragged, but he moved, positioning his face near where your bodies joined. His tongue flicked out tentatively at first, lapping at your swollen clit with wet, broad strokes that sent sparks shooting through your overstimulated nerves. The sensation layered on top of Yunho's steady fucking, his dick sliding in and out right against Mingi's mouth, and Mingi groaned into you, the vibration rumbling through you. He didn't stop there, his tongue working eagerly now, circling your clit before dragging lower to swipe along the base of Yunho's dick as it plunged into you. The dual sensation was overwhelming, hot, slick pressure on your clit combined with the way Mingi's lips brushed Yunho's dick on every thrust.
Yunho grunted in approval, his hips picking up just a fraction, still controlled but deeper, filling you completely each time as Mingi's free hand wrapped around his own dick again, stroking it with desperate pumps, his fingers slick with his previous cum as he fucked his fist in time with the rhythm. He was overstimulated already, his body twitching from the intensity, yet he couldn't pull away, his tongue lapping messily at both of you, tasting your arousal mixed with the faint salt of Yunho's skin.
Your moans grew louder despite the hand on your throat, muffled only partially as Yunho's fingers tightened just enough to remind you that just because his best friend had joined, you were still his. Pleasure built in waves, your pussy clenching around Yunho's while Mingi's tongue flicked relentlessly over your clit, sucking gently now and then before returning to lap at the spot where Yunho entered you.
Mingi whimpered into you, his hand moving faster on himself, hips bucking into his own grip as overstimulation hit him hard, his dick throbbing, yet he kept going, chasing another release as Yunho watched it all with a dark grin, his gaze locked on Mingi even as he drove into you, the pace dragging out every sensation until your body quivered on the edge again. The minutes stretched on like that, Yunho's thrusts unyielding, each one pushing you higher while Mingi's tongue worked you over, alternating between your clit and the length of Yunho sliding past his lips.
Sweat beaded on Mingi's forehead, his strokes on his own dick growing erratic from the overload, but he didn't stop, his mouth open and hungry against you both. You felt the coil tightening in your core, your walls fluttering around Yunho as another orgasm built, slow and inevitable from the prolonged attention until finally, Yunho's control snapped just enough. His hand gripped Mingi's hair roughly, fingers tangling in the strands to hold him in place as his hips snapped forward harder. "Fuck, that's it," he growled, his dick pulsing inside you as he came, flooding you deep with hot spurts that filled you full.
His throat grip stayed possessive, anchoring you as his release triggered yours, your body convulsed, pussy squeezing him tight while you came hard around him, juices mixing with his own and coating Mingi's tongue who followed right after, his own orgasm hitting with a choked moan, his hand jerking his dick as he spilled again onto the side of the bed, overstimulated and trembling from the shared intensity. Yunho didn't let go immediately, keeping Mingi's face pressed close as the aftershocks rolled through all three of you, the room filling with heavy breaths and ragged gasps.
Then after the silence, a sudden burst of laughter left you, coming out breathless and full of amusement. “What?” Yunho pulled out of you, sitting back on his knees as Mingi moved back on the floor. “Wooyoung and Jongho are right next door.” You snorted because in the end, you were loud, all of you were. “Oh…” Yunho grinned and looked down at Mingi who shook his head, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand.
“I hate both of you.”
He absolutely didn’t. And he absolutely was thinking about doing it all over again.
Summary - The price of teasing your boyfriend all day.
ⓘ - smut (MDNI), unprotected sex (dont.), dom!mingi, mentions of oral sex, thigh riding and fingering, choking, hair pulling, praise, biting/marking, overstimulation, mild dacryphilia if you think abt it hard enough, size kink if you squint maybe????
Word count - 570
Author’s note - I KNOWWW im meant to be writing the taehyun fic but my boyfriend gave me this idea sooo IM SORRY i promise terry is on the way.
Find my masterlist here!!
You knew what you were doing all day. Wearing a shirt without a bra and short shorts already earned you the promise of a good fucking when he came home, then sending him a topless photo while he was out for lunch with his members was his last straw. You knew it was going to lead to exactly this.
You were on your fourth orgasm, if you remembered right, and quickly approaching your fifth. First, he’d had you grinding on his thigh, then he made use of his fingers, then mouth, then both.
Safe to say you were getting very overstimulated, but he wasn’t done. Not until you made up for all of the teasing.
You’d never been in a position quite like this before. Bent over the edge of the bed, thighs trembling, one of his hands pulling your hair, the other around your throat. And of course, his hips slamming against your ass.
He leaned down and bit your shoulder, before whispering in your ear.
“You feel so good, baby… You’re doing so well for me…”
“M-Mingi~ It’s too much, I can’t-“
“Yes, you can. I know you can take it, so be good for me, yeah?”
“Yeah…”
He pressed a kiss to your temple, before biting the crook of your neck, hard enough to leave indents in your skin for at least a few hours, before sucking the spot, leaving a dark hickey on your skin.
“You know… This is your fault, doll… If you hadn’t been so- ah~ teasing all day…”
“I-I’m sorry~”
The tears were flowing freely from your eyes now, the sheer pleasure becoming almost unbearable. Your sobs were blending in with your moans, and you couldn’t tell if you wanted it to stop, or if you needed even more, so you decided to just call out to him. He could decide for you.
“Mingi~!!”
“I know, princess, a little longer…”
He tugged your hair harder and tightened his grip on your throat, helping him to fuck into you even faster and harder than before, earning a loud moan from your lips.
“Oh god, it’s so good, doll- Can I move you?”
You nodded, unable to say anything coherent. Without missing a beat, he hooked his arm under your leg and flipped you over, immediately leaning down to kiss you deeply. Through all this, his thrusts were just getting messier and more desperate, and he started moaning more.
“Ah~ Princess, I’m so close…”
He pressed his hand down on your lower stomach, feeling himself inside of you. He quickly replaced his hand with yours.
“F-feel that, gorgeous? Fuck, you’re such a good girl~”
With that, his hips stuttered violently, and he buried himself deeply inside of you, finally hitting his long awaited orgasm.
His release tipped you over the edge, and your body was convulsing with waves of pleasure, practically screaming his name and grabbing at his shoulders and arms to try to stabilise yourself.
“That was… insane. Maybe you should piss me off like that more often…”
His much larger body collapsed onto yours, before he rolled the two of you over so you were laying on his chest.
“You okay, my pretty girl?”
A nod was all you could manage, but it’s all he needed to know he did a good job.
“I’ll run a warm bath in a bit… But we’ll stay here for a little while. I love you, sweetheart…”
𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 ; Headcanons on how I think Hongjoong would be as a jealous boyfriend.
𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ; Boyfriend!Hongjoong x Fem!Reader.
☆ — 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 328. ☆ — 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : Smut. ☆ — 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : Bathroom sex, chin gripping, lwk mirror sex, hickeys, sex toys, meandom!joong makes an appearance, cream pies, begging, and slight dacryphilia.
♡ — 𝐕𝐢𝐩 𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 ; @kissmatz @eggielix @miisanthropology @liaaaafixofff @chanscappuccino @eunseoksgirl @threepointstogryffindor @fixon-min send a ask to be added or removed!
A/N — We all know and love Hongjoong’s jealous side, so why not write something about it 😋. I also got lazy, if you couldn’t tell…
Jealous!hongjoong who glares at you whenever your attention is on anything but him, he feels like he needs to be the center of your entire world.
Jealous!hongjoong who clears his throat every time a person tries to talk to you for too long.
Jealous!hongjoong who squeezes your hand a little too hard whenever another person compliments literally anything you’re wearing, butting in and saying “yeah, I know. I was the one who bought it for her.” Before pulling you away from the conversation.
Jealous!hongjoong who always puts your chair right next to his, to the point neither one of you barely have any room.
Jealous!hongjoong who sucks his teeth and pulls that one smirk whenever he catches another man looking at you too long for his liking, even if the man was just zoning out.
Jealous!hongjoong who always keeps his hand on your lower back whenever you’re at a party or event. He claims it’s so you don’t get lost, but it’s so others know you’re taken.
— “What were you doing yesterday?” “Nothing, why?” “You didn’t answer my calls.”
Jealous!hongjoong who will bend you over in the bathroom when he can’t take it anymore, gripping your chin to make you watch through the mirror as well.
Jealous!hongjoong who leaves a trail of hickeys from your jaw to your collar bone, he needs it to be as visible as possible.
Jealous!hongjoong who if he’s feeling a little too jealous or upset, he’ll get a whip and will smack you on the ass with it over and over until he’s satisfied.
Jealous!hongjoong who won’t wear a condom, and he will make sure to cum inside as well. It reminds him that you are completely his and that he’s yours.
Jealous!hongjoong who will stop mid session just to hear you beg for him. It’s an ego boost for him.
Jealous!hongjoong who laughs at you when you start crying, telling you to suck it up and take it until he’s done.
Summary: Seeing Mingi flirt with all the ATINY's on tour, during Send-off, had caused your jealousy to flare up. When Mingi comes home, he fixes your attitude real quick.
→ Starring: Dom!Mingi x Jealous!Sub!reader
→ Genre: Smut
→ CW: big!dick!mingi, unprotected sex, orgasm-denial, rough sex, doggy, overstimulation, clit-play, creampie, dirty-talk, ass spanking. (If I miss anything pls lmk)
Inspired by: Jealous by Nick Jonas
You hated Send-off.
Not because the tour was ending — but because of what came with it. The lingering fans, the flirtatious comments, the way Mingi smiled just a little too sweetly at the girls who leaned in too close.
You tried to brush it off. Tried to remind yourself he was yours.
But the green-eyed monster had already dug its claws in.
So when Mingi finally came home, swaggering through the door like he didn’t leave you stewing in insecurity for days, you were already coiled tight — and he could see it.
“You’re quiet,” he said, voice low, eyes gleaming as he stepped toward you. “Did you miss me, baby?”
You just looked at him. Jaw set. Lips pouted. Arms crossed over your chest in a weak attempt at defiance. It didn’t fool him.
He stepped closer, slow and predatory, like he was hunting something fragile. “Or are you jealous?” he asked, smirking now. “I saw the way you looked at me. At them.”
Your silence was enough.
Mingi’s fingers gripped your chin, tilting your face up toward his. His voice dropped even lower, now dark and edged with promise. “Good.”
His lips brushed yours—just barely, just enough to tease.
“Because about to remind you just how much you mean to me and that I'm all yours"
He didn’t give you time to respond. His mouth crashed down onto yours, not soft or sweet—possessive, claiming. His hands were everywhere at once: gripping your waist, your ass, tugging you closer until there was no space between your bodies. You gasped into the kiss, and he used it to slip his tongue past your lips, deepening it until your knees threatened to buckle.
“You’re mine,” he growled against your mouth, biting your bottom lip before pulling back, just enough to look into your eyes. “Don’t ever forget that.”
Then he spun you around, pressing your front against the wall with a sharp slap to your ass. You let out a startled moan, your palms flattening against the surface for support.
“You think I didn’t see it?” he asked, dragging your skirt up, exposing your panties. “That little attitude? The way you wouldn’t even look at me when I walked in?”
His fingers curled into the waistband, pulling the lace down with agonizing slowness. You could feel how wet you were already—he definitely could too.
“That jealousy… You wear it like a fucking invitation.”
You whimpered when his fingers slid through your folds from behind, slow and deliberate. He didn’t rush. He wanted you desperate.
“You want me to prove it?” he murmured, leaning close to your ear, breath hot. “You want me to fuck the jealousy out of you, baby?”
You nodded, breathless, pressing your hips back into his hand, needing more.
But that wasn’t enough for him.
“Use your words,” he said, pulling his hand away completely, making you cry out in frustration.
“Mingi,” you whined, head dropping forward, voice shaking. “Please. I want you to—”
A sharp smack landed on your ass, cutting your words off with a moan.
“Say it properly.”
You bit your lip, your pride dissolving fast.
“Please, Mingi,” you said, trembling. “I want you to fuck the jealousy out of me. Please—show me I’m yours.”
He groaned, low and dangerous.
“Good girl.”
The sound of his zipper coming down was the only warning you got before he grabbed your hips and slammed into you in one hard thrust, knocking the breath out of your lungs.
The stretch was instant, relentless; he was big.
You cried out, hands scrambling for purchase against the wall as he buried himself inside you in one deep, punishing thrust. He didn’t pause. Didn’t let you adjust. He just growled low in your ear, “This what you wanted, baby?”
His fingers dug into your hips, forcing you to take every inch of him as he started to move—slow at first, but rough. Deliberate. His cock dragged along your walls with precision, pulling back just enough to slam back in harder, deeper, angrier.
“You think I’d look at anyone else the way I look at you?” he hissed, fucking you harder with each word. “Touch anyone like this?”
Your moan turned into a whimper, the jealousy from before twisting into heat between your thighs. He was so deep, your legs trembled from the force of each thrust, your body caught between the cold wall and the heat of him behind you.
“Answer me.”
“N-No,” you gasped, voice thin, wrecked. “You only—only look at me like that—”
“Damn right,” he growled, pulling out suddenly just to flip you around. Your back hit the wall, and he lifted your leg around his waist without breaking rhythm, driving into you again with even more force now that he could see your face.
Your head fell back as he pounded into you, his mouth on your throat, biting and sucking as if trying to mark over every insecure thought you’d ever had. “You think they make me hard like this?” he murmured, lips dragging along your jaw. “You feel what you do to me?”
You nodded, tears prickling in your eyes from the overstimulation and how full you felt. Your walls clenched around him, fluttering as the knot in your stomach pulled tighter.
He felt it.
“Don’t you dare cum yet,” he growled, slowing just slightly, grinding his hips in deep, rough circles instead. “Not until I say so.”
“Mingi—” you whimpered, clawing at his shirt, needing something to ground you. “I can’t—”
“Yes, you can. You’re gonna take it. Like the good girl you are.”
He reached down, two fingers slipping between your slick folds, circling your clit in tight, ruthless motions. The sharp contrast between his cock deep inside and his fingers teasing your sensitive bundle of nerves made your thighs shake violently.
“You’re not jealous anymore, are you?” he whispered, his voice thick with lust, lips brushing your ear. “No one else makes you feel like this.”
You were barely coherent now, eyes rolling back as the tension built higher and higher. Every thrust was rough, calculated. Designed to make you forget every face in that crowd, every lingering touch you thought you saw.
Only him. Just him.
“Say it,” he demanded, his pace punishing now. “Tell me who you fucking belong to.”
“You, Mingi,” you gasped, your voice catching on a sob. “I’m yours—I’m only yours, fuck—”
“Good girl,” he snarled, hand tightening around your throat just enough to make your pussy clamp down around him. “Now cum. All over my cock. Let me feel it.”
Your climax hit like a shockwave.
You screamed his name, body convulsing as your orgasm ripped through you, your walls clenching so tightly around him that he cursed under his breath. Mingi kept fucking you through it, chasing his own release until his thrusts turned erratic, ragged.
“Gonna fill you up,” he grunted, hips snapping harder. “Want you dripping my cum for hours—so you never forget who fucked you like this.”
And then he buried himself deep, groaning your name into your neck as he came, thick and hot, spilling inside you in heavy pulses. You felt it—every twitch, every drop.
He stayed there for a moment, chest heaving against yours, sweat beading at his temples, forehead pressed to yours.
When he finally pulled back enough to look at you, his voice softened just slightly.
“You’re mine, I'm yours" he whispered again, possessive even in the afterglow. “Don’t doubt that ever again."
The last evening of your honeymoon in Italy felt like something out of a dream. The soft glow of the setting sun spilled across the water, turning the lake into a sheet of liquid gold. The faint hum of a mandolin carried from a restaurant terrace nearby, blending with the gentle lap of waves against the dock.
Hongjoong had his hand laced with yours as you walked along the shoreline, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. He hadn’t said much for the past few minutes, but you could feel him watching you in that quiet way he always did—as though he was memorizing the curve of your smile, the wind in your hair, and every second before time slipped away.
“You know,” he murmured finally, voice low and thoughtful, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look this happy.”
You turned to him, lips tugging into a soft grin. “That’s because I am. This… everything we’ve done here, it’s been perfect. Like something out of a movie.”
His answering smile was slow, almost shy, but full of warmth. He stopped walking, tugging you gently closer until your body pressed against his chest. “Perfect,” he repeated, tilting his forehead against yours. “If this is a dream, I don’t ever want to wake up.”
The words sank deep, stirring that familiar rush of affection that seemed to overflow whenever he looked at you like this—like you were the only thing in the world worth holding onto. His arms tightened around you, not demanding, just anchoring, as though he was letting you know without words that you were his, completely and entirely.
The two of you stood there for a long moment, the world slipping away, until the sky above faded into dusk and the first stars began to flicker to life.
Dinner that night was quiet, but not in a way that felt empty. The two of you sat tucked into a small table on the terrace of a candlelit restaurant overlooking the water. Lanterns swayed gently overhead, casting flickering light across the wine glasses and plates between you.
Hongjoong kept stealing glances at you, even when he thought you weren’t looking. His hand stayed close, brushing your wrist every so often as if he couldn’t resist the reminder that you were really there.
At one point, he leaned forward, resting his chin in his palm. “I’ve been trying to remember the exact moment I fell in love with you,” he admitted softly, a small smile tugging at his lips. “But I can’t. It feels like I’ve loved you forever.”
The words caught you off guard, your chest tightening in that sweet, almost painful way. You reached across the table, curling your fingers around his. “Then don’t try to remember. Just… keep loving me now.”
He squeezed your hand, eyes glinting in the candlelight, before lifting it to press a kiss against your knuckles. His lips lingered there, tender and unhurried, and the simple gesture had your heart racing harder than any kiss on the lips could.
Later, walking back to the villa, the night wrapped around you both like silk. The streets were quiet, the only sound the soft rhythm of your footsteps and the occasional distant murmur of laughter from hidden courtyards. Hongjoong draped his jacket over your shoulders when the air turned cool, his arm settling around you as naturally as breathing.
When you reached your door, you hesitated, not wanting the night to end. Hongjoong must have felt it too, because instead of unlocking it right away, he turned you to face him.
His hands framed your face, gentle but certain, and his lips met yours in a kiss that was slow—so slow you could feel every ounce of love behind it. No rush, no urgency. Just him, giving you his heart in the only way he knew how.
The kiss lingered until the cool air made you shiver, and he smiled against your lips before finally unlocking the villa door. Inside, the warm glow of the lamps painted the room in gold, and you slipped off your shoes with a sigh of relief. Hongjoong followed quietly, watching you in that way that made you feel like every movement was worth treasuring.
You crossed to the balcony first, drawn to the view of the moonlight scattered across the lake. Resting your arms on the railing, you breathed in the night air, letting the quiet soak into your bones. A moment later, his arms slid around your waist from behind. His chin settled on your shoulder, his breath warm against your ear.
“Still not tired?” he murmured.
“Not yet.” You leaned back into him, closing your eyes. “I don’t want the night to end.”
He held you a little tighter, swaying with you as though there was music only the two of you could hear. The gentle rise and fall of his chest against your back, the steady beat of his heart—everything about him felt grounding, anchoring.
For a long while, neither of you spoke. The silence wasn’t empty but full—full of the rhythm of your breathing, the brush of his fingers tracing lazy circles over your hip, the sound of the water lapping against the shore.
When he finally broke the quiet, his voice was softer than the breeze. “Do you ever think about how lucky we are?”
You tilted your head slightly, catching the faint wonder in his tone. “Every single day.”
He kissed your shoulder then, slow and reverent, his lips lingering on your skin. The gesture sent a warmth through you that had nothing to do with the summer night. You turned in his arms, facing him, and lifted your hand to his cheek.
Hongjoong leaned into your touch instinctively, eyes fluttering half-closed. You brushed your thumb over the curve of his jaw, memorizing the texture of his skin beneath your fingertips.
“You’re my favorite part of this trip,” you whispered.
His smile was quiet, but it lit up his entire face. “You’re my favorite part of every trip. Every day. Every moment.”
The way he said it—steady, certain—made your heart squeeze. You kissed him again, and this time, though it was still soft, it deepened little by little. His hand rose to cradle the back of your head, his other resting at the small of your back, holding you close without ever pulling too hard.
It wasn’t about urgency. It was about savoring. About being so close you couldn’t tell where one of you ended and the other began.
Your lips parted just enough for his breath to mingle with yours, warm and steady, before he kissed you again. It was unhurried—like he wanted to taste every second, memorize every sigh. His thumb brushed along your cheekbone while his other hand stayed at your back, the gentle weight of it grounding you in the moment.
When you finally pulled away for air, his forehead rested against yours. His eyes stayed closed, his lashes brushing his skin as though he didn’t dare break the spell.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you,” he whispered, the words slipping out so quietly they almost disappeared into the night.
You smiled softly, your fingers toying with the collar of his shirt. “Good,” you breathed, “because you’re stuck with me.”
That earned you a laugh—quiet, almost boyish. It warmed you more than the air ever could. He pressed a quick kiss to your nose before tugging you gently toward the bed. Not with urgency, but with the same ease as if he were inviting you to curl up beside him for a long talk.
The two of you lay down fully clothed at first, shoes already kicked aside, your head finding its place on his chest like it had been meant to all along. His heartbeat was steady beneath your ear, a rhythm you’d come to know as well as your own. One of his hands found yours, fingers lacing together with the ease of habit.
For a while, neither of you spoke. You just traced lazy patterns along the back of his hand with your fingertips while he brushed slow strokes through your hair. It felt like time had slowed down, the world shrinking to just the two of you and the sound of the lake outside.
When his voice finally came, it was almost hesitant, like a secret. “Sometimes I wonder what I did to deserve this. To deserve you.”
You tilted up to look at him, his eyes open now and searching yours. “You don’t have to deserve me,” you whispered, leaning in to press a kiss over his heart. “You just have to love me. That’s all I’ll ever need.”
He exhaled shakily, like your words had untied something tight in his chest. His fingers tilted your chin up gently, guiding your lips back to his. This kiss was deeper than the last, not rushed, but heavier with feeling. You melted into it, the warmth of his mouth, the steady hold of his hands, the quiet reverence in the way he kissed you as though nothing else mattered.
His kiss deepened, but never rushed. Each movement was deliberate, like he wanted to savor every taste of you. His fingers threaded gently into your hair, massaging your scalp in a way that made your body soften against him, melting into his touch.
When he finally pulled back, his lips brushed your jawline, trailing down to the curve of your neck. Every press of his mouth was slow, lingering, almost reverent. You felt his breath fan against your skin before he whispered, “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted.”
Your hands slipped to his shirt, toying with the first button. You didn’t rush to undo it, just let your fingers trace the fabric, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath. He watched you closely, his eyes soft and searching, giving you the space to take your time.
When you did finally undo the first button, he smiled faintly, almost shy. He sat up just enough to help you, his hands covering yours for a moment as though to say I want this, but I want it with you—at your pace. Together, you worked your way down the buttons, each one revealing a little more of him, the warm skin of his chest glowing under the lamplight.
By the time his shirt slipped from his shoulders, you couldn’t resist running your hands over him, tracing the lines of muscle, the warmth of his skin. He closed his eyes at your touch, letting out a breath that sounded more like relief than desire.
“You make me feel at home,” he murmured, leaning into your touch.
Your chest tightened at the honesty in his voice. You pressed your lips to his collarbone, lingering there, tasting salt and skin, before whispering against him, “That’s because you are home to me.”
He let out a quiet laugh, shaky and soft, before leaning down to kiss you again—slower, deeper, more weighted now with the emotions spilling between you. His hands traced your sides, not tugging at your clothes yet, just feeling, memorizing.
When his fingers finally found the hem of your dress, he paused, eyes flicking to yours for silent permission. You nodded, and he carefully eased it upward, his hands brushing along your skin as he did. The fabric slid over your head, leaving you bare in a way that felt vulnerable, but not frightening—not with him.
The way he looked at you then made your breath catch. His gaze was tender, full of awe, as though he was seeing you for the first time all over again. He reached out, fingertips ghosting along your arm before settling at your waist. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, voice rough with sincerity.
You smiled softly, leaning forward to kiss him again, your hands sliding along his shoulders, mapping every inch of him. The kiss was slow, your bodies pressed close, and the world outside seemed to fall away completely.
It wasn’t about rushing. It was about savoring—the closeness, the intimacy, the quiet unraveling of walls until it was just you and him, exposed in every possible way.
Hongjoong kissed you again, deeper this time—still gentle, but with a weight behind it that made your pulse quicken. His hand slid from your waist down the curve of your hip, pausing there as though testing the waters. When you arched just slightly into his touch, his breath caught, and his lips pressed harder to yours.
He pulled back only long enough to look at you, his forehead still resting against yours. His voice was hushed, trembling with restraint. “Tell me if I go too far.”
“You won’t,” you whispered back, your fingers curling into his hair, tugging him down for another kiss.
That seemed to unravel something in him. His hand traced down further, over your thigh, squeezing lightly before dragging upward again—slow, deliberate, savoring the way you shivered beneath his touch. He kissed down your jaw, then lower, finding the sensitive place beneath your ear, drawing a gasp from your lips.
Your hands weren’t idle either. You smoothed them down his back, over the taut muscles shifting under his skin, before daring to drag your fingertips along the waistband of what was left between you. The low sound he made—half sigh, half groan—vibrated against your skin and sent warmth pooling low in your stomach.
He shifted over you, his lips trailing down the line of your collarbone, pausing every few inches to press slow, open-mouthed kisses. His tongue flicked lightly against your skin, teasing, before moving lower still.
The atmosphere stayed heavy with affection, but there was no mistaking the change—the air itself seemed to hum with need now, every touch sparking something sharper, deeper.
When his hand finally slid higher along your inner thigh, stopping just short of where you ached for him most, you couldn’t stop the soft whimper that escaped your lips. His head lifted, eyes locking onto yours, dark and full of unspoken questions.
You nodded, your chest heaving, and whispered, “Please.”
His lips curved in the faintest smile before lowering back to yours, kissing you with a tenderness that contrasted the growing hunger in his touch. His fingers inched closer, brushing just enough to make your whole body tense, waiting, yearning.
The slow burn had shifted now—still drenched in intimacy, still wrapped in love—but the sparks of heat were catching, threatening to blaze.
Hongjoong’s lips claimed yours again, but this time there was no mistaking the hunger in them. The kiss was deeper, more urgent, his tongue sliding against yours in a rhythm that made your body arch into his. His hand, which had been teasing at your thigh, finally moved where you needed him most, fingers brushing against your warmth through the thin fabric still covering you.
You gasped against his mouth, and he swallowed the sound greedily, pressing closer, his chest heaving against yours. His thumb stroked in slow, deliberate circles, teasing, testing, making your breath come quicker with each pass.
When you broke the kiss to moan his name, his jaw clenched, his eyes flashing with something raw. “God, you sound perfect,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. He kissed down your throat again, his free hand tugging at what remained of your clothing until you were bare beneath him.
The way he looked at you then made your heart stutter. His gaze wasn’t just hungry—it was reverent, full of awe, as if you were something sacred. He bent down, kissing along your stomach, lower and lower, until his breath fanned hot against your most sensitive skin.
He glanced up once more, eyes locking on yours. “Can I?” he asked softly, voice rough with restraint.
“Yes,” you whispered, your voice breaking on the word.
That was all it took. His mouth closed over you, warm and wet, his tongue stroking slow, deliberate patterns that made your back arch off the bed. His hands anchored your hips, holding you still as he worked you open with a patience that bordered on torment, every movement measured, every flick and swirl designed to make you unravel.
Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging desperately as wave after wave of pleasure built, your moans spilling freely now, filling the room. He hummed against you at the sound, the vibration shooting straight through you.
“Joong—please, don’t stop,” you begged, your thighs trembling around his head.
He didn’t. If anything, his pace deepened, his tongue pressing harder, faster, until the tension coiled too tight to hold. You shattered against him with a cry, your body writhing, your chest heaving as the release ripped through you.
