summary: every girl has had that exhilarating little crush on their teacher, it’s not unheard of by any means. it almost always amounts to nothing, a small little motivation that keeps you awake in class. most girls don’t get hired by their professors to be a babysitter, and most girls don’t end up entwined in a situation so wrong that it eats them alive at night. not the guilt, or the shame. but the hunger, and the need. and most professors certainly don’t play into those little infatuations, and find themselves chasing that chance to absolutely ruin them. so why are you trying to play house and take on a role that wasn’t meant for you?
warnings: age gap(reader is in her 20’s, mingi is in his 40’s), this is nasty, DILF!mingi, lowkey salt & pepper!mingi, tension, power dynamics, emotional turmoil, girl dad mingi, manipulation, corruption, teasing, condescending!mdom, pet names(sweetheart, pretty baby, darling, slut etc), size kink, voice kink, praise, mating press, oral(f!receiving), countdown, biting, fingering, lowkey breeding kink, choking, overstimulation, dirty talk, eye contact, messy sex, mouth covering, hold the moan, creampie
wc: 18.1k (I am SO sorry)
notes: hiii… my dear @linearities, it’s me your secret admirer! you put down dilf Mingi and I was SAT. and then you mentioned prof!teez, so I just thought why not combine the two? you don’t understand how much I got into this while I was writing it’s kind of insane, god I hope you like it. all the love in the world… thank you @everyonewooeverywhere for hosting such a fun event
- your secret admirer <3
tracklist: million dollar man, strange candy, baby one more time
You weren’t stupid. You weren’t dumb, quite the opposite. You were intelligent, cunning. A smart woman who sometimes made foolish decisions. This would be one of them, one of the stupidest you've ever made.
And you would still do it again if ever given a second chance.
It nearly frightened you, the effect he had on you; it was embarrassing enough. It felt like an unattainable crush, a fleeting little infatuation that was bound to pass with time.
But it was so hard to get over it when you saw him nearly every day of the week. And even so, it was still not enough, and far too much all at once.
If it had to be described as anything, the word would be taboo. When he was introducing himself to his class of the year, he started with something that made your stomach do a flip.
“Y’know I have tattoos older than most of you in here, so if you ever question my teaching methods, think long and hard about how much longer I’ve been on earth than you.”
You thought long and hard, alright, and it certainly didn't help your little girly infatuation with your professor.
Professor Song Mingi, a literary instructor at your college. Students clamored during open season to squeeze into his class, which always filled up so quickly during enrollment. His teaching was sound and effective, and it didn’t hurt that he was way too easy on the eyes.
A low, flowing voice that was easy to grip onto and follow, gentle handwriting, and a pristine way with words. Dark tresses that framed his soft yet angular face, pink, puffy lips that wrapped around his syllables like a glove. His pretty, sharp nose beckoned for a rider. His meaty arms that always seemed to be struggling beneath his rolled-up white blazers, the buttons on the cuffs mere seconds from popping off.
His class was always dimly lit, a comfortable aura that made it easy to ease into learning. You could write a 20-page essay on why you enjoyed his class.
He was never dismissive, always listened to his students attentively, and truly valued their thoughts and opinions. He enjoyed shaping young folks' minds and helping them through their way, assisting them in growing and becoming respective, creative individuals.
You never struggled in his class, never had to ask for tutoring sessions. And to be honest, you probably wouldn’t be able to handle a one-on-one with him either way. He was too intimidating, too suffocating.
Whenever he asked the class a question, and you were able to gather your bearings to answer, you could hardly keep yourself from tripping over your words with how intense his gaze was.
Like he was clinging onto every word like a lifeline, his eyebrows raising now and then when your response flowed from your lips, his tongue would poke out the corner of his mouth, nodding along as he listened.
He’d always smile when you finally stumbled through your response, pointing his pen in your direction with a sly grin.
“Smart girl.” That stupid voice that made your brain dissolve into a useless puddle.
It was never good for your nerves.
But recently, you felt like his material has been getting more difficult. Maybe it was because finals for the semester were approaching, and the work started to get more grueling? Or maybe you were just tired, but his lectures started to blend into watercolor, and the readings he assigned the class started to sound like pig Latin.
Luckily, you weren’t the only one confused, when a girl who sat next to you leaned over while he was talking and whispered to you.
“Is he speaking English right now?”
Today was no different; the stress started to weigh on you as more finals began to close in. Recently, you’d been a bit tight on money, trying your best to save up from the barista job you’d been managing for the past year, but it was starting to fall short.
You had set up a job portfolio the night before in a fit of desperation in hopes of snagging a gig on the side in childcare, just to push you through the last few months of the year.
The winter chill nipped at your bones, and you always felt demotivated in the cold. The class dragged on, and you could barely keep your thoughts in a straight line as Professor Song droned on. You tried to cling to every word, retain every piece of information, but it all just seemed to slip away like you had butter fingers.
Your notes became sloppy, and your doodles in the margins became more frequent. Everyone in your immediate vicinity seemed just as hopeless, and this must have caught your professors' attention.
He turned from the board, and his face fell from concentrated to a soft sort of concern. He sighed softly and set his pen on the desk, a quiet clatter on the wood surface. This caught your attention, and you raised your head slowly.
Your eyes locked with his immediately, almost as if he was already trained on you before you raised your gaze. Your eyes dance with one another for a fleeting moment, and something flashes across his face, subtle yet electrifying. Then he’s clearing his throat, ripping his eyes from yours, and swimming over the rest of the lecture room.
He moves away from the board, lifting himself to sit on his desk, crossing his legs, and clasping his hands on his lap.
“Alright, guys, I get it.” The class directs its scattered attention to its professor sitting on his desk, his foot shaking back and forth softly. “It's the end of the semester, we’re all tired. Believe me, I’m in the same boat.”
He turns his head to a framed picture on his desk, a candid photo of him and his young daughter celebrating her birthday at the aquarium. “My daughter keeps whining at me about how hard her coloring sheets are. She can’t for the life of her understand the difference between indigo and violet.”
This pulls a warm laugh out of everyone, and you can’t help but join in. Professor Song never stops talking about his daughter; he loves her with all his heart. He has her many scribbled arts around his lecture room, photos of her on his desk, and her pipe cleaner flowers displayed proudly in the far right corner.
You tap your pen against your notebook rhythmically, and you don’t catch the way his eyes sweep over your face while the laughter dies down. “Everyone’s running on fumes, and I’m sure you’ve heard it a thousand times, but this is important. We’ll pull through this last month, and we’ll have a few weeks off to laze away, and it’ll be well earned. Right?”
The class nods in agreement, and Professor Song smiles in acknowledgment. “So, do me a beautiful favor, and stay with me a little longer while we get through this, okay? You all have been doing phenomenal this year, let's keep it up til the end, yeah?”
Everyone perks up at the encouraging words, and you find your energy slowly creeping its way back into your blood. Just enough to get through the day, but not enough to prepare for the shitshow that was to come.
Two thousand weekly.
You rubbed your eyes, blinking a few times and drinking some water to be sure you weren’t hallucinating the mail in your inbox.
You had arrived back home after dragging yourself through the last bits of Professor Song’s class, leaving with mostly full note pages and a renewed vigor to pull through this last semester.
The portfolio you had set up on the nanny website already had a response, and quite an unexpected one. A generous offer for pay, a part-time position as a babysitter for a young girl, age 6. Two thousand per week for 6 months, free meals provided, flexible schedule. It was almost too good to be true. The email didn’t go into too much detail, only offering further information if you shot back a response expressing your interest.
It was everything you needed and more, but one thing was making you hesitant. One small, coincidental detail.
Regards, M. Song.
Signed at the bottom of the email, like colorful barbed wire.
It had to be a coincidence. There was no way it was him.
Song is a common last name; you were sure it had to be somebody else. No matter, it was too good to pass up, and you found yourself drafting your email before you gave it any more rational thought. If it were him, it would be dangerous. You’d be deep in enemy territory.
You sent the email expressing enthusiastic interest in the position, and slammed your laptop shut so hard you thought you heard a key fly off. You buried your face in your hands and groaned aloud into the darkness of your bedroom, trying to shake the weird feeling blossoming in your chest.
It had to be a coincidence. There’s no way your literary professor saw the hundreds of capable babysitting portfolios to choose from and decided to pick yours. There’s no way you posted it yesterday, and he just so happens upon a day later and immediately makes his decision.
There was no way he was offering so much money for something as simple as babysitting.
There was no way you’d be able to go through this and maintain a professional, normal attitude.
Not even 10 minutes later, your phone chimes, the blinding light illuminating your dark room, therefore sealing your fate. You hadn’t even clicked the notification, skimming over the email banner before mentally checking out.
Dear Miss L/N,
Thank you for expressing your interest in the position. I would be delighted-
And that was it. You eventually gathered enough courage to open the email. It gave you all the information you needed, a scheduled time to meet at his home to set up the payroll, and introduced you to his daughter. Work out kinks and settle into the position.
Mr. Song doesn’t return home until after dark, well after 9 pm. Your shifts start at 3 pm every day for the next six months. Sundays are guaranteed days off, and he shall keep you posted on future days off if available. You had mentioned in your email that you were a student, so availability might fluctuate depending on school.
His response?
“You mentioned you were a student; I am well aware of this fact. Do not worry, I will ensure that your studies will remain unaffected.”
An insane thing to say, by the way.
It was definitely him. Regardless, you would find out in due time when you finally meet him at his home, and solidify what was to come, which can only be described as unmentionable.
-
His big warm hand encased yours, swallowing it whole so effortlessly. Calloused fingertips brush against the pulse that bounces in your wrist, and you barely keep your breath from hitching. His thumb runs over your knuckles, and you swallow a weird noise.
“Thank you for taking the position, darling. You’re saving me a hell of a lot of time.” That's stupid, grin, toothy, and wide. His eyes crinkled at the corners, the crows' feet making their grand appearance. The streaks of silver that flow through his dark hair like a wave you’ve never noticed until now, so close it was hard to miss.
“Of course… Mr. Song, thank you for considering me.” You weren’t sure whether you should call him professor or a different honorific outside of the lecture room, but he did not correct you, so you assumed it was the right choice.
You caught yourself that Saturday morning paying extra attention to your hair, curling your lashes a little higher, reapplying layers of lip gloss until it looked like you’d been making out with honeycomb.
Throwing together a cute outfit to make a good “first impression.” You couldn’t believe yourself, but once you were out the door and in your car, it was too late to worry about it now.
Your nerves were alight as you made your way to his address. You nearly saw him every goddamn day, but of course, this was different.
His residence was a rustic western style house, furnished with well-kept gardens in the front yards and a freshly painted porch and patio. A cute, homey place that somehow just made him all the more attractive.
You pulled into his driveway, taking your keys out of the ignition and giving your body a moment to relax. A few deep breaths and one life saver mint later, and you were stepping out with your purse in your clutches and your anxiety written all over your poor face.
You hadn’t even noticed until you raised your gaze from your feet, but there he stood. On his front porch, that white blazer with his rolled-up sleeves, no tie today. Black slacks and his glasses low on the bridge of his nose. His eyes are leering at you.
You stopped in place when you saw him, and his expression never changed. A sort of scrutiny on his brow as he watched you step out of your car, dare you say borderline predatory, but you certainly wouldn’t want to set anything into motion by manifestation. Surely not.
You lift your hand and give a curt, polite wave. Then his brows are falling, his lips are curling, and he’s offering a warm, gentle smile.
“(Name.) Good to see you, I’m glad you could make it.” Mingi’s own voice booms over his front yard to your ears, and you force your feet to unstick from the driveway pavement and continue to walk to his home.
You walk up the steps with only slightly shaky legs, face-to-face with him. “Of course, sorry if I’m a bit early.”
He smiles wider, yet softer. “It’s perfectly fine, I’d prefer you be early rather than late. I admire your punctuality; you’ve always been like that.”
You’ve always been like that.
You try not to let the praise get to your head, and you barely miss the way his tongue swipes over his bottom lip as he catches the way your shoulders hunch slightly at his words, and your fingers squeeze the straps of your purse just a little tighter.
“Well, let’s not just stand around. She’s excited to meet you.” Mr. Song turns and pushes open his front door, standing in front of it to hold it open. “After you.”