But he didn’t stop right away. He coaxed you through it, his lips and tongue still working gently until you were spent and trembling, collapsing back against the pillows. When he finally lifted his head, his mouth was glistening, his expression dark and utterly undone.
He crawled back up to you, kissing you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his lips. “I’m not nearly done with you,” he whispered against your mouth, his voice low, rough, desperate.
Hongjoong’s lips lingered on yours, tasting, claiming, until he had to pull back for breath. His forehead pressed to yours, his voice low, ragged.
“I need to be inside you.”
The way he said it wasn’t just hunger—it was plea, confession, vow.
You nodded, your hands fumbling to tug at the last barrier between you. He helped, stripping himself fully, and for a moment you both just stilled, bodies bare in the golden lamplight. His eyes roamed over you with such awe it almost stole your breath.
He bent to kiss you again, slower this time, as though grounding himself. Then, with a hand sliding down to guide himself, he pressed gently at your entrance. He stopped just at the edge, his gaze flicking up to yours. “Tell me you’re ready.”
“I’m ready,” you whispered, your voice trembling but sure.
He eased into you with agonizing slowness, stretching you inch by inch. You clutched at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as your body welcomed him, the burn giving way to fullness, to a dizzying sense of being completely claimed.
His face twisted with restraint, jaw tight as he buried himself fully, bottoming out. For a moment, neither of you moved—just breathed each other in, hearts racing in sync.
Then he lowered his head, kissing you again, whispering against your lips, “You feel so perfect.”
He started moving slowly, every thrust deliberate, deep, savoring. His hips rolled with precision, drawing soft moans from your lips that spurred him on. He buried his face in your neck, panting softly, his breath hot against your skin.
Your hands smoothed down his back, urging him closer, deeper. “Joong…” you gasped, your voice breaking.
He groaned, low and guttural, before pulling back to look at you. His hair clung damp to his forehead, his eyes dark and desperate. “I can’t hold back anymore.”
The pace shifted. His thrusts grew harder, faster, each one making the headboard creak softly against the wall. The sound of skin meeting skin filled the room, mingling with your moans and his ragged breaths.
Every movement was a mixture of passion and devotion—his lips finding yours between thrusts, his hand sliding down to circle your clit with practiced care, determined to pull you apart beneath him.
The pressure built quickly, unbearably, until you were clinging to him, crying out his name as the climax tore through you. Your whole body trembled, walls tightening around him as you shattered.
Hongjoong followed almost instantly, his thrusts faltering as he buried himself deep, groaning your name like a prayer as he spilled into you.
He collapsed against you, both of you panting, slick with sweat, hearts still racing. For a long moment, he just held you, his weight comforting, his lips pressing weak but loving kisses to your shoulder.
“I love you,” he whispered, hoarse but steady, the words carrying as much weight as the act itself.
The room was quiet except for your mingled breaths, heavy and uneven. Hongjoong stayed inside you for a moment longer, reluctant to let go, before finally easing out with a soft groan. You whimpered at the loss, your body still trembling, and he immediately soothed you, pressing kisses along your temple.
“Shh, I’ve got you,” he murmured, brushing sweaty strands of hair from your face. His hands were gentle, careful, as though you were something fragile after being undone so completely.
He reached for the sheets, pulling them over your bare bodies before gathering you against his chest. His skin was hot, slick with sweat, but the way he wrapped his arms around you made you feel cocooned, protected.
For a long while, neither of you spoke. You just listened to the steady thump of his heart, felt the rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek. The storm of passion had left you both wrung out, but in its place was a softer kind of fullness—an intimacy that lingered in the quiet.
Eventually, he tilted his head down to look at you. His eyes were heavy with exhaustion, but still shining. “You okay?”
You nodded, smiling faintly. “More than okay.”
That pulled a laugh from him—low, warm, a little shaky. He kissed your forehead, then your lips, soft and lingering. “Good. Because I don’t think I could survive if I ever hurt you.”
You touched his cheek, your thumb brushing over his damp skin. “You couldn’t, even if you tried. You’re too careful with me.”
He smiled at that, a crooked, tender thing. “I’ll always be careful with you.”
When you shifted, wincing just slightly from the ache between your thighs, he noticed immediately. “Come on,” he said gently, sliding out of bed and offering his hand. “Let me clean you up.”
You followed him into the bathroom, the tiles cool against your feet. He started the shower, testing the temperature with his hand before guiding you under the warm spray. Together, you stood there as the water washed away the sweat and heat, leaving only the closeness behind.
He lathered his hands with soap, rubbing it gently along your shoulders, your arms, every movement slow and tender. You did the same for him, fingers gliding over his chest, up to his collarbones, the intimacy of the act making your heart swell all over again.
When the water finally ran clear, he kissed you once more under the spray—sweet, unrushed.
Later, back in bed, he tucked you against him, your head on his chest, his arm snug around your waist. Sleep tugged at your body, but before you drifted off, you heard him whisper against your hair;
“Forever, okay? I’m yours. Forever.”
And in that soft, messy aftermath, you believed him completely.
@alanasdesire
All rights reserved. Do not repost. Do not translate.
Mingi is very good at pretending he’s normal about the way you flirt with clients for tips, about the way you touch other people for a living. The problem starts when he realizes you might not belong to him at all, and suddenly he’s pinned against the wall confessing feelings far too big to keep inside anymore.
Pairing: sub!Mingi x TattooArtistFem!Reader
Tropes: Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pinning, Confession under pressure, Soft masculinity, “He’s so big but so soft for her”.
Genre: Smut, Fluff, Romance.
Warnings: explicit sexual content, sub!mingi, sexual tension, sexual activity in a semi-public workspace, praise kink, dry humping, male orgasm, possessive thoughts, touch-starved behaviour, jealousy, vulnerability, emotional intensity, consensual power imbalance dynamics, mild choking, explicit language, alcohol, obsessive affection themes, emotional dependency but make it hot
Word Count: 7.7k
a/n: this fic wouldn’t exist without a conversation with @darjeelinglemontea. it was just one thing she said, but it stuck with me and turned into this. thank you for that, i really hope you like where it ended up <3 also sorry for disappearing. i’m deep in a project and barely find time to write, but i needed to get this out anyway before vanishing again for a bit longer haha
masterlist
Your studio hums softly around you. Low music. Warm light. The familiar buzz of the tattoo machine steady in your hand like a second heartbeat.
Outside, the street beyond the front windows is already dark, neon signs reflecting faintly against the glass. Your last appointment of the night stretched later than planned, the rest of the building long since quiet.
The smell of antiseptic and ink clings to the air, clean but intimate in a way most places never are. People let you touch them here. Let you get close enough to hear the change in their breathing, to feel tension beneath their skin before they even notice it themselves.
You’ve always liked that part.
“Breathe out,” you murmur.
Your client obeys immediately.
He’s stretched beneath the lamp, shirt tossed somewhere behind him, skin warm under your hand where you steady him by the waist. The tattoo curves along his ribs in clean black lines, and you lean closer to finish a careful stroke, thumb pressing lightly into his side to keep him still.
He sucks in a sharp breath.
“There,” you say softly. “Relax.”
“You say that every five minutes.”
“And somehow you still trust me.”
He laughs under his breath, eyes dragging down to your mouth for a second too long. “Hard not to.”
You ignore that easily. You’ve heard versions of it a thousand times before. You wipe excess ink from his ribs.
His gaze flicks down to your hands again. “You always this nice to clients?”
“You’re paying me.”
“Could charge extra. I’d still come back.”
The bell above the studio door jingles softly. You don’t look up immediately. You know who walked in anyway. The heavy steps. The careless confidence of someone who’s been here enough times to stop asking permission for anything. The fridge opening.
“Beer tax,” Mingi calls from the back.
Your mouth curves before you can stop it.
“Get your own studio.”
“You’d miss me.”
You don’t answer. Because you would. Terribly.
Instead you lean closer to inspect the tattoo, fingers spreading against your client’s stomach as you stretch the skin carefully beneath the needle.
From behind you, the couch creaks, and you finally glance back at him.
Big hoodie. Work boots still on. Slouched deep into the couch cushions like he lives there. Watching you over the rim of the bottle with that lazy heavy-lidded stare that always does something unfortunate to your nervous system.
He comes here almost every night after work.
At first it had been accidental. Quick stops before heading home. Then takeout between appointments. Then sitting with you while you cleaned your station at midnight. Then coffee appearing beside your machine before you could ask for it.
Somewhere along the way, your studio started feeling wrong without him in it. Somewhere along the way, you started falling in love with him. Quietly. Stupidly.
Because Mingi is like this with everyone. Warm. Affectionate. Easy with touch. The kind of person who leans into you when he laughs and throws an arm around your shoulders without thinking. The kind of person who makes you feel chosen even when you probably aren’t.
So you buried it under routine and late-night beers and the hoodies he keeps leaving behind in your studio chair. Under the certainty that none of this would ever become more.
Your client shifts slightly beneath your hand. “You know,” he says, “if I met you somewhere else, I’d think you were flirting with me.”
You drag the needle into a clean line. “That sounds like a you problem.”
“I’m serious.” His smile turns crooked. “Soft voice. Hand on my waist. Eye contact. It’s confusing.”
“You came to a tattoo appointment.”
“Yeah, but you’re making it hard to stay professional.”
Mingi sets his beer down a little too hard against the table. Tiny sound. Barely noticeable. Still. You glance back automatically. He’s staring at the floor now, jaw tight for half a second before he notices you looking.
“What?” he says.
“Nothing.”
Your client looks between both of you once, then keeps talking. Unbothered. As if Mingi isn’t watching his every word.
“No, but seriously,” he says, looking at you again. “You’ve got dangerous energy.”
“Dangerous.”
“Yeah. Like you flirt for fun and ruin lives accidentally.”
You laugh softly through your nose.
But Mingi doesn’t.
He should. He could. He usually does.
Instead his eyes keep lifting every time your hand settles against the client’s ribs. He goes quiet whenever the client calls you sweet. He keeps trying to insert himself into the conversation and failing to catch your attention the same way the client does.
And underneath all of it, something uncomfortable starts pulling tighter in his chest. Because the client gets your teasing. Your soft voice. Your hands all over him. And Mingi suddenly can’t stop wondering if that’s just who you are with everybody.
The rest of the session passes normally. Mostly. Your client keeps trying.
“You gonna miss me when I’m gone?”
You smooth the wrap carefully against his ribs. “I’ll think about you sometimes.”
“Damn. Sometimes?”
“Don’t get greedy.”
He laughs again, completely charmed by you in the way men always are.
And every time you touch him, Mingi notices. Not angry. Not even resentful. Just painfully aware. Like hearing your favorite song playing from somebody else’s car.
By the time the tattoo’s paid for, the studio feels strangely dense. Your client grabs his jacket, already backing toward the door.
“Same time next week?”
“We’ll see if you survive this one first.”
“I survived because you were gentle.”
Something shifts in Mingi’s jaw. The client notices immediately. A grin spreads slowly across his face.
“Tell your boyfriend thanks for the emotional support.”
The door closes before either of you can answer. Silence spills into the studio after him. The buzzing needle’s gone now. The music suddenly sounds louder. Slower.
From the corner of your eye, you catch Mingi pushing himself off the couch. He flips the sign on the front door to CLOSED before sliding the lock into place with a quiet click.
Then he walks toward you.
You start cleaning your station, peeling off gloves and reaching for disinfectant.
Usually Mingi waits for you to drift back toward him naturally. Tonight he comes to you instead. You feel him before he speaks. Warmth at your shoulder. Close enough that your body notices immediately.
“So,” you say lightly, wiping down the tattoo bed, “my boyfriend, huh?”
Mingi nearly chokes on his beer. You glance over just in time to catch the way his eyes widen above the bottle.
“He was joking,” he says too fast.
“Mm.”
“He doesn’t know anything.”
“You seem stressed for someone who’s definitely not my boyfriend.”
“I’m not stressed.”
You hum like you totally believe him.
Mingi reaches past you for the paper towels at the exact same moment you turn. His chest brushes your shoulder. Tiny contact. Barely anything. Still, his hand lands automatically at your waist to steady you.
Your stomach flips immediately.
Neither of you moves. Then his thumb shifts once against your side before he pulls away like he only just realized where his hand is.
“You were very attentive with him,” he says casually.
You glance sideways at him.
“It’s my job.”
“Hm.”
Not convinced.
He leans against the edge of the bed while you keep cleaning, entirely too close for someone pretending to be normal right now. His knee knocks yours once. Doesn’t move away.
“You know,” he says, “I’ve been thinking about getting another tattoo.”
You snort softly. “You complain through every appointment.”
The answer slips out so easily you almost miss it. Almost.
Your mouth curls before you can stop it. That seems to make him realize he said it out loud, because he looks away immediately, rubbing at the back of his neck while you reach for the petroleum jelly beside him.
His hand catches your wrist first. Lightly. You freeze.
“There,” he murmurs, thumb brushing across the inside of your wrist. “Ink.”
Your breath catches a little stupidly.
Mingi has always touched you easily. Carelessly. Like affection is something that lives in his hands naturally. This doesn’t feel careless. This feels slow. Aware.
His thumb drags once more before he lets go. Neither of you pulls away right away.
“That guy was flirting with you.”
You tilt your head. “You think?”
Mingi gives you a flat look.
“He literally asked for your number.”
“And?”
“And you flirt back.”
You blink. “I don’t.”
“You absolutely do.”
That lands heavier than it should. Like he’s been holding onto it longer than just tonight. You turn fully toward him, arms folding loosely.
“Oh my god,” you say slowly. “You’re jealous.”
“No.”
Immediate. Too immediate.
“You are.”
“I’m really not.”
“But you don’t like it.”
“I don’t care.”
“You looked ready to bite through drywall because he called me dangerous.”
“That’s because he sounded ridiculous.”
You laugh before you can stop yourself. Mingi’s eyes narrow slightly.
“There,” he says immediately. “That.”
“What?”
“That. You do that with everybody.”
“Do what?”
“That—” He gestures vaguely at you. “That thing.”
You stare at him for two full seconds. Then burst out laughing. Mingi groans instantly, dragging both hands down his face.
“Forget I said anything.”
“No, no,” you say, stepping closer. “I want details. What thing?”
“I hate you.”
“That’s not very boyfriend of you.”
His head snaps up so fast it almost makes you grin.
“You’re enjoying this way too much.”
Maybe you are. Because suddenly everything from tonight rearranges itself perfectly in your head. The hovering. The watching. The way he kept interrupting. The way his eyes tracked your hands every time you touched the client.
And now this.
Song Mingi, who walks through life like nothing rattles him, suddenly can’t even look at you properly.
You should let him recover. You don’t. Instead, you step closer. Slow enough that he notices. Close enough that his attention snaps back to you immediately.
Now there’s barely space left between you.
Your hand lifts automatically toward the silver chain half-hidden beneath the collar of his hoodie, the pendant twisted awkwardly into the fabric. You hook two fingers under it, easing it free, then straighten it against his chest. A small gesture. Almost domestic.
Your knuckles brush warm skin where the chain slips under his shirt.
Mingi freezes. Not dramatically. Just enough for you to feel it.
“You’re touchy today,” he says softly.
“You started it.”
“Did I?”
“Mhm.”
Your fingers trail once along the chain before falling away. He watches every second of it. Like your hands are speaking a language he’s trying desperately to translate before it disappears.
A reluctant smile threatens at the corner of his mouth again, weaker now. Distracted by the fact you’re still standing too close.
“How many clients leave here thinking you’re into them?”
You blink once. “Excuse me?”
“I’m serious.” His jaw shifts faintly. “You look at people like that and then act surprised when they start falling in love with you.”
The sentence lands hard enough to knock the air slightly out of your lungs. Because he says it like an accusation. But underneath it, there’s something rawer. Softer. Something dangerously close to confession.
Your mouth twitches despite yourself. “It gets me better tips.”
“Right.” He glances away briefly. “Cool.” Then, quieter, “you flirt with me for free.”
Mingi’s eyes widen slightly like he physically felt the words leave his mouth and wants to grab them out of the air.
You blink once. Then tilt your head.
“…Do I?”
His ears turn red instantly. Actually red. And that’s new enough to make warmth bloom low in your stomach.
“I just mean,” he says quickly, taking half a step back, “you’re naturally like that. With everyone.”
“With everyone?”
“Yeah.”
You follow him when he steps back. Not enough to scare him. Just enough to make him realize you noticed.
“And you hate it?”
“No.” Too fast again. “I mean. Not hate. I just don’t like watching people flirt with you.”
The words slide warm and heavy into the room. Your heartbeat stumbles.
“Oh,” you say softly.
Mingi laughs once, humorless around the edges. “Yeah. Oh.”
Another step back from him. Another forward from you. The rhythm becomes almost absurd. Mingi retreating inch by inch while you slowly invade every space he gives up. Like he’s trying to survive this conversation and you’re trying to see how long until he breaks.
“I just think,” he says carefully, “most people don’t pay attention properly.”
“And you do.”
He hesitates. Then nods once. Small. Honest.
God.
The air suddenly feels too thick in your lungs.
“I know when you’re tired before you admit it,” he says quietly. “I know you pretend to hate sweet drinks but steal mine every time. I know you stop talking when something’s actually wrong.” His voice softens. “I know you hum when you tattoo.”
Your chest tightens painfully.
Mingi keeps talking now like he can’t stop once he’s started.
“I know which clients piss you off before they even sit down. I know you clean your station twice when you’re stressed. I know you act meaner when you’re embarrassed.”
Your lips twitch despite yourself.
“And I know,” he says, finally looking at you again, “that you flirt with people when you want them comfortable. But it doesn’t feel the same when you do it to me.”
The room goes quiet. Not empty. Heavy. Your heart is beating so hard now it almost feels embarrassing.
“Mingi…”
He keeps backing up as he talks. You keep moving forward. Until eventually his back brushes the wall near the hallway leading to the back room. Trapped. His breath catches slightly.
He tries to shift forward again on instinct. He can’t. Because you’re still there. Not crowding. Just close enough that the space he needs is gone. He’s actually stuck. Not metaphorically. Not dramatically. Just physically there, pinned between the wall and you.
His breath turns shallow.
And suddenly you realize he’s actually nervous. Not teasing nervous. Not playful nervous. Real nervous. Mingi, who flirts with strangers like breathing and walks through every room like he belongs there, is looking at you like one wrong sentence might crack him open completely.
The realization sends warmth blooming painfully through your chest.
“I think about you too much,” he blurts suddenly.
The words hang there between you. Honest. Unpolished. Mingi winces immediately after saying them like he regrets how revealing they sound. But he keeps going anyway.
“Like… an embarrassing amount, actually.” His eyes flick away again. “At work. On my way home. I see things and think you’d laugh at them. Or hate them. Or make fun of them for being ugly.”
Your lips twitch helplessly.
“And then you flirt with random guys in front of me and suddenly I’m sitting on your couch acting like a fucking psycho because some dude called your hands magic.”
The laugh that escapes you is soft. Warm. Fond enough to make his face flush deeper.
“I’m serious,” he mutters weakly.
“I know.”
“No, I don’t think you do.”
That lands differently. The air shifts with it. Mingi swallows hard, debating whether to say the next thought out loud.
“I…” His voice catches briefly. “I’ve liked you for a long time.”
You stare at him for a second longer than necessary. Like you’re enjoying this more than you should.
“You said that out loud,” you murmur.
Mingi groans again, covering his face briefly. “I know.”
The words leave him too easily. You see the exact moment he realizes that. Mingi drops his hands from his face slowly, looking at you now with this exhausted kind of honesty that almost hurts to look at.
“And the worst part,” he says more quietly, “is that I don’t even think it’s just a crush anymore.”
Something deep in your chest folds in on itself. Because his voice changes in that sentence. Softer. Heavier. Deeper. Like he didn’t mean to admit that part out loud.
“I think…” He exhales shakily, eyes finally lifting fully to yours. “I think somewhere along the way you became the first person I look for everywhere.”
The room goes completely still. No music. No neon outside. No buzzing lights overhead. Just him, and the way he’s looking at you like he’s just handed you something fragile with both hands and doesn’t know what you’re going to do with it.
You should say something. You should probably breathe. Instead, you step closer. Slow enough that he notices immediately.
His eyes widen slightly. A flicker of confusion first. Then something sharper, like he’s just realized the distance is disappearing.
Your hand catches lightly in the strings of his hoodie, fingers curling there as you guide him back into the wall behind him. Not rough. Just certain.
The soft thud of it stops his breath for half a second. His shoulders hit first. Then stillness.
Mingi blinks up at you, wide-eyed now. Caught off guard in a way that makes him look younger, softer. Like his brain is a beat behind his body catching up to the fact that he’s not moving anymore.
Trapped, but gently so.
The realization flashes across his face in real time:
Oh.
Your hand stays at his chest, twisting the soft fabric once around your fingers. And for the first time since he walked into your studio tonight, Mingi has absolutely nothing left to hide behind.
No jokes. No easy grin. Just wide dark eyes and a pulse hammering visibly in his throat beneath your touch.
He stares at you like you’ve just pulled the floor out from under him.
“…You have to stop looking at me like that.”
His voice barely survives the sentence. Low. Rough around the edges. Like every nerve in his body is pulled too tight beneath your hands.
You tilt your head slightly, still twisting the drawstring between your fingers.
“Like what?”
Mingi shuts his eyes for one dangerous second. Like he physically can’t withstand this much of you at once. When he opens them again, there’s only helpless honesty bleeding through every crack.
“You know,” he says quietly.
“Explain it to me.”
A shaky breath leaves him.
“It’s just…” His eyes flick helplessly between yours. “You keep looking at me like you already know every stupid thing I’m trying to say before I say it.”
Your pulse stumbles.
“And it’s making me insane because I had this whole speech in my head on the drive here and now you’re standing this close and I can’t remember any of it anymore.”
A laugh threatens at the corner of your mouth.
“Mingi—”
“No, wait.” He shakes his head quickly, words starting to tumble out faster now. “I’m serious. I was gonna do this properly. I had actual thoughts. Like coherent ones.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.” His ears are pink now. “And now all I can think about is your mouth.”
That almost breaks you immediately. Mingi realizes what he just admitted and groans softly, the back of his head nearly knocking against the wall behind him.
“See? This is exactly what I mean.”
“You’re doing great.”
“I’m literally not.”
You smile despite the violent rhythm of your heartbeat. Because this is what you’ve wanted for so long. Not perfection. Not some polished confession. Just him. Big hands flexing uselessly at his sides. Voice falling apart mid-sentence. Looking at you like wanting you has become unbearable to carry alone.
His eyes snap back to yours instantly. And that does it.
Because Mingi has always looked enormous next to you. Broad shoulders. Height that swallows space when he walks into a room. But right now? Right now he’s melting under your fingertips. And the realization floods through you like heat.
You step even closer. Until his breath catches against your mouth. Until the wall is the only thing keeping him upright.
“I just…” His voice catches again. “I really like you.”
The sentence lands between you soft and devastating. And suddenly kissing him feels less like a decision and more like instinct. So you do. Fast. Sudden. Like finally giving in to gravity after fighting it for months.
Mingi freezes instantly. A sharp inhale catches hard in his chest the second your lips touch his. For half a heartbeat he doesn’t move at all. Like his brain genuinely stopped working. Then his hands hit your waist. Hard. Not rough. Desperate.
A wrecked sound tears out of him somewhere between a gasp and a whimper as he melts forward into you all at once, like the kiss physically knocked the strength out of his body.
You kiss him harder immediately. Months of swallowed wanting snapping loose at once.
Mingi tries to follow too fast, too overwhelmed already, and his head knocks lightly against the wall behind him with a soft curse breathed straight into your mouth.
“Fuck,” he whispers against your lips.
You laugh softly into the kiss.
“You talk too much.”
“I was trying to…”
Another kiss cuts him off.
“I know.”
Mingi makes that sound again. That helpless little exhale that seems to punch straight through your ribs.
His hands finally settle at your hips, huge and shaky and warm through your clothes. Not controlling. Just holding on. Like he’s afraid this might disappear if he loosens his grip.
You pull back barely enough to look at him. His lips are flushed already, swollen and wet from your mouth. Eyes blown wide and dazed beneath messy dark hair.
He looks ruined. By a kiss.
The realization sends another pulse of heat straight through you.
“Mingi,” you whisper.
He visibly swallows. You brush your thumb against his jaw and he leans into it immediately without thinking. That almost undoes you.
“You don’t get it,” he says suddenly, breath uneven.
“Then tell me.”
“I can’t when you keep doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Looking at me like you want to eat me alive.”
You smile slightly. “Maybe I do.”
His entire body reacts. A shiver runs through him so obvious you feel it beneath your palms.
A laugh slips out of you before you can stop it.
Mingi’s forehead drops briefly against yours with a quiet groan, like even hearing you laugh right now is too much for him.
“You make everything worse,” he blurts suddenly.
You blink once. “Excuse me?”
“I mean good worse,” he says quickly. “Jesus Christ.”
His forehead bumps yours again, embarrassed.
“I’ll be fine all day. Totally normal. And then you smile at me once and suddenly I can’t think straight for hours.”
Your expression softens before you can stop it. Mingi notices immediately. You can see the exact second he realizes he said too much. But instead of retreating this time, he exhales shakily and lets his forehead stay pressed to yours.
“It’s not just this,” he says quietly. “It’s never just this with you.”
Your fingers loosen against his hoodie. The teasing drains out of you slowly, replaced by something warmer. Deeper. Aching.
“Then what is it?” you whisper.
Mingi’s eyes close. And for a moment he just breathes against you. Like he’s spent months holding this inside his chest and doesn’t know how to survive finally letting it out.
Then, barely above a murmur:
“It’s you.” Your heart stumbles violently. “It’s always been you.”
That one nearly steals your breath. You kiss him again before he can recover from saying it. Slower this time. Intentional. And he melts properly. No hesitation left now.
Mingi makes this quiet, wrecked sound into your mouth like the kiss physically knocks the air out of him. His hands tighten at your waist for a second before one of them slides higher, tentative at first. Like he’s not fully sure he’s allowed.
Your breath catches when his fingertips slip beneath the hem of your shirt at the small of your back. Warm skin against warm skin.
Mingi shudders immediately at the contact. You feel it happen under your hands.
The kiss breaks for half a second on his end, like his brain short-circuits from touching you there, but then he’s kissing you again instantly. Hungrier now. Still soft, still careful, but with this desperate edge underneath it that makes your pulse stumble hard.
His hand spreads slowly against your lower back beneath your shirt. Huge. Shaky. His fingertips drag upward inch by inch along your spine like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you through touch alone.
The sensation sends heat straight through your chest.
“Mingi,” you breathe against his mouth.
That sound almost ruins him. A helpless exhale leaves him as his forehead bumps yours briefly before he kisses you again, deeper this time. Like hearing his name in your voice just dissolved whatever restraint he had left.
He keeps touching you carefully. That’s the dangerous part. Not greedy. Not rough. Just unbearably attentive. His fingertips trace lightly along your spine again and your entire body reacts before you can stop it. You feel him notice immediately in the way his breath stutters into the kiss.
“Oh my god,” he whispers against your lips, sounding dazed. “You felt that.”
You hate how much your stomach flips at the shaky little note of wonder in his voice.
“Keep kissing me,” you murmur.
He obeys instantly. Like reflex. Like he’d do anything you asked right now.
Every sound you make wrecks him further. You can feel it happening in real time.
The little breathless noises he keeps losing into your mouth. The way his hand trembles slightly against your back every time you kiss him deeper. Every time you pull back half an inch, Mingi follows immediately like instinct. Like distance physically hurts now that he’s had you this close.
Your hands slide fully into his hair now, tugging lightly at the roots.
A shaky sound breaks out of him immediately. You feel it against your tongue.
“Fuck,” he whispers again, ruined already.
One of his hands stays spread beneath your shirt, warm against the center of your back. The other slides up suddenly, almost clumsy with urgency, until his fingers bury into the hair at the back of your head.
Then he kisses you deeper. Not confident this time. Needy. Like he can’t get close enough anymore.
Your breath catches softly against his mouth. One of your hands stays tangled in his hair while the other drifts slowly down his arm, fingertips tracing the hard curve of his bicep beneath his hoodie sleeve before sliding higher again. Over his shoulder. Around the back of his neck. Up along his jaw.
Mingi visibly shivers when your thumb brushes beneath his ear. You feel his hand flex hard against your spine beneath your shirt. Like he doesn’t know what to do with how badly he wants to touch you.
You kiss the corner of his mouth. His jaw. The warm skin beneath his ear.
Mingi’s head tips back against the wall automatically, exposing more of his throat with a helpless inhale that nearly destroys your composure entirely.
“There you are,” you murmur softly against his skin.
A wrecked sound leaves him immediately. Not even words anymore.
“You have any idea,” you breathe between kisses, “how hard this has been for me?”
Mingi goes still for half a second.
You pull back just enough to look at him. His lips are parted now. Eyes dark and blown wide beneath messy hair. Completely wrecked.
“I mean it.” Your forehead presses against his again. “You take care of me without even thinking about it. You show up every single time. You make every room feel safer just by walking into it.”
His hands are shaking now. Actually shaking.
“And you have been driving me insane for months,” you confess softly. “So don’t stand here acting shocked because I finally kissed you.”
A wrecked laugh breaks out of him, immediately swallowed by another desperate kiss.
Your mouths keep finding each other between breaths, between half-finished sentences, between tiny overwhelmed sounds neither of you can hide anymore.
Everything feels overheated and too close and slightly off balance.
Then suddenly his kiss falters. Not because he pulls away. Because his body gives out first. A rough breath punches out of him against your mouth as his knees buckle unexpectedly beneath him.
“Mingi—”
Your hands grab for him immediately, trying to steady him, but he’s already sliding down the wall in one overwhelmed motion, dragging you with him instinctively. One hand catches hard at your waist while the other slips from your hair, fumbling clumsily for balance that clearly no longer exists.
“Wait, wait—”
A helpless laugh breaks out of him mid-collapse.
Your knees hit the hardwood on either side of his thighs as he lands heavily against the wall with a stunned exhale. Boots scraping awkwardly against the floorboards. Long limbs everywhere at once. Completely uncoordinated now.
For one messy second, neither of you knows where to put your bodies.
Then stillness.
Mingi’s chest heaves beneath you. Your brows knit immediately. Concern flashes through you first.
“Min?”
He shakes his head once quickly. Not hurt. Just catastrophically overwhelmed.
You can see it everywhere. The violent flush spread down his throat. The dazed look in his eyes. The way his hand is still under your shirt like he forgot it was there entirely.
And something about it feels almost surreal. Song Mingi. All sharp height and broad shoulders and effortless confidence. Reduced to this because you kissed him.
“…Did your legs just give out?”
“No,” he says immediately.
“They literally folded.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re on the floor.”
“So are you.”
The comeback would land better if he wasn’t staring up at you like he’s moments away from short-circuiting completely.
And then you feel it. The thick, hard press of him beneath the dark denim where you landed directly on his lap. Heavy and unmistakable, pressing right up between your legs through your clothes. Fuck. He feels as big as he carries himself, maybe bigger.
Your breath catches slightly. Mingi notices instantly. A mortified sound leaves him.
“Don’t start,” he says quickly.
You look back up slowly. “…Start what?”
“That face.”
“What face?”
“The one where you realize things.”
Your mouth twitches immediately. His throat bobs hard.
You feel his fingers flex under your shirt instinctively before his nails drag lightly down your back in one slow scrape that makes your entire body jolt.
Fuck.
Mingi notices that too. His eyes darken immediately.
“I’m trying so hard to be normal right now,” he whispers.
The honesty of it nearly knocks the air out of you. Because he sounds wrecked. Not cocky. Not teasing. Just overwhelmed down to the bone. Still holding onto you like letting go would physically kill him.
Your eyes flick briefly to the way his hands are gripping you now. One spread hot against your spine beneath your shirt. The other tight on your waist. Strong enough to leave bruises. Shaking anyway.
Something hot curls low in your stomach at the sight. You can feel the strength coiled in him, the way he could easily lift you, pin you, take control if he wanted to. But he doesn't. He just looks up at you like he’s dying from how much he wants you.
When your hips shift experimentally against his, his reaction is immediate. A broken sound tears out of his throat as his head falls back toward the wall.
Your hand catches it before it can hit too hard, fingers tightening at the base of his neck as you cushion the impact instinctively.
Mingi melts instantly beneath your touch. His eyes squeeze shut for one second as your fingers tighten slightly in his hair. His grip spasms hard against your waist.
You bite your lip, suppressing your own sounds at the way he reacts so fast, so visibly, like every nerve in his body is wired directly into your hands.
“Oh my god,” you whisper, almost fascinated now. “I broke you.”
"Shut up," he breathes instantly, voice cracking.
Your laugh brushes warm against his mouth. Mingi’s eyes open again immediately, locking onto you like he’s afraid to miss a second of this.
And suddenly your concern dissolves into something hotter. Because he looks huge beneath you. Broad chest rising hard beneath his hoodie. Big hands gripping your body like he can’t stop himself. Thick thighs spread under yours. But none of that changes the fact he’s completely unraveling for you right now.
You tug his hair again, sharper this time. A wrecked sound punches out of him immediately.
“There he is,” you murmur softly. “My good boy.”
“Please don’t say things like that.”
“Why?”
“Because I already can’t think.”
His fingers scratch lightly down your spine again, rougher now, and the sensation shoots heat straight through your stomach. You feel him twitch between your legs, the pressure catching your clit perfectly even through denim, and you have to swallow your own moan down before it escapes.
You grin instead. Then you kiss him again.
And whatever control he had left finally snaps. His hand fists suddenly in your hair while he tilts your head enough to deepen the kiss properly. Sloppier. Hungrier. He kisses you like he can’t get enough oxygen from anywhere else.
You drag your mouth down his jaw, over his throat, and Mingi immediately tips his head back for you again with a helpless sound, exposing more skin like instinct.
His head knocks toward the wall once more and you catch him again automatically, palm sliding behind his head while your other hand stays around his shoulders.
“There,” you murmur against his throat. “Careful.”
That almost makes him whine.
Your teeth scrape lightly over his pulse. Mingi’s hips jerk up involuntarily beneath you.
“Fuck,” he chokes out, hands tightening hard enough to drag you fully against him. “You’re gonna ruin me.”
He sounds terrified.
Your forehead brushes his gently, breath mingling between you while his entire body trembles underneath yours.
You kiss him again, slower now, while your hips move in tiny experimental rolls against his. Barely anything. Just enough friction to make his breathing fall apart completely.
He’s concentrating so hard you can see it in his face. Jaw clenched. Brows pinched slightly. Trying desperately not to cum on the spot from just this. He tries to slow you once, but he fails instantly when you press closer and another helpless, broken moan slips out of him into your mouth.
Then he’s moving too, dragging desperate open-mouthed kisses down your neck like he doesn’t know where to put all this wanting anymore.
His hands slide lower.
One stays beneath your shirt, fingers tracing your spine again and again like he’s addicted to the feeling of your skin.
The other grips your ass hard, dragging you tighter against him while his mouth presses sloppy kisses against your throat.
“You’re so pretty,” he whispers against your skin, voice wrecked beyond repair. "So fucking pretty, baby, look at you—"
You’ve never seen him like this before. Never seen him stop trying to perform strength. And maybe that’s why this feels so intimate it almost scares you. Because he’s letting you see every vulnerable part without fighting to hide them anymore.
“Mingi,” you murmur softly.
He looks at you immediately.
“You okay?”
A quick nod. Then, quieter, “don’t stop.”
Your thumb smooths gently across his cheek.
“I won’t.”
And that’s what finally breaks him open. You see it happen in real time. The exact second the last bit of distance leaves his face. The exact second he realizes this isn’t temporary. That you’re not going to pull away from him tomorrow and pretend none of this happened.
His forehead drops against your shoulder with a shaky exhale.
Then he kisses you again. Different this time. Slower. Still hungry, but softer around the edges, like he can’t decide whether to devour you or memorize you.
His hands roam more boldly now, your back, your waist, your hips, your ass, gripping like he keeps remembering he’s allowed to touch you like this.
Your knees ache against the hardwood, but you barely notice once he plants his boots against the floor and pulls you flush against him with one helpless pull of his hips.
The breath leaves both of you at once.
Suddenly there’s nowhere your body ends without running into his. Broad chest. Heavy thighs. Strong arms boxing you in, without feeling threatening for even a second.
That’s the thing that gets you. How big he is and how careful he still is with you anyway.
Your hand slides to his throat experimentally, fingers loose against his pulse. Mingi's eyes go dark instantly, pupils blown wide. He swallows against your palm. Breath catching hard enough you feel it against your mouth.
"Yeah?" you whisper.
He nods, fast and desperate. "Yes. Please."
The smallest increase in pressure tears a wrecked sound out of him, his head falling back against the wall. The sound goes straight between your legs.
After that, everything loses rhythm. Kisses turning sloppy. Breathing uneven. His hands gripping harder whenever you get too close.
His hips are thrusting up, rolling, seeking more friction, and you feel yourself getting wet just from the desperation in his movements. He's so hard it must hurt, straining against the denim, and when you grind down against him, he cries out, hands gripping your ass to try to make you move faster.
He realizes what he's doing halfway through and stills himself with visible effort, eyes squeezed shut like he’s trying to regain control.
“Wait,” he breathes roughly. “If you keep doing that, I’m not gonna last.”
The honesty of it sends heat curling low in your stomach.
And you're barely doing anything, but the fact that he's this close from almost nothing makes you want to feel him fall apart because he wants you that much.
You kiss him again, deep and filthy, and keep your movements light. Just small, teasing rolls of your hips.
"So pretty," he whines, "baby, you're so—fuck. Seriously. You're so beautiful, so hot, I can't—I can’t even look at you properly right now."
“You’re so cute,” you breathe against his mouth.
Your fingers slide softly through his hair again, gentler this time, scratching lightly at his scalp while his eyes flutter half-shut.
“That’s my pretty boy,” you whisper softly. “Trying so hard to hold it together.”
His face flushes deeper immediately.
“You’re doing so good for me, Min.”
That one finally ruins him.
His hips twitch up again, needy and involuntary, and you feel the damp heat spreading at the front of his jeans where he’s already leaking from almost nothing. The realization barely has time to settle before his whole body jolts beneath you.
A strangled grunt punches out of him.
His grip clamps hard around you so suddenly it knocks your balance backward. You catch yourself instinctively, palm slapping against the wall beside his head before either of you can crack into it.
Mingi goes tense all at once, hips stuttering up into yours before he buries his face instantly into your neck with a sharp gasp, biting down hard enough to muffle the wrecked sound that follows.
And then he’s coming. Fast. Sudden. Hard enough his whole body shudders under you.
For the first time all night, he stops holding himself back. His arms lock tight around you as he pushes himself off the wall just enough to drag you with him, forcing you to tilt back slightly in his grip while he shakes through it. Like he physically needs you closer to survive it.
Your arms loop around his neck automatically to steady both of you, one hand sliding into his hair, fingers spreading against the back of his head to keep him tucked against your throat while he rides it out.
You feel every pulse through the denim between you. The hot spread of wetness. The helpless way his body betrayed him from almost nothing except your mouth, your weight against him, your hand at his throat.
His hips jerk once more before he folds inward completely, trembling against your neck, breathing ragged through clenched teeth while he tries desperately to hide how easily he came.
Then nothing. No movement. No sound except his uneven breathing against your skin.
You blink once, heat rushing straight through you at what just happened. At how little it took. At how desperately his body gave in the second you told him what he wanted to hear.
“Mingi.”
A horrified groan muffles straight into your neck.
You bite back a laugh instantly. Not mean. Never mean. Just unbearably fond. Because this man. This man who walked in here trying to act normal about being in love with you is now actively attempting to fuse himself into your shoulder to avoid eye contact.
You shift slightly, trying to look at him. He follows immediately, burying himself deeper against your neck.
“Mingi,” you repeat, softer now, fingers slipping into the hair at the nape of his neck. “Hey.”
A helpless smile spreads across your face as you press a kiss against his temple. He shudders under it instantly.
“Don’t look at me.”
That actually makes you laugh. Quiet and warm against his skin.
You coax his face back enough to look at him properly and nearly lose your mind all over again. Pink cheeks. Wet swollen lips. Eyes glassy and unfocused beneath messy hair. Completely wrecked.
And beneath you, you can still feel him, hot and sticky and probably uncomfortable as hell in his jeans, but making no move to fix it because that would mean acknowledging it.
“Shit,” he says immediately, mortified. “I’m sorry.”
That catches you off guard enough your expression softens instantly. Because he sounds embarrassed, yeah, but underneath it there’s sincerity too. Like he’s genuinely worried he ruined something.
“I was trying really hard not to cum,” he blurts, words tumbling out faster now that they’ve started. “I was trying to hold it together and then you kept kissing me and calling me pretty and I just—”
He cuts himself off with another groan, dragging a hand over his burning face.
“Min.” You wait until his eyes finally flick back to yours. “Why are you apologizing?”
His brows pull together slightly.
“…Because I came in my jeans like a teenager?”
You laugh softly. “And?”
“And we were literally just making out.”
You grin despite yourself, pulse still throbbing low and hot between your legs. Because honestly? The more you think about it, the more turned on you get.
Your hips shift unconsciously against him and Mingi sucks in a sharp breath immediately, eyes squeezing shut.
“Shit, sorry,” you murmur, fascinated. “Still sensitive?”
“Please have mercy on me.”
The shaky way he says it sends another pulse of heat straight through you. You lean in until your noses brush.
“You know this was hot, right?”
“That was hot to you? You’re not making fun of me?” he asks carefully.
Your heart actually aches a little.
“Mingi.” You brush your thumb over his cheekbone. “I’m trying very hard not to climb you again right now.”
“Oh my god.”
You kiss him again before he can get more embarrassed. Just a small one. Quick. Soft.
Mingi exhales into your mouth immediately, shoulders dropping another inch. There’s something dangerously addictive about it. Like the second you kissed him, his body decided hiding anything from you was impossible.
Your gaze drops again before you can stop it. Right between his legs. And right on cue, he shifts under you again and you feel it. Hard again. Twitching faintly beneath the damp denim. Still reacting to every little thing you do.
You pull back barely enough to look at him. “You’re kidding. You’re hard again?”
Mingi groans immediately. “Don’t say it out loud.”
Your laugh spills warm against his skin. He shivers hard at the sound. His hips shift unconsciously like he’s trying to relieve pressure and instantly regrets it when the denim drags against him.
Mingi must see something change in your face, because his breathing catches again immediately.
“Can you stop looking at me like you’re about to climb inside my ribcage?” he whispers.
You grin. “No.”
Mingi groans. “I hate you.”
“No you don’t.”
“…No. I really don’t.”
You laugh again and finally climb off his lap. Your knees ache faintly when you stand, but the sight in front of you almost takes you back out again.
Mingi looks ruined. Hoodie twisted crooked from your hands. Lips bitten red. Dark stain obvious across his jeans now no matter how he tries to angle himself away from it.
You bite your lip softly and hold your hand out toward him.
“C’mon.”
He blinks up at you. “…Where?”
Your smirk sharpens just slightly.
“You’re a mess,” you say, pointedly glancing at his lap before meeting his eyes again.
His face goes red all over again.
“Besides…” Your voice softens. “I don’t think I’m done with you yet.”
Mingi goes completely still. Then his fingers tighten around yours hard enough to feel it.
“Cool,” he says faintly. “Awesome. Great. Yeah,” he says quietly, standing now, towering close enough to steal the air from your lungs again. “You have no idea what you just started.”
Your stomach flips embarrassingly hard at the look on his face now.
“That sounds threatening.”
“It is.”
You open your mouth to answer, but Mingi kisses you first. Slow enough to distract you completely. Which is exactly why you don’t notice him crouching until the floor disappears beneath you.
“Wait, wha—”
A squeak bursts out of you as Mingi hooks an arm behind your legs and lifts you clean over his shoulder in one smooth motion.
“Mingi!”
He laughs against your startled noise as he playfully smacks your thigh before he starts walking toward the bathroom like carrying you around like this is the most natural thing in the world.
“Oh, now you’re shy?” he teases.
Heat rushes straight to your face. “Put me down.”
“No.”
He punctuates it with another slap against your ass that makes you gasp so loudly he nearly folds over laughing himself.
“You were talking real brave five minutes ago.”
You bury your burning face against the back of his hoodie while his laugh rumbles warm through your legs.
“You let me recover. Rookie mistake,” he says, opening the bathroom door. “You’re gonna regret giving me confidence.”
summary: you and mingi have been at each other’s throats at work for over a year until you finally snap
warnings: dom mingi, sub reader, public sex, tongue fucking, fingering, mouth fucking, masturbation, spanking, squirting, slight overstimulation, unprotected sex, creampie
genre: enemies to lovers, smut
pairing: mingi x afab reader
word count: 9.9k
note: this was anonymous request as mingi x coworker but I might gotten a little carried away 😭
masterlist
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You were late. Not “oops I missed the early train” late. You were “sprinting through the glass lobby, iced coffee in hand, praying your boss hadn’t noticed your empty desk yet” late. And of course, because the universe had a twisted sense of humor, that’s exactly when he turned the corner.
Song Mingi. Towering. Short bleached blonde hair. Arrogant. Wearing that smug smirk and a fitted white button down rolled at the sleeves like he was doing everyone a favor just by existing. You’d know that smug smirk anywhere. You saw it every time he interrupted you in meetings or sent a passive aggressive “per my last email” at 11:59 PM.
And now that smirk was directly in your line of fire.
Literally.
You rounded the corner too fast and collided with a solid wall of Mingi, the impact jarring enough to send your iced coffee exploding out of its plastic cup like a crime scene in slow motion. The coffee soaked the front of your blouse, your skirt, your dignity and, to your absolute horror, his pristine white shirt.
“Oh my god,” you gasped, staring in disbelief at the dripping mess down your chest, already forming into sticky brown blotches.
Mingi looked down at himself, his lips pursed in exaggerated disapproval. “Well, that’s one way to start a Monday,” he said dryly, pulling the damp fabric away from his skin.
You scowled, already digging for napkins from your bag. “Maybe if you didn’t walk around corners like you own the damn building!”
“Maybe if you watched where you were going,” he cut in smoothly, brows raised over those annoyingly stylish glasses. “But then again, chaos is kind of your brand.”
You shot him a glare, dabbing at your shirt. “Don’t you have somewhere to be? Like, I don’t know, not here?”
Mingi only grinned, eyes dropping, lingering, for half a second too long at the way your wet blouse clung to your chest before flicking back up with a maddening twinkle in his eye. “Oh, I do,” he said, voice low. “But this was worth the detour.”
You opened your mouth to snap back, something about HR and sexual harassment training, but your voice caught in your throat because why was he still standing so close? And why, beneath all your irritation, was your pulse racing just from the heat radiating off his body?
“Nice of you to mark your territory, by the way,” he added, tugging his tie loose and slinging it around his neck like he had all the time in the world. “Next time, just ask for my number.”
You gaped at him, mouth opening and closing like a waterless goldfish. “You are insufferable.”
“And yet,” he said, already backing away, “you can’t stop thinking about me.”
You watched him retreat down the hall, blonde hair tousled, damp shirt clinging to his broad back, and you hated, hated, how right he might be.
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You had just finished blotting the last of the coffee from your now semi transparent blouse, thankfully hidden under a spare blazer you kept at your cubicle for “fashion emergencies” (which today totally qualified) when your phone buzzed.
Boss Lady: My office. Now. Bring Mingi.
You stared at the message. Then again. Then audibly groaned. There was only one person on this floor who could ruin your day in a single sentence besides Mingi, and apparently, today was a buy one get one kind of deal.
You found him, naturally, leaning against the edge of the copier like it was a runway, sleeves rolled, top button undone. The smug bastard even had his glasses pushed slightly down his nose as he flipped through a report like he was posing for a Forbes cover shoot.
“Boss wants us,” you announced flatly.
He looked up, a slow smile curling across his lips. “What, already tired of pretending you don’t like me?”
You deadpanned, “I will staple your tie to your desk.”
“Bold of you to assume I wouldn’t like it,” he replied, tossing the file down with a wink.
You gritted your teeth, spun on your heel, and marched ahead, fully aware of his long strides catching up just to match your pace, like a tall, smug shadow.
The office was glass walled and way too exposed for comfort. Your boss, Ms. Hwang, was perched behind her sleek desk, hair immaculately pinned, her manicured fingers typing at the speed of judgment.
“You’re late,” she said, not even looking up. Mingi opened his mouth. You jabbed him in the ribs with your elbow before he could make it worse. “Sorry,” you said instead, ignoring his offended glare. “There was… a coffee incident.”
“I see that,” she said dryly, eyes finally flicking up to your still damp blouse. “You two just can’t seem to stay out of each other’s way.”
“We really try,” Mingi offered, smiling like he’d just been asked to model for a dating app ad called OfficeFlirt. Your boss sighed and clasped her hands. “Perfect, then. You’ll love this.”
You blinked. “Wait. Love what?”
She leaned back, looking entirely too pleased with herself. “Corporate just greenlit the launch of the DaVinci Project’s pilot phase. We’re short staffed, and I need my best and brightest working on it. Which unfortunately,” she said, sliding two identical folders across her desk, “means the two of you.”
Silence.
You reached for the folder with a numb hand, cracking it open like it might bite.
“You want us to work together,” you said slowly, trying to process. “On a top level client rollout.”
She nodded. “You’ll be representing the creative and marketing arms together. This is a high stakes project. Big exposure. Don’t screw it up. Mingi’s brows raised just enough to suggest this was the kind of challenge he lived for.
You, on the other hand, felt your soul leave your body. “But…”
“No buts,” she cut in sharply. “You two are oil and fire. But I’ve seen what you’re capable of when you’re competing. Now I want to see what you can do when you’re forced to cooperate.”
You shot a look at Mingi, who smiled back like the devil in designer frames. “Oh, I’m all in,” he said smoothly, grabbing his folder. “I’ve always wanted to know what real teamwork with her would feel like.” His smirk was way too smug.
“I hope HR’s on standby,” you muttered, flipping the folder closed.
“Good,” Ms. Hwang said, already turning back to her screen. “You start tomorrow. Briefing at 8 a.m. Sharp.”
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Outside her office, Mingi leaned close, voice low and maddeningly amused. “You gonna wear another see through blouse for our first team meeting or should I bring you a splash proof lid this time?”
You turned to him slowly, sweet smile on your lips, voice sugar and steel.
“I hope you choke on a spreadsheet.”
He laughed, genuinely laughed, as you walked away, already plotting how to survive the next however many days without tossing your computer or yourself, out a window.
But beneath all the simmering rage and scathing remarks, one thing was dangerously clear, You were going to kill each other.
Or you were going to fuck.
Maybe both.
Probably both.
Definitely both.
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You knew it was going to be a long day the moment you stepped into the elevator.
Not just any kind of long. A wearing heels and a smile while mentally screaming kind of long. The elevator hummed softly as it rose toward the tenth floor, the mirrored interior catching the reflection of your deliberately curated outfit, a curve hugging beige pencil skirt, sheer black tights, a fitted black top tucked in with lethal precision, and heels so sharp they could double as weapons.
Your hair was perfectly styled, makeup flawless, your expression unreadable. You looked like confidence personified. You felt like committing arson. Because today? Today was day one of your partnership with Mingi.
You exhaled through your nose as the elevator doors slid open. It was too early for his voice. Too early for his cologne. Too early for his entire tall, annoying existence.
And yet.
“There she is,” came the voice from your shared project room before you’d even made it to the coffee station. “Looking like she’s about to seduce and fire someone at the same time.”
You paused in the doorway.
And there he was, Mingi, already seated at the long glass conference table, one arm draped casually over the back of the chair, glasses perched on his nose, hair effortlessly tousled and infuriatingly golden in the morning light. His crisp white shirt was half unbuttoned at the top, tie undone and hanging loose around his neck like a fashion statement, not an HR violation.
You ignored the way your stomach fluttered. Mostly. “Did you get here early just to annoy me, or is it a gift?” you said dryly, walking to your seat on the opposite end of the table.
He grinned, eyes raking over you in a slow, unhurried scan that made heat crawl up the back of your neck. “Why choose?”
You rolled your eyes and dropped your bag onto your chair before walking to the coffee bar.
You could feel his gaze trailing after you, and you hated, hated, how smug it made you feel.
“New skirt?” he asked, already halfway through his coffee. “Or just new attitude?”
“New boundaries,” you said sweetly. “Want me to draw them for you? Or would that require more than a single brain cell?”
He chuckled, the low sound irritatingly attractive. “Careful, princess. That skirt’s got claws.”
You froze mid pour, glaring at your reflection in the silver coffee carafe. “If you call me princess again, I will staple your tongue to your desk.”
Behind you, he let out a soft hum. “Kinky.”
You took a very long sip of your coffee before returning to the table, where your shared project folders had already been laid out. You sat. He mirrored you, because of course he did, spinning his pen between long fingers like he was bored already.
“Let’s just get through this,” you muttered, flipping open the folder. “No snide comments. No flirting. No games.”
Mingi leaned forward slightly, his voice low and dark with amusement. “Who said I was playing?”
You looked up sharply, and just like that, the tension thickened, heavy enough to spark.
And the day hadn’t even started.
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The project war room, an overly air conditioned, glass walled conference room, much your boss’ office, lined with whiteboards and ego, had never seen this much tension.
You sat across from Mingi, laptop open, fingers flying over the keyboard as you updated slides for the client pitch deck, each click more aggressive than the last. Your heels were kicked off under the table, blazer folded over the back of your chair, hair starting to frizz slightly from the stress of trying to make any of his ideas fit the actual strategy.
He was sitting just far enough away to be annoying but close enough to make your skin itch, legs spread like he owned the floor, one elbow hooked over the back of his chair, the other hand resting on the edge of your shared table. His glasses had slipped slightly down his nose, and every now and then, he’d push them up without looking away from you.
“So,” he said casually, “what if instead of a voiceover, we pitch a spokesperson? Someone hot. Confident. A little smug.”
You didn’t even look up. “Like you?”
“Well, I wasn’t going to say it out loud, but yeah.”
You slowly lifted your head, fixing him with a stare that could stop a moving vehicle. “We are not using you as the face of a campaign unless the campaign is, How To Be the Human Equivalent of a Traffic Violation.”
“Ouch,” he said, pressing a hand to his chest. “That one actually stung. Should I add that to your list of compliments?”
You ignored the heat rising in your cheeks. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet, you’re still here.”
“Because I have no choice.”
“You could’ve called in sick,” he mused, tipping his chair back just enough to be cocky. “But then I wouldn’t have gotten to see you in that skirt.”
You froze, fingers stilling on the keyboard.
Mingi leaned forward, the shift making your breath catch before you could stop it. His voice dropped, just a touch lower, enough to hum in your chest.
“Not that you don’t look good every day, but…” He tilted his head, eyes flicking down, slow and deliberate. “Today? You’re kind of killing me.”
You blinked. Then narrowed your eyes. “What’s your angle?”
His lips twitched. “What if I’m just telling the truth?”
“No. You’re trying to mess with me,” you said flatly, spinning your laptop toward him a little too hard. “Focus. We have to have this presentation ready by Thursday and your entire section reads like it was written by a man who thinks synergy is a love language.”