You smile nervously and slowly walk inside. He watches every step you take as you brush past him, your shoulder just barely grazing his lower chest, there not quite being enough room between him and the door frame to give you a spacious entry. His cologne hits your nose as you walk by, and you stop yourself from inhaling deeply as you plant your feet on his foyer floor, listening as he shuts the door and clicks the lock.
You were in enemy territory, and you had never felt more vulnerable in your life.
Immediately, you were tripping over toys, and you nearly fell backwards as a little girl came running up you, picking up one of the dolls you nearly busted your ass on and handed it to you.
“Okay and scene!” You can’t help the smile that breaks on your face, the confusion of being suddenly thrown into a scene, evident.
“Wait, what’s happening-“
The little girl is carrying another doll, and she shakes it back and forth as she begins to speak. “Where have you been? You’re late again!” She pouts furiously as she points to the doll in your hand, and you know that's your time to shine.
“I’m not late,” you speak through the doll in your grasp, kneeling to sit at eye level with the girl. “In fact, I’m right on time!” You motion the doll’s arm to point at an invisible watch on her plastic wrist, and you practically see the girl light up over you playing along with her.
You pay no attention to Mingi, who stands behind you, watching you interact with his daughter, a small smile on his face. You play along happily, and he can see how much his daughter has already taken a liking to you. But before she can drag you into another scene, Mingi is clearing his throat.
He crouches down and with his strong arms he scoops her up, and little giggles flow from her as he lifts her into his hold. “You little monster!” He grumbles playfully, the sweetest smile on his lips as litters her face in fleeting kisses, an exaggerated ‘mwah’ punctuating each one he landed.
He swings her back and forth like she was on a carnival ride and he laughs morph into joyous squeals, the smile on Mingi’s face nothing short of beautiful.
You watch in awe and admiration, how sweet he is with her and it makes something in your heart twist.
When she reaches her little hand out and pulls on some of his hair, his smile drops a little and hers only widens.
“Ouch- okay, no hair pulling sweetpea we know this.” He gently sets her down, not without the theatrics akin to a landing airplane.
Once her feet touch the ground she mumbles out an adorable sorry, and you swear you see Mingi’s heart melt.
“Alright, lovebug, you can give her more acting lessons later. Daddy needs to talk to her for a second, okay?”
The little girl frowns as you sheepishly hand her back her doll. “Don’t worry, we can play a lot more once I’m all settled in. I promise.” You smile, and she returns it, taking her doll back and bounding away to the couch in the living room, resuming her little roleplay on her own.
You stand up slowly and watch her skip away, somewhat avoiding turning around to see Mr. Song. When you finally turn, his back is to you as he’s begun walking to the kitchen. You follow, nearly tripping over toy cars and plush animals again.
He stops in front of the kitchen island, pouring you and himself a small glass of water out of a filter. He sets the cup on the countertop with a clink, sliding towards you as you stand a few feet away from him, trying to keep as much distance as is deemed appropriate.
When the silence stretches for much too long, you pick up your cup and take a big sip, hoping the cool water will calm your nerves. You open your mouth to speak, but he beats you to it.
“She likes you a lot already.” He states, raising his eyes over and glancing at the back of the couch.
A shy smile graces your face as you take another sip. “You could tell that from such a small interaction, Professor?” You glance up at him over the rim of your glass, and you don’t miss the way his eyebrows raise, and his face shows nothing short of amusement.
“Well, she is my kid after all, and I know her pretty well.” He takes a sip from his own glass, tapping his metal-clad fingers against the checkered walls of the cup. “And I don’t see why she wouldn’t like you.”
Of course, you were going to ask, what the hell does he mean by that? You smile, more confident now, setting your glass on the countertop and crossing your arms over your chest.
“Do tell, what's there to like?” Something about the entire conversation just felt… informal. You’ve never spoken to him outside of the lines of education or questions about exams. This type of talk was far beyond your teacher-student boundaries, even if it can be considered as fleeting small talk.
This makes him laugh, and you feel your lips twitch at the melodic sound. You try not to smile any harder than you already are.
“Asking for lip service now, are we (Name)?” His playful tone of voice carried a much lighter cadence than the authoritative tone he held in the classroom. You tried not to notice that tattoo that was peeking through his sheer white dress shirt.
“No, Mingi.” You reply just as playfully, and you find yourself rubbing your lips together, grounding yourself with the feeling of the layer of lip gloss on your lips.
His eyes linger on your mouth for just a fraction of a second, hardly noticeable. They trail up the side of your face, and his gaze stops on your eyes. Something in his eyes changes, a kind of shift that makes your heart stop for a moment. His jaw flexes and fingers twitch as he moves to cross his own arms.
“That’s Mr. Song, or 'sir' to you, young lady.” His eyebrows set hard, and you feel your stomach drop at the sudden change in attitude. He looks down at you like you’re small, like you don’t deserve his respect. As much as you’d like to push it, he controls your grades and ultimately your future. And passing up on such a gratuitous opportunity with this job simply to act a little too familiar with your professor would be borderline idiotic.
His eyebrows raise, and his tongue pokes the inside of his cheek, urging your confirmation of his command. “Understand?”
You swallow and nod your head politely. “Yes, sir.” You quickly grab your glass again and down the rest of the water, taking a moment to gather yourself, because as depraved as it was. That entire interaction made you god-awful wet.
“We may not be in class, but I’m still your elder.” He turns around and walks past you, a trail of his cologne passing beneath your nose and fogging your brain. You have to crane your neck to watch the back of his head as he walks away, the sheer size of him dizzying.
“If you don’t mind me asking.” You force from your throat, keeping your eyes on the floor as you speak. “Was there any reason you chose me specifically?”
He snorts, endearingly so. “Do I need a reason?” Like it was a dumb question, even though there are no such things in his words. “I just decided to hire you. Nothing more and nothing less.”
“Well, there were plenty of people who were just as capable, if not more so-“
He interrupts you with a whistle and a loud snap of his fingers. “What did I say?” He leans his head backward like he was annoyed, an exasperated sigh leaving his lips as he speaks under a low breath. “God, always so inquisitive.”
You stop from letting your mouth drop open in surprise. “If you have any implications swimming around that pretty brain of yours, forget it. You’re a capable girl, aren’t you?” He lowers his gaze to you, waiting expectantly for you to reply.
You nod and pick a piece of dust off your shirt. “Of course.” You reply in a small voice, but Mingi clicks his tongue and shakes his head.
“Say it out loud. C’mon.” You take a small breath and sigh quietly.
“I am capable.”
Mingi smiles and turns away from you once more. “Beautiful. Save the rest of the questions after we set up your payroll.”
He finishes, and he raises his hand and brings up his middle and ring finger, motioning to you in a “come hither” motion, a movement so slow that it seemed dizzyingly suggestive.
“Come now, while we’re still young.” You force your feet to move and follow him further into the house, passing his daughter as she plays on her own world on the couch, completely oblivious to the strange tension that lingered between her father and her new babysitter.
Mingi was intense, authoritative. He knew how he wanted things to be and made sure everyone else stayed in their lane. And you had a weird lingering feeling that nothing good was to come out of stepping that home privacy boundary.
But hey, two thousand was two thousand. And maybe you were being greedy, but something much more than money was keeping you from using your fucking brain and getting out of dodge.
He was not good for you, and god he knew it. You both knew it. But if the heat you felt in your lower belly and the racing of your heart were anything to go by, the gut instinct that told you not to walk into the wolf’s den was for sure one that was meant to be ignored.
After a smooth process of connecting your bank account, printing you a house key, and an extensive tour of the home, he sent you home with a thank-you bonus of a few hundred dollars and your schedule for the following week. Monday through Friday, at 3 pm, you would arrive at the Song residence. You would see Mingi off for his night classes and tend to his daughter until he arrived home at 10 pm.
He never mentioned a wife, or any kind of spouse. You had assumed they had most likely divorced, you never saw any picture of a woman around the house, and his daughter never mentioned a mother.
You had considered asking him about it, but something inside of you said that would be overstepping a grand boundary that should not be touched.
While you had Mingi’s morning class, he would only be on campus for those two hours before returning home to spend the rest of his day with his daughter, before the evening whisked him away to work once again. So, of course, you would still see him in class.
And it is so much worse now.
And you couldn’t help but feel that he found the whole thing amusing.
Teaching the class like normal, writing down key points on the board, reading through articles and poems, and helping everyone pick the words apart. You never called him sir in class; it was always Mr. Song or Professor. He asked you to call him sir, no, demanded that you refer to him as such when you visited his home.
So with a slow raise of your hand, to ask a question that truly meant nothing. He paused his writing to look at you, and he moved back around to continue his writing once you had been acknowledged. “Yes, ma’am?” He asks, while he finishes the cursive curl of his letter y.
“You say that symbolism in poetry is entirely up to the reader’s perception, and that we can choose to decipher it any way we see fit. Is that maybe a little too loose in terms of freedom, considering some people might extend their reach of understanding too far to be deemed within the author’s original intentions?”
It was an innocent question, a good one, maybe perhaps a little random. Mingi turns away from the board, ending the sentence he wrote with a heavy period, a loud thunk against the whiteboard. The edges of the blue ink splatter around the punctuation.
“It's as I said,” he begins, eyebrows relaxed as he finds you easily at your desk, rolling your pencil eraser over your bottom lip, a curious glaze of intrigue shadowing your eyes. “While it is entirely up to the reader, most people are smart enough to gather what the poet is trying to convey. Readers can come up with similar conclusions, but maybe with different rounded edges. There will be similarities, but there can also be differences, all because we perceive everything differently as humans.” He quietly adjusts the knot of his tie, the veins in his hand flushing as he moves.
You find your eyes falling to watch his arm move, his biceps struggling under his sleeves. You smile and nod, bringing your pencil down to your chin and tapping it lightly. “Thank you, sir.”
Nobody else catches it; it was so subtle that it wouldn’t have mattered to anyone even if they did. But his hand froze around his necktie, and his fingers twitched. His nose scrunched only slightly, and a sharp, quiet inhale made your skin prickle.
He nods quietly and turns back to the board to continue teaching. “Always with the smart questions.” He murmurs under his breath, and you both clearly knew that the question was about much more than just poetry.
The first day went surprisingly smooth. You arrived at his home early, of course, using your new key to unlock the door and welcome yourself in. His daughter was the first to greet you, running to you and enveloping your legs in a tight hug, her little nails digging into your skin with how hard she held you.
You said hi, all warm smiles and soft tones, only raising your eyes when you feel another pair on you. Standing at the end of the hallway was Mingi, leaning against a doorframe with relaxed ease, his tie loosened and his hair astray. He leaned his head against the white frame, his eyes low as he paid no attention to anything but you. You couldn’t read the expression on his face, and all you could feel was pinned. Like he was holding your body down with just his gaze, and it makes your heart kick up.
Then he smirked, a ghost of one if anything. A knowing, small smile that would be easy to ignore if it simply wasn’t him. Before you could say or do anything else, the little girl, whose name you learned was Ami, was dragging you away from the foyer, spewing phrases about new toys and complimenting your punctuality.
Mingi watches you walk away with his daughter, clasping your hand tight, and your sweet little warm smile returns as you respond to her words with enthusiastic earnestness.
She leads you to the couch, grabs the remote, and asks you to switch on a movie for her.
“Can I borrow your new friend for a second, sweetheart?” Mingi appears behind the back of the couch, his sudden presence nearly startling you out of your skin. He looks down at his daughter with nothing short of pure love, his gaze soft and his tone low and sweet. Ami pouts dramatically and crosses her arms.
Mingi pouts in turn, giving her playful puppy eyes. Then you feel his fingers gently brush the nape of your neck, a slow, gentle caress that was so light it could have been mistaken for a breeze. But it was too warm, too calloused.
“Please?” he whines with a smile, and his daughter rolls her eyes, setting down the remote with a clatter.
“Okay, Daddy, but bring her back.” Her little voice warms your heart, happy that she's taking a great liking to you. You swallow as you feel his fingers slip away from your nape, and you're standing on wobbly legs to follow him as he begins to walk away.
“I promise I will,” he says, blowing her a little kiss, to which she returns with a bright smile. Mingi is leading you away from the living room, and you follow behind with a sort of muted apprehension, and it feels like you are in school again. Like you were being led away by your teacher to talk about poor behavior.
Once you’re back in the foyer, he turns to you, and his soft, parental smile has fallen into something unrecognizable.
He pulls a piece of paper out of his jacket pocket and hands it to you. “This is your list of things that should be maintained and done while watching her. Keeping the place clean, making sure she eats well. Everything we’ve already discussed.” You take the list and give it a swift once-over, mentally noting the most important things.
You slip it into your own pocket, raising your head to look at him once more, and for just a split second, you swear you caught his gaze lingering on your neck. “If you have any questions, my number is also on that piece of paper. Do not call me, but you can message me.”
You nod silently, and he sighs. “Can we work on your verbal confirmation? Use your words, please.” You can’t help the almost sour look that flashes across your face, and you quickly gather yourself before exaggeratedly dropping into a flashy curtsy.
“Yes, boss, I understand.” You say in a dramatic prim accent, but before you could stand back up straight, you feel his warm, large hand slip beneath your chin, gripping your lower jaw firmly.
He’s lifting you back up, leaning his head down so close that you feel his breath on your neck, his nose just shy of brushing against your ear. Your breath catches, and his sweet scent clouds your senses, and you could feel your knees start to buckle beneath you. Mingi’s hand keeps its firm hold on your chin as he lowers his voice to a heavy, throaty whisper that makes the skin on your temple tingle.
“Try again, and lose the attitude, gorgeous. You know better.” His breath fans over your ear, and you could physically feel the skin of the back of your neck flare warmly. He squeezes the pads of his fingers against the soft flesh of your cheek a little harder, and the heat blooms across your lower jaw at his tense hold, and you nearly melt into his hand. Your own voice drops to a nervous, shaky whisper, and you exhale slowly out of your nose. It was so quiet you could hear the wristwatch on his hand ticking by your ear.
“Yes… Sir.” You correct yourself quietly, and his hand still doesn’t move. Instead, his thumb gently runs over your cheek, a repeated soothing path like he’s trying to lull you to sleep with his caresses. He leans away from your ear, coming face to face with you once more, his nose mere inches from brushing with yours. So close you can see every strand of silver in his hair, every wrinkle at the corners of his eyes, every freckle, and the remaining five o'clock shadow from where he shaved earlier that morning. He smelled of faded cologne and wintergreen mints, and you could hardly stop your eyelids from fluttering.
His thumb moves over your bottom lip, gently pressing down on it like he was admiring how soft you were, taking a mental note of how easy you melt under him. How all he needed to do to get you to act right was to pet you like you were some kind of puppy.
It felt like an eternal standstill by the time he slipped his hand away from your face, and you could still feel the heat of it across your face. It felt so wrong. And god did you want to feel it again.
He turns and fixes his loose tie, slipping his blazer on and adjusting his watch. He walks away, leaving you standing like a dumb fawn, grinning as he opens the front door, his keys jingling in his hand. “Do behave yourself, while rewards and punishments are not handed out in class, my home is an entirely different story.”
And with that final note, the door shuts behind him with a click, and you are left in Mingi’s foyer with your heart in your throat and warmth in your stomach, and your entire body thrumming with what can only be described as anticipation.
-
You and Ami got along well, playing with toys and watching television. There was a small spat when you tried to get her to eat her veggies, but after some bribery with a promise of a packet of gummies, she offered up no more fight.
Putting her to bed was no easy feat either, her only surrendering at the promise of a bedtime story. You sent her off to go pick a book, and she came into her bedroom, trotting proudly with the first installment of the Narnia series.
When you dared to question her lengthy decision, she responded with, “Daddy has been reading this to me every night, we’re on chapter 6, he said you could continue reading it to me.”
You quietly roll your eyes, mumbling to yourself as she begins to tuck herself into bed. “Did he now?”
You didn’t complain, and you did find yourself easing into the storytelling, reading with a soft, slow tone to help lull her off to sleep, which didn’t take long, especially after a long day of play.
When her breathing evened, and her head went lazy on her neck, you switched off her lamp and set her stuffed zebra next to her arms and left her room, making sure her rainbow night light in the outlet was on.
You shut her door with a quiet click and sighed to yourself. First night done, now all that was left to do was wait for Mingi to arrive home. You pulled your phone out of your back pocket to check the time.
9:03
He was sure to be home anytime soon, so you decided to take the book you were reading with you downstairs. It had pulled you in enough just by that one chapter alone, and you found yourself wanting to read it from the beginning.
Your bare feet padded against the tile floors of the kitchen, the house asleep and silent as you picked a small mandarin out of the fridge. You sat at the kitchen island, gently peeling the citrus fruit as you held the book open with one hand, and began to read.
You found your fingers nimbly peeling the white veins of the orange and dropping them onto the napkin. Engrossed in the book, you slipped slice after slice of mandarin past your lips as you continued to read.
The quiet of his home was so different in comparison to your own. Tucked further towards the countryside, absent from the honking of horns and the screeches of tires. Just the tranquil sound of whistling trees and the occasional creak of the house settling. It was nice, something you could see yourself getting used to.
You weren’t sure how long you had been reading for, and it wasn’t until you heard the front door shut that you were ripped from your own little world. You hadn’t even noticed the jingle of keys in the lock. Your orange was long gone; only the shredded peel remained as he walked past the foyer, straight into the kitchen to see you.
He paused for a moment, taking in your peaceful little moment, then smiling to himself as he began to shed his coat and drape it over the kitchen table chair. “You look comfy.” He murmurs, loosening his tie.
You swallow a dry patch in your throat, the whole moment reeking of something inappropriately domestic. The low, warm lighting of the overhead oven light. Mingi quietly gets unready after a long day of work, your eyes catching on the way his muscles flex with every movement he makes.
Unclipping his watch and dropping it into the small wooden bowl on the edge of the counter, uncuffing his dress shirt and rolling his sleeves up once again, the hints of a tattoo you’ve never had the pleasure of fully seeing peeking underneath the white linen.
Running a large hand through his silver streaked hair, the strands falling around his face in an organized mess as he sighs, a deep and heavy sound that makes your thighs clench underneath the island.
You close the book absentmindedly, dropping your gaze to the counter just as he raises his eyes to look at you, and you clear your throat as you move to stand.
“I see you’re reading Narnia. Ami asked you to read it to her?” His voice was so quiet, so lofty, it made your brain fizz.
You nod. “She ate dinner well, told me she had fun playing with me today. She asked me to read to her, and she was out like a light by the fourth page. It intrigued me, so I decided to give it a gander.”
You raise your head again, gathering your orange peels in your hand and crossing over to the trash can in the corner. Once dropped in the waste, you turned to hand the book back to him. Your arm outstretched, to which he only stood and stared back at you, his eyes dropping over your body in a less than subtle once over.
He finally reaches out and takes the book from you, not without letting his long fingers brush against your knuckles. His two middle fingers slip between the pages, bookmarking the place that you had stopped at. You swallow as he puppy dog ears the page with one hand, before closing the book and setting it on the island.
The muted glow of the oven light shadowed his face in a soft yellow, the rest of him swallowed in the darkness of the home. He was so tall, his body big enough to stand in front of you and effectively block you from being seen by anyone.
“Well, I should be going.” You mutter, nervously wrinkling the corner of your shirt over and over again. “Thank you again.” You nod your head respectfully, and yet neither one of you makes any move.
Mingi doesn’t move; instead, he lifts his head, lowering his eyes to a half-lidded kind of gaze that makes you feel like you were being preyed on. He sees the tension in your shoulders, the unevenness of your breath, the uncertainty in your eyes, the curiosity in the way your fingers twitch at your side.
The unconscious way your tongue wets your bottom lip, the little vein in your neck that only he could notice.
Then he’s stepping forward, slowly, just enough to have you closer. Smell you, smell him. Not too inappropriate, but maybe not professional.
“I should be thanking you, darling.” His hand reaches out, oh so slowly, just enough to give you time to back away if you want. You don’t. His index finger finds a curl at the front of your head, gently twirling it around the tip of his finger, his eyes on yours.
A gaze so warm, so mistakenly hungry, you swore you were hallucinating. He watched you visibly melt, your lip forming into a parted pout, a beckon. A silent ask.
His finger moves away from the curl of your hair, dances along the side of your neck, brushes down with featherlight gentleness against the side of your throat, a tickling sensation that has your body shivering.
His eyebrows knotted together like he was conflicted, like he was battling an inner ache, one that he was holding himself back from showing.
You couldn’t take it. You simply couldn’t.
Your brain hadn’t caught up to your body, but before you could second-guess yourself, your hands shot out and gripped the collar of his dress shirt, dragging his head down and crashing your lips into his.
No words, no gasp, just a wanton moan that slips past your lips and against his.
Mingi growls from the back of his throat, a sound of sheer surprise, nearly losing his footing underneath him. He rips his head back, his eyes wide and his breathing coming labored.
You freeze, your hands holding nothing but air as he pulls himself away from you. Your heart dropped to your stomach. A look of pure fear on your face as you realized he didn’t reciprocate.
Fuck. Fuck.
A conflicted look flashes across your professor’s face, and he looked like he was about to give you what for. You screwed up.
You immediately open your mouth, ready to spew pathetic attempts at apologies and pleas for forgiveness. But he beats you to it.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” His gravely voice comes out strained and low, and a painful silence begins to stretch between you two.
Then, he bites his inner cheek, his hand lifts and slips his glasses off his face, all but letting them fall onto the counter, groaning low and sonorous, and he’s on you before you could breathe.
His hands slip around and grip either side of your waist, a tight, possessive hold as he slots his lips with yours, melting against your mouth like you tasted like a heaven he’d never get into.
His hands roam up and down your waist, his mouth opening and closing against yours, sliding his tongue over yours, and running it over your teeth. Moaning, sighing into your mouth, his eyebrows knit together in nothing short of pure bliss.
Your hands find his shoulders, your neck beginning to hurt from having to crane your head up to kiss him. All heat behind your tongues, warmth and wetness against each other as you feel a thin trail of drool slipping down the corner of your mouth.
Then he’s lifting you, picking you up off the ground, and dropping you on your ass on the kitchen island. Merely eye level with him, he kisses you deeper, shoving his tongue further down your throat, tilting his head to the side to completely devour you.
Your hands drag down the front of him, your palms flat against his chest, whimpering against his lips in tandem with his starved movements. A quiet “baby” is murmured around your tongue, and your entire body erupts into consuming flames.
His hands slip down and find either of your thighs, spreading them pretty and wide as he slots his lower body between them, pushing his body closer to your between your legs.
His hand moves back up and cups the back of your head, the other trailing up the front of your body and finding a grounding home at the base of your neck, pulling your head further into him as he takes like the greedy man he was.
Kissing the college girl on the counter as she tasted like bourbon, squeezing your flesh like it was keeping him sane, melting at the soft, needy moans that flowed down his throat from your reactions to his touch.
It was a breathless, taboo kind of lust that only people sick in the head can get a kick out of. And if this makes Mingi a sick man, then so fucking be it. He finds himself lost in the sweetness of your lips, the arch in your back. His hand trails down the side of your waist, warm and big as he finds the flesh of your thigh again, squeezing and pressing the softness, moaning at how smooth your skin feels in comparison to his rough hands.
His hand slips up the leg of your shorts, and warmth blooms on your skin, your body shivers as you lean further into him, your kisses turning needy, dangerously feral.
It’s your whiny, low moan that nearly undoes him. And the way your hands slide up to help further loosen his tie. But while he may not be a good man, he’s not a bad one either. With a type of restraint only a soldier could have, Mingi pulls away from your shiny, swollen lips, a thin trail of saliva between you both snapping silently.
Your heavy breaths mingle together, and he rests his forehead against yours, the hand on your neck slowly sliding away, and his other hand moving from your bare thigh to firmly place them flat on either side of your spread thighs, loosely caging your body against the island.
You say nothing, only fighting to catch your breath as your dizzy brain struggles to catch up. He looks down at the floor, the bulge in his pants loud and proud and fucking painful.