He leaned in again, this time closer, close enough that you could smell his cologne, subtle and expensive. “I am trying to mess with you,” he murmured, voice warm now, teasing. “Just not the way you think.”
You frowned, caught off guard. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He didn’t answer. Just reached past you, his hand brushing yours, and adjusted a slide on the screen like nothing had happened. But his smirk said otherwise.
You sat there, momentarily stunned. Flustered. Angry at yourself for being flustered.
And somewhere across from you, Mingi was quietly losing his entire mind, because your lips were pressed together in a tight little line, your eyes shooting daggers, and all he could think about was how badly he wanted to lean in, palm your jaw, and see if you’d still glare at him when your breath hitched beneath his touch.
He’d been pretending for a year. Teasing, bickering, snarking like it was a sport. But now?
Now he was done playing.
And you had no idea.
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The office break room was unusually quiet for once, no microwaves humming, no interns whispering over mismatched mugs. Just you, your much needed second, okay, third, cup of coffee, and five minutes of peace before you had to dive back into the war room with him.
You leaned against the counter, mug in hand, scrolling through your phone while the rich scent of hazelnut filled the air, the faint hum of the vending machine behind you the only background noise.
“Didn’t think anyone could make business casual look that good.”
You blinked, looking up to find Eric from IT, tall, charming in a corporate puppy dog kind of way, smiling as he grabbed a mug from the cabinet.
You arched a brow. “Didn’t think anyone still used that line in 2025.”
Eric chuckled, pouring his own cup. “Guilty. But I mean it. You’ve been looking… sharp lately.”
You hummed, noncommittal but polite. “Deadlines will do that to you.”
“Still,” he said, stepping a little closer, “you and Mingi on that project? Bet it’s been a fun week.”
You sipped your coffee. “If your definition of fun includes daily homicide fantasies, sure.”
Eric laughed again, easing into your space just enough to suggest interest. “Well, if you ever need to blow off steam, grab a drink after work, maybe…. I’m around.”
You tilted your head, amused. “Smooth.”
“I try.”
What neither of you noticed, at least, not yet, was the very tall, very not amused presence leaning against the wall just outside the doorway, half shadowed by the frame. Mingi had been on his way in, a new pen clenched between his teeth, that usual lazy swing to his step until he saw you.
And him.
His jaw tightened, pen forgotten, gaze locked on the way Eric leaned in. How close he was standing. How you were smiling.
No.
Nope.
Absolutely not.
You jumped slightly when a deep voice broke the moment like glass.
“Aren’t you two a little old for flirting over a Keurig?”
Both you and Eric turned.
Mingi stepped fully into the room, straightening his glasses with the most unnecessarily smug look on his face.
Eric cleared his throat, stiffening. “Just talking.”
Mingi smiled, tight, sharp. “Sure. Talking.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Do you mind?”
“Not at all,” Mingi replied, walking right up and grabbing the coffee pot you’d just used, reaching around you like he wasn’t halfway invading your space. “Actually,” he added, his voice low and pointed, “I prefer fresh coffee. The burnt kind always leaves a bad taste.”
Your jaw clenched. Eric blinked awkwardly, then coughed. “Uh…. right. I’ll catch you later.”
You didn’t respond. Too busy trying not to throw your scalding mug at Mingi’s face.
When Eric finally left, the room suddenly felt much smaller as You glared up at Mingi. “What the hell was that?”
Mingi shrugged, calm and collected as he poured himself a cup. “Didn’t like the vibe.”
You crossed your arms. “You didn’t like the vibe or you didn’t like him?”
He met your gaze, a flicker of something dark behind his eyes. “Is there a difference?”
You scoffed. “Unbelievable.”
“Look,” he said, setting the pot down and facing you fully now, voice quieter. “If some guy’s gonna try to shoot his shot with you, he can at least wait until I’m done with mine.”
You stared at him, stunned.
“What the hell does that mean?”
Mingi leaned in, close enough you could smell the coffee on his breath, feel the heat rolling off his body, close enough to kiss if either of you moved an inch.
“It means,” he murmured, voice like sin, “I’m not playing anymore.”
And then, just like that, he stepped back, grabbed a stir stick, popped it into his mug, and walked out like he hadn’t just thrown a live grenade between your ribs.
You stood there frozen, heart pounding, coffee forgotten in your hand. And it finally hit you.
He wasn’t just messing with you anymore. He was flirting.
For real.
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The second your heels hit the polished floor of the office lobby the next morning, heads turned.
And you knew it.
You didn’t wear the thigh highs and blazer combo for attention. Not really. You wore it because you felt like it. You wore it because you were a grown woman with good taste and zero patience for corporate dress code politics.
You did not wear it because of Mingi.
Absolutely not.
Not because his voice had echoed in your head all night, low and rough and saying things like, I’m not playing anymore.
Not because you had very specifically remembered the way his gaze had dipped when he looked at you in that pencil skirt.
And definitely not because you had, embarrassingly, replayed that break room scene more than once in the privacy of your own bedroom.
Nope. You were fine. Cool. Chill.
Until you walked past the war room. And his head snapped up like he sensed you.
Mingi was seated at the table, leaned back like usual, one arm slung over the chair, glasses perched low, dress shirt sleeves rolled up, tie hanging loose. His hair was still a little damp, like he’d run late and barely made it in.
But when he saw you, time hiccupped. He blinked once. Twice. And then, that smirk.
You kept walking, heels sharp against the tile, ignoring the way his eyes tracked your legs. Your skirt. The perfect, infuriating length of skin exposed between the hem and the tops of your stockings.
You didn’t see him adjust in his chair, but you felt it as you slid into your desk like nothing had happened, flipped open your laptop, and opened the presentation file as if your brain wasn’t currently being fried by the memory of his stare.
But it was only 8:06 AM and you were already failing miserably at ignoring him.
Because a minute later, he strolled over to your side of the office, coffee in hand, no folder, no excuse, no shame, and leaned against the edge of your desk like he lived there.
“Morning,” he said, eyes full of mischief and something darker, voice scratchy in that just woke up and didn’t fully recover from his dreams kind of way.
You didn’t look at him. Couldn’t. “Morning,” you said flatly, typing one word into the doc before deleting it five times.
He didn’t move. “You dress like that for me?” he asked, sipping his coffee, casual as hell.
You finally looked at him. “You dress like that for HR complaints?”
Mingi grinned, teeth flashing. “Touché.” He stepped back, but only so he could lean in closer on your other side, now behind you. You stiffened when his hand lightly brushed the edge of your chair.
“Just one question,” he murmured. “Is that skirt as short as it looks, or are my eyes just blessed?”
You twisted in your seat and looked up at him, fully intending to cuss him out, but the words got stuck somewhere behind your tongue and that stupid warmth blooming across your chest.
“Go back to your desk,” you said, voice a little breathier than intended as Mingi held your gaze for one beat too long. Two. Then stepped back with a soft chuckle, turning on his heel and sauntering away.
And you? You stared at your screen, trying not to have a full-on internal crisis over the fact that, Your thighs were definitely still tingling. You could smell him on the air he left behind. And okay fine maybe just maybe he wasn’t as annoying as you’d convinced yourself.
Which was a problem. A big one. Because if Mingi kept flirting like that, and you kept reacting like this, you were either going to fall for him… or fuck him.
Certainly both
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You’d just finished sending one slide over to Mingi with a half decent caption when the ping hit your inbox.
Boss Lady: [ My office. Now. Both of you. ]
You stared at the email.
“Please tell me this isn’t about the pitch deck,” you muttered, already knowing it absolutely was.
From across the room, Mingi looked up from his phone, clearly getting the same message. He met your eyes with a dramatic sigh, tossed his pen onto the table, and mouthed, you’re in trouble, like the world’s most obnoxious teen boy in homeroom.
You flipped him off. Professionally.
The walk to her office felt like a funeral march.
Ms. Hwang didn’t even look up when you stepped inside. She just motioned to the chairs in front of her desk like a queen beckoning peasants. You sat. Mingi followed, arms crossed, long legs sprawled like he paid rent on that chair.
“I’m going to ask this once,” Ms. Hwang said, voice tight, eyes sharp behind her rimless glasses. “Where. Is. The. Deck?”
You opened your mouth, but Mingi beat you to it.
“We’re just finalizing a few last minute tweaks…”
She held up a hand. “I don’t want a song and dance. I want results.”
You tried to salvage it. “It’s nearly done, we just…”
“Nearly done?” Her brow arched. “This was due yesterday.”
Mingi leaned forward. “It’s a complex rollout…”
“And it’s a basic deadline,” she snapped. “What the hell is going on between you two?”
You froze.
Mingi blinked.
Ms. Hwang folded her arms and gave the both of you that look, the one that made grown adults reconsider their careers. “I don’t care if you’re sleeping together, hate each other, or planning to elope in Vegas. What I care about is that this project, my project, gets delivered. Tomorrow morning. Finished. Clean. Ready to present to the board.”
Your mouth went dry.
Mingi cleared his throat. “We’ll get it done.”
“Oh, I know you will,” she said, pulling out a red folder and slapping it on the desk. “Because you’re both staying late tonight. I’ve booked the conference room. You’ll have zero distractions and full access to the shared drive, but you don’t leave until it’s done. Is that clear?”
You nodded, jaw tight. “Crystal.”
She looked at Mingi.
He gave her his most charming, don’t blame me grin. “Loud and clear, boss.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I swear, if I have to hear about another delay…”
“You won’t,” you both said in unison.
“Good.” She already turned back to her computer. “Now go. Finish it. And for god’s sake, try not to kill each other.”
═════════ ═════════ ═════════
Back in the hallway, Mingi exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “So. Working late with you. Alone. In a glass room.”
You shot him a look. “Don’t start.”
“Oh, I haven’t even warmed up,” he said, grinning as he fell into step beside you.
You groaned. “I swear to god, Mingi, if we don’t finish this deck tonight…”
His smirk widened. “Then we’ll just have to pull an all nighter.”
Your step faltered.
And he noticed.
But he didn’t say anything, just opened the door to the now dimly lit conference room and motioned for you to walk in first like a gentleman… or a predator pretending to be one.
The door clicked shut behind you.
And the silence that settled between you?
Was dangerous.
═════════ ═════════ ═════════
It was 10:41 PM.
Everyone was gone.
The lights in the hallway had switched to night mode, dim and motion triggered, casting long shadows outside the glass walls of the conference room. The only sounds were the soft clacks of your laptop keys, the hum of the overhead fluorescents, and the distant roll of the janitor’s cart somewhere on the floor below.
And then, of course, there was Mingi.
Seated across from you, legs wide, sleeves rolled to his elbows, glasses perched at the edge of his nose as he tapped away at his own laptop like the tension between you didn’t exist.
Like he hadn’t been toeing the line all week.
Like you hadn’t been clenching your thighs under the desk every time he leaned back in that chair and ran a hand through his hair like he was bored when you were practically burning.
“We should lead with the user adoption data,” you said, not even looking up.
“We could,” Mingi replied slowly, stretching with a yawn, “or we could just keep playing it safe and boring and exactly what the execs expect.”
You sighed. “This isn’t about being boring, it’s about being strategic…”
“No, it’s about you always needing to be right.”
You froze.
“Excuse me?”
Mingi leaned back again, arms crossed now. “Every time I suggest something even a little outside the box, you shoot it down like I’m incompetent.”
“That’s because your version of ‘outside the box’ is borderline reckless.”
“No, it’s because you don’t trust me,” he snapped, sitting forward now, his voice louder than it had been all night. “You never have.”
The air went tight.
You stood slowly, palms flat on the glass table. “Maybe because you’ve spent the last year treating this job like a damn joke and me like I’m just another chance to push your stupid buttons.”
“Oh, please,” he barked out a laugh. “You are a button. One big, shiny, hot as fuck panic button.”
Your mouth opened.
Closed.
Your hands curled into fists.
“You think this is a game?” you hissed, walking around the table now, glaring down at him. “You think you can just flirt and tease and drive me insane and I’m not going to say something eventually?”
He stood up to meet you, tall and broad and entirely too close. “You’re already saying something. Every time you look at me like you want to kill me and kiss me in the same breath, yeah, you’re saying a lot.”
You hated how fast your pulse jumped. How dark his eyes were now. How your breathing turned shallow the second his voice dropped an octave.
“I don’t want to kiss you,” you said through clenched teeth.
His gaze dropped to your mouth, then back up.
“Liar.”
You snapped.
One hand fisted his loose tie, yanked him forward, and crashed your mouth against his.
Hard.
Messy.
Hot.
Mingi groaned against your lips like he’d been waiting for this for months, which, to be fair, he had, his hands flying to your waist, gripping you like he wasn’t planning to let go. Your back hit the table, files sliding, forgotten. His tie wrapped around your wrist now, your other hand already buried in his hair, tugging, demanding, needing.
Mingi’s mouth was on yours like it was the answer to every fight, every late night, every repressed fantasy you’d tried to bury under bullet points and deadlines. And god, the way he kissed, like he was angry and starved and obsessed, made you forget you ever hated him.
The table dug into your back, cool through the fabric of your blazer, your fingers still fisted in Mingi’s tie as his mouth left yours only long enough to breathe.
And then he was kissing your neck, slow at first, his lips brushing the sensitive skin beneath your jaw like he wanted to taste the pulse hammering there.
You gasped as his hands, bigger than you remembered, rougher than you’d dared to imagine, slid up your thighs, fingers curling around the hem of your skirt like it offended him.
“Fuck,” he murmured into your skin, lips trailing down to the curve where your neck met your shoulder. “You wore this on purpose, didn’t you?”
You shivered, lips parted, unable to form words because his hands were higher now, thumbs teasing along the tops of your sheer thigh highs, dragging over the band with maddening slowness.
You arched into him, breath hitching. “Mingi…”
He hummed like a warning and pulled back just far enough to meet your eyes. “You don’t get to say my name like that,” he said, voice dark, lips shiny from your skin. “Not unless you mean it.”
You swallowed, nails digging into the lapels of his shirt. “I don’t.”
He smirked, cocky and sinful, his hands slipping just under your skirt now, his fingers stroking lightly up the inside of your thighs. “Liar.”
“I hate you,” you whispered, the words barely making it out.
And still, your hips pushed forward, seeking his hands, chasing the burn.
Mingi’s gaze flicked up to yours, wild and wicked. “Say it again.”
You glared, breathless. “I hate you.”
His fingers squeezed at the tops of your thighs, thumbs circling dangerously close to the wet heat between them. “Yeah?” he said, mouth brushing yours now, his tongue barely tasting the corner of your lips. “Then why are you soaking through your panties for me right now?”
You gasped, your head dropping back as he kissed your throat again, hot, open mouthed, biting this time. You moaned, a sharp sound that echoed in the empty room, shame and desire coiled so tightly inside you that you weren’t sure where one ended and the other began.
And his hands?
Still climbing.
Still teasing.
Still treating you like a prize he’d finally earned after playing the long game. Because he had. And now? Now he was going to take his time ruining you for every other late night office crush that had ever even thought about flirting with you.
Mingi’s breath was ragged now, matching yours, one hand splayed flat on your thigh, the other gripping your waist like he needed something to anchor himself.
And then, without a word, he dropped.
Straight to his knees.
Right there between your legs in the middle of the empty office, the night humming outside the windows, the only light coming from the soft glow of your laptop still open behind you, it’s screen forgotten.
You barely had time to process it before his hands slid up your thighs again, slow and reverent now. Not teasing. Not cocky. Hungry.
And when he leaned in to press a kiss just above your knee, lips hot through the sheer black fabric, your breath caught so sharply you nearly folded. “Mingi,” you whispered, broken around his name.
He didn’t answer. Didn’t have to. He kissed higher. Then again. And then bit. A gentle, maddening scrape of his teeth through your thigh high, just enough pressure to make you gasp, to make your hips twitch toward him like your body had made the decision for you.
He growled, actually growled, and bit higher, right at the top band of the stocking. His fingers gripped behind your knee, lifting your leg over his shoulder as his mouth latched onto the seam with a slow drag of his teeth.
And then he pulled. Not with his hands. With his mouth. The stocking slipped down, inch by inch, his lips brushing your skin the whole way. Every nerve lit up in a flash fire of heat and disbelief.
When he got it down past your calf, he let it fall, fingertips brushing the underside of your knee like a silent promise.
Then he moved to the other leg. And did it again. Slower. This time, his mouth lingered. His tongue flicked out against the sensitive spot behind your thigh and you whimpered, knees instinctively trying to close, but his hands pushed them apart, firm and possessive.
“You have no idea,” he murmured against your bare skin, lips dragging up toward the inside of your thigh, “how long I’ve wanted this.”
Your eyes fluttered shut. Your body trembled, caught in the heat of it all.
“Mingi…” you breathed, unsure if it was a warning, a plea, or both.
But he was already kissing back up, now unhindered, now tasting the skin those thigh highs had hidden, leaving goosebumps and sparks in his wake.
And when he got close enough that you felt his breath ghosting between your thighs? He looked up at you through his lashes, flushed and wrecked and starving.
“You still hate me?” he asked, voice low and rough, lips brushing the top of your thigh like a threat as you met his gaze, fists tangled in his shirt, your skirt hiked up past the point of no return.
You barely had time to try and answer, to blink, before Mingi stood again, fast, fluid, towering over you with heat still radiating off his body like fire pressed into skin. His hand caught your chin, not rough, but firm, tilting your face up until you had no choice but to meet his eyes.
His pupils were blown. His lips were slick. His jaw clenched like he was holding back something feral. “You want this?” He asked, voice a gravelly growl. “Say it.”
Your breath hitched as he leaned in closer, nose brushing yours, his thumb sweeping over your bottom lip, soft but possessive, like he was already memorizing the shape of you.
“Don’t make me guess,” he whispered. “Don’t let me go back down there unless you want me to ruin you.”
You swallowed hard, thighs twitching, your hips instinctively rocking forward toward the only thing that could ease the ache. “Yes,” you breathed, barely audible.
His grip tightened just slightly.
“Louder.”
Your hands curled into his shirt, your voice trembling but sure.
“I want it.”
His mouth broke into a grin, slow and dark and satisfied.
“Good.”
And then he dropped again. But this time, it wasn’t slow. This time, he shoved your knees apart, hands dragging your skirt higher with zero ceremony, intentional now. No more teasing. No more holding back.
His fingers hooked into your panties, black, lacy, soaked through, and he dragged them down your legs in one sharp motion.
You gasped as the cool air hit you. Then moaned as he balled the panties in his fist, met your gaze again, and shoved them into his pocket. “Mine now.”
And then his mouth was on you. Hot. Wet. Devastating. He licked a stripe up your center, tongue broad and unhurried, tasting you for the first time and wanting to remember everything. Your breath caught, hands flying to his hair as he groaned against you, groaned, like he was the one getting off on this.
“Mingi…” you choked out, hips twitching as his tongue circled your clit with dangerous precision, his fingers gripping your thighs, anchoring you in place.
You grabbed at his hair, tugging, writhing, trying to keep still as his tongue flattened, licked, sucked like he’d been dreaming about this exact moment.
And he had. Because nothing had haunted him more than the idea of you like this, spread out, breathless, thighs over his shoulders while you moaned his name and yanked his hair like you needed it to breathe.
He moaned again, deeper this time as he sucked at your clit, his tongue flicking in perfect rhythm until your legs began to tremble and your head fell back with a low, broken curse.
Mingi didn’t come up for air. He didn’t slow down. Didn’t give you room to think, to breathe, to remember anything but the way his mouth was wrecking you.
His tongue pressed deep inside you, hot and wet and relentless, fucking into you with obscene precision, curling, dragging, pumping like he was claiming space no one else ever could.
And then his nose, God. The way it nudged up against your clit, grinding into that sensitive bundle of nerves every time he thrust his tongue deeper, made your back arch and your hands fly to his hair again, fisting in the soft blonde strands with a ragged cry.
“Mingi… fuck, fuck!”
He growled against you, the sound vibrating straight through your core, his hands gripping your thighs so tightly your skin tingled, holding you open for him, keeping you right where he wanted you.
Like you were his. And you were. In that moment? Absolutely his.
He pulled back just enough to suck your clit into his mouth, hard and filthy and needy, before plunging two fingers inside you, thick and perfect, curling instantly as he slid them deep, his tongue flattening beneath your clit as his nose rubbed just right.
“Oh my god, Mingi!”
You weren’t even sure if the words made it out as your body convulsed, your thighs locking around his head as you grinded against him, chasing it, chasing everything.
You were moaning now, loud, almost sobbing as his fingers pumped in and out of you fast, fucking you hard while his tongue never left your clit, his nose dragging against it like he knew exactly what it was doing to you.
And he did. He’d imagined it. Dreamed it. Fantasized about making you come undone on his face until you couldn’t speak his name without shaking. “Come for me,” he growled, words muffled into you, tongue licking wildly now, fingers slamming into that perfect spot over and over.
And you did.
Hard.
Violent.
Unstoppable.
Your body seized, thighs trembling, heels digging into the edge of the table as you came with a strangled, broken cry, your voice cracking, your nails digging into his scalp, your whole world narrowed to the heat and wet and want crashing through you in waves so intense you could barely breathe.
You were panting. Moaning. Still twitching as his mouth slowed, soft now, lapping at you gently as your body shuddered with aftershocks.
When he finally pulled back, chin slick, lips swollen, eyes blown black with lust, he looked up at you like you were something holy.
“Still hate me?” he rasped, licking your release from his bottom lip.
You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think. All you could do was stare down at him, on his knees, hair messy from your hands, your panties still in his pocket, and wonder how the hell you’d ever survive this man now that he knew what you sounded like when you broke.
Your body was still trembling, your thighs slick, lips kiss bruised, lungs barely catching up, but your mind? Clear. Clearer than it had been in weeks.
You wanted him.
Not to flirt. Not to tease. Not to hate.
You wanted to wreck him.
With your knees wobbling and your hands still bracing the edge of the conference table, you slid down, slowly, deliberately, until your knees kissed the cold floor.
Mingi’s breath caught as you looked up at him through your lashes once he stood, eyes glassy, lips parted, hair wild around your face.
And he stared.
Chest rising and falling like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. His hands had dropped to his sides, fists clenched, his dick already straining against his slacks, painfully obvious, thick and heavy, begging for attention.
You reached for his belt. Your fingers moved slowly, unfastening it with unshaking purpose now, your nails dragging down the zipper, his abs twitching when your hand brushed over the bulge beneath his boxers.
Still looking up at him. Still fucking owning him from your knees. When you pulled him free, hot, hard, big, you paused. Eyes wide. Lips twitching into the hint of a smirk. “Jesus,” you whispered.
He let out a low, breathless laugh, half choked on the tension. “Still wanna hate me?”
You met his gaze, eyes burning with something darker. “I don’t hate you,” you murmured. Then you leaned in, pressing a single kiss to the base of his dick, just above where his abs tensed.
You looked back up, lips brushing his tip, already wet with precum. “I want to ruin you.”
His groan was wrecked as his hand found the back of your head, not pushing, just holding, like he didn’t trust himself not to lose control the second your lips wrapped around him.
You licked a stripe up his shaft, slow, deliberate, swirling your tongue around the head just to watch him twitch, and then pulled back enough to whisper, “Fuck my mouth.”
His breath stopped. For a moment, he just stood there, wide eyed, panting, staring at you like you’d just unlocked a part of him he wasn’t ready to show the world. “You sure?” he asked, voice rough, trembling with restraint.
You opened your mouth. Tongue out. Lips parted. Then nodded. And that was it.
He grabbed your jaw, not rough but firm, guiding himself to your lips, and then he thrust, slow and deep, sliding past your tongue until your throat flexed around him.
He moaned. Hard. Guttural. Hands flying into your hair like he was already losing himself.
You hollowed your cheeks, sucked, letting him slide in and out, saliva pooling and dripping down your chin as he started fucking your mouth just like you asked, like he needed to.
He started slow. One hand tangled in your hair, the other braced on the table behind you, Mingi held still as he guided himself past your lips again, inch by inch, watching your mouth stretch around him, watching your eyes flutter as you adjusted to the weight, the heat, the thickness of him.
“Shit,” he hissed, his abs flexing as you took more, your tongue pressed flat beneath him. “Just like that… fuck, you look so good with my dick in your mouth.”
You moaned, just a little, soft and breathy, and that alone made his hips twitch.
“Fuck, don’t…. don’t do that,” he gasped, already losing his rhythm.
But then you did it again. A louder moan this time. Vibrating around him. Echoing deep in your throat. And when his eyes dropped lower, when he saw your hand, fingers between your own thighs, rubbing, sliding, grinding against yourself while you moaned around his dick?
Something inside him snapped. “Are you…” he choked out, head tilting back for a split second before yanking you closer. “You’re touching yourself while I fuck your mouth?”
You nodded, wide eyes watering, spit already leaking from the corners of your mouth.
“Oh fuck, baby,” he groaned, and that was it. He started moving. Really moving. His grip on your hair tightened, guiding your head now, thrusting into your mouth with growing speed, each snap of his hips punctuated by a low, filthy moan that only made you wetter.
“You like this?” he growled. “You like gagging on my dick, don’t you, baby?”
You moaned again, louder, hand working between your legs faster now as you let him use your mouth, tears streaking down your cheeks as your throat stretched to take him.
“Fucking…. shit, you’re perfect,” he gasped, hips stuttering as he thrust deeper, your gag reflex hitting but your nails digging into his thigh like you loved it.
“Choking so pretty for me, fuck, just like that… fuck yourself, baby. Come for me while I use this mouth. Show me how bad you want it.”
And you did. Right there on the floor, your mouth full of him, spit and tears and slick dripping down your thighs, you came. Hard.
A muffled, wrecked moan echoing around his dick as your body jerked, back arching, hand trapped between your thighs as your orgasm crashed through you, leaving you shaking and completely gone.
Mingi choked on a groan, pulled out fast, barely in time, his dick glistening, his breath ragged, your spit clinging to him in strings as you gasped for air, lips swollen, jaw slack.
“Fuck…. fuck,” he hissed, jerking himself once, twice, holding off with every ounce of restraint he had left. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”
You looked up at him, ruined, dripping, glowing. And smiled as Mingi was panting, chest heaving, spit slick dick twitching between you as he stared down at the absolute mess you’d made of yourself on your knees. His jaw clenched like he was barely keeping it together.
Then he grabbed you. Lifted you right off the floor, your legs barely had time to wobble before he was kissing you, kissing you like he hadn’t just been fucking your throat ten seconds ago. His hands cradled your jaw, lips hot and open, tongue desperate and deep as you clung to his shirt, dizzy and drenched and gasping against his mouth.
You groaned into him, fingers flying to the buttons of his shirt. One popped. Then another. Then the whole thing was sliding off his shoulders, his black tie still hanging loose around his neck like a collar begging to be yanked.
His skin was warm and flushed and gorgeous, abs flexing as you shoved the shirt down his arms and dropped it to the floor, hands sliding over his chest with a hunger you weren’t even trying to hide anymore.
And then his hands found your waist. Turned you. Bent you. Your front hit the table, palms bracing against the slick surface, your skirt rucked all the way up to your waist as he stepped in close behind you.
You gasped, hips jerking forward as his palm landed on your ass, sharp and claiming, followed by a low groan behind you. “Fuck,” he muttered, dragging his hand over the now reddening skin. “You’ve got no idea what you’re doing to me.”
You looked over your shoulder, breathless, ruined. “Then stop talking and…”
Another spank.
You moaned.
Then you pushed back.
Just enough that the head of his dick nudged higher, slipping between your cheeks and catching on the tight ring of your ass.
Mingi froze.
His moan? Loud. Wrecked.
“Jesus…. fuck, baby…”
You whimpered, teasing yourself with his tip, just the barest pressure making your whole body shiver. “You want it?”
He growled. Actually growled.
But then, you felt his hand wrap around himself, dragging his dick down, sliding between your soaked folds until he found your dripping entrance again.