With a deep sigh, he turns away, wiping his mouth with the palm of his hand as he mutters a deep “fuck” beneath his breath.
You slowly crawl off the counter, realizing that you need to go. Now.
“I-I’ll see you tomorrow, Min- uh... Professor Song. Sir-“You stutter over your words, a foggy layer of need clouding your mind after having been kissed like he was trying to eat you alive.
Mingi seethes, inhaling sharply as he raises a hand to get you to keep quiet.
“Stop- goddamnit. Sweetheart, don’t call me ‘sir’ right now unless- unless you want me to fuck you against that wall.” You swallow, and it takes everything in your power not to get on your knees and beg for just that.
He could practically smell your hesitation, and it nearly made his entire body erupt into a muted shiver. You nibble on your bottom lip, he could see the way you nervously shake, and you open your mouth to respond, but he just knew what you were going to say, and he did not need to hear it right now.
“Oh, babygirl, you shouldn’t want that.” He ignores your pretty little glazed-over eyes and your frizzy hair that he messed up with his own two hands.
The addicting way you held onto him with your smaller hands, arching your back into him and keening into his touch, crying out as it hurt for every second he let you breathe.
“And neither should I.” He mumbles like he was trying to convince himself too.
Mingi massages his upper jaw, exhaling heavily out of his nose before he turns away from you again, truly believing that if he looked at you one more time, he wouldn’t be able to compose himself. Forty-something years old, and one of his students is making him feel things he hasn’t felt since high school.
“Go home.” He commands, his bassy, breathless voice sending a shockwave straight between your legs. When you don’t immediately move, Mingi clenches his jaw and slightly turns his neck, giving you a glimpse of the turmoil on his face.
“Now.” He bites out, and before you could form another thought, your body was moving.
You grab your things off the living room coffee table and slip out of the house, speeding off to your car and pulling off into the cricket-filled night, confused, turned on, and conflicted.
It was only the first day, and the walls were already crumbling.
-
The following week was torture. Dragging yourself out of bed after being kept up all night with ludicrous dreams, dreams of what could’ve happened if you two didn’t stop. Panties sticky and eyes heavy, you crawl out of bed and dread having to face him every day.
It went the same every day; you arrived, maybe a little later than usual. You avoided every look he shot your way, and you never asked any questions. Just listened and took notes, silently. And when it was time to watch his daughter, he’d be out the front door by the time your car pulled into the driveway, walking past you in silence as you effectively traded places.
You both knew it was for your own good, to keep whatever had been brewing between you two at bay, even if it was never explicitly stated. You had hardly said a word to your professor since that first day. But your eyes said everything.
His, too, god if you both couldn’t be subtle. He’d sit at his desk, watching you click away at your laptop, your leg bouncing beneath the table as you nibbled on your nail. He imagined things about you, things that made him have to adjust his pants before he stood to continue teaching.
And when he arrived home early? Fuck it was even worse. He’d quietly sneak in the front door and catch you and Ami on the couch, her head lying on her lap with her blanket tight in her grasp.
You read to her in a soothing, quiet voice, and gently, your hand stroked the top of her head, playfully brushing your fingers over her face like you were trying to convince her to close her eyes, all with a beautiful smile on your face.
Your pretty pout, your mothering voice, your frizzy hair, and your soft body. God, it makes him so hard it hurts. That night, he announced himself and offered to take Ami off to bed himself, and by the time he made it downstairs, you were already in your car and pulling out of the driveway. It was better this way anyway, Mingi would tell himself. But better for whom? And for what?
Why was this so wrong?
His morale was beginning to chip away, and with each passing hour, each passing day, it was getting harder and harder to keep his hands off of you. And he could tell you felt the same. Your lingering looks and the way your thighs would clench when your gazes met in the lecture room.
Saturday night. You did not go to class that day; therefore, you did not see him. But you would have to later. He always travels to campus on Saturday night to get any extra work done. A workaholic, you called him once. And it was true.
So when you arrived at his front door once again, you tried with every bone in your body to act normal. Unlocking the entrance, you walked inside the now familiar home and stopped in your tracks when you noticed him. Standing in the hallway entrance, like he was waiting for you.
His eyes are low, and his body seems tense. Wearing a form-fitting black dress shirt today, the top two buttons undone. Something more casual for the weekend. A small silver necklace with a dog tag pendant disappeared beneath the collar, and you could see the print of the tag through his shirt. His hair was messier, and his glasses were clasped loosely in his hand.
You breathe quietly, then he's walking towards you. Just as you think he’s going to stop, he walks right past you and reaches for his watch in the little brown bowl. “Ami is down for a nap; if she’s not up by five, go ahead and rouse her.”
He slips on the timepiece, then slides his glasses onto his face, letting them sit low on the bridge of his nose. You nod in acknowledgment, and he's already made his way to the front door, his car keys jingling on his fingers.
Just as you think he’s going to leave, he pauses, his hand hovering above the knob.
“And keep your hands out of my liquor cabinet, young lady.” Now that makes your heart stop. You may have indulged one night after you put Ami to bed, just a couple shots, nothing too concerning. But he had noticed, of course, he had.
When you don't reply, he turns back to you and raises his eyebrows in a scrutinizing question. “Next time, have enough manners to ask. That stuff is not cheap, sweetheart.” The pet name had a bite to it, and you can’t help but want to bite back.
He turns, opens the door, and takes one step outside.
“I’m so sorry, sir. I’ll ask politely next time.” You speak the words with a ghost of a moan enveloping them, and you could see the way his shoulders tense and his hands squeeze the doorknob harder.
Mingi inhales sharply and keeps his head forward. The silence stretches so long and thin you think time might have frozen. And when he speaks next, it sends electricity through your blood, and you can't deny the way you feel your skin tingle.
He laughs, a slow, soft chuckle. “Keep that shit up, (Name),” he challenges, adjusting the straps of his watch in one swift movement. “I can be a bad man if you need me to.” Then the door is shutting behind him, a loud click that rivals the pounding of your heart in your ears.
The house is silent once again, and you are left alone with your racing thoughts and a really, really stupid fantasy in your mind that makes you feel like the nastiest bitch on earth.
-
The bottoms of your feet felt like they were burning, and the floors of his house were frigid. The heat of your body rivaled the still quiet of the house, Ami put to bed, leaving you as the only soul awake inside.
Mingi would be home any minute. And it was at this moment that you needed to make a decision. You weren’t sure what you were going to do, or rather, you weren’t sure what he was going to do.
Or what he wanted to do.
You felt trapped in a home with no lock, like there was no escape. The windows were unbreakable, and the walls were too thick. You were a trapped animal who did not want to leave in the first place.
You could argue that you were a dumb, naive little girl who didn’t know her way in the world, who couldn’t pick up on the signs that her professor wanted to fold her in half and show her what it felt like to be ruined by a real man.
You’d be such a liar, because that’s the one thing that you wanted. You were stupid for wanting this. And Mingi wholeheartedly believed that.
He believed that your wanting him was complete ignorance of consequences, turning a blind eye to plenty of boys who were perfect for a sweet girl such as yourself.
Choosing a man, one that would not care how much you cried those pretty tears, a man that would fuck you until you weren’t able to tell where you ended and he began.
And it was taking everything in his power as he climbed into his car after work that night to not drive himself off the bridge as he drove. Because that would be the sole and only way to stop himself from pouncing on you as soon as he stepped through the front door.
You lie on his bed. In his room. Invading his space without a care in the world as you took in his abode. Neat, clean-smelling, suffocating. Being in there felt like you couldn’t move a muscle without the walls closing in on you.
He strictly told you his room was off limits, that you had no business in there. He would come home, and he would find you in there, the doe on the wrong edge of the forest. And he would hunt you then and there, because you stepped into his territory, and the rules were painted in red on his sheets.
When Mingi first stepped foot into the house that night, he was surprised to find you missing from your usual place at the kitchen island. Reading a book, having a snack. Waiting for him so politely.
You weren’t in the living room, you weren’t in Ami’s room. The guest room, either. Were you hiding from him? He sighed and set his briefcase on the kitchen table, loosening his tie with a groan and setting his watch in the wooden bowl.
You could hear him from upstairs, the familiar sounds of him getting unready. You shifted in his sheets and sat up straight, straining your ears to listen for him.
Footsteps, the clack of the metal plates beneath his shoes, resonated throughout the house like gunfire. The sounds of them ascending the stairs, before the silence of his footfalls as he hit the carpet. He was upstairs.
Immediately, you began to second-guess your decision to be in here. Your choice to take this job. Hell, your choice to take his class to begin with. It was all too risky, too grey.
Silence again, and you could only feel your heart beating in your ears.
“I sure hope you’re not in there, doll.” His voice was so much closer that you could see his shadow through the crack beneath the door. His voice penetrated the walls of his room like a dark kind of fire, and it rattled your bones.
He could hear you. Hear you shift your weight on his sheets after he addressed you. He could hear you stand, hear you walk to the door, and stop in front of it like you were scared to walk any further.
“You’re not supposed to be in my room, you know better.” His tone was tinged with a disappointed, disciplinary note. Mingi teases you by lightly shaking the doorknob, and you nearly jump out of your skin. Why were you so nervous? You had no idea.
You know better. One of his favorite things to say to you. It was true after all. You do know better, but it doesn’t mean you acted like it.
Mingi wouldn’t admit it. Not to you, not to himself either. But he was having so much fun with you. You awakened this dangerous excitement in him that made him want to make all the wrong choices.
He wanted to bend you over his knee and punish you for affecting him the way you did. He wanted to bury his fingers deep in your hair and pull like he was trying to steer you about at his discretion while he worked you inside and out.
Mingi wanted to lay your body out and make you cum so many times you’d have to drop out of his class because every time you laid eyes on him, you would still feel him in your belly.
You made him feel alive, and at his age, that was a dangerous thing.
When you didn’t respond to him, he lowered his voice to a small, gentle coax, like he was trying to convince you he was no threat. “Listen, sweetheart, you’re not in trouble.” It was like he was using his dad voice on you, and you hated that it made you freeze and your heart flutter.
“I just want to talk to you. So are you going to come out of my room? Or am I going to have to come get you myself?”
Your hand hovered over the knob, and just as you dropped it to twist it open, you stopped. Your brain reeled in your skull, and you backed away from the door with small, quiet steps.
When Mingi realized you wouldn’t be opening the door, he couldn’t help but smile. So typical of someone so young and fresh-blooded like you.
You wanted to be found, you wanted to be desired, you wanted to be chased. You wanted Mingi to open that door and make you regret your decision not to listen to him.
You didn’t use your manners and ask with your big girl words, but don’t worry, he’d come in there and set you straight.
Just as you were starting to second-guess yourself, the knob twists, and the door makes no sound. No creak, no squeal on the hinges. Just a silent, slow invitation. The warm light of the stairwell flooded the floor of the dark bedroom, like a spill of orange oil. He stepped in, reached back, and shut the door closed once more with a muted click, and darkness shrouded the room again.
The silence stretched as he stalked towards you; with every step he took, you took one back.
With every step he removed something. His shoes came first, then he reached up and slipped his glasses off his nose, setting them on the dresser he passed by.
His tie was next, his big veiny hands untying it gracefully and wrapping it around the palm of his hand like a leash, teasingly, before he let it hit the floor.
One by one until you were backed against the wall by his headboard. His smell surrounded you like mustard gas, his body shadowed over you like a monster, and his eyes pierced through the dark like a hunter. You barely contained your trembling once he was close enough to touch, close enough to melt into.
His big, rough hands find your wrists, gently gripping them and sliding his palms up your inner arms, over your shoulders, to the back of your neck. He cupped your nape like he was trying to cradle your head from injury, so gentle and so loving.
He squeezed softly, stepping further into you, pressing his body against yours, molding your front with his. His head craned down, and he maneuvered your neck to train your eyes on him. In the dark, everything felt more intense. His touch on your neck burned, the way his thumbs stroked along the edges of your jaw, and his blunt fingernails scraped against your nape.
He inhaled deeply, like he was trying to calm himself.
“Asking for permission really isn’t your style is it?” He spits out the words like a reprimand, and he could feel you shiver under his touch when he said it. You had tears in your eyes, you looked like you had just dropped your lollipop, and you wanted to cry. You were so pretty.