And his voice? Low. Dark. Dangerous. “Next time.” And then he pushed. Deep. Stretching you, making you cry out, the sound raw and desperate as he filled you slow, inch by glorious inch, his hands gripping your hips like he needed to hold you together as much as he needed to hold himself back.
“Fuck…. fuck, you’re so tight,” he groaned, forehead dropping to your shoulder as he bottomed out. “Pussy so fucking wet….. taking me so good.”
You whined, nails scratching at the table’s surface, back arching as he settled deep inside you. “You’re so big,” you whimpered. “F… Fuck, Mingi….. so deep”
He groaned again, one hand sliding up your back, pushing your spine down to deepen the angle as he rocked forward just once, making you scream.
“Yeah?” he murmured, voice right by your ear now, hips grinding slow and deep. “You love it, don’t you?”
You nodded frantically, tears stinging your eyes. “Y… Yes! Yes…. please……. more”
Mingi was buried inside you, slow thrusts rocking your entire body into the table with each deep grind of his hips. His hands framed your waist, fingertips digging in, eyes locked on the way your body swallowed him with every roll forward.
You moaned, high and breathy, your knees starting to buckle, forehead pressed to the cool glass as your mouth parted with every drag of his dick along your soaked, stretched walls.
“God, you’re so fucking tight,” he groaned, breath ragged as he slid back, then pushed in again slow. “You feel like you were made for me.”
You whimpered, hips instinctively pushing back to meet each thrust. And then he leaned forward, his chest against your back, hand sliding up your torso to grab your throat, his lips brushing your ear as he grunted, deep in your body now.
“You want me to fuck you?” he whispered, filthy and low. “You want me to ruin this pussy, baby?”
“Y…. Yes,” you gasped, fingers clinging to the edge of the table like you were holding on for your life. “Please…. please, Mingi, fuck me!”
That was all he needed.
His hand slid back down to your hip.
And then he slammed into you.
Hard.
Fast.
Unrelenting.
Your scream ripped out of you as he fucked into you like he’d snapped, like the leash had finally broken and this was what he’d been holding back from the very first time you argued in the break room.
His glasses slipped down his nose, fogged and crooked from sweat and motion. One sharp thrust, and they fell, clattering somewhere on the table as his hands grabbed your waist tighter and he fucked you, raw and fast, his dick pistoning in and out with filthy, wet sounds that echoed off the walls.
“Look at you,” he groaned. “Taking every inch. Fucking soaking me, baby, your pussy’s starving.”
You were crying now, lips parted, eyes rolling, your body jerking forward with every brutal thrust.
And it built.
Fast.
Too fast.
“Mingi…” you gasped. “I…. I’m… fuck…. I’m gonna….. I’m coming!”
“Come for me,” he growled, fucking into you harder, deeper, his hips snapping against your ass, desk rattling beneath you. “Come on this dick, baby, make a mess for me, show me how good I make you feel.”
You screamed. Your entire body seized, muscles locking, back arching as your orgasm slammed into you like a wave, crashing so hard you gushed around him, slick, hot, everywhere, your walls clenching so violently around his dick that it pushed him out, his length slipping free with a loud, soaked sound as your legs collapsed beneath you.
“Mingi…. fuck!”
He groaned, low and guttural, staring down at you, wide eyed, watching as your release dripped down your thighs, pooling beneath you, your body still twitching, hips jerking in aftershocks.
He reached down, stroking himself once, twice, still soaked in your slick, his voice cracked and ruined.
“Fucking hell, baby,” he panted. “You just…. squirted me out.”
You whimpered, still breathless, wrecked, your legs trembling and soaked, lips parted around a moan that never fully formed.
Your legs were shaking. Your whole body still pulsed from the orgasm he’d ripped out of you, from the way your release had forced him out, your slick dripping down your thighs, glistening on his dick, coating his abdomen.
And still, you weren’t done. You blinked up at him, chest heaving, face flushed and wrecked, tears dried on your cheeks, lips parted and slick.
He was standing there, shirt open, glasses gone, his black tie still hanging around his neck like a leash only you had the right to pull.
And you did. You turned around, barely steady, hands gripping the edge of the table as you sat up, legs trembling as you reached for him. Your fingers curled into the silk of his tie, tugging him down, his lips brushing yours, both of you panting into the space between.
Then you pulled harder.
Tugged him closer.
And he let you.
Your thighs opened just enough to wrap around his waist, ankles locking behind him as you used your last ounce of strength to drag him back in.
Mingi moaned, loud, needy, as his dick slid through your soaked folds, catching on your entrance, your heat guiding him right back to where he belonged.
And when you whispered, raw, broken, “Come back to me,” he lost it. He grabbed your hips and sank back in. Slow. Deep. All of him.
You both moaned at the stretch, your whimper soft and shaky, his curse hot and ragged as your body pulled him in, still fluttering around him, still dripping wet and desperate.
“Fuck,” he gasped, forehead falling against yours. “You’re… you’re still so tight.”
You clenched around him on purpose, lips brushing his. “I don’t care,” you breathed. “I want it.”
His hands gripped your thighs tighter, lifting you slightly, adjusting the angle as he rolled his hips, burying himself to the hilt making you cry out, arms flinging around his shoulders, legs tightening around his waist like you needed to hold him inside.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered, voice shaking now. “I’m right here, baby. Gonna fuck you so good….. make you mine.”
You nodded against his neck, body trembling with every deep, perfect stroke as he started moving again. This time? Not rough. Not fast. But deep. So deep.
Each thrust sent soft, wet sounds echoing in the quiet room, your bodies sticky and tangled, skin slapping against skin as he filled you again and again, his forehead pressed to yours, lips ghosting over your mouth with every moan.
“Mine,” he whispered. “You hear me? Fucking mine.”
And you didn’t argue. You couldn’t. Because with every stroke, every kiss, every filthy whisper, he was making you his, deep inside you, his breath ragged, his abs twitching as your body clenched around him like a vice. He was trying to pace himself, trying to savor it, to feel every second of you wrapped around him.
But your voice? Your voice broke him.
“Harder,” you gasped, legs still locked around his waist, your hips grinding up to meet every slow thrust. “Fuck…. please, Mingi… harder, I need it, I need you to fuck me, I want you to come inside me…. make me come again!”
He froze. Just for a second.
Like a man possessed.
And then?
He growled.
Low. Animal.
And started slamming into you.
You cried out, your back arching off the table, arms flying around his neck, legs tightening as he pounded into you now, hips snapping with brutal precision, dick driving into you so deep you could feel it in your throat.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck…. just like that…” you sobbed, your hands flying to his hair, grabbing it hard, yanking him closer as your other hand fisted his tie and pulled.
Mingi moaned, loud, helpless, as your nails dragged along his scalp, your lips brushing his jaw. “Fucking…. please…. don’t stop…. yours…. don’t fucking stop!
He didn’t. Couldn’t.
He adjusted his grip, slid one arm beneath you, lifting you just enough, just high enough to angle you perfectly, so every thrust hit your spot like he’d mapped it out.
“God, baby…” he panted, hips slamming into you. “You feel so fucking good, you’re so wet… I’m gonna… fuck….. I’m gonna…”
You were already gone. Your moans had turned into sobs, your nails dragging down his back, your pussy fluttering around him as your body got tighter, hotter, seconds away from detonating.
“I’m gonna come,” you whined. “Mingi… fuck…. please, come with me… fill me, baby, PLEASE!”
And when your body snapped, legs shaking, toes curling, mouth open in a silent scream as you soaked him again, clenching his dick, milking him for every inch, he broke.
With a roar that echoed in the empty office, Mingi slammed into you one final time, his entire body locking up as he came deep, dick twitching, cum spilling into you thick and hot and endless, his arms holding you like he was afraid he might disappear inside you completely.
You shook together.
Bodies tangled.
Mouths gasping against each other as he rutted through the last few pulses of release, burying himself to the hilt, filling you full as you both came down, wrecked, undone, shaking.
“Holy fuck,” he groaned, forehead pressed to yours, your hands still in his hair, his tie twisted around your fist. “feel like I just died and resurrected.”
You could barely breathe.
But you smiled.
Because if that was death?
It was fucking phenomenal.
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The office felt brighter the next morning.
Or maybe that was just the smug satisfaction rolling off you in waves as you walked side by side with Mingi toward Ms. Hwang’s office, both of you dressed a little too sharply, a little too composed for two people who definitely hadn’t slept.
You were sore in places you didn’t know could be sore.
Your thighs ached.
Your voice was still a little raspy.
But your lipstick?
Perfect.
Mingi looked just as lethal. Fresh shirt, hair styled, glasses cleaned, and that same black tie you’d been gripping in your fist hours ago? Oh, he wore it again. Loose around his neck. Like a reminder.
You knocked once on Ms. Hwang’s door, then pushed it open without waiting for a response.
She glanced up over her glasses, then back down at her watch. “You’re early.”
You both smiled.
“Thought we’d make your morning,” Mingi said smoothly, stepping forward to set the finished binder and flash drive on her desk.
“All files finalized,” you added, sliding the summary sheet into place with the kind of precise, practiced fingers that had absolutely not been wrapped around a dick twelve hours ago.
Ms. Hwang raised a brow. “You two actually finished?”
Mingi chuckled low under his breath. “Oh, we finished.”
Your elbow jabbed into his ribs so fast even your boss missed it.
“Everything’s proofed,” you said, keeping your expression neutral. “Slides are clean. Data’s perfect. Talking points are locked.”
She glanced through the binder, flipping a few pages, nodding slowly. “This is… good. Surprisingly good.”
You and Mingi shared a look.
Your smirk curled lazily at the corner of your mouth. “Oh,” you said. “We work well under pressure.”
Ms. Hwang gave you both a look, half suspicion, half, if I find out you were screwing in my office I swear to god, but ultimately said nothing. “Fine,” she said, closing the binder. “Presentation’s at 10 a.m. Don’t be late. Don’t be sloppy. Don’t embarrass me.”
You both nodded.
“Understood,” Mingi replied, then turned and walked out beside you like the model employee.
The second the door closed, he leaned closer, whispering by your ear, “Kind of hot watching you act professional when you were begging for my dick last night.”
Your head snapped toward him.
“Don’t start.”
“Already did.”
“Keep talking and I’ll actually stab you with a pen.”
Mingi just grinned, slipping his hands in his pockets.
summary: in which your boyfriend wants to watch you for his birthday
warning: dom mingi, sub reader, masturbation, double penetration, fingering, unprotected sex, creampie
pairing: idol mingi x afab reader
word count: 3.3k
masterlist
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The stadium roared, no, shook, with the sheer volume of the crowd. You felt it deep in your chest, the thump of the bass vibrating through the soles of your shoes, the screams echoing in your ears. The air was warm with heat from bodies pressed together in the pit, lights flashing in rhythmic pulses that painted everyone’s faces in shades of crimson and gold.
And then he stepped forward.
Mingi.
Your Mingi.
You hadn’t seen him in person for over a month, FaceTime and late night calls had been all you had, and it was nothing compared to this. He was all sharp lines and overwhelming presence, towering under the stage lights, that white tank clinging to his chest and shoulders like it was made for your hands to pull at. The silver chains across his collarbones glinted with every movement, and the black leather glove on his right hand gripped the mic like it was an extension of him. But it was the bandaid with ROAR scrawled across it in jagged black, that had your stomach tightening.
He was a vision of sin onstage, sweat slicking his skin as he moved with an easy, commanding confidence, his voice pouring through the speakers with that deep, resonant growl that had your thighs pressing together in the dark. Every time his eyes scanned over the crowd, you swore he found you, lingering just a fraction too long before that knowing smirk curved his lips.
When the beat dropped, he ran his tongue over his bottom lip, head tilting as his hair fell across his forehead, and you knew he was doing this for you. Every thrust of his hips, every low, raspy line into the mic, every flex of his bicep when he lifted his arm, it was all calculated, all meant to drive you insane. And it was working.
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Backstage was chaos. Staff weaved through each other with headsets and clipboards, members of Ateez disappeared into dressing rooms one by one, the smell of sweat, cologne, and stage fog clinging to the air. You stood off to the side, your pass lanyard warm against your chest, pulse still racing from watching Mingi tear up the stage.
Then he appeared, chest still rising heavy from the performance, hair damp and pushed back from his face. The tank top he’d worn on stage was gone, replaced with an oversized black hoodie that did little to hide the way his shoulders filled it and the now black tank out. That ROAR bandaid was still across his nose, a reminder of just how badly you wanted him.
“Hey,” he said lowly, that deep voice still gravelly from performing. His gloved hand came to the back of your neck, pulling you in so his forehead almost touched yours. “Missed you.”
You opened your mouth, but he smirked and shook his head. “I’ve gotta do my birthday live after the show, just a quick one for the fans.”
You tried not to let the disappointment show, forcing a smile. “Right. Of course.”
He squeezed your neck gently, his thumb brushing your jaw. “Don’t pout, baby. I’ll make it up to you after.”
And then he was gone again, swept back into the post show whirlwind.
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The hotel room was quiet except for the hum of the air conditioning. The moment you shut the door behind you, the silence felt like a stark contrast to the deafening chaos of the stadium. Mingi was still there, somewhere backstage, doing his birthday live for the fans. You had smiled and kissed his cheek before slipping out with his manager, knowing it would take him at least an hour to get back.
The shower was exactly what you needed, steam curling around your skin, the pounding heat easing the tension from your muscles. You stayed under the spray longer than necessary, head tipped back, replaying flashes of him on stage in your mind. The way his chains had caught the light, the way his voice had dipped low on certain lines, the way his hips had rolled in time with the bass. By the time you turned the water off, your pulse was unsteady for a completely different reason.
You stepped out, grabbing one of the hotel’s thick white towels and wrapping it around yourself. Drops of water slid down your legs as you padded into the bedroom, the city lights spilling in faintly through the curtains as you sat on the edge of the bed, towel tucked in at your chest, meaning to check your phone, but it was still in your bag across the room. Instead, you let yourself sink back against the pillows, eyes half lidded as your mind wandered.
One month without him had felt like forever. No warm body pressing you into the mattress, no voice in your ear telling you exactly what he wanted to do to you. The ache between your thighs had been building since the second he stepped on stage tonight, and now, alone in his bed, it was almost unbearable.
Your towel loosened as your hand drifted down, parting it just enough to expose the curve of your hip. You let your fingers trace the line of your stomach before slipping lower, between your thighs. A soft sigh escaped you as you brushed over your clit, your body already tuned to the memory of his touch.
You weren’t thinking about the fact that he was still live, grinning for thousands of people. You weren’t thinking about time or whether you could get off before he returned. You were thinking about his hands, big, warm, ringed, confident, pinning you down, his deep voice rumbling against your skin as he told you not to hide your sounds from him. Because, fuck, he loved hearing you.
Your fingers moved in slow circles, the towel slipping further open, heat curling low in your stomach. It wasn’t enough, not compared to him, but right now, you didn’t care.
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The room smelled faintly of Mingi’s body wash, steam from your shower still lingering in the air, clinging to the curtains. The towel was somewhere on the floor now, forgotten. You were sprawled across the bed, legs parted, skin still flushed and damp. Your chest rose and fell with quick, shallow breaths, the faint tremor in your thighs a telltale sign you’d already come once.
Your fingers were still between your legs, moving in slow, teasing circles, chasing the embers of that first orgasm you already done gave yourself. You didn’t hear the door click. Didn’t hear the quiet footsteps on the carpet.
“Mhm….” the sound caught in your throat, your head tipping back against the pillows but deep inhale behind you made you jolt.
When you opened your eyes, he was there, frozen in the doorway. Mingi. He still had on that black hoodie, studded with silver along the seams, the hood down so you could see the damp strands of his hair falling over his forehead. His glasses were slightly askew from pushing them up too fast, chains resting heavy against his chest, but it was the ROAR bandaid still cutting across his nose that made your stomach twist. His lips were parted, breath just a little uneven, eyes locked on you like he couldn’t decide where to look first.
“Baby….” his voice was low, hoarse from the show, almost disbelieving. “What the hell…”
You swallowed, the heat flooding your cheeks under his gaze. “You…. you weren’t supposed to be back yet.”
He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. His eyes roamed over you, lingering on the slick sheen between your thighs, on the way your fingers were still resting there. “You’ve… already…..” His throat worked around the words. “You already got yourself off?”
Your breath caught, your fingers twitching against yourself like your body couldn’t stop even under the weight of his stare. “Couldn’t wait.”
That made something flicker behind his eyes, heat, want, possession. He stepped forward slowly, deliberate, his chains clinking faintly as his shoulders squared. “I’ve never seen you like this before,” he murmured, voice dark with a mix of awe and hunger.
Your breath stuttered when he reached the side of the bed, his presence filling the space, that deep post show rasp curling around every word as you started to pull your hand away, but his came down over your wrist, not to move you, but to press it right back between your legs. “No,” he said firmly, shaking his head just enough for the damp strands of hair to fall against his cheek. “Don’t stop.”
“Mingi…”
“I said don’t stop.” His gaze burned into you, dark and unblinking behind the thin lenses of his glasses. “You think I haven’t thought about this? Wondered how you do it when I’m not here?” He tilted his head, that ROAR bandaid catching the dim light. “Show me.”
Heat shot straight through you, your pulse pounding in your ears. He stayed standing at the edge of the bed, towering over you, arms folded loosely now, like he had no intention of touching you until you obeyed. The only contact was his thumb brushing slow, lazy strokes over the inside of your wrist, urging you on.
You swallowed hard, letting your fingers move again, slow circles over your clit, just like before. His eyes followed the motion, his jaw tightening as if he was memorizing every detail. “That’s it,” he murmured, voice low enough that it felt like it sank right into your skin. “just like that. I want to see how you make yourself fall apart without me.”
Your thighs twitched, your breathing growing heavier under his stare. Every flicker of your fingers seemed amplified by the way he was watching, like nothing in the world existed but you and the movement of your hand.
“Faster,” he said suddenly, and you almost whimpered at the sound of his command. “I want to see you get close for me, baby. I want to see exactly what I’ve been missing when I’m not here to do it for you.”
You tried, God, you tried to pretend he wasn’t there. To close your eyes and sink into the familiar rhythm you fell into when it was just you, alone and aching. Your fingers moved over your clit in tight, practiced circles, the kind you knew would push you toward that sweet edge faster.
But it was impossible to block him out. Not with his presence like a gravitational pull, not with his breathing uneven and his gaze so heavy you could feel it like heat on your skin. You could hear the faint hitch in it whenever your hips rolled up, see the flex of his jaw each time you let out a soft gasp.
Your head fell back, a shaky moan slipping free as your thighs trembled. You were already teetering, but you wanted more, you needed more.
Without thinking, you rolled onto your knees, facing away from him. The towel was long gone, nothing between his eyes and the slow arch of your back, the way your hips tilted back toward him. One hand stayed on your clit, but the other slid down, between your legs, until you could push two fingers inside yourself.
The stretch made you gasp, your walls clenching around the intrusion. You started moving them, shallow at first, then deeper, curling them just right as your hips began to rock back, riding your own hand like you would his.
Behind you, Mingi let out a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a curse, low and guttural. You could almost picture him, glasses slipping a little lower on his nose, hair still damp from the stage, that ROAR bandaid cutting across his nose as his mouth parted in disbelief.
You pressed harder on your clit, fingers thrusting deep as you found the rhythm you always used when you needed to fall apart fast. Your breath came in broken, shaky moans now, each movement of your hips sending another wave of heat curling low in your stomach.
“Fuck…” his voice was strained, hoarse, like it was costing him everything not to touch you. “You… really do this when I’m not here?”
You didn’t answer, you couldn’t. You were too close, your body tightening around your own fingers, your thighs trembling as you kept moving just the way you knew would push you over the edge.
You were gone, completely lost in the slick heat between your thighs, your own fingers working you toward that blinding edge. Your head hung forward, breath ragged, hips rocking back with every thrust of your hand.
You didn’t hear him move.
The sudden press of his chest to your back made you jolt, but before you could even turn your head, he was pushing forward, thick, hot, and unrelenting, sinking into you in one smooth, claiming thrust.
A choked cry tore from your throat, your body instinctively clenching around him and your own fingers still buried inside you. The stretch was dizzying, your fingertips now pressed flush against the underside of his length, trapped there by the way he filled you.
Your first instinct was to pull your hand away, but his gloved one shot out, gripping your wrist hard enough to make your breath catch. His voice was a low growl against your ear.
“Keep them right there.”
The command sent a shiver straight down your spine. You could feel everything, every inch of him grinding against your knuckles, every pulse of heat from his dick as he started to move. Slow at first, almost savoring the way your body fought to adjust to the double stretch, then faster, harder, until you were rocking forward with every thrust.
Your fingers rubbed along his length with each movement, the sensation so raw and intimate you couldn’t stop the moan that ripped out of you. His free hand slid up your stomach, up your chest, holding you back against him as he drove deeper, each thrust pushing your own fingers deeper into yourself.
“Feel that?” he rasped, his breath hot against your neck. “That’s how I fuck you when I’m here. You think your hand can compare to this?”
Your answer was lost in the broken, breathless sounds spilling from you, your body shuddering under the relentless rhythm he set.
Every instinct in you wanted to give in right there, to let the dizzying combination of him and your own fingers push you over that edge. But Mingi didn’t let you. He kept that punishing rhythm just long enough for your vision to blur, then slowed, almost to a grind, pulling nearly all the way out before sliding back in inch by inch. The deliberate drag of his length over your trapped fingers made your toes curl, made your breath hitch in frustration.
“You’re close already,” he murmured against your ear, his voice dripping with control. “And I’m not done watching you yet.”
You whimpered, hips trying to chase him, but his hand splayed across your chest and stomach tightened, holding you still. He gave you a slow thrust, making sure you felt every thick inch of him and the way your fingers rubbed along his dick. “Beg for it.”
“Mingi…”
“Beg,” he repeated, the single word low and sharp.
You swallowed, the need clawing at your chest too raw to ignore. “Please. Please, baby, I need it. I can’t…”
That was all it took. His hand left your stomach to grip your hip hard, pulling you back as he slammed into you again, the sound of your bodies meeting filling the room. Each thrust forced your fingers deeper, the sensation making you gasp with every movement.
He was relentless now, hips snapping forward in a steady, devastating pace, his breath rough against your neck. “That’s it, don’t stop touching yourself,” he groaned. “Want you to feel all of me when you come.”
Your walls clenched tight around him and your own fingers, the double stimulation tipping you past the point of no return. Your moans turned into ragged cries as the pleasure hit, sharp, hot, overwhelming. You came hard, your body trembling against him, nails digging into your own thigh as your fingers fluttered inside yourself alongside his thrusts.
Mingi groaned low in your ear, his pace faltering as you squeezed around him, milking every ounce of control from him. “Fuck…. just like that, baby. That’s mine. All mine.”
You barely had time to catch your breath before Mingi pulled out and manhandled you onto your back. The mattress dipped under his weight as he flipped you, his hands sliding under your thighs to hook your legs over his broad shoulders.
Your body was still twitching from your last orgasm when he reached down, grabbing your wrist. You blinked in confusion until you realized… he was guiding the same two fingers you’d just had buried inside yourself up to his mouth.
His eyes locked on yours as he sank back into you, wrapping his lips around fingers more, sucking deep, slow, and filthy. The wet heat of his mouth and the obscene sound of him moaning around your fingers made your stomach clench all over again, eyes fluttering half shut as his tongue curled around the digits. He sucked like he couldn’t get enough, the lewd sounds filling the room as he gagged slightly when he pushed them deeper, refusing to let go.
And all the while, his hips were moving, slamming into you with a rhythm that made the bed creak, every thrust hitting deep enough to make you gasp around the haze of pleasure. The combination was dizzying, the stretch of him inside you, the sight of his cheeks hollowing around your fingers, and the way his moans vibrated straight through your skin.
Your fingers twitched in his mouth, and he sucked harder, his throat working as if he was tasting every bit of you. The sight alone had you clenching around him, and he groaned so deep it rumbled through your bones.
“Mingi…” you tried to breathe, but it came out a broken whimper as his pace picked up, each thrust sharper, hungrier. His free hand gripped your hip, keeping you exactly where he wanted you as he drove into you relentlessly, your own fingers still trapped in the wet heat of his mouth.
Every time he moaned around them, you felt the sound sink into your core, winding you tighter and tighter until you were trembling under him, the pleasure building so fast it was almost unbearable.
It hit you fast, too fast.
One hard thrust, then another, and your entire body tightened, the coil inside you snapping so violently it stole your voice. Your head tipped back, a choked cry tearing free as you shattered under him, every muscle locking around the thick length of him still driving into you.
Mingi didn’t slow. If anything, the feeling of you spasming around him had him pounding harder, hips snapping into you with deep, bruising force. His mouth was still on your fingers, sucking and gagging like he couldn’t get enough, moaning around them so loud you felt it all the way down to where you were clenching around him.
The mix of his guttural sounds, the stretch of him, and the heat of your own release made your vision blur. You could barely breathe, barely think, just feel him, everywhere. His pace stuttered, grip on your hip tightening almost painfully as a ragged groan ripped from his chest.
He pushed deep, so deep you swore you could feel his pulse inside you, and you felt the hot rush of him filling you. His hips jerked once, twice more, his moans muffled by your slick fingers still in his mouth, until every last drop was spilling into you.
He finally let your hand go, leaning over you, his forehead damp against yours as both of you fought for breath. Your legs trembled where they were still draped over his shoulders, your chest heaving.
A slow, wrecked smile curved your lips as you whispered, voice hoarse, “Happy birthday.”
The corner of his mouth tugged up, his eyes heavy lidded and dark. “Best birthday of my life,” he murmured, still buried deep inside you, like he wasn’t ready to let go.
You didn’t mean to click the link. It just… popped up while you were scrolling late at night, waiting for Mingi’s usual “made it back to the hotel” text.
One little sponsored ad. One sinful photo. And then another.
And then you were on the floor of your apartment, back against the couch, phone in hand, mouth parted in complete disbelief.
There he was. Your boyfriend. Shirt open, abs tight, hair wet and messy like he just rolled out of bed after ruining someone, Calvin Klein waistband peeking out like it wanted to get bitten. Like it wanted you to yank those jeans down and….
You choked on your own breath. “Oh my god.”
He hadn’t said anything. Not a single word about this campaign. Which made it worse.
Like he knew what it would do to you. Like he wanted you to suffer.
You locked your phone, threw it on the couch, and immediately unlocked it again. Scroll. Save. Zoom. Moan.
By the third photo, Mingi laying back on a cream couch, that arrogant tilt to his mouth and his hand tugging his jeans down just enough to flash that “Calvin” again, you were fully feral.
Your fingers slid down your waistband before you could think. Your body was already reacting. Already throbbing.
Because that was yours.
That body, those hands, that tongue that drove you crazy, the dick you knew was sitting hard under those jeans in that shoot, it all belonged to you.
And he was half a world away.
So you didn’t call.
You didn’t text.
You didn’t even mention it the next day when he FaceTimed you between rehearsals, sweaty and sweet and grinning like he hadn’t just caused you to spiral into a fit of possessive, horny rage.
No. You waited.
You waited one week. Then two. Then three.
And when he finally messaged you a photo of his boarding pass with a simple,
“Coming home to you.”
You knew exactly what you were going to do.
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It was nearly midnight when the front door clicked open.
Keys jangled. A bag thudded softly to the floor. “Baby?”
You stayed on the couch, curled in the exact same position you had been in for hours, blanket over your lap, covering up the way you only had on one of Mingi’s shirts, laptop open, a half finished romcom playing just loud enough to mask the pounding of your heart.
He stepped into view, duffle slung over his shoulder, hair flattened from a long flight, black mask tugged down around his chin. Even in the dim apartment light, Mingi looked like something from a dream, tall, warm, and devastatingly yours.
And you smiled like you weren’t planning to wreck him.
“Hey, baby,” You smiled, casually. Calm. Sweet. Like you hadn’t memorized every photo from that damn shoot. Like you hadn’t been keeping a folder on your phone.
Mingi dropped his bag, crossed the room in three long strides, and practically fell onto you. His lips found your neck first, like always, arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you into him like he hadn’t touched you in years.
“Mmm, I missed you,” he groaned, breath hot against your skin. “You smell so good. What are you watching? Wait…. no, don’t care.”
You giggled, hand tangling in the back of his hair. “Missed you too.”
He pulled back slightly, nose brushing yours. “You look extra pretty tonight.”
“I showered.”
He squinted. “Did you also shave?”
You kissed his cheek. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
He groaned and flopped onto his back dramatically, head in your lap now, arms thrown wide. “You’re gonna kill me.”
You ran your fingers through his hair and pretended like you hadn’t seen anything.
Didn’t know a thing about the way Calvin Klein had him all over your feed, didn’t notice the way half the internet had suddenly learned his name, didn’t dream about that black tank top or those low slung jeans even once.
Totally. Innocent.
“So,” you asked innocently, twisting a lock of his hair around your finger. “How was tour?”
Mingi looked up at you, eyes half lidded and full of affection. “Long. Exhausting. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Your voice, your thighs, the way you moan when I…”
“Mingi.”
“I’m just saying.” He pouted. “It’s been a month.”
You hummed and smiled sweetly, brushing your thumb across his cheek. “Then we’ll have to fix that soon.”
He stared up at you like a kicked puppy. “Soon as in…”
“Soon,” you repeated, giving him the most innocent look you could manage. Then, like you hadn’t just sentenced him to purgatory, you bent down and kissed his forehead. “Now go shower, baby. You smell like recycled plane air.”
He blinked. “Wait, what?”
“Go.”
And he did. Confused. A little whiny. Still clueless.
Which was exactly how you wanted him.
Because you had plans.
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The sound of the shower turned off ten minutes ago.
You had moved to the bedroom by then, waiting with the calmest expression on the outside, while your insides were practically chewing through steel. You sat perched at the edge of the bed, one leg crossed over the other, wearing nothing but one of Mingi’s oversized shirts and absolutely nothing underneath.
You looked up the second the bathroom door opened, slowly, deliberately, and there he was.
Mingi.
Dripping. Glowing. Stark. Naked.
Not even pretending to cover himself, because apparently shame died sometime during that photoshoot.
His skin still glistened from the steam, hair wet and falling into his eyes, chest rising and falling like he already knew what kind of night he was in for. And he didn’t bother looking surprised when he saw you sitting there, because Mingi wasn’t trying to play coy. No, he was trying to win.
He strolled toward the dresser, a lazy grin pulling at his mouth as his fingers wrapped around the waistband of a familiar black pair of Calvin Kleins.
Glancing at you over his shoulder, he held them up. “Am I putting these on, or…..”
His voice was low. Rough from the flight and the shower and the hundred dirty thoughts probably spinning through his head.
You tilted your head, making a slow, deliberate show of dragging your eyes down his body and back up again. Your gaze paused just a second too long at the heavy length swinging between his thighs. You didn’t blink. Didn’t move. Just smirked like you weren’t spiraling inside.
“Put them on.”
Mingi froze.
His lips parted. His brows pinched. And he pouted. Legitimately. Because, damn, it’s been a month!
“You want me to…?” He looked at the underwear in his hand like they were suddenly offensive. “You want me to put clothes on right now?” He couldn’t believe. You had to be joking.
You shrugged. “You’ll catch a chill.”
“Baby….”
You smiled, biting the inside of your cheek, knowing full well what you were doing. “Besides,” you added, “I like that pair.”
He narrowed his eyes, still standing there fully naked, suspicious. “You like this pair?”
“Mmhm.” You leaned back on your hands, legs uncrossing just slightly, enough to let the hem of his shirt ride up your thighs. “They’re your campaign ones, right?”
Mingi froze again.
His heart skipped.
His breath caught.
His brain short circuited.
“Wait,” he said, blinking. “You did see the ad?”
You raised a brow. “You really thought I didn’t?”
You laughed softly as he stood there, jaw loose, still holding the briefs like they were suddenly sacred.
And then, with a sigh full of drama and need, Mingi mumbled under his breath as he stepped into them. “I was hoping you’d punish me for it. I told Yunho it was a good idea not to tell you.”
You leaned forward, so he did keep it a secret on purpose!Your voice was like silk. “Oh, baby,” you purred. “I am.”
He was still pouting.
Standing there in nothing but the Calvin Kleins you told him to put on, his erection straining visibly against the waistband, looking downright tragic as he stared at you like this was cruel and unusual punishment.
“Baby… please…” he started, but then stopped. Because you were already moving.
You slid off the bed with all the grace of a predator, slow and deliberate. Your bare knees touched the floor with a soft sound, the oversized shirt riding up just high enough to expose the curve of your thighs and the bare heat between them.
Mingi’s mouth parted, chest rising in a sharp inhale.
“Baby…” he warned, backing up half a step, like that would save him.
You didn’t answer. Just looked up at him with those eyes, steady and calm like you weren’t about to absolutely ruin him.
Your fingers hooked into the waistband of his Calvins, just above the thick outline of him. You didn’t pull them down, didn’t remove them. No, no, you just slid them down just enough to free him, hard and already leaking, twitching the second it hit air.
Mingi groaned, deep and guttural. “Shit…”
Your thumb swiped through the bead of precum at the tip, spreading it over his head, slow and messy. You kept your eyes on him the whole time, watching the way his jaw clenched, his hand twitching like he didn’t know whether to hold you or just let go and pray.
Then, without a single word, you leaned in and took him into your mouth.
No teasing. No warm up.
Just lips parted, mouth open, and down.
Mingi choked on his own breath.
“F… fuck, Y/N….”
His hand shot to your hair, gripping tight but not pushing, just anchoring himself. You didn’t stop. Took more. Deeper. Letting him hit the back of your throat with a wet sound that made his knees buckle.
And then you swallowed around him.
His body jerked.
“Baby, baby…. fuck, you’re gonna make me..”
That’s when you stopped.
Right then. Right as his breath stuttered and his thighs tensed and his hips rocked forward with the instinct to chase it…. you pulled back. Let him slip out of your mouth with a wet pop, a string of spit keeping your lips connected to him just long enough to make him go feral.
Mingi’s whole body was shaking.
His voice cracked. “Wh…. why’d you stop?!”
You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, licking your lips. “Oh, I thought you wanted to be punished,” you whispered, teased, tone sugar sweet and venom sharp.
He looked down at you like you just ripped the air from his lungs. “That’s cruel.”
You smiled.
“Good.”
He was breathing hard, blinking like he’d just seen a vision and lost it just as quickly. His dick was slick and flushed and twitching in the cool air, still hanging out over the waistband of those black Calvin Kleins like it had rights.
You tilted your head, then reached out slowly, like you were doing something so tender, until your hand wrapped around him again, just long enough to guide him right back into the fabric and press him there.
Mingi whimpered.
He barely had a second to react before your hands were on his chest, pushing. He stumbled back a step, then another, until the backs of his knees hit the bed and you gave him one firm shove that sent him sprawling onto the mattress with a shocked grunt.
He blinked up at you, dazed and wrecked and so utterly turned on he didn’t know which way was up.
You reached for the hem of the shirt, his shirt, you had on, lifted it slowly, and peeled it up over your head.
Mingi stopped breathing.
His mouth dropped open. Because, fuck, he hadn’t seen you like this in over a month.
You were bare. Glowing. Wild. Knees crawling onto the bed as if this were your hunting ground, hips already swaying, expression unreadable except for the dark glint in your eyes. You straddled him with practiced ease, settling just above the thick stretch of him still straining in his underwear.
Mingi’s hands immediately came up to touch you. He needed skin, pressure, something. But you caught his wrists mid air and pinned them to the bed beside his head.
“No touching,” you murmured, leaning down just enough to let your breasts brush his chest.
Mingi let out a sound that wasn’t even a word, just pure aching need.
You shifted your hips, dragging the wet heat of your bare pussy against the shape of him, slow and deliberate, letting the soft cotton of those Calvins press between you. His dick jerked beneath the fabric, soaking through the front as you ground down again and again.
He arched into it, trying to rock his hips up to get more friction, and you immediately stopped moving.
“Ah ah.”
“Y/N…. please… fuck”
You just continued dragging your hips in a small, punishing circle that made him tremble as you rolled your hips again, harder this time. The slick sound of your arousal smearing over his bulge made Mingi groan like a man on the edge of his sanity.
And when you leaned down to kiss his neck, whispering against his skin, “I’ve been thinking about this for weeks, baby.“
Mingi whimpered like his soul just left his body.
You didn’t even move your grip from his wrists. Didn’t need to.
Mingi had gone pliant beneath you, breath ragged, eyes half lidded like he wasn’t sure if he was dreaming or being punished in the best way possible.
And You?
You were focused.
You kept your thighs tight around him, hips rolling slow, dragging your soaked folds back and forth over the thick bulge trapped beneath the black cotton. Every pass soaked the fabric darker, hotter, tighter.
And every time you hit just the right angle, your body shuddered.
Mingi felt everything. Every twitch of your muscles, every slick drag, the heat of you leaking all over him, soaking through his briefs until his dick was slick and aching, twitching every time you moaned through your teeth.
“You…. fuck… you’re gonna make me….” Mingi gasped, head rolling back against the pillow, chest rising and falling like he’d run a marathon. “I can’t… I’m gonna…..”
You didn’t stop.
You ground into him harder, chasing your own high, brows drawn together, lips parted in a whimper that made him buck up involuntarily.
“Mingi,” you whimpered, finally letting go of his wrists, one hand planting on his chest while the other slid down to your clit. “God, you’re so hard like this…”
His entire body jerked.
The pressure. The friction. The filthy, wet heat of you riding him through his underwear, using him, moaning over him…
And then your voice hit that tone. That soft, desperate edge that always pushed him over. “Wanna come all over you, baby. Right on your dick. Just like this.”
He snapped.
A choked sound tore from his throat as his hips thrust up once, twice, and then he was coming in his Calvin Kleins like a damn teenager.
Warm, thick release flooded the fabric, soaking through as his body convulsed beneath you, hands fisting the sheets, head thrown back with a broken, breathless moan that echoed in the room like a prayer.
You kept riding.
Kept going.
And that, that pushed you over.
You ground down once more with a gasp, your own orgasm ripping through you as you cried out, thighs shaking, hips grinding against the soaked mess between you while your fingernails bit into his chest.
The room fell still.
Breathing. Heavy. Sticky.
Absolutely ruined.
Mingi was still coming down from it.
Still breathing like he’d barely survived, still twitching beneath you with his soaked underwear clinging to his skin, sticky and warm and ruined.
His eyes were half closed, glazed, mouth slightly open as he tried to form words, any words, but his brain was offline.
And You?
You weren’t done.
Not even close.
You leaned back on your knees, still straddling him, dragging your hands down his flushed chest before reaching between you again. Your fingers curled into the waistband of his underwear, wet and clinging, and this time you yanked them down. All the way.
Mingi let out the softest little gasp as the cool air hit him again, his dick still red and leaking, twitching from the overstimulation, coated in both of you.
He looked down at you with wide, glazed over eyes. “I…baby, I already came….”
“I know.” Your voice was sweet. Dangerous. “You’re gonna do it again.”
And before he could plead, before he could beg for mercy you had no intention of granting, you reached between your legs, guided him to your entrance, and sank down.
All the way.
Warm, slick, tight heat wrapped around him in a single, unrelenting stroke.
“F… fuck!” Mingi’s voice cracked as his hips bucked up involuntarily, hands flying to your thighs, gripping hard like he needed to anchor himself before he shattered.
You moaned low, head falling back as you took every inch, the stretch delicious after so long without him. Your fingers dug into his chest as you adjusted, seating yourself fully, squeezing him just to feel how sensitive he was.
Mingi whimpered.
His legs twitched, his head rolling side to side on the pillow as he tried, and failed, to process the new wave of overwhelming pleasure.
“Please,” he breathed, voice wrecked. “Too much… I don’t know if I can..”
“You can,” you rolled your hips once, slow and deep, walls fluttering around him. “You will.”
You leaned down, kissed the corner of his mouth, the edge of his jaw, breath warm against his ear as you whispered, “I’ve been patient for weeks, Mingi. Now you’re gonna stay hard for me.”
You started to move. Rocking into him slowly at first, dragging your soaked cunt over every sensitive ridge, making him feel every second of it. You kissed down his neck, moaning into his skin, pace torturously controlled as your hips began to pick up rhythm.
Mingi was panting now, fingers digging into your thighs, tears welling in the corners of his eyes because it was too much and still not enough.
And you were loving every second of it.
Mingi didn’t know what he’d done in a past life to deserve this.
You on top of him, soaking wet, riding his overstimulated, still hard dick like it owed you money, wasn’t the sweet girlfriend who kissed him goodbye at the airport a month ago.
No. This was someone else entirely. Someone who had waited thirty goddamn days to make him pay.
And he was paying.
Your hips slammed down in slow, punishing thrusts, tight heat dragging over him again and again until his head spun, his thighs trembled, and his soul tried to leave.
Every time he got close, you shifted, grinding instead of bouncing, rolling your hips just right to send him spiraling back into the edge but never over it.
And he loved it.
He hated it.
He wanted to cry about it.
His hands found your ass, gripping tight, fingertips digging into the flesh as you bounced on him like you had all the time in the world. And then, with a broken gasp, he spanked you.
Once. Twice.
Hard enough that it echoed in the room, making you gasp and arch above him, pace stuttering just enough to let him thrust up into you.
“You little brat,” you hissed, voice wrecked but dominant, thrumming with power. “You think you get to do that?”
“You’re driving me insane,” he breathed, eyes locked on where your bodies met. “I… I can’t”
Your hand snapped up, wrapping around his throat, not squeezing hard, but firm, possessive, like you needed to feel his pulse racing under your palm. Your other hand braced against his chest, holding yourself up while your hips resumed their ruthless pace.
“Then come,” you whispered darkly. “Come again. Come for me.”
His cock twitched violently inside you. He was so close as you leaned in, voice a growl now, all control and filth and hunger. “Whose dick is it, Mingi?”
He moaned, actually moaned, chest arching into your hand as your hips smacked down onto his again.
“Wh…. what?”
You squeezed his throat just slightly, pussy tightening around him like a vice.
“I said,” you snarled, hips rolling, grinding, dragging him deeper with every word, “Who’s. Dick. Is. It?”
“Yours,” he gasped, eyes rolling back. “Yours, fuck… it’s yours, baby, please!”
You grinned, a flash of teeth and power. “That’s right,” you slammed down on him again. “Mine. This dick is mine.”
Mingi came with a scream.
It wasn’t a moan. It wasn’t even human. It was primal. Broken. Like you reached inside his chest and shattered everything.
His whole body jerked beneath you, dick pulsing hard as he spilled inside you, gasping and babbling incoherently, words like “yours” and “fuck” and “I love you” spilling from his lips like a confession.
You kept riding him through it, slow now, coaxing every last drop from him, hand still on his throat, lips pressing soft kisses to his cheek and jaw like he hadn’t just been utterly wrecked.
“Good boy,” you praised against his ear. “You’re gonna give me one more.”
Mingi made a sound that was 80% whimper, 20% sob and nodded.
You were still grinding on top of him, slow and steady, coaxing him through his second orgasm like it wasn’t the most evil, sinful thing you ever done. Your lips brushed his cheek. Your voice was pure tease.
“You’ve got one more in you, right baby?”
Mingi blinked up at you.
Still breathless. Still shaking. Still inside you, softening only slightly before twitching again from the overstimulation. His body was wrecked. His brain was mush. His chest still heaved with each broken inhale. But when you asked?
Something lit in him.
One more?
One more?
Fine.
You wanted it?
He was going to give it to you.
Without warning, his hands locked onto your thighs and flipped you, fast and fluid, bodies never disconnecting. You let out a surprised gasp as your back hit the mattress and Mingi settled between your legs, hair wild, sweat on his brow, eyes absolutely feral.
“I’ll give you one more,” he growled, voice shredded, fingers digging into your hips. “But you’re taking everything.”
And then he snapped his hips forward.
The thrust knocked the breath from your lungs.
No teasing. No warm up. Just dick. Deep, thick, hard. Slamming into you from the angle he knew wrecked you.
You cried out, nails scrambling across his back as he set a brutal rhythm, relentless, every stroke dragging a moan from your throat, legs shaking as he pounded into you like you were the one who had begged for this.
“You wanna own me?” Mingi panted, fucking you harder now, sweat dripping down his neck. “You wanna get off on me losing my mind?”
He pulled out halfway and slammed back in, the wet sound of skin on skin echoing through the room. You sobbed his name, already trembling.
“Then come on it.”
He reached down between you, hand slipping under your thigh to tilt your hips, the new angle nailing your g spot until you were babbling nonsense, orgasm climbing like wildfire.
Mingi didn’t stop. Didn’t let up.
“Come all over my dick, Y/N.”
That was it.
Your entire body locked up as the pressure snapped, a choked scream leaving your lips as you squirted hard, coating his thighs, the sheets, everything. Your pussy clenched around him like a vice, fluttering with each aftershock, slick dripping down to your ass as you sobbed beneath him.
Mingi cursed, lost it.
He came again, groaning like it tore through his soul, his dick pulsing deep inside you as his hips stuttered, shoving as deep as he could go.
You collapsed together, a tangle of limbs and shaking moans.
For a moment, silence.
Just breathing. Just the heat of your bodies and the mess between you.
Then Mingi slowly pulled out with a hiss, looking down at the absolute chaos you made of him.
“You….” he panted. “You’re insane.”
You just hummed, dazed and spent. “You love it.”
Mingi looked around for something, anything, to clean you up. But his gaze landed on the ruined black Calvin Kleins on the floor, still damp from earlier.
He picked them up, grinned, and wiped the slick from your inner thighs with the same underwear he modeled in.
You gasped, breath hitching. “Mingi!”
“Hey.” He kissed your knee, voice smug and wrecked and soft all at once. “You said you liked this pair.”
summary: in which you crave your boyfriend to use you
warning: hard dom yunho, sub reader, fingering, masturbation, throat fucking, oral, squirting
genre: smut
pairing: yunho x afab reader
word count: 3.6k
masterlist
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The soft glow from Yunho’s setup spilled out into the hallway like a trap you walked into without meaning to and you weren’t even trying to look. You definitely weren’t trying to think about it again. But the second you passed his gaming room, you glanced in, just a quick, harmless look, and that was your first mistake.
Because there he was….. headset on, sleeves pushed up just enough, completely locked into whatever game he was playing. His voice was calm, focused, occasionally dipping into that low, amused tone he only used when he was streaming. And his hands…. God. That stupid intrusive thought was back making your stomach tighten as you slowed just slightly in the hallway, your eyes dragging over the way his fingers moved. Quick, precise and controlled. Like he knew exactly what he was doing at all times, never hesitating, never fumbling.
And all you could think about was the other day when you went out with Wooyoung and got drunk off margaritas at that new bar downtown. Your own drunken words haunting you…..
“Like… I want him to fuck my throat until I can’t even talk after.”
You squeezed your eyes shut for half a second now just thinking about it. Mortifying. Absolutely mortifying but so true. You opened your eyes back, gaze flickering towards Yunho again…. to his hands again. To the way his fingers flexed slightly as he clicked, the tendons shifting under his skin, controlled strength in every small movement.
Your lips parted as a quiet breath slipped out, your body betraying you in the smallest ways as that thought settled back in, heavier this time and more clearer.
“Guys, hold on….” Yunho’s voice pulled you out of it instantly.
You blinked, realizing you’d stopped completely in the doorway without even noticing. Great. Now you looked suspicious. You forced yourself to move again, stepping into the room like you hadn’t just been standing there spiraling in your own thoughts. “Hey,” you said casually, like your heart wasn’t suddenly beating a little too fast and you weren’t wet already at just the thought of…..
Yunho glanced at you, just briefly, a small smile tugging at his lips before his focus snapped back to the screen. “Hey, baby.” Normal. Everything was normal. A big fucking lie. You leaned lightly against the doorframe, arms crossing loosely as you watched him for a second longer than necessary. Trying to act like you weren’t hyper aware of everything, his voice, his posture, the way he shifted in his chair. Trying to ignore the fact that your mind was still very much stuck on wanting him as deep in your throat as he could go.
“Uh…” you started, then paused, forcing your tone to stay even. “How much longer are you gonna be streaming?” Yunho hummed, eyes still on the game. “Like… thirty? Maybe forty minutes? Why?”
Your stomach flipped. It wasn’t the question. It was how he asked it. Just… curious enough to make you feel seen. You shrugged, pushing yourself off the doorframe, pretending like it didn’t matter. “Just wondering.” But your voice came out softer than you meant it to and Yunho noticed. Of course he did. His movements slowed for just a second, barely noticeable unless you were watching him as closely as you were.
He leaned back slightly in his chair, adjusting his headset. “Chat, I’ll be right back,” he said calmly and your breath caught as his mic clicked off and his attention shifted completely. Slowly, he turned his head, eyes dragging over you in a way that made your skin feel a little too tight. “You okay?” he asked, voice quieter now.
You nodded too quickly. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
He didn’t look convinced as his gaze dropped, just briefly, like he was picking up on something you hadn’t said out loud. “You sure?” And suddenly it felt like you were standing a little too close to the edge of something.
You tried not to look at him. That was step one. Eyes anywhere but his face, his mouth, his hands, because if you looked too long, you were going to lose whatever fragile grip you had on your composure and judging by the way your heart was already beating, that grip was hanging on by a thread.
You nodded, but it was weak. Unconvincing and useless. Your fingers curled into the hem of your shirt as you stared somewhere over his shoulder, anywhere but at him, your thoughts spinning too fast, your pulse loud in your ears as you could feel the words sitting right there, heavy on your tongue, threatening to spill whether you were ready or not.
“Iwantyouto….”
You swallowed, the words tangling together immediately, your voice coming out rushed, quiet, almost incoherent….
“iwantyoutofuckmythroat.”
The silence was thick and immediate. You squeezed your eyes shut for half a second, already regretting every life choice that had led you to this exact moment. Why did you say it like that? Why did you say it at all? You chanced a glance back at your boyfriend and Yunho was just… sitting there, staring at you, brows slightly drawn together. Head tilted just enough to show he’d heard you but didn’t quite catch it. “What?”
Your soul left your body. “Nothing,” you said immediately, way too fast. Too defensive and way too obvious making his eyes narrow just slightly. “Yeah,” he said slowly, “no. You definitely said something.” You shook your head, already trying to step back, trying to physically retreat from the moment like you could rewind time if you just moved fast enough. “No, I didn’t, you probably just….”
He rolled forward in his chair, hand shooting out and catching your wrist. “Hey,” he said, quieter now and you stilled. “say it again.” Your heart dropped straight into your stomach. “No.”
His thumb brushed lightly over your wrist, a grounding motion, but his gaze didn’t soften, not really. If anything, it sharpened. “You were just staring at me for five minutes,” he murmured, stepping a little closer. “Then you mumble something and try to run away?” Your face burned. “Yunho….”
“Say it again.” There was something different in his tone this time. Still gentle and still him but steadier. Lower. Like he wasn’t going to let you dodge it. Your throat felt dry suddenly, your eyes flicking anywhere but his as you shook your head again, weaker this time. “It was stupid.”
“I didn’t catch it.”
And that somehow made it worse. Because now you had a choice…. pretend it never happened. Or say it again properly this time. Your fingers tightened in his grip as you finally, slowly, looked down at him. “Say it again.” He repeated and you swallowed, lips pressing together as you shook your head once, weak and stubborn all at the same time. “It’s…. it’s dumb.”
“Then it won’t matter if you say it again.”
You huffed a small, breathless sound, more nervous than amused, your fingers curling slightly like you were debating pulling away, except you didn’t. Couldn’t. Because some part of you didn’t actually want to. Because you wanted this. Your shoulders dropped just a little as you let out a quiet breath, eyes avoiding his again, voice dropping lower. “I want you to….” You hesitated for just a second and then forced it out before you could stop yourself. “I want you to fuck my throat.”
The words hung there as your chest rose and fell a little too fast as soon as it was out, like your body didn’t quite know what to do with the fact that you’d actually admitted it.
His grip shifted, thumb brushing slowly over your wrist, like he was grounding himself this time instead of you. “Yeah?” he murmured as you finally glanced back down at him. And immediately wished you hadn’t. Because the way he was looking at you now…. that soft, easy gentleness he always had with you? It was still there but it wasn’t leading anymore. “You’ve been thinking about that?” he asked quietly.
Your lips parted, but no sound came out at first, so you just nodded and Yunho exhaled softly, like he was settling into something he’s been holding back, before letting your wrist go and standing up, chair sliding back behind him, forgotten, and the space between you suddenly feeling too small, too charged.
His hand comes up to your chin, fingers tilting your face upward, firm enough that you don’t have the option of looking away anymore. “Look at me,” he murmurs and you do. Your breath stutters the second your eyes meet his again, looking up as he looks down at you, studying you for a second. “You sure?” he asks, quieter this time. There’s no teasing in it. No pressure. Just a question that actually matters.
Your throat feels dry, but you nod anyway and his gaze lingers for a beat longer, searching, confirming, then something in his expression settles. Decision made as his thumb brushes lightly across your lower lip, slow enough that it pulls your attention there without effort, your breath catching again as your body reacts before your mind can.
“Open,” he says. It’s not harsh. But it’s not soft either. It’s… direct. You hesitate for the smallest fraction of a second, more from nerves than anything else, then do as he says and the shift in his focus when you listen… God. It hits you harder than you expected as his fingers move again, slow at first, measured, testing more than taking, before the motion deepens just enough to make your breath hitch, your body reacting instinctively to the unfamiliar intensity as he skips two of his fingers into your mouth.
Your hands twitch at your sides, unsure where to go, eyes fluttering for a second as the moment stretches, his fingers moving farther until you feel them tickling at your gag reflex and the smallest change in your breathing makes his brows knit just slightly, his hand easing back a fraction, his thumb brushing your lip again as you instinctively pull in a breath.
“Hey…” he murmurs, quieter now and your eyes open fully again, meeting his, a little dazed, a little overwhelmed but not pulling away. And he sees that, hand slipping back completely, fingers retreating slowly, the loss of contact almost as noticeable as the contact itself. For a second, neither of you move. The air between you feels heavier now.
Your lips part slightly as you catch your breath, your chest rising and falling a little too fast and Yunho just… looks at you with that same steady intensity still there but softened just enough now to check in as his thumb keeps brushing your bottom lip. “Still with me?”
You nod even if your voice might not cooperate right now and a faint, almost satisfied exhale leaves him at that, his hand finally dropping from your face but his gaze doesn’t leave yours. “Get on your knees.”
Something in his voice, the dominance leaking out, the tone deeper, more commanding than you ever heard him before, has you dropping before him without blinking, knees pressing into the soft carpet of the bedroom floor, heart pounding with anticipation. Your eyes lock onto his, wide and pleading as he stands tall above you, broad frame casting a shadow, a smirk curling his lips as he reaches for the waistband of his sweatpants, his gaze stays locked on you as he shoves them down his legs, dick already hardening, veins pulsing along his length but he doesn't rush, instead, he steps closer, reaching down with two fingers. "Open wide, baby," he commands, voice low and firm.
Your lips part obediently, tongue extending out as you tilt your head back and slides his fingers once again past your lips, over your tongue, pushing deeper. You feel them hit the back of your throat this time and he doesn't stop there, thrusting further until they lodge deep, triggering your gag reflex more than he had before. Your throat convulses around his fingers, saliva pooling and dripping from the corners of your mouth as you choke, eyes watering instantly, gagging sounds filling the air, wet and guttural as your body jerks slightly.