You felt him everywhere, in your ribcage and in your head; he smelled so good. The silver in his hair glimmered from the lamp in the far corner. You heard a roll of thunder in the distance that sounded like Mingi’s moans. The onpour of rain that hit the roof like a broken television.
He looked so beautiful in the dark.
“We can fix that.”
While one hand remained on your neck, the other slid away, along your jaw, up the front of your throat, until you felt his fingers prod against your pouted lips. You opened with zero hesitation, and he slid his middle and ring fingers into your mouth, laying them flat on your tongue.
Oh, so slowly, he glides his fingers in and out of your pretty little mouth, pushing just far enough against the back of your tongue to make the tears in your eyes finally fall. “Such a nasty, pretty baby.” His eyes fell like he was entranced by you, your compliance, and the way you shook like a deer. His eyebrows knit together like he was trying to memorize you, everything about you.
He presses his fingers up, and your canines gently sink into the flesh, and it makes his skin tingle. Back down across your tongue, breaching the back of your mouth, gagging around him with a sad little choke.
He slips his fingers out of your mouth, and you hardly notice the saliva that connected to him, with how you could not pull your eyes away from his face. With a patience that drives you both mad, he trails his hand down the front of your body, over the swell of your breasts beneath your shirt, down to the waistband of your shorts.
He presses his hand at the back of your neck harder, forcing your forehead to collide with his. Nowhere to run as he slips his hand into your shorts.
“You wanna be nasty?” he whispers against your lips, and you catch yourself nodding. You didn’t even mean to, but he finds it so amusing.
Your entire body jerks when you feel his wet fingertips slide beneath your panties and brush over your lips, lifting the slightest bit, finding your clit with such quick ease you could hardly believe it.
Your hands shoot up and fist the front of his shirt, and your eyelids widen then flutter as he presses against that sensitive bundle of nerves, a gentle press and prod as he circles against your clit with teasing intent.
When Mingi watched you practically melt at the simplest of his touches, he felt the confessions start to rear at the backs of his teeth. The urge to tell you everything you may or may not want to hear.
His breath ghosts over your parted lips, his fingers making mind-numbing work of your clit, rotating movement and pressurized strokes that made your thighs shake around his wrist. With a deep breath, he pressed his lips to yours, slipping his thick tongue into your mouth and groaning down your throat.
His fingers claw at the back of your neck, tracing intimate patterns into your mouth, as his fingers dance away from your clit, and gently he prods at your dripping entrance. He coats his fingers in your arousal, and he presses his thigh between your legs to spread you further for him.
“You’re such a pretty little thing.” He whispers into your mouth, and you gasp against him when he slowly fills your soaked cunt with one thick finger, and you feel your eyes roll when he presses so deep and curls up just right. He circles the pad of his finger against that spongy spot, and he purrs into your mouth when your hands on his shirt tighten even more.
“I drive myself crazy thinking about you at night.” Slow, deep come-hither motions inside of you that had your breath coming in broken shudders. “I’d think about kissing you silly, holding you down, playing with you, having that smart mouth of yours moaning for me instead of giving me lip.”
You shiver as he slips a second finger inside of you, a slight stretch that had your knees buckling, but he kept you up by the back of your neck, fully pushing his body against yours and holding you still against his bedroom wall. You moan whiny and pathetic as he slips his thumb up and gently circles it against your clit, all the while his fingers keep curling nice and deep inside you.
“Would you like that?” He murmurs, pulling away from your lips and gently kissing below your ear, breathing lowly against the side of your neck. Your skin shivers as his voice brushes over your ear, and you can hardly control the way your body responds to him so effortlessly, like he has an invisible leash on you.
You nod, muttering out a pathetic ‘yes.’ Mingi pressed the tip of his nose against your neck and pressed his lips against your skin so you could feel them move when he talked. “Words, sweet girl. Haven’t I already told you this?”
It was hard to form words while he was fingerfucking you so well, so deep it was making your stomach cave in, but the need for more outweighed everything else. “Y-yes, sir.” You whimpered, and you felt your chest flutter when he groaned lowly against your ear, a guttural, primal sound that had you clenching around his fingers.
He leans away from your neck with a fleeting kiss, moving his hand from the back of your neck around to the front. Squeezing at the base of your throat, his fingers pressing on those sensitive, soft spots on the side that started making your eyes darken at the corners. His fingers pressed harder, deeper, coaxing inside of you with purpose that was making you go insane with bliss.
Your hands frantically grasped at anything you could, his wrist, his shirt, his belt, anything you could to ground yourself as he pushed you towards that orgasm. He held your throat nice and tight, and you were choking on moans as he fucked you with his thick fingers, and he breathed heavily against your lips. The grip on your neck kept your head in place for him, and as your eyes began to roll to the back of your head, he pressed against those soft spots a little harder.
“Eyes, darling, eyes,” he commands in a breathless moan, and you tear your eyes from the back of your head to look at him, and it nearly undoes you. His fingers are relentlessly curling deep in your pussy, his big warm hand squeezing your throat just tight enough to make your body feel all fuzzy. His dark, begging eyes make your stomach clench, his guiding, baritone voice making your whimpers slip out involuntarily.
“You wanna cum?” He whines against your lips, just lightly loosening his grip on your neck to allow you to respond. “Ask me nicely.”
“Yes, fuck- please…” You moan hoarsely, and Mingi takes his bottom lip between his teeth.
“So you do have manners.” He teases, his thumb brushing upwards against your clit as the grip on your throat tightens once more. “Cum then, baby. Let it go, make a mess for me.” The corners of your vision bleed into something dark, and he lowers his mouth to take your lips with his again, moaning softly into your mouth, his eyes never leaving yours.
“Come on, come on….” he barely whispers into the kiss, and you cannot deny him even if you tried. His fingers never cease, only slowing as he does his very best to prolong your orgasm like some kind of torture method. His fingers curl and prod, rolling inside of you as your orgasm rocks your body, a feeling so intense you feel like you are shattering from the inside out.
“Thats it, that's it. Don’t stop.” He keeps kissing you, fucking your cunt with his fingers, squeezing your throat just hard enough you feel like you might have been on the brink of passing out.
Mingi rides you through it, the restraint in his movements starting to slip away the more he sees of you. His hand on your throat moves away and slips beneath your shirt, up and over your smooth stomach, around to the warm skin of your waist. Up until his hand slips beneath your bra and cups the swell of your breast. So soft beneath his calloused palms, he finds that he can’t stop his fingers inside of you, massaging your chest and continuing to fingerfuck you through the overstimulation.
“Wait-” you whine out, interrupted by your own moans. Mingi reaches behind your back and finds the clasp of your bra with more surprising ease. It falls loose beneath your shirt, and he maneuvers your shirt over your head. He catches your surprise, and it only makes his cock twitch at your sweet expression.
“I’m a grown man, (Name).” He speaks against your cheek, slipping the straps of your bra down your arms until it falls onto his floor. “None of this is new to me, baby.” Finally, he slips his fingers out of your cunt, and the slick sound it made was embarrassing. He gives you no time to quell on it as he slides his fingers into his mouth and cleans your mess off him with a hungry moan.
His other hand makes quick work of the buttons of his shirt. One by one, unclipping the silver buttons until it's completely open. As he reaches for his belt, the clank of the metal makes your thighs clench. He cocks his head to the side, running his tongue over his bottom lip.
“Lie down,” he instructs, as he undoes his belt. The dark of the room shrouds his face, and a loud rumble of thunder rolls, much closer this time. You can hardly move at first, your eyes trailing down his body. Toned, the grey and black happy trail that disappears beneath the waistband of his pants is tantalizing.
You swallow and slowly sit on the edge of the bed, but Mingi doesn’t give you the chance to lie back on your own. Once he loosens his belt, he’s leaning over you and caging you in. His hands find your waist as he inches you further up the bed and pushes you onto your back. You stare at the dog tag on his necklace that swings back and forth as he sets you up how he wants.
His thighs, thick and strong, cage either side of your legs as he leans down, his hands massaging up your sides like he was trying to soothe you to sleep. He kisses between the valley of your breasts, down your chest, and along your stomach, all the while his hands make their way further down to the waistband of your shorts, teasing you with his fingers slipping beneath them as he worships your body.
“So soft.” He mumbles between kisses as he slips your shorts down your legs and off onto his floor. “So pretty, so sweet.”
When his fingers hook on your panties, he moans and nibbles on the flesh of your stomach, and your entire body tenses as he slips off the final piece of clothing.
Down your legs, off your feet, and onto the floor. He’s quick to sink to his knees at the edge of the bed, hooking his big, strong arms around your lower waist and pulling you to the edge of the bed, just enough to where your ass nearly hangs off.
He signals you with his hands, making a grabbing motion. You watch and slowly give your hands to him, and he laces his fingers with yours and holds your hands down against your abdomen.
Your thighs hang over his broad shoulders, his face inches away from your dripping cunt, and Mingi’s eyes bore into yours as he places a soft, gentle kiss against your mound.
You whimper in anticipation, and his hands squeeze yours harder, your limbs twitching at his pinning gaze.
“You want my mouth, honey?” He teases, blowing a stream of cold air against you, your thighs twitching around his head.
“Fuck… please?” You beg lowly, and he gently lets his tongue loll out of his mouth, splitting your lips with a low laugh. When you jerk at the feel of his warm tongue, he tugs your hands harder against your stomach and trails his tongue up to circle your clit.
“Stop squirming, and take it for me.” He opens his mouth and takes your sensitive nub into his mouth, running his tongue over it and sucking it like he’s been deprived for months. Which technically wasn’t a lie. He had dreams of your taste, dreamed of the reactions he could drag out of you with his mouth.
Your moans come out high-pitched and cracked, his warm mouth working your poor pussy out like his favorite meal. Obscene, sloppy noises as he fucks you open with his mouth. Detaching from your clit and burying himself between your thighs even further. His nose nudges the nerves while his tongue slips inside of you. Tasting you, drinking you, making you cry like a baby while he ruins you.
“F-fuck… too much-!” You were so sensitive after his fingers fucking you stupid just mere minutes before, and now his thick tongue is filling you like no other, his pretty big nose pressing up against your clit so perfectly it was insane.
He lets go of your hands, just to take both your wrists in one hand while the other flattens against your stomach, trailing down along your inner thigh, before gently sliding between your slick pussy lips.
“Fuck, you taste incredible, such a wet mess.” He wraps his lips around your clit and slides his coated fingers inside of you once again, and your voice shatters when she curls them perfectly. The stimulation of his mouth and the feel of his fingers pressing and kneading, your wrists twist and turn in his grasp, but he makes no move to let you go. He only squeezes tighter. He groans around your clit, and your mouth falls open as the vibrations of his voice send sparks flying in your brain.
Moaning like he could feel it himself, slow, coaxing motions of his fingers against your walls that had your eyes rolling, the tip of his tongue circling your clit just enough to have you tethering that edge.
“Good girl… good girl…” he coos, his voice muffled as he focuses on getting you to cum again. “Feel me, focus on me, pretty baby. God…”
He was getting off on your frantic movements, your endless amounts of arousal that seemed to gush from you. The way you clenched around his fingers when his voice vibrated around your clit.
“You’re right there.” He encourages, shaking his head back and forth against your cunt, your arousal slipping down his chin and coating his lips, the wet slurping sounds so nasty and vile.
“Keep working for me, you're so close.” Mingi talks you through it, pulling away from your clit and littering wet kisses against your tummy. “Rock your hips, tell me what feels good, let me hear you.”
You choke out a broken cry, and he’s tempted to let up just so you can quiet down, but he’s addicted to you, and he couldn’t stop even if he tried.
“U-up..” you stutter out, and he wastes no time. Gently, he moves his fingers inside of you, nudging them upwards a little more. He feels it, your body tense and your cunt clench, and you let out a low groan.
“There… right there…” You exhale, and he presses up against that spot, circling the tip of his fingers against it repeatedly, instead of thrusting them. A constant, mind-numbing pressure that feels so good it hurts.
“Yeah, there we go.” He grits out, bringing his tongue down and flicking it up against your clit in soft kitten licks, a slow light, warm pressure that makes your hips jerk to chase it more.