"That's it," Yunho growls, holding his fingers buried to the knuckles, twisting them slightly to stretch your throat. "Feel that? Right there in the back. That's exactly where my dick is gonna go. You're gonna take every inch down here, choking just like this for me." He pulls back an inch, then shoves them in again, making you gag harder, tears streaming down your cheeks, hands gripping his thighs for support, nails digging into his skin as he finger fucks your throat slowly, drawing out each gag, each sputter of spit. He watches your face intently, loving the way your body fights the intrusion yet craves more.
Minutes pass like this, him dragging it out, alternating between deep probes that make your vision blur and shallow strokes that tease your tongue. Your throat burns, raw and slick with your own saliva, but the ache only fuels your arousal, pussy clenching emptily between your thighs until he finally withdraws his fingers with a wet pop, strings of spit connecting them to your swollen lips.
You gasp for air, coughing lightly, but he grabs your jaw, tilting your face up. "Good girl. Now stick out that tongue." You obey instantly again, flattening your tongue out and Yunho grips himself, thick, heavy, tip glistening with pre cum and taps it against your tongue. Once. Twice. The weight of it smacking wetly as he drags the underside along, painting your lips and tongue with his pre cum, then taps the tip right at the center, making it bob. "Taste me," he orders. "Get it nice and wet before I fuck this pretty mouth."
Your tongue swirls instinctively, lapping at the head, savoring the taste of him as he continues tapping, light at first, then firmer, the impacts sending jolts through your jaw as he smears his dick across your cheeks, your chin, marking you and making your core throb, wetness soaking your thighs, but you stay still on your knees, waiting for his lead. For his command.
"Suck the tip," he says, voice gravelly, still commanding as you wrap your lips around it, hollowing your cheeks as you suck gently, tongue flicking the slit and he groans low, threading his fingers into your hair but not pulling yet as he rocks his hips forward inch by inch, letting you adjust, your mouth stretching around him. He starts slow, deliberate thrusts, pulling out until just the tip rests on your tongue, then pushing back in, deeper each time.
Your throat relaxes but still clenches as he nears the back. "Breathe through your nose," he instructs, one hand cupping your cheek possessively. You do, nostrils flaring, focusing on the rhythm. In... out... in... deeper. His dick hits the entrance to your throat, and you gag softly, but he pauses, letting you swallow around him. “Relax…. and take it." he surges forward, bottoming out, balls pressing against your chin, dick fully sheathed in your throat, bulging it visibly.
You choke hard, throat spasming wildly around him, tears flowing freely now as he holds there, grinding slightly, letting you feel the full invasion of him. "Fuck…. look at you….” The sight of you stuffed full has him start fucking your mouth in earnest, but not rushed, long, drawn out strokes that pull almost all the way out before slamming back in. Each thrust bottoms out, your gags turning into continuous wet chokes and gurgles, spit bubbles at the corners of your mouth, cascading down your neck and onto your shirt.
His grip tightens in your hair, controlling the pace, angling your head perfectly. "Choke on it. Gag for me. I want to hear how much you love this." Your world narrows to the relentless piston of his dick in your throat, the burn in your jaw, the ache in your stretched lips. Every plunge triggers fresh waves of gagging, your body heaving, but you don't pull away, you lean into it, hands braced on his thighs as he fucks deeper, faster, hips snapping with controlled power. "Touch yourself," he suddenly commands, voice strained with pleasure. "Finger that wet pussy while I use your throat. Do it now."
Your hand flies between your legs, shoving into your shorts, pushing aside your soaked panties, two fingers plunge into your dripping pussy, the sudden fullness making you moan around him, a muffled vibration that makes him his as you pump your fingers in time with his thrusts, curling to reach and hit your g spot, thumb circling your swollen clit…..
Overwhelmed, sensations crash over you, his dick ravaging your throat, choking off your air in bursts, your fingers squelching in your pussy, walls clenching greedily, the sounds of you making yourself squirt echoing loudly. He doesn't let up, pounding your mouth with wet, obscene thrusts, dick gliding through rivers of spit, balls smacking your chin. "Deeper with those fingers. Fuck yourself like you mean it." You add a third finger, stretching your pussy wide, thrusting frantically as your orgasm builds and your throat convulses nonstop around him, gagging louder, body trembling on the edge.
The pressure coils tight, his dick blocking your screams, your fingers buried knuckle deep, grinding against your g spot and you shatter, coming hard with a raw, muffled scream vibrating down his shaft, pussy spasming wildly around your fingers, juices squirting onto your hand and the floor, thighs quaking as waves rip through you as his dick stays lodged deep, choking your cries into desperate hums.
Yunho groans at the sensation, your cries and moans milking his dick with your throat's contractions. "Fuck, that's it…. come for me while I fuck your face." He doesn't stop, hips pistoning even harder now, chasing his release, hands clamping onto your head, fingers digging into your scalp, holding you immobile as he uses your throat like a tight sleeve. Thrust after brutal thrust, faster, deeper, your gags turn to whimpers, exhausted but blissful as your fingers stay inside your pussy, clenching yourself as his rhythm falters, breaths ragged. "Gonna fill this throat…. make you swallow every drop…..”
With a final, savage thrust, he buries himself to the hilt, dick pulsing as he erupts straight down your throat, rope after thick rope of his release floods you, forcing you to gulp convulsively around him, milking him dry as he holds you there through it all, grinding until the last spurt, your nose pressed to his pelvis, lungs burning as he finally pulls out slowly, dick slick and softening only a little with a trail of cum and spit connecting to your lips.
You cough, gasping for air, throat raw and voice hoarse, but a satisfied smile spreads across your face as you lick your lips clean and pull your fingers out of yourself, Yunho grabbing your hand and bringing it up as he leans down and sucks your soaked fingers into his mouth, other hand stroking your hair gently now, thumb wiping a tear from your cheek as he sucks your fingers clean. “You took it so well." He doesn’t let your hand go, gripping it as he helps you up, pulling you into his chest.
He lets out a slow breath against your hair, hand resting warm at the back of your head, fingers threading through gently now, so different from the intensity just moments ago it almost makes you laugh. Your voice is wrecked, barely there, but the smirk that tugs at your lips is very much alive. “You’re so annoying,” you rasp lightly, pulling back just enough to look up at him and he huffs a quiet laugh, thumb brushing once more under your eye, softer now, grounding again. “I’m annoying?” he repeats, brows lifting like he’s genuinely offended.
You nod, even though it’s small, your hands resting against his chest as you steady yourself. “Yeah. You could’ve….” your voice cracks a little and you wince, clearing your throat, “you could’ve done that sooner.” That gets him. His lips part slightly, like he wasn’t expecting that answer at all, a quiet, surprised laugh slipping out of him as his grip tightens just a little at your waist. “Oh, I could’ve?” he murmurs, amusement curling into his tone as you tilt your head, giving him a look despite how wrecked you feel. “Mhm….. didn’t know my boyfriend had that whole, here, gag on it, thing in him.”
Yunho chokes, a short, startled sound caught in his throat as his head drops forward for a second, laughter breaking out of him in disbelief. “Hey…” he starts, voice half laughing, half warning, but there’s no real bite to it. His ears are a little red now, the composure he had earlier slipping just enough to make your smile widen. “Oh my god, don’t act shy now,” you tease, nudging lightly at his chest. “Where was that energy a minute ago?”
He exhales sharply through his nose, shaking his head as his hands settle more firmly on your hips, pulling you back in like he doesn’t trust you to stay put otherwise. “You are not….” he pauses, trying to regain control of the moment, but the corner of his mouth keeps twitching. “You do not get to say that after…”
“After what?” you interrupt, tilting your head innocently and he just stares at you for a second before he huffs, forehead dropping to yours. “You’re unbelievable,” he mutters.
But there’s no frustration in it. Just warmth. Just that soft, steady affection threading back through everything now that the intensity has settled and your smile softens too, your fingers curling lightly into his shirt as you lean into him again, both of you still catching your breath in the quiet that follows. “You loved it.”
He doesn’t even hesitate, voice low, certain and still a little breathless
warnings : this feels a little rushed sorry!! , mingi loves calling reader baby hehe , morning sex with no plot lmao , head (f receiving) , unprotected sex (don’t) , kissing , fingering , slight choking (not rlly) , biiiig dıck mingi🙏 , cum eating , pls lmk if i missed anything!
a/n : i literally haven’t wrote anything for AGES and i apologise🤭. i’ve had no motivation whatsoever and ive been so stressed with college work/assignments (my teacher pmo) but i’ll defo be trying to write more!! also, reblogs are always greatly appreciated!🩵
You wake up to find your bedroom silent and pitch black, the only light being the soft glow of the moon shining through your blinds.
You thought your sleep schedule had been getting better, but you’d started waking up in the middle of the night again. You’re not sure why.
Actually, you know the exact reason why. It’s because your boyfriend, Song Mingi, is on tour again. He’s thousands and thousands of miles away from you and the comfort of your apartment.
You rub your eyes and sit up in your bed, reaching for your phone on the nightstand. You turn on the screen and see the time reads 3:47am. Below is a thread of notifications from Mingi.
He’s probably telling you to get some sleep or to eat properly - not just instant noodles.
He knows you worry and he knows you get lonely without him. That’s one of the many things you love most about your boyfriend. He notices everything.
Mingi: sleep well beautiful
Mingi: i’ll be home before you know it
Mingi: don’t worry too much
You type out a quick reply before throwing your phone onto the mattress.
Eventually, after what feels like an hour of tossing and turning, you manage to fall asleep again.
————
The next time you’re woken up, it’s by the sun illuminating your bedroom and… a wetness between your legs.
You find yourself trying to wriggle away from the sensitive pressure between your legs, but something is holding you down.
Or someone.
You blink open your sleepy eyes and look down to find your boyfriend’s head between your thighs. His arms are wrapped around your thighs, keeping you pinned down. That explains why you couldn’t move.
You arch your back off the bed and reach down, letting your fingers card through his annoyingly perfect hair.
You see the moment he realises you’re awake when he lifts his head, revealing his shiny lips and chin. “Good morning, baby.” he smirks up at you.
You can’t help but giggle as he dives back in, sucking your already-sensitive clit into his mouth. You whine in response, tugging at his hair and rolling your hips upwards.
He wastes no time pushing two fingers inside of you, pumping them slowly as he effortlessly reaches all the right spots.
“Mingi…” you moan his name, somehow already close to the edge.
He doesn’t respond. He just quickens his movements. His tongue flicks over your clit faster and his fingers push further inside of you, curling at just the right angle. Your legs tremble as you warn him you’re about to come.
“M- ahh… Mingi, I’m close…” you whimper seconds before your release coats his fingers.
He pulls his fingers out of you slowly and brings them to his mouth, licking them clean while holding your gaze.
He releases your thighs and moves quickly, hovering over you. He buries his face in your neck and inhales deeply. “Good girl.”
“You couldn’t wait until later?” you chuckle (although you aren’t complaining) and wrap your legs around his waist.
“And miss out on waking you up in the best way possible? Absolutely not.” he groans as he begins kissing and nipping at your neck. One of his hands grips your hip tightly and the other rests beside your head, careful not to put all of his weight on you.
He leaves a trail of kisses from just below your ear all the way down to your collarbone. You didn’t even notice he had shifted his weight to unbuckle his belt and pull down his jeans just enough to free his hard length.
Saying Mingi is big is an understatement. He’s huge. Not just length, but girth, too. You’ll never get over how good the stretch feels when he pushes inside of you.
“Tell me you missed me, baby.” he whispers hoarsely against your neck as he lines himself up with your entrance. But he doesn’t wait for you to respond.
You open your mouth to speak but he’s already pushing inside of you. He groans against your neck and mutters something that sounds like a mix of your name and “fuck”.
You cry out embarrassingly loud and your nails dig into his shoulders through the thin fabric of his shirt (which he didn’t bother to remove).
He groans again and removes his hand from your hip, bringing it up to wrap around your throat instead. He squeezes, but not enough to cut off your breathing, just enough to show he’s in control. But damn you already knew that.
He bottoms out and he’s already panting into the crook of your neck. “Fuck, baby… needed you so bad.”
Then he’s moving. Thrusting deep and agonisingly slow. One hundred percent on purpose.
“Mingi…” you breathe, although you’re not even sure why.
“Use your words, love. Tell me what you want.” he smirks before lifting his head to capture your lips in a slow but hungry kiss. His fingers tighten around your neck for a moment, urging you to speak.
“More…” you manage to say.
“More?” he chuckles low in his throat. “Greedy little thing.”
He listens, though. With practiced ease, he quickens his pace and shifts ever so slightly to angle himself deeper inside of you.
When your walls begin clenching around him, you know you’re not going to last much longer. He’s kissing you when you squeeze his cock and he lets out this delicious, deep groan straight into your mouth. You swallow it, your tongue pushing into his mouth before mingling with his.
He lowers his head again and pushes his face into the crook of your neck. His thrusts are messy and ragged now as he gets closer to the edge.
He removes his hand from your throat and reaches between your bodies to rub fast, tight circles on your clit.
“Ahh… I’m close.” you manage to whisper.
“Let go, baby. Come for me.” he encourages, thrusting faster.
Your pussy clamp around him as you come which leaves him following seconds later. He basically collapses on top of you as his hot ropes of come fill you up. He’s a panting, groaning, sweaty mess when he lifts his head from your neck for the final time.
content notes: established relationship, unprotected sex, dom!hongjoong, sub!reader, daddy kink, multiple orgasms, oral sex (both receiving), a little bit of biting. hongjoong yaps a lot and is only slightly mean.
Hongjoong had you pinned against the wall, your bare breasts pressing against the cold surface. He held your wrists in place with one hand, using the other to grab firmly onto your ass.
“You’ve been so good for me, baby. So pretty and so good. I think you deserve something special, don’t you?” He was murmuring the words only an inch from your ear, and the touch of his breath made you shiver as much as the words themselves.
“Yes, please,” you begged, wanting nothing but to turn your brain off and fully submit to him for the night.
“Good girl. You look so delicious there in just your heels, why don’t you get me undressed too?” He released your arm and stepped back, waiting for you to do as he said.
You turned, walking carefully to him while holding his gaze. Thankfully he wasn’t wearing anything complicated, only a t-shirt and plain trousers, so you could have him free of the material in no time. Pulling the shirt over his head, you inhaled sharply at the sight of his bare torso before you. You couldn’t help it; you had to run your hand across his chest, savoring his skin and brushing your fingertips across his nipples.
“Baby,” he admonished. “Stay focused.”
“Sorry, daddy,” you responded, a bit put out but still eager to please. As you unbuttoned his trousers, you nevertheless let yourself press a kiss to his chest. The pants slid down his legs, and you followed them to the floor, as did his underwear.
You were on your knees now, Hongjoong’s erection at face level with you as he stepped out of his crumpled garments. Your mouth was nearly watering as you looked up, awaiting his next command.
“You know what to do, princess. It’s not going to suck itself.” He threaded his fingers through your hair to guide you closer, and you instinctively opened your mouth, tongue out and ready.
Hongjoong’s grip lightened, keeping his hand in place but allowing you to control your own movements for now. You leaned forward, lips tight together as you pushed the head of his cock between them, sucking him into your warm mouth. He groaned out in encouragement.
Even only partially inside your mouth, Hongjoong was a lot to manage, so you used a free hand to stroke his shaft as your tongue danced around the tip. Saliva dripped from your mouth, letting your palm slide more easily as you jerked him off.
“You love tasting daddy, don’t you?” You hummed around him in response, your mouth too full and busy to respond in any other way. “Good girl. So good for me.”
Your brain swirled with the praise, and you were losing track of any thought except pleasing him. When you sucked him in a bit deeper, his breath caught and he impulsively thrust, pulling your head back by your hair so he wouldn’t accidentally choke you.
“Baby, you’re too good. I think you deserve a little break, don’t you?”
You looked up at him, eyelids heavy with desire, mouth pink and agape. “But what about you?”
Hongjoong smiled down at you and held your chin in his hand. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll get mine. Now get on the bed so I can show you how good you’ve been.”
As ever, you wasted no time in obeying. You sat on the bed, propped up on your hands with your legs splayed out in front of you, curious as to where he would begin.
Never dropping eye contact, he climbed atop the mattress, removing your heels before his hands made their way up your legs, then torso. His palms settled on your breasts, cupping them softly, then squeezing more firmly.
“You look so pretty lying here for me,” he muttered before lowering to take a nipple between his lips. He rolled his tongue over the hardened bud, causing you to moan loudly. “And so good,” he added, switching to the other nipple as he continued fondling you.
“Can I touch you? Please?” You didn’t really have to request permission; he loved when you mindlessly reached for him. But you thrived under the illusion of having zero control over yourself, so you always asked.
Hongjoong smirked at you before answering. “Of course, princess. Since you asked me so nicely, you can touch me anywhere you want.” He returned his attention to your breasts, biting down into the soft flesh.
“Fuck!” you cried out at the joyous mixture of pain and pleasure. “Feels so good, daddy.” You tangled your fingers in his hair, using the contact to anchor yourself to him.
He grazed his teeth across your nipple, eliciting a whimper that filled him with pride. “That’s my girl,” he whispered, nuzzling gently against your breasts.
Your hold on his hair released as he scooted further down your body, leaving wet kisses as he traveled. He bit at the roundness of your hip, causing you to buck up against him in search of more.
“My pretty girl,” he repeated as he went, drowning you in the praise you craved more than anything. Well, almost anything.
“Please, daddy. I need you.”
“Yeah? What is it you need, baby? Tell me.”
“I need you inside me. So badly.”
His almost mocking chuckle sent a shiver through your body. “Not yet, baby. I’m not done playing with you.” Your only response was a barely-heard whine, and Hongjoong settled himself between your legs.
He nipped at the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, always knowing just the right amount of pressure to balance the pleasure against the pain. A trail of impressions marked the path he was taking across your body, and you closed your eyes happily, thinking of going about the next few days covered in the evidence of his affection.
You weren’t even sure exactly what he was doing at this point, but you knew you needed more of it. The tip of his nose caressed where your thigh began, just beyond the margins of your labia. He began leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses all over you, avoiding the areas you wanted him most desperately.
“Please.” You couldn’t find the words to express what you wanted, but you hoped your tone would be enough. “Need you now.”
“Shh, relax, princess. You’ve been so good, don’t stop now. You can wait a little more.” He kept teasing with his mouth and nose, making you writhe beneath him.
After what felt like an eternity, he ran the tip of his index finger along your entrance, gathering the generous wetness you were already exuding. “Look at you, baby. You’re so wet for daddy.” He slid his entire finger inside you with no preamble, and you let out an indecent moan at the sensation.
“Please… need more...”
Hongjoong hummed as he pretended to consider your request, removing his finger and licking it clean as he mulled it over. “I don’t know. I’m having so much fun. If I give you what you want too soon, you might forget to be good.”
“I promise I’ll be good. I will. I just need you so badly.” You didn’t care how pathetic your begging was; all you were concerned with was Hongjoong.
“Are you sure? Can you really be good for me, baby? Can you be good for daddy?”
You nearly nodded your head off. “Yes, I promise I’ll be good.”
A mischievous grin lit up his face. “Alright. Keep your promise for me.” He pushed two fingers all the way into you, and you gasped in delight.
“Thank…” Your words failed as he thrust his digits in and out of you, curling his fingertips as he did so.
Your cries were breathless as Hongjoong expertly worked your cunt. “My pussy,” he whispered as if he could read your mind. “You’re my girl and this is my pussy, so wet for me. Just for me.” The lewd sounds of his enthusiastic fingering mingled with your moans, all sense of decency completely gone.
The anticipation had been intense, and now that he was finally directly stimulating you, there was no way you could hold out much longer. “Daddy, I… close?” Though you couldn’t say much more, you had imbued your words with a questioning tone, asking for permission.
“Yes, baby, you can come. That’s it, come for me. Come all over daddy’s fingers, yeah, just like that.” His encouraging instructions continued as you were overwhelmed by your orgasm, clenching around his still-thrusting fingers as you whimpered for him.
“Fuck, you’re so beautiful when you come for me, baby.” You hadn’t even fully come down from your orgasm yet, but Hongjoong pressed his lips directly to your clit. He sucked gently at first, then harder while he kept arching his fingers into your g-spot, giving you no time to recover from your height before he sent you spinning into a second, smaller yet still powerful climax.
“Oh, fuck, I-” You were nearly in tears from the intensity of coming in such quick succession, and you tried to squirm away from Hongjoong’s mouth. Blissfully he knew you were overly sensitive, so he sat back to drink you in with his eyes.
“I love you, baby. You’re so pretty. So good. Can you do something for me, my beautiful girl?”
You didn’t bother to try and anticipate what he wanted; you knew what your response would be. “Yes, daddy. Anything.”
“I’m going to stretch you open now with my cock, and I’m going to need you to come again for me when I fuck you. Can you do that for daddy? Can you come all over my cock?”
You moaned pornographically at his words. “Yes, yes. Just please fuck me.” You didn’t even care how sensitive your body already was, you just needed Hongjoong as much as physically possible.
He smiled, stalking his way up your body to line up with your entrance. “You’re still so wet, baby. Maybe you’re a bad girl, yeah?” He eased into you, taking his time as much as he could manage, groaning the whole time. “Fuck, no, you’re a good girl. You’re so tight, you must be a good girl.”
You were dizzy from the praise, and yet you craved even more. “Please, more. Fuck me, please.”
Hongjoong rocked his hips, sending spirals of pleasure through your body, before continuing to bury himself all the way. He rested there for a moment, letting you adjust to having his full length inside you, then he moved your legs to circle him. You kept your ankles behind his lower back, so incredibly open for him to use as he desired.
He gave a few experimental thrusts into your hypersensitive pussy, and you whimpered with need. Encouraged, he took one of your wrists in each hand, pinning them next to either side of your head as he looked down on you. His hair fell across his eyebrows, but you could still see his hungry expression as he began to fuck you without restraint.
With your legs around his body and hands held in place by his, you could do nothing except lie there and be fucked - exactly what you wanted. All sorts of obscene sounds spilled from your mouth, interspersed with breathy moans.
Hongjoong kept praising you as he had been all night, but as he chased his pleasure he lost coherence. “Good girl… love you… so fucking good… taking me so well…”
Everything else was forgotten as he fucked you relentlessly; you each only cared for the overwhelming sensations of the other’s body.
“Baby,” Hongjoong moaned out. “I’m so close. I need you to come with me, okay?” All you could do was nod. “Good. ‘M gonna come so much for you, you gotta come for me too, baby. That’s it, come for me while I fill you up.”
By some sexual miracle you reached your peaks at the same time, your tightening walls enhancing his climax as he emptied himself inside you, the feel of his desperate thrusts sending waves of ecstasy through your entire body.
Hongjoong rested his forehead on your shoulder, weakly trying to catch his breath post-orgasm. You ran your fingertips through his hair, caressing his scalp tenderly. “I love you so much.”
He kissed your neck gently. “I love you too, baby. Let me get you all cleaned up and comfy.”
✮ Synopsis: Y/n stumbles upon a camboy named Mingi late one night and becomes obsessed. Watching silently, never logging in, never speaking. But Mingi sees her anyway. He knows she’s there.
✮ A/N: Hi! I'm currently reuploading everything that got deleted, so if this seems familiar, that's why! I hope you all enjoy..(again)
Taglist *ೃ༄ @cherrygirlexi @linovvsss (If you would like to be added, send an ask!)
You never really meant to get addicted.
Your curiosity got the best of you one late night. A random link, a friend’s offhanded comment about a site that was “like OnlyFans but better.” You clicked. Browsed. Laughed. Got bored.
But then, you saw him.
His preview was cleaner than the others. Dim lighting, professional setup. A single tattooed hand adjusting a camera, then retreating. And then his face appeared.
Song Mingi.
Tan skin, nice lips, and wide shoulders. His expression unreadable, eyes low-lidded and smug like he already knew you were watching. You clicked “join stream” before thinking twice.
That was six weeks ago though. Now, you were viewer number 7451 and you hadn’t missed a single stream. Mingi didn’t know you. That was part of the thrill. You never tipped. Never commented. Never interacted.
You just watched.
And he was good. Too good. A natural performer, cocky in the way only someone who genuinely knew he was hot could be. The first time he moaned into the camera, chest heaving, lips parted, you’d cum so fast you’d barely remembered your own name.
He looked like sin on screen. Slow, teasing strokes, soft growls when he was edging himself, lazy tongue flicks when he licked his fingers before using them. He had no shame. No rush. No mercy.
You watched him in bed. On the couch. In the shower once. He’d worn a harness in one stream. A collar in another. Once, he’d come untouched just from grinding the sheets, fists clenched in the blankets, hips stuttering. You’d cried that night. Quietly. From how badly you wanted him.
But tonight… something felt different.
The stream started like always. Music low, lights dim, Mingi lounging shirtless in bed. Hair messy. Lips swollen like he’d been biting them. Your heart started pounding. You slipped under the blanket and adjusted your laptop on your thighs, biting your lip as he stared into the lens.
“Alright, chat,” he murmured, voice deep and calm. “I’ve been thinking about one of you.”
Your breath caught.
“I don’t know who you are,” he continued, reaching for a bottle of lube offscreen, “but you’re always here. I see the viewer count. It’s always one higher before I even log in. Every night.”
You froze.
“I can’t see your name, so I’ll just call you… 7451.” He smirked, slicking his fingers and lazily stroking his already half-hard cock. “If you’re watching right now… this one’s for you.”
Your mouth dropped open.
He knew.
Your hands trembled as you reached down between your legs. Your panties were soaked already, your thighs twitching from just the way his voice wrapped around the words. He was slow tonight. Teasing. Breathy moans and heavy eye contact as he leaned into the camera, voice dropping into that deep rasp that made you lose control.
“You like watching me, don’t you?” he whispered, his hand working slowly along his thick shaft. “Always hiding in the corner. Never saying a word. Just… watching.”
You whimpered, helpless. The way he looked directly into the camera felt too intimate, like he was in your room, speaking into your neck.
“You wanna know something, 7451?” Mingi exhaled, chest rising with a shaky breath. “I think about you when I fuck my hand.”
You gasped.
“I don’t even know your name, but I dream about you. Imagining you sitting there, legs spread, watching me ruin myself just for your attention. You don’t even tip. Don’t even talk. But I feel you.”
His voice darkened.
“You make me desperate.”
Your body jerked, fingers moving faster, thighs shaking.
“You gonna come for me tonight, baby?” he growled, voice slurring just a little as his pace increased. “Right there, in the dark, like a good girl?”
You whimpered his name.
“And when you do,” he panted, “I want you to say thank you. Even if I can’t hear it.”
Your orgasm hit so hard your vision blurred. You came with a broken cry, hand clamped over your mouth, shaking violently beneath the blanket. And on screen, Mingi groaned. Loud, rough, and needy cumming hard across his chest, eyes locked to the lens like he felt it.
When it was over, he leaned forward, chest rising and falling, and whispered:
“Good girl.”
The stream ended five seconds later.
You didn’t sleep that night.
Your body was still trembling hours after the stream ended, the image of Mingi panting into the camera for you was burned into your mind. It was like he’d crawled through the screen. Like he knew you. And that terrified you more than it thrilled you. Because now? You weren’t just watching.
You were seen.
The next stream didn’t help.
It was two days later. Your pulse skipped as you refreshed the page. His stream title was different this time. It wasn’t a generic “Live Now” or “Play With Me.”
It said: “7451. Come Back.”
You stared. Blinked. Clicked.
The second the screen loaded, Mingi looked up. Right into the camera. Into you.
“There you are,” he said softly. “I was hoping you didn’t get scared.”
Your stomach twisted.
He was sitting cross-legged on his bed, shirtless again, but softer this time. No teasing smile. Just steady eye contact and something deeper and warmer. Hungrier even.
“I can feel when you’re here,” he whispered, dragging his lip between his teeth. “I don’t know how, but I do.”
Your breath caught.
“Everyone in the chat wants attention. But not you. You just watch. You make me feel like I belong to you.”
His hand moved down again. Slower this time. Almost reverent.
“I honestly think I’d let you do anything to me.”
You didn’t touch yourself. Not yet. You just watched him stroke his cock with slow, aching pressure, hips twitching as he breathed through his nose, desperate to keep eye contact even while falling apart.
“Come back tomorrow night,” he panted. “I wanna try something new.”
The stream ended with his cum on his stomach and a half-smile on his lips.
You didn’t even hesitate.
The next night, the title read: “For Her Eyes Only.”
The chat was disabled.
Your whole body locked up.
He appeared again, hair slicked back this time, eyes heavy-lidded. He was wearing gray sweats, no shirt, no underwear and he was already hard. He didn’t say anything at first. Just stared.
And then said
“Take off your panties.”
You nearly stopped breathing.
“Yeah. You,” he murmured. “7451. You think I don’t know when you’re here? You make my fucking skin tingle.”
He fisted his cock roughly once, groaning as his head fell back.
“You don’t get to hide anymore. I don’t want your tips. I don’t want your name. I want your fucking attention.”
You were soaked in seconds. One hand pulling your panties to the side, the other trembling between your legs.
“You watching me touch myself makes me insane,” he growled, faster now. “I close my eyes and imagine you’re here. Knees pressed to your chest. Whimpering. Begging me to slow down. You’d let me break you, wouldn’t you?”
You moaned loudly. Too loud, covering your mouth instantly.
He smirked.
“Shh. Don’t want anyone to hear what you are for me.”
Your climax slammed into you with dizzying force. You couldn’t even breathe. Just clenched around nothing, twitching, thighs soaked and mouth open in silent shock. On screen, Mingi came at the same time. It was rougher this time. Louder, messier, like he was unraveling just as fast.
He leaned in close after, voice low and possessive.
“I need to see you.”
Click. The stream ended.
Two hours later, you got a notification: You’ve received a private message from: “fixon8_”
You stared at the screen. Heart in your throat.
The message said:
“I’m gonna find you.”
You didn’t respond to his message. But you didn’t stop watching, either. Three days passed. Three streams. All private. All for you. Each time, Mingi got a little darker. He didn’t ask anymore. He spoke like he already owned you.
“I know you’re still here, baby.”
“Your thighs shaking for me yet?”
“Next time you cum, leave your window open.”
And when you didn’t respond, not once, not even a tip, he sent one final message.
“Be home tomorrow night. I’ll knock twice.”
You didn’t tell him where you lived. You didn’t have to. When the knock came, soft and deliberate, just past midnight, your body reacted before your brain did. You opened the door slowly, heart slamming.
And there he was. Real. Broad. Bigger than you expected.
Mingi.
He didn’t speak. Just looked you up and down, eyes moving from your bare legs to the oversized shirt barely covering your thighs.
“You’re real,” he murmured. “Fuck.”
Your breath caught.
“You shouldn’t be here. How'd you even find me?”
He stepped inside anyway.
“I mean I told you I’d find you.”
The silence that followed was thick. Heated. He stared at you like he’d never seen a woman before.
“Take off the shirt.”
You hesitated.
“I said-” he stepped closer, lowering his voice “take it off.”
You obeyed.
The second it hit the floor, his hands were on you. Hot, rough palms sliding over your waist and hips, mouth dragging down your neck, licking, biting, claiming.
“You’ve been making me fucking crazy.”
He shoved you back against the wall, one hand sliding between your legs, fingers immediately coated.
“Of course you’re wet,” he growled. “You’re always wet for me, aren’t you?”
You whimpered, head tipping back.
“You thought you could just watch forever?” His breath was hot against your ear. “You made me cum so hard I blacked out. And you didn’t say a word.”
Two fingers pushed in with no warning. Deep, curling, pumping hard as his teeth grazed your jaw.
“You gonna stay quiet now, baby? Or you gonna let me hear you?”
You moaned loud, filthy, broken.
He smiled.
“There she is.”
He pulled you onto your knees.
“You owe me,” he said, stroking himself slowly as he leaned back on your couch. “Put that pretty mouth to work.”
You didn’t hesitate. You devoured him. Messy and loud. Tongue heavy and eager. He tangled a hand in your hair and hissed, hips jerking with every drag of your lips around his cock.
“Shit- yes. Just like that. You’re even better than I imagined.”
He didn’t last long. He really couldn’t. The second your fingers massaged the base and you moaned around him, he fell apart with a groan so guttural it vibrated in your chest.
“Fuck, baby—look at me. Look at me while I cum down your throat.”
You did. And you swallowed everything.
When it was over, he didn’t leave. He sat on the couch, chest heaving, hand still in your hair.
“I’m not going back to the camera.”
You blinked up at him, lips still swollen.
“What? Why?”
He smiled lazily. Possessively.
“Why would I stream,” he said, “when I’ve got the only viewer I care about right here?”
You didn’t get a chance to respond. Mingi was already crawling off the couch, already dragging you down with him. Your back pressed into the cushions, his weight heavy and warm above you.
“I waited long enough,” he muttered against your skin. “No more shows. No more cameras. No more pretending you don’t want this too.”
His hand gripped your throat, not tight, just enough to hold you there and his eyes locked on yours like he was trying to memorize the shape of your fear. Or lust. Or both.
“You belong to me now, don’t you?”
You nodded, dazed.
“Say it.”
Your voice cracked.
“I- I belong to you.”
His smile was dark. Like he’d won.
“Good girl.”
He fucked you rough deep. No teasing. No warm-up. You were already dripping wet from just the weight of him, from the way he looked at you like you were something he made.
“So fucking tight,” he growled, pushing in slow but heavy. “You’ve been playing with that pussy every night for me, huh? Getting yourself ready without even knowing it.”
You moaned like he owned your throat.
And maybe he did.
His pace built fast—rough, unrelenting, fucking you into the couch like he was making up for every stream you watched in silence. His hands never stopped moving, gripping your hips, your breasts, your face. Every part of you. All his.
“You’re gonna take everything I give you,” he panted. “I know that’s why you let me in. You want me to fill you up, don’t you?”
You whimpered, nails digging into his back.
“Want me to cum in you, baby? Make it stick? Fuck it in so deep your body doesn’t even have a choice?”
Your legs wrapped around his waist automatically. Instinctive. Desperate.
“You’re fucking mine.”
He grabbed your jaw and held it firm, still moving inside you, slow and deep strokes that made your walls flutter around him.
“Say it. Say you want my cum.”
You choked.
“I want it- I want you to fill me, Mingi, please”
His eyes burned.
“Beg for it.”
“Please cum in me. Please make me yours. I want it. I want all of it—”
He slammed back in with a groan, loud and broken, hips snapping hard until your moans turned to gasps. You could feel it—his cock twitching, the heat spilling inside as he pressed his full weight down and held you in place.
“That’s it,” he growled. “Take it. Take my fucking cum like you were made for it.”
Your head tipped back in ecstasy.
“I’m not done.”
You blinked up at him, breathless.
“You think I’m gonna let you walk around leaking my cum without making sure it takes?”
His hips rolled again, slow and filthy. You whimpered.
“I’m gonna fuck you full until your body begs me to stop.”
And he did.
Later, you lay tangled in his arms, your thighs still trembling. His lips pressed to your temple. His voice soft.
“I won’t let you go.”
You didn’t want him to, but this felt a little wrong.
“You’re not just some viewer anymore, baby. You’re mine.”
Mingi stayed the night.
He didn’t ask. Just fell asleep with one arm around your waist and the other slung possessively over your stomach like he was guarding you. And when you woke up the next morning, his face was still buried in your neck, breathing you in.
He didn’t leave for three days.
By the time he did, you had handprints on your thighs and bruises on your hips. Your body was sore, marked, and claimed in every way imaginable. And he wasn’t done.
“No streaming. No pictures. No fucking friends,” he said as he zipped up his bag before leaving. “I see anyone else touch you, I’ll lose it.”
You should’ve felt afraid.
Instead, you said:
“Okay.” with a small giggle.
He smiled like a predator. And he meant it.
He started small. Your phone buzzed with messages every hour.
Fixon8: Where are you? Fixon8: Who are you with? Fixon8: Why didn’t you answer in 7 minutes?
Then he showed up unannounced. Two nights in a row. One time with takeout. One time with handcuffs.
“Don’t make me ask to see you, baby. Just be here.”
And when you tried to tease him, mentioning an old hookup in from a couple of months ago, his entire mood shifted.
“You let someone else touch this pussy?”
You blinked.
“It was months ago, Mingi-”
“Did he fuck you raw?”
You swallowed.
He grabbed your face—tight. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to stop you from lying.
“You gave my mouth to someone else?”
You whimpered, breath catching as he dragged you down to the floor.
“Guess I’ll just have to remind you what mine feels like.
That night, he didn’t fuck you. He devoured you. Tongue flat and filthy, hands locking your thighs down, holding you open like you belonged under him. Mouth on your clit until you sobbed, until you screamed his name, until your legs gave out and your throat was raw.
And he still didn’t stop.
“No one else gets to hear you like this,” he growled between your thighs. “No one else gets to see how messy you get just from my fucking mouth.”
You came again. And again. And again. By the time he finally slid into you, he didn’t even fuck you hard, just deep, controlled strokes, hands on either side of your face as he whispered:
“I want to cum inside you every day until your body forgets anyone else ever existed.”
You looked up at him through wet lashes and whispered
“You already ruined me.”
He groaned, head tipping forward until your foreheads touched.
“Then let me ruin you completely.”
Afterward, he opened your drawer and slipped one of your panties in his hoodie pocket.
“Mine.”
He pulled your phone from your charger and typed his name into your contact list, with a lock emoji, and nothing else.
“No one else calls you this late.”
And when he finally left, he kissed your cheek and said:
“I’m coming back tomorrow.
It was your fault. You left your laptop open, half-buried under the sheets after a lazy afternoon nap. Mingi had wandered in shirtless and grinning, talking about ordering food, until he saw the glowing screen.
His voice stopped mid-sentence.
You rolled over, hair stuck to your cheek, blinking in confusion.
“Mingi?”
He didn’t answer.
His eyes were locked on the screen. On your bookmarks bar.
Your stomach dropped.
Because there it was, clear as day: -Private Folder — ‘M<3’ -Favorites: Mingi moaning.mp4 -Replay: Tongue & Toy — 57min
You shot up, panicked.
“Wait-wait, don’t-”
But he’d already clicked.
The video opened. His video. From months ago. The one where he came untouched just from grinding against the sheets. The one where he whispered, “I feel like someone’s watching me harder than the rest.” You watched his expression shift in real-time. First confusion, then realization, then something darker.
Something primal.
He closed the laptop slowly. Turned to you.
“You saved them huh.”
You sat frozen.
“I- yeah, I…” you swallowed, trying to smile, “I didn’t think you’d care. That was before we even—”
“You fucking labeled them.”
He stepped closer. You didn’t move.
“You made folders. Organized clips. You watched me cum over and over while pretending you were just some quiet little viewer, but you're just a nasty little slut.”
His tone wasn’t angry. It was low. Careful. Controlled.
“How long?”
Your throat dried up.
“Mingi—”
“How long did you watch me like that?”
You breathed, barely.
“Since the first week. I saw you by accident, and I… I couldn’t stop.”
He stood above you now, staring down at your flushed, guilty face.
“So all that time, you were already mine.”
He sat on the edge of the bed, hands gripping your thighs, forcing them open so he could settle between.
“I used to wonder why I came so hard when I said your name on stream. Now I know.”
You moaned when he dragged your panties down, spreading your legs until your slick thighs trembled.
“You were already touching yourself to me. Like a good little pervert. My perfect fucking girl.”
He buried his face between your legs like he missed it. Tongue flat and messy, groaning like your taste was the cure to something inside him. He licked through you like he was starving, hands gripping your thighs so tight they’d bruise.
“That folder should’ve had a password,” he murmured against your pussy. “But I’m glad it didn’t.”
Your hips bucked. He sucked your clit until your back arched and your legs jerked.
“Say it,” he panted. “Say you were mine even before I touched you.”
You gasped, hands gripping his hair.
“I was yours. I was already yours. I wanted you so bad-”
You came hard against his mouth, crying his name out.
He didn’t stop. Not even when you shook. Not even when your eyes rolled back. When he finally pulled away, your legs were still twitching. He stood over you, cock hard and leaking against his stomach.
“You want the real thing now, baby?”
You nodded helplessly.
He slid into you with one smooth, hard thrust. Deep and full, like he wanted to wipe every fake memory clean and replace it with this. He fucked you like he was memorizing the way you felt. Slow at first. Then deeper. Hips grinding as he filled you again and again, praising you between every thrust.
“You were mine even when you didn’t say a word.”
“You made those clips for me, didn’t you? Touched yourself while you named my files.”
“No one’s ever gonna know you like I do.”
You moaned with every word, helpless beneath him.
And when he came, deep inside you, groaning into your neck, he didn’t pull out.
“Keep it in,” he whispered, kissing your jaw. “Don’t waste a drop.”
You were quiet for a moment, blinking up at the ceiling, full of his cum and full of… something bigger.
Then he reached for the laptop again.
You panicked.
“Wait—!”
But he just opened a blank folder, titled it: ‘Real Life: Mingi + 7451’
“Guess it’s time to start a new one.”
You felt your phone buzz next to you. It was a message from Mingi saying:
Mingi<3: “Set an alarm. 7:45 AM. No panties. Call me after you wake up.”
You stared at it.
A week ago, he’d been fucking you into the mattress while calling you his favorite little pervert. Now he was setting your schedule like he owned your time too.
Which, honestly… he kind of did. You followed every instruction.
No panties. A cropped hoodie and nothing else. Face flushed when your alarm went off and you sat up, already soaked. Already thinking about him.
Your phone rang at 7:46.
“Good girl,” he said. “Let me hear your voice."
By the end of the week, he was managing more than just your mornings.
“Wear that black dress today.
“No touching yourself after 10PM unless I say so.”
“Drink water. Three bottles. I’m serious.”
It kind of scared you at first, but you actually liked it. You liked the sound of his voice cracking through your speakers. You liked that he kept track of your cycle, your work schedule, your moods.
“You’re mine,” he said one night, whispering in your ear as you lay in bed. “So I get to make the rules.”
You broke a rule once. You touched yourself past midnight. Just one night. You were desperate and needy from his teasing, throbbing from his last message.
He found out. You didn’t even know how. But the next time you opened your door, Mingi was already inside, hood up, expression unreadable.
“What did I tell you about breaking rules?.”
You froze.
“Mingi—”
“Don’t speak.”
He grabbed your wrist, pulled you into the bedroom, and stripped you in seconds. Then he tied you down. No ropes. Just his shirt and his hoodie. His hand pressing firm into your belly.
He made you cum five times.
“You wanna cum without permission?” “You’ll cum when I say. Over and over. Until you cry for me.”
He used his mouth, his fingers, a toy you didn’t know he’d brought. He didn’t even let you catch your breath.
“No running, baby. This is what you wanted, right?”
By the end, you were shaking, twitching, tears streaming down your face as you begged him to stop. And he did, but not before licking his fingers and whispering:
“You taste so good.”
Later, wrapped in his arms, your body trembling with aftershocks, you heard the softest thing you’d ever hear him say.
“You don’t need to control anything anymore.”
You blinked up at him, sleepy and ruined.
“Why?”
He kissed your cheek.
“Because I’ve got you.”
He just showed up one afternoon with a duffel bag and threw it on your couch like it had always been his.
You blinked at him, wide-eyed.
“You’re moving in?”
Mingi smirked.
“You really thought I’d let you live alone after everything?”
He kissed you before you could respond. Slow, dirty, final. The kind of kiss that didn’t ask for space or permission. Just took.
The first night he stayed, it was quiet. No toys. No games. No control. Just his arms wrapped around your back as he pulled you onto his lap, your thighs bare, the stretch of him inside you slow and sweet as you cockwarmed in his lap.
“This-,” he whispered against your shoulder, “is all I’ve wanted.”
You shifted slightly, your walls clenched, and he hissed.
“Keep doing that and I’ll fuck a baby into you.”
You froze.
“You’d let me,” he said, trailing a hand down your spine. “You’d take it. You’d be perfect.”
You whimpered, burying your face in his neck.
“Do it, then. I’m yours.”
The shift was quiet, but final. Your fridge had his energy drinks. Your bathroom had his cologne. Your nights ended with his hands under your shirt, your body already open for him, your moans soft and easy like they belonged in the background of his new life.
The final stream on his channel uploaded two days after the move.
A black screen with one sentence:
“Logged out. I found her.”
No comments. No replies. The account vanished hours later.
That night, he fucked you like he was recording with his whole body.
No camera. Just memory.
Slow strokes, heavy breathing, his thumb rubbing soft circles over your clit while he whispered:
“I used to jerk off to the idea of your voice. Now I get to hear you beg for real.”
He came inside you multiple times before the sun came up.
Warnings: Unprotected sex, p in v, oral (f receiving), slight nipple play, pet names (baby, beautiful), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, I probably forgot some :(
(Not entirely proofread yet)
————
“I think I’m ready to check out for the night, guys.” You take a last sip of your wine before setting the glass down. Your best friend Seonghwa had invited you to go and have dinner with him and his friends, but you didn’t think it would last so LONG. You swear you’ve been there for at least 4 hours.
Seonghwa smiles and waves the waitress over to pay the bill, “it was nice catching up with you guys.” He nods at his friends and slips his card in the bill. “We should do it again some time.” He looks over at you and laughs softly, “next time I promise we won’t be out so late.” He chuckles and nudges you playfully. You laugh softly and yawn, “I’m just getting tired is all.”
After the waitress comes back with the check, you and Seonghwa head back to his car so he could take you home. He opens the door for you and you playfully punch his arm, “you don’t gotta do all that.” You chuckle and get in, reaching to close the door behind you as he gets into the driver seat.
The drive home was quiet and peaceful, other than the soft music coming from the radio. You notice how clear the sky is today, each and every star in the sky twinkling above you. “Hey Hwa?”
“Hm?”
“Can we actually take a pit stop? The stars are so beautiful tonight, I want to enjoy them for a bit.”
He nods and looks around for a place to stop. He takes a small dirt road leading up to a lonely hill, pulling the car up to the highest point of the hill.
“I’m so glad I brought this blanket in here the other day. I knew it would come in handy.” You laugh and grab a blanket from the back seat before opening your door. “You coming?”
Seonghwa gets out of the car and you sit on the blanket, leaning back on your hands and looking up at the sky, Seonghwa soon joining you. You can still hear the soft music playing in the car, and a soft chirp of crickets from the woods behind you.
“Isn’t this so beautiful Hwa..” you smile and look over at him, but he isn’t looking at the stars. He’s looking at you. The reflection of the stars twinkling in his eyes makes your heart beat faster. He looks ethereal. And he’s thinking the exact same thing about you.
“I think you’re so beautiful.” He says softly, quietly, and glances down at your lips, your tongue quickly licking them on instinct. You can feel your cheeks turning pink and he notices. He gently lays one of his hands by yours, barely touching, and he reaches over to cup your cheek with his other hand. The second his hand touches your cheek, your lips part instinctively and he runs his thumb over your bottom lip, not being able to look away. You stare into his eyes, swapping back and forth between each eye.
“Hwa…” You whisper and he looks up at your eyes, tearing his vision away from your lips, butterflies dancing around in your stomach. He looks at you like he’s wondering if this is a good decision. You were his best friend, and of course he always felt some type of way about you, but he didn’t want to ruin your friendship at all if the feelings weren’t mutual. But the look in your eyes, the way your hand moves a little closer, so your fingers are touching, and the way you look down at his lips like they’re the most beautiful thing on this planet, lets him know you wanted it too.
He traces your bottom lip again and you pucker your lips into a small kiss on the pad of his thumb, shifting your body slightly, moving closer to him for better access to the kiss. His breath hitches and he moves his hand to the back of your neck, as he gently pulls your face closer to his. Your lips now inches apart, but he’s still holding back. He’s thinking about the aftermath of everything. What would you tell your friends? Would you guys still be friends after this? Would things be awkward between you two? Or would a relationship form from-
“Seonghwa.” His thoughts were interrupted by his name leaving your lips again. He looks into your pleading eyes, his eyebrows pulled together, so desperate to feel your lips on his. “Hwa, kiss me.” You whisper and he doesn’t waste a second. He pressed his lips against yours gently, but hungrily, and let out a sigh into the kiss. His hand moves from yours, softly holding onto your waist as he deepened the kiss, his fingers gently digging into your skin through your shirt. You let out a very small whine from the feeling and that ignites something in Seonghwa.
He moves his other hand away from your neck and grabs the other side of your waist, as he guides you into his lap. You straddle him and wrap your arms around his neck, legs on either side of his hips. His tongue swipes your bottom lip gently, asking for permission, and you part your lips slightly. He pushes his tongue into your mouth and wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you impossibly close to him.
Your hips start to roll gently across his growing erection, and you don’t realise it and he’s moaning softly and bucking his hips into you, his bulge occasionally rubbing against your clothed clit, making you gasp into the kisses. Your hips speed up and you finally realise what you were doing you break away from the kiss quickly, embarrassed.
“I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise-“
“If I wanted you to stop, I’d tell you to stop.” He says deeply and bucks his hips up, making you fall forward back into the kiss. You reach your hands up and tangle them in hair hair and he slides his hands up under your shirt, lifting it up, breaking the kiss only to lift it over your head before setting it on the blanket next to you. He reaches around you again to undo the clasp on your bra and you slide it off, reaching to take his shirt off now, which he lets you do.
He slides his hands to the front of you, grasping your breasts and sliding his hands over your hardening nipples. You moan softly and he pinches them lightly, giving them a small tug, which pulls a whine out of your mouth.
“Hwa stop teasing…” you whimper and grunt against him harder. “I want you..” He kisses you one last time before pulling away, looking deeply into your eyes before lifting you up and standing up. He turns around and lays you on top of the hood of the car, unbuttoning your pants and sliding them off. He kneels in front of you and spreads your legs, looking at the wet spot that had formed on your panties. He groans softly before wrapping his fingers around the waistband, slowly pulling them off, watching a string of arousal break when he pulls them far enough away.
He looks up at you and you whine as he puts your legs over his shoulders and holds your thighs apart. He dips his head in and licks up your folds before circling his tongue around your clit. You dig your hands in his hair and moan, your head falling back against the cold metal of the hood. He smirks and licks down to your entrance before sliding his tongue in slightly, moaning into you as he slides his tongue in deeper, his nose bumping against your clit, sending shocks up your core as he fucks his tongue into you. You try to close your legs together but he’s still holding them open, his fingers digging roughly into your thighs.
“Fuck Seonghwa-ahh- fuck please don’t stop!” You moan loudly, tightening your grip in his hair, as you feel your orgasm quickly approaching. “Fuck I’m so close.. please Hwa..!”
He continues his relentless pace of his tongue, as he reaches up and circles your clit with his thumb, making sure to keep them in time with the pace of his tongue sinking into you. It doesn’t take long before you feel your orgasm wash over you, toes curling and moans rolling from your throat as you grip his hair tighter.
He doesn’t spare a single drop, swallowing every bit of your orgasm, looking up into your eyes while he does. When you come down from your high, he stands up and unbuttons his pants, sliding them down and off, before going back up to you, his body in between your legs. He leans down and kisses you deeply, rubbing his hard cock in between your folds, making your body jump when his tip rubbed against your sensitive clit.
You wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his hips, pulling him as close as possible to you, rocking your hips against his cock, wanting him in every way. He smirks and reaches down, taking his cock in his hand, slowly pushing it against your entrance. You whine into the kiss and your grip on his neck tightens slightly,
“Please Seonghwa..” you beg, a higher pitch in your voice than normal. You have never wanted anything - anyone - so bad. He breaks the kiss and stands up straight, pulling your hips closer to him as he slowly pushes into you, going inch by inch, letting you adjust to him as he goes, not wanting to hurt you, his hands holding your hips tight, fingers digging into your soft flesh. He bites his lip and softly groans and he keeps pushing, before finally bottoming out.
“Fuck you feel so.. mmff… you feel so good baby..” the last word raising into a whine as he pulls back slightly and pushes back into you roughly. A loud moan is ripped from your throat and your back arches slightly off the hood as he immediately hits your sweet spot. He bites his lip and leans over you again, cupping your cheek in his hand and wiping a small tear away from your bright red cheeks. “You’re taking me so well, Beautiful.” He whispers, pulling out a little more than last time and thrusting back into you.
“M-more.. please more..” you whine and try to push your hips against his. He kisses you again and pulls out more, thrusting back into you, again and again, his pace and intensity quickly increasing, but not too much, until he finds the perfect rhythm. His hands now resting on either side of your head, your arms clawing at his back as he continues to abuse your g spot. He reaches one of his hands down and slides it across your breasts, lightly teasing one of your nipples with his finger tips, making you whine into his mouth, as your tongue fights with his, both of your saliva coating the corners of your mouth. He pinches your hard bud and lightly pulls on it, making your body shiver from the pleasure. He chuckles softly into you, finding it cute how sensitive your nipples were.
He pulls back slightly, panting against your lips, and you open your eyes slightly to look at him. His eyes met with yours and unspoken words were exchanged. You have always wanted each other, but never realised it or never wanted to make a move. You felt so in love looking deep in his eyes, never wanting to be apart from him for another second of your life.
“You’re so fucking beautiful..” he pants out, his hot breath hitting your lips. You clench around him, feeling your orgasm approach you quickly.
“Hwa please.. ‘m so close!” You moan out and dig your nails harder into his back. He kisses you hungrily again and reaches his hand from your boob in between your bodies and circles your clit again at the same place he’s thrusting into you. “F-FUCK…ahh.. fuck please don’t stop!” You cry against his lips.
“Come on baby, cum for me.” He begs as his eyebrows curl up. His words are exactly what you needed to send you over the edge, as you tighten around him, your nails almost breaking his skin on his back. He doesn’t stop his relentless attack on your clit as he works you through your orgasm, making you wine and shake under his touch. The overstimulation feels almost like it’s too much to handle and you beg him to stop.
“just a little longer… I’m so close. I know you can do it,” he says as he lifts his finger from your clit, but continues thrusting into you. He pulls away from the kiss briefly and looks into your eyes as he stands up straight, grabbing your hips and pulling them flush against yours, as he thrusts into you a few more times before his release gushes into you. He moans loudly and leans his head back as he rides through his high, softly massaging your hips where his fingers dug in.
“Shit…” you whine as he slowly pulls out of you, his cum leaking out of your pussy onto the head of the car. “Fuck Hwa…” He looks down at you still panting and smiles, a small chuckle leaving his mouth.
“Are you doing okay baby?” He cups your cheek and caresses it softly with his thumb, swiping a small tear off of your cheek. You whine and nod, leaning into his hand, legs still shaking slightly. He reaches down and picks up the blanket, cleaning the cum off your legs and pelvis before putting his clothes back on. He grabs yours and comes over to you, helping you get dressed. He sits you up on the hood and takes your chin in his hand, making you look up at him.
“I’ve been wanting that for so long. I just want you to know how beautiful you are, baby.” He says softly and your cheeks turn more pink than they already were.
“I’ve wanted you too..”
The drive home was peaceful, you couldn’t stop looking over at him, cheeks heating up every time you looked at his soft features, as your eyes traced down his body to his lap, before you pull your eyes away from him and look out the window, causing him to chuckle softly.
He pulls up into the driveway of your house before parking the car and walking you up to your front door. You unlock it and turn around, hugging him and he hugs you back, stroking your hair softly. You pull back slightly and look up at him,
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