You try to cry out, beg for more, but the harder his fingers pressed, the less you could remember English. Your breaths were whiny, and your voice kept cracking, and you were so close to cumming again.
“I'm going to count you down, darling.” His low voice pulls a low wail from your chest, and you try to move your hands to grab his head to push him further against you, just to remember he had you restrained.
“You can cum your brains out when I get to one, okay? Can you do that for me?”
You nod your head frantically, your hips bucking against his tongue that oh so gently teases your clit. Mingi smiles and nibbles your sensitive nerves playfully, and then he starts to increase the pressure of his fingertips against your G-spot.
“10.” You cry out when he runs his tongue along your inner thigh, up and down, a teasing motion against the sensitive skin that makes your entire body flare with heat. “9… 8… 7…”
With every number he bites you. Sinking his teeth into your thigh, your stomach, your clit, anything his mouth could reach between your legs. And all the while, his fingers never stop curling.
“6… 5… uh uh. C’mon, baby, get a hold of yourself, not yet.” He feels you clench hard, your moans getting breathy. He knows you’re so close, he can hear it in your tears. But he gave you a command, and he expects you to follow it.
“You can do it… 4.” He wraps his lips around your clit one more time, and this time he lets out long, drawn-out groans that come from deep in his chest, the quiver of his voice stimulating your clit so perfectly you thought you wouldn’t make it.
“3…2… c'mon baby, make it good. Cum yourself stupid for me, okay? For me… please?”
God, when he whines. It hurts your head. You force yourself to breathe, the knot in your stomach tighter than ever. He lets go of your wrists, and immediately, your hands fly and bury themselves in his soft hair. His now free hand snakes underneath your thigh and hikes it further up his shoulder, prying you open as your legs begin to close around his skull.
His tough fingers sink into the soft flesh, and he drags his tongue over your clit in repeated, pressured waves.
“1… go ahead, baby, cum for me. Don’t hold back, give it to me. Let me have you.” You shatter, instantaneously. It hurt, it felt amazing. Your entire body locks up, his hand on your thigh, squeezing so hard it was sure to bruise, his fingers coax and prod, dragging you through it.
He moans around your clit, and you feel like you’ve been shocked with volts of electricity. Your fingers grip his hair at his scalp, the intensity of your orgasm nearly knocking you out.
He laps at your pussy, drinking up the slick that spills from you, and you find yourself limp beneath him, regaining your breath as he cleans you up greedily during the aftershocks. Purely for his own enjoyment, it seems. He could watch you do that all day. He finds himself wondering if you’ve ever squirted before.
He rests back on his haunches, taking in your body below him. Squirming and soaked, begging for his hands and for his mouth.
“You’re so fucking bad for me.” Mingi breathes out in barely controlled disbelief, like your very being was something unhealthy while he was on a diet.
He’s leaning back over you and letting one hand slip around your body, pressing against your lower back to arch you a bit, his other hand unbuttoning his pants with hurried precision.
His lips swallow yours in a hungry moan, tilting his head and kissing you long and deep and frantic, your heavy breaths brushing against each other, his warm tongue running over yours in a cannibalistic kind of hunger.
“You’re making me such a bad, bad man, baby.” Mingi coos into the kiss, and while he’s kissing you into a fever, you feel something warm and heavy press against your stomach. Slowly, he grinds his hips against you, humping his cock against your belly.
You can tell two things immediately. Number one. Mingi was feral. The kiss was all teeth and drool, not giving you one second to breathe. The hand on your back is moving back up and gripping the back of your neck to help maneuver your head in the best way to kiss you as deep as possible.
And two. He felt so fucking huge.
Not to mention the mere size of him as he is, his broad shoulders shielding you from even being able to see the ceiling of his bedroom itself. But you can feel his cock twitch against your flesh. Long, so much so it reaches past your belly button, thick, hot. He was gonna split you in half, there was no doubt about it.
When he finally gives you a moment to breathe, he’s taking his other hand and grabbing the underside of your thigh, lifting it and maneuvering your leg over his shoulder, your ankle resting next to his head.
Spreading you nice and pretty, he reaches back down and grabs the base of his cock, setting it between your drooling lips, twitching against your clit, and you groan loudly into the space.
He gently moves his hips through your folds, a slow, slick glide as he lubes himself up with your arousal, moaning low and deep as he coats himself with you. His hand drags up your body, grabbing every inch of flesh he can before his hand is cupping over your mouth, pressing down nice and hard.
Your eyes widen as his hips never cease their movement, only gliding even smoother the wetter the length of his cock gets. He leans down to press his lips against your ear, and he kisses it lightly, his shaky breath fanning over you.
“Shh…shh.” he coos, and he cock jumps when he feels your moans vibrate beneath his palm. He litters the side of your neck with wet kisses, and your entire body shivers as you realize that no matter what you do, you cannot move.
He has you pinned against his mattress with the strength of his own body, holding you down with his weight. He feels you shake, and he swears he feels your cunt get even wetter, and he’s barely holding back the primal urge to pound you into his bed until you cry for him to stop.
“Not gonna use a condom with you, baby, I’m going to give it to you raw, maybe fuck some manners into your head while I’m at it.” Mingi groans nice and low against your ear, and then he’s finally sinking his cock into you, nice and slow. Stretching your pretty little pussy out as torturously as he can manage.
When you squeal beneath his hand, he shakes his head and leans back, his eyes lock with your watery ones as he clicks his tongue.
“No baby no….” He purrs, but he doesn’t stop sinking into you, pressing his hand further against your drooling mouth. “You have to be quiet, okay? Please?” He begs in a low, whiny tone. You can feel every vein of him graze against your pulsing walls, your tears spill down your cheeks and flow over his knuckles, and he whispers sweet nothings to you as he seems to sink into you endlessly.
“Such a pretty crier, darling.”
“Almost there, just a little more, beautiful slutty girl, taking me so well.”
His fingers are wet with your tears, and he can’t quite bottom out yet; he has to fuck himself deeper into you.
“Alright, I need you to be a good girl for me and keep that pretty mouth shut, I’m gonna fuck you now, okay?” You whine with a broken cry, and he’s pulling his hips back, sliding the length of him out of you, and then sliding right back in with a moan you can feel in your chest. Your legs shake as he pushes himself just a little deeper this time, and your belly feels full of him.
“Yeah, you've been wanting me to mess this pussy up, huh, baby?” Mingi’s free hand finds the base of your throat once more, helping keep you quiet by limiting your airflow. And you tighten around him so much that he has to pause because he physically cannot move any further.
He laughs lowly, and he peeps the way your eyelids flutter, and you seem to have drunk haze over your eyes. One hand over your mouth, so large he practically has your entire jaw in his grip. The other with a grounding hold on your throat, just tight enough to make you a little dumb. His entire body presses down against yours, pinned beneath him, so helpless.
His cock thick, heavy, and deep in your guts, slow, mean strokes that make your drool pool in the back of your throat.
He grins, and then he’s pressing himself deeper into your cunt, and you moan gutturally against his palm.
“Nasty little girl. You like not being able to breathe when I fuck you? Huh?” You don’t answer, of course, just moan and whine as he fucks his cock into you, deep and slow.
Your muscles start to tense from the pressure, your leg straightening over Mingi’s shoulder as the pleasure absolutely sweeps you away beneath his warm body.
“Your legs are locking up, baby.” He murmurs, pressing his lips to the crook of your neck and inhaling deeply. “C’mon, relax, you’re gonna hurt yourself.” He teases you, even while drilling his cock into you like he was insatiable.
Then he’s slipping his hand underneath your knee, bending your leg forward, and pressing it against your chest. You cry out, and suddenly he’s sinking in ever deeper, and you feel so incredibly full. His hand slips away from your mouth for just a moment to hook beneath your other knee, and pushes it up to your chest as well, folded underneath your professor like some kind of doll.
You choke out an overstimulated sob, and once he’s able to hold both your legs down against your body with his chest, his hand is back on your mouth to keep your noises down.
He stops moving his hips and shivers, the new angle having you so much tighter around his cock, and with your knees up to your shoulders, making you look so small, he’s seconds away from losing it.
“S-Sir…” you whine beneath his palm, your cries muffled and your breath hot against his skin. Mingi’s cock jumps inside of you when he feels your voice against his hand, and he drops his head by your neck with a shaky, low moan.
“I’m sorry, pretty baby.” He murmurs in your ear, and then he starts to move again. “It’s okay, you’re okay.”
This time, he’s kissing spots so deep you feel him in your ribcage. His tip scraping that perfect spot that makes your muscles cramp, and your throat catches.
“Am I too big for you?” He smiles against the flared skin of your throat, pulling his hips all the way back, tantalizingly slow enough to force you to feel every thick inch of him stroke in and out of your walls.
He leans away from your neck and looks at you, your eyes fluttering and your nose flaring as he slowly eases into a meaner pace, nearly pounding your cunt like he couldn’t control himself.
“Look at me, baby,” Mingi mumbles softly, and when you don’t respond, he squeezes your jaw harder, and your eyes shoot open. “I said, look at me, right here.” His voice is rougher this time, commanding. Like how he talks to the class when he wants their undivided attention, but this time it’s laced with pure primal need.
Your eyes lock with his, and everything starts to crumble. Your whines break into breathless, sad whimpers, your legs shake even when he’s got them pressed to your chest, your pussy gushes around him as he finds a relentless, deep rhythm, drilling his fat cock into you.
“Holy shit, you’re soaked.” He breathes out, pressing his lips against the back of his hand that covers your mouth. His hips smack against yours, a wet slap of skin with every drag of his hips; you could hardly hear yourself think.
“Good slut… fuckkk- my baby is so needy, hm? Such a selfish pussy.” He’s bullying you now, his swollen lips shiny and wet, then finally he’s taking his hand off your mouth and immediately replacing it with his lips.
Kissing you slow and deep, muffling your cries with his own mouth. His tongue fills your mouth, and your moans vibrate against him, and you feel as he starts to fuck up into you faster, the slaps of skin louder and the pleasure scraping up your spine and rendering you cockdrunk.
“Such a crybaby.” He groans down your throat, his warm chest pressed against your own like a heated cage, nowhere to go, nowhere to hide.
“Mm, just wanna- fuck… just wanna make you feel good.” He sinks his teeth into your bottom lip and almost growls, and you notice he’s starting to get rougher, get meaner. Losing control.
He started to ramble in cracked moans under his breath. “Better than her… p-prettier than her… fuck-! Softer than h-her…”
You hadn’t had half the mind to dwell on his words, but you just knew he must have been talking about his wife. Whether she was in the picture or not, he was still thinking about her. And you hated to admit it, but it sent your ego soaring.
His hands grip the underside of your thighs, pushing your legs harder against your body, then he’s dragging his hips back with a heady growl and pounding you.
Hard, deep thrusts that have you sliding up the mattress, he’s careful enough not to send the headboard flying against the wall, but it’s still enough that it sends your poor little brain into a frenzy.
“Shouldn’t be letting me do this to you.” He breathes through gritted teeth, his messy salt and pepper hair falling over his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak again, but interrupted himself with a broken moan. You felt so fucking good around him, he couldn’t believe it.
A wet, blissful mess under him. Such a smart girl who risked everything she had just to be ruined by a man old enough to be her father. There was no redeeming himself now. And he wasn’t sure that he’d want to.
“Does it feel good? Does my baby feel good here?” His hand gently presses against your lower stomach, where he’s buried inside of you, teasing you with heated questions he knows you don’t have the capacity to answer. You shake and shiver every time his tip kisses that sweet spot.
You’re doing so well, keeping your voice down, struggling to breathe as you try to keep your noises to yourself. And in all honesty, all he wants to do is hear you. He wants to hear you squeal and cry for him, but not while his daughter is home.
“P-please…!” You weep, your hands scrambling to grab something, anything. He doesn’t let you, grabbing both your wrists in his huge hand and lifting your hands above your head.
“Wrap your legs around me.” He bites out, sliding his hand from under your thigh and covering your mouth once again. Your muffled whines flow through his hand as you follow his command, wrapping your shaky legs around his waist as he adjusts the position of his hips so he can put as much force as he can behind his thrusts.
With your wrists pinned above you and your mouth beneath his palm, his gaze burns through your skull, and his eyebrows knit together like he’s focusing. “Shh. Be still, be quiet.”
You whine loudly, and he presses his hand harder against your mouth, shaking his head like he was disappointed.
“No ma’am, you know better.” He groans, sinking his teeth into your shoulder to muffle his own noises as he starts to fuck you so hard it’s like he is trying to force your cunt to mold to his shape.
Resolute, deep, cruel, Mingi uses your body like he is burning from the inside out. Angling his hips upward with every thrust to perfectly graze against your G-spot in a way that had you spiraling forward to your orgasm in record time. Your neck involuntarily cranes backward, and his hand follows your movements, keeping a tight grip on your jaw to muffle you.
Your wrists wiggle in his grasp, your hands shaking and spasming as all you feel is white-hot bliss. Like your entire being was pleasure embodied, and Mingi was working you out so perfectly.
The wet slaps were impossible to mask, the creak of the bed rivaling Mingi’s only thought that swam around his brain.
Break her. Break her. Break her.
You sobbed quietly, and you couldn’t believe this was happening. It all felt too good, and Mingi was way too good at this. It would be easy to get addicted, and it would ultimately be the downfall for you both. But you were too lost in it to care; all you wanted was to cum, and Mingi was getting you there no problem.
“I know baby, I know.” He growls under his breath, and your stomach lurches.
Mingi whines out broken and low curses, dropping his forehead against yours, his body jerking when he feels you tighten around him.
He lifts his eyes to your fucked out ones and kisses the tip of your nose, such a soft gesture, all the while he pounds your pussy to death.
“You cumming beautiful?” He exhales, and you nod frantically beneath his hand. There’s a conflict in his eyes, then he’s leaning down to whisper in your ear.
“I’m gonna move my hand, but you have to be quiet, darling. I want this to be good for you, but you have to breathe through it.”
You weren’t really listening, too focused on your orgasm, the more it coiled in your lower stomach. You nodded, anything to let you cum. Mingi wasn’t buying your eagerness, and he shook his head.
“Look me in the eyes and say you understand.” You force your eyes to lock with his, his hips slowing to a deep grind, your shuddering breaths warming his hand.
Your pleading gaze has him crumbling, and slowly he slips his hand away and grips the front of your throat loose enough you can breathe, but enough to assert control.
“I u-understand!” You cry, your voice a low whimper. “Please, Mingi, I’ll b-be good! I promise…”
Your sweet voice, it makes his cock twitch inside of you, and he grinds so deep into you that your lungs shake.
“Beg.” He snarls, forming his lips into a mocking pout. “Say, ‘Please let me cum, please fuck me through it, please.’ Make it pretty, use your manners.”
Your nose flares, and your cheeks are wet with tears make Mingi’s heart pound.
“Please… let me c-cum.” You whimper, your bottom lip wobbling, every word a drunken slur. “Please, wan’ it so bad… please.”
He smiles greedily, your pleas trailing off into quiet, mindless babbles, while he slips his hand between your melded bodies and finds your clit.
You feel his fingertips press up against it, and a gasp tears from your lungs, your legs tightening around him enough to force his hips to sink his cock deeper into you. Mingi tucks his bottom lip between his teeth drunkenly, circling your clit and grinding his hips into you each time he bottoms out with every powerful thrust.
“Yes. Yes…” You weep pathetically, and with every clench of your cunt, every sweet noise from your mouth, Mingi finds it very hard to push the thought of fucking a baby into you to the back of his mind.
His body craves it, his soul screams at him to fill you up, his cock twitches from the sensitivity of holding himself back. He knows that it would be bad for both of you. Once he lets go like that, he’s going to want to fill you up again, again, again. Until the results are satisfactory and you are round with his child.
He doesn’t want that. He’s sure you don’t want that. His body craves it, his instincts pick up on your young, palpable fertility like he was some kind of animal.
Your legs lock up around him, and your back arches off the bed, so close to that blinding edge. Your hands reach around his claw at his broad back, your nails scratching him up, dragging a wince from his lips.
“M-Mingi-! Oh my god… right there- right there…”
The authoritative honorific long abandoned, your brain clouds over as your orgasm creeps up your neck.
“You got it, sweetheart…” he praises, never stopping the repetitive strokes of his fingers, the filthy grind of his hips. “Cum for me, all over me, please baby…”
He kisses the front of your throat, sucking dark marks into your soft skin and running his tongue flat over them. Repeated begs for you to fall apart on his cock, begging for you to let go.
Your entire body tenses, and then it washes over you in waves; they seem to never stop. He doesn’t stop moving his hips; he starts to fuck you faster. Dragging your orgasm out and taking advantage of how tight you’ve gotten, you cry out and shake violently. Mingi gives you no room to breathe, every slick sound of his cock slipping in and out of you so smoothly, only seeming to help you cum harder.
“That’s it… yeah… c’mon babygirl. Don’t stop. Cum until it hurts.” He smashes his lips with yours and moans loudly down your throat, his tongue invading your mouth with a greedy hunger, fucking you with renewed vigor. His hands slide up and cup your jaw, holding your head still as he kisses you stupid.
Then, your legs tighten around him, you tilt your head, and kiss him deeper. You force his hips against yours, and he sinks deeper into you.
“Inside.” You moan around his tongue, and you could feel his low, gravelly whine against your teeth. “Please.”
“Fuck…” he growls, and the hands on your jaw slip up and splay against either side of your face, holding you like you might try and run from him. “Don’t say that.”
But you double down. “Please, sir. Need you to fuck me full of you… get me all messy.”
Mingi gives you a warning look, his thumb slipping down and pushing against your chin, opening your mouth for him. He opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue, and you watch as a string of spit falls down the tip of his tongue and into your mouth, and your entire body erupts into an uncontrollable shiver.
“You want it?”He grunts, molding his lips with yours and kissing you so nastily, so dirty, you swear you were cumming again. You whisper pleading ‘yes’s’ and whimpering begs for him to fill you up, and you could practically feel the resolve crack in hips. “Gonna make this pussy a fucking mess.”
How could he resist? Mingi’s hips stutter, and his mouth opens against yours, breathing heavily, exhales broken with whines and groans. His pretty eyes half lidded, and his eyebrows pulled together as he shoves himself deep in your cunt one last time before he’s cumming, rolling his hips into you as he shakily moans against your lips, filling your pussy up with him.
Warmth spreads throughout your body, and Mingi’s entire body presses down heavily against yours, his hips grinding against you in slow, repeated motions, making sure not a single drop of him slips out of you.
Your heavy breaths fill the quiet of his room that has fallen, and realization begins to set in. There was no coming back from this.
You weren’t going to drop his class. You weren’t going to quit the babysitting job. You needed both, and Mingi could do without you, no matter what you decide to do.
He could find a new babysitter. It would be one less paper to grade.
But he doesn’t think he would be able to go one day without craving you like some kind of drug.
Slowly, he crawls off of you, his heart still racing. You sit up on your elbows, and immediately you move to gather your clothes, but his hand on your wrist stops you.
“Whoa, whoa, wait. What are you doing?” His gentle, kind voice has returned, and your eyes widen as you freeze in place.
“I’m- I’m getting my stuff…?” You’re confused, and he shakes his head like he was disappointed. He stands up and guides you to stand with him. He towers over you, and his hands, which were so rough with you earlier, caress the sides of your arms.
Up your shoulders and along the marks he littered along your neck. He presses his lips to the top of your head and kisses you softly, inhaling the smell of your shampoo. “Let me take care of you.” He murmurs into your hair, and you exhale shakily.
“Why?” You answer, and he rolls his eyes and scoffs.
“What a stupid question.” He laughs, massaging your shoulders and maneuvering you to walk towards his bathroom.
“I thought you said there was no such thing.” You tease, and he opens the bathroom door before picking you up and setting you on the counter.
“I can be wrong sometimes.” He shrugs, turning around and opening the sliding glass door of the shower. “Don’t let it get to your head.”
While he’s adjusting the temperature of the water, you turn and look at yourself in the mirror. You were an awful wreck. Frizzy hair, sweaty skin, dark marks on every inch of your body. He really did a number on you.
“I am still a gentleman after all.” He smiles and turns to fetch you once again, scooping you up and setting you inside the tub.
“You weren’t acting like one earlier.” You mumble, and he scoops some water in his hand and splashes it on your face. Your mouth falls open in shock, and he raises a warning eyebrow at you.
“Manners, young lady.”
Mingi cleans you up with a soft rag, gently washing you clean with a soap that smells like him. You nearly fall asleep in his arms, strong and grounding as held your body up.
He’s careful with you, like you’re made of glass. Attentive to your sensitive spots. He dries you off like a baby duck, avoiding your hair to not mess it up any further.
Once he’s got you cleaned up, he ushers you downstairs and urges you to eat something while he takes a shower of his own. He ever generously cuts you up a bowl of fruit, wearing nothing but a loose towel around his waist.
That strange domesticity from the first night he had hired you returned tenfold. And you couldn’t pull your eyes away from him while he worked. His damp hair clinging to his skin, his skin shiny and freckled. The tattoos on his body faded and turned green from the years of existence.
He lay you on the couch, gently massaging your ankles while you ate the fruit, a comfortable quiet settling over both.
“You can sleep here, if you want.” He whispers, massaging your calves. His glasses sit on the bridge of his nose, and he glances at you over them. You avoid his gaze, very interested in the pieces of kiwi sprinkled about your bowl.
“I shouldn’t.” You mumble, and you could feel his grip on your calf loosen. You turn and lock eyes with him, and he thinks he would do anything for those pretty eyes you give him.
“We shouldn’t.” You finish, and you move to stand, but he follows you. His hands cup your elbows and pull you close, flush to his chest. His fingers caress the fragile bone in your arms, and he leans his head down to kiss your forehead.
“Just for tonight, you shouldn’t be driving. You can hardly keep your eyes open.”
He kisses your eyelid, trailing chaste smooches down the side of your face until he melts against your lips, breathing deeply as you lean into him.
His hands slide down from your elbows to gently envelop either side of your waist, tilting his head to greedily kiss you deeper.
You sigh into his mouth, and he could feel you relax in his arms. Your hands reach up and wrap around the back of his neck, pulling him further against you.
“Okay.” You whisper, pulling away from his lips. He smiles, the smile lines making your heart flutter in your chest. He kisses the corner of your mouth, then he’s leading you away once again, the half-empty bowl of fruit abandoned on the side table. “Just this once.”
Of course, once would turn into twice. And before you know it, you have a routine with him.
Moments that were spent together in the privacy of his own home gradually transitioned into fleeting touches in the campus library, pushing you up against secluded bookshelves and eating you out to high heaven.
Dragging you to his office after class and bending you over his desk and having you then and there like some kind of animal.
You even went so far as to have him over at your home, riding on the hope that your parents wouldn’t decide to come home early from their date nights.
If the board found out, he’d be terminated effective immediately. If your parents found out? God knows how they would feel.
So you agreed to keep this little secret between you two. His daughter was none the wiser, and she never questioned whenever you chose to stay the night, it only made her happier.
You and Mingi had something. Something good? Something bad? You weren’t sure just yet.
For now, you were having fun. Something someone your age should prioritize. You act like strangers in class, only fleeting looks that were silent promises for what was to come later in the privacy of his home.
These kinds of things were always bound to end in a disaster, and god you prayed it wouldn’t. Just this one time.
You weren’t his girlfriend. You weren’t his wife. You were a placeholder of sorts, a ghost to fill the empty shadow left in the home. You had no place there, but the longer you stayed the more you began to burn your imprint into the floorboards.
The wolf can keep that fawn as a pet for a little while, but its instinct to consume will always outshine later down the road.
And the fawn’s instinct to flee will always be there; it never disappears. However long it chooses to ignore it, will only prolong the pain that will destroy it when it is finally devoured.
𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙙𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩: 2.6k (i wanted it to be short lol that didn't happen)
𝙏𝙒/𝘾𝙒: mingi being a dick
𝘼/𝙉: I'm baaaack :) also this is based on a true story (sadly). Half of this doesn't even make sense but so did the texts i received 8 yrs ago, calling me insecure and the 'its not you its me' bullshit. Anyways, it was rushed but i hope yall enjoy
You weren’t looking for someone to share your life with at the time. You were doing just fine.
After a lot of first and failed dates, you realized you liked being on your own for now.
That was until you got introduced to Mingi. Mingi came into your life like a quiet storm, with no warning. He rearranged everything you thought was stable with full force, yet he was soft enough to slip through the cracks of the defenses you built around yourself.
It started with meeting each other at different frat parties and nights out with your girlfriends. The conversations start flowing so easily, just like the alcohol in your red cups. After meeting you so many times without having any way of contacting you outside the parties, Mingi asked for your number.
“It’s easier to talk to each other without all that background noise,” he said before giving you a smile you couldn’t resist.
That’s where it started to get a little bit more complicated. After Mingi asked for your number, you started texting all the time. It started with normal, boring get-to-know-each-other questions.
What’s your favorite color? Are you a morning or a night person? What do you do in your free time? What’s your favorite food?
Then, he asked to hang out sometime—just testing the waters. So off you went, hanging out at his place with his roommates, whom you’ve gotten to know over time. At other times, it would just be the two of you at your place when your roommate would be out all day.
After hanging out a few times and getting to know each other better, the texts started to become more flirty. Mingi called you princess once, and that’s how your contact name changed from just Y/N to princess.
The ‘good morning princess’ texts, the ‘I saw this and thought about you’ texts, and the ‘I missed your face today, let's FaceTime' texts became more and more frequent.
He started to take you out on little dates, like getting coffee together to start the day in your favorite, cozy café. Or taking you out for lunch at that new spot he found through social media.
One day, he suggested going out for lunch, giving you the perfect excuse to get all dolled up and try that new makeup you’d just bought. But the plans fell apart fast when your period showed up that afternoon.
You texted him, letting him know you weren’t feeling well and asking if you could reschedule. He read the message but didn’t reply, which instantly made your stomach twist a little. Not even ten minutes later, his name flashed across your screen.
He was already at the store, grabbing drinks, snacks, and anything else you might need to feel better. After you gave him a few options, he told you he’d be at your place in twenty minutes with everything.
And he was. Twenty minutes later, he showed up in his loungewear, holding your favorite food, just so you wouldn’t have to spend the day feeling miserable on your own.
And of course, there were the fancy dinners he took you on, picking you up with flowers in hand and dropping you off at your place later that night. Lingering at your front door, not ready yet to let you go inside and end the night.
Until one night, after tiptoeing the line of friends-or-more-than-friends, you decided to invite him in to continue the night at your place. You had asked him if he wanted to come in, since your roommate was out for the evening.
After stepping into your apartment and closing the door, Mingi pressed you against it, and his lips found yours in an instant. You felt all the longing after dancing around each other being released in this moment.
The transition of friends to something more than friends came gradually. The lines slowly became a little more blurry with every text and call, and the quiet and soft kisses became hungrier and deeper.
But with all the new feelings and new attachments, insecurities came looking around the corner as well.
It was no secret on campus that Mingi collected hearts everywhere he went, with no intention of keeping any of them. And it scared you how easily he wove himself into your life, slipping into your routines like he’d always belonged there.
You never felt as pretty as the girls hanging around Mingi and his friends. They just walked differently and talked differently, and they carried themselves with a confidence you just couldn’t grasp. They carried themselves like they owned every room they stepped into. You kept telling yourself you didn’t have to be like them, that you didn’t want to be like them. But the honest truth was that deep down, a part of you wished you could be like them.
You wanted that confidence, craved it even. You wanted to feel that kind of confidence of feeling excited in your short skirt, instead of risky. The kind of confidence that lets you go out with your friends without needing alcohol to take the edge off. To be confident in the way you speak, act, and look, and in how you carry yourself.
But something in you sank every time you saw those pretty and effortlessly bold girls hanging around him. You hated to admit it, but it made you feel small in some kind of way.
It wasn’t about fitting in, not really. You knew that.
But you had seen the way he looked at other girls before—the kind of girls who were nothing like you in any way. And pretending it didn’t bother you started to feel more and more impossible.
However, over the months you’ve known Mingi, he never made you feel like you were less. If anything, it was the opposite. He made you feel pretty in a way you didn’t know you could feel. Even on days when you doubted yourself, he had this way of making the world feel smaller, like it existed just for the two of you.
Then, after a few months of seeing each other, the cracks started to show. It started small. The texting had become a little less frequent, but there was always an excuse. While you still received the good morning and sleep well texts, they felt hollow and monotonous.
After you had noticed his small texting and behavior changes, Mingi started to ditch the little dates he would take you on. His excuse was always that he was ‘too tired,’ had ‘too much schoolwork,’ or ‘got a lot going on right now.’
Until there was radio silence for a week. No texts, no calls, nothing.
You still saw his friends around campus and even ran into Yunho at the campus café. You didn’t catch the small furrow in his brow when you casually asked him if Mingi was okay, since he hadn’t replied to you.
The conversation stuck with Yunho longer than it should have, mostly because he didn’t understand why you were asking. As far as he knew, Mingi was fine.
His best friend was always on his phone whenever they were in the shared living room, practically glued to it. Sometimes Mingi even had this stupid grin on his face, but the second Yunho mentioned your name, it vanished. Mingi would lock his phone or shove it into his pocket, and on some days he’d put it face down on the table like he didn’t want to look at it at all.
And Yunho had noticed he hadn’t seen the two of you together in weeks. But it wasn’t his relationship, and it wasn’t his place to say anything. If something was wrong, Mingi would talk to him. He always did.
This brings you to today. After being ignored by Mingi for so long, the only time you heard from him was when he wanted something—whether it was a ride somewhere or sex. All you wanted was clarity.
You had a gut feeling. Call it a revelation, call it common sense, or whatever you wanted to call it, it hit you hard and made you realize just how one-sided things had become.
Can we talk? You read your text over and over again before finally pressing send. You watched as the delivered sign turned to read and waited anxiously.
His name flashed on your screen, and before it could even ring a second time, your thumb had already pressed the green button. “Hi,” you said tentatively into your phone.
“Hi,” you heard him breathe out on the other line. You adjusted the phone in your hand as you sat on your bed and put it on speaker. “So, what did you want to talk about?” he asked you as you leaned against your headboard.
“Well, us.” Silence.
“Us?” You sighed; a tremble in your hands gave away your anxiety, but he couldn’t see it. “Yes, us Mingi.”
You paused to see if he would say anything or if he would let you speak without being interrupted. After no reaction from him, you continued.
“I—it’s been a while since we’ve seen each other, and I was just wondering…” you started to say, feeling your anxiety creeping into your voice. “What are we, Mingi?”
“What do you want me to say, Y/N?” You heard him let out a sigh, as if he was tired. Tired of having this conversation or tired of you, you couldn’t tell. “I just want to know what I can call you since we’ve been seeing each other for a while now. Are we exclusive or not? What are we?”
“Listen,” he started, but you already felt the shift in his voice, as if he was trying to figure out how he could say this as gently as possible.
“I just don’t see it working out for us. Don’t get me wrong, we had our fun, and I really felt a connection with you, but you know…” a pause.
“I have to be honest with you, Y/N, you’re not really my type. At least not like that,” he started, while you felt your heart drop at his words. “It’s not you, though. It’s me. I’m just more into girls who are… how can I say this? Uh—”
There was an uncomfortable silence that fell over the two of you when Mingi tried to find the right words. “I just like it when girls are more spontaneous. You’re just… too boring… sometimes,” he said.
Your phone slipped from your hand and fell onto the thick duvet covering your now trembling body. He couldn’t hear it, at least not over the phone, but you were certain you just listened to your heart break into pieces.
Not because you were losing Mingi, or losing whatever part of Mingi you had. No, your heart broke into so many pieces because he struck exactly that vulnerable spot you had been trying to hide. The part that was gnawing at you for a while. Something you were trying to drown out every night you would lie awake, staring at the ceiling with your head running on overdrive.
“Are you still there?” his voice made you snap out of your own thoughts.
“Yeah…” Your voice was soft and small; it almost didn’t reach your own ears. The beating of your heart felt harder than the sound of your voice at this moment.
“I don’t mean to hurt you, but you know, it felt a little suffocating,” he spoke up after hearing your reply. “What felt suffocating? Being with me?”
“I mean… Yeah. The constant need for validation,” You felt your chest tighten at his words. “I’ve never asked that of you, Mingi.” There was a pause on the other end of the phone.
“Maybe not directly, but in a way, you always needed validation from me.”
“What? Then why would you still kiss me and fuck me if it felt so suffocating all this time? Why would you do all this if you didn’t even like me that way?” There was a crack in your voice, resembling the self-confidence that is slowly shattering within. But you pushed on, refusing to let him hear you cry.
“Do you really need to like someone that way if you just want to fuck?”
His words were met with a heavy silence, letting it settle in between the two of you. But before he could speak again, a bitter laugh escaped you. “Oh wow, okay. Real nice, Mingi.”
“Don’t get mad at me for being honest—”
“Sorry for feeling upset when I hear that the guy I’ve been seeing for months now only wants me for sex and thinks I’m fucking boring.” Your fingers tighten around your phone, gripping it tighter.
“That’s what you wanted, right, honesty? I’m being honest with you right now.” The flatness in his tone made your stomach sink.
“Would you even have told me this if I didn’t text you before?” There was a pause again, and with every breath you felt your throat tighten a little more. The anxiety and anger were settling in from within.
“I don’t know, Y/N. Look, you’re a nice girl. You’re pretty, really, you are, just—you’re not the type I’m looking for. I’m not looking for any other sort of relationship with you. I’m not in love with you.” Everything in you screamed to yell, letting out the anger that was bubbling up, but you forced yourself to be calm.
“I’m not in love with you either, Mingi—” you spoke up. “It sounds like you are with the way you’re acting right now.”
“Oh my god,” You rolled your eyes, muttering under your breath.
“We’ve been seeing each other for a while and talking a lot. You took me out on dates and did the whole thing with me. So yes, I did get feelings for you. We were practically a couple, seeing each other all the time and going on dates. So excuse me for feeling upset right now.”
Your voice trembled, even as you tried to keep it steady.
“I don’t want to force you to have feelings for me, but the way you’ve been going at this is so fucking wrong. If you had told me you just wanted to be fuck buddies, or friends with benefits, or whatever the hell you’d call this, that would have been fine. Then I’d know what I was dealing with. But stringing me along like this was so fucking wrong and hurtful.”
Silence stretched between you two. You waited for a response, anything, but only heard the faintest static on the line.
“I hope you had your fun, Mingi. Thanks for nothing.” You hung up, letting the phone slip from your fingers.
Silence filled the room after abruptly hanging up the phone. You sank onto the bed, phone still warm now resting on the duvet of your bed, and let yourself breathe for a moment. Your breathing became heavier, a mix of anger and hurt settling in.
It wasn’t the heartbreak that cut the deepest; it was the way he had used your insecurities to bring you down and thrown them in your face like they were reasons to discard you. You knew he wasn’t responsible for your doubts, but hearing him talk so casually, as if tearing down your self-esteem would somehow boost his own, cut deeper than you expected.
You just wanted a simple answer to your question, "What are we?" but instead you were met with a sharp reminder that you deserved better than someone who treated you like an option.
It would be okay. You knew that. And one thing was crystal clear, louder than any sting or cut he had left behind: your worth would not be defined by a man.
I'm still alive. I know I just abandoned my writings and requests when I got a new job last year, sorry about that. It just got a little hectic, and I just didn't feel like writing in my free time.
I just started writing again because I suddenly got a wave of ideas coming over me, so maybe you'll see some of my work popping up.
If you wanna request something (make sure to check my pinned) feel free to do so, but I can't guarantee it will be posted soon.
Dont you just love it when you look under a specific character or person fic tag and you see a bunch of fics for other people instead of for the person you were looking for
chapter one: devil in disguise, we know how this works
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summary: y/n probably should of asked her brother more details about his job and coworkers because an exotic nightclub full of vampires was not on her bingo card
warning: dom yunho, dom mingi, possessive mingi, switch reader, mentions of blood, face riding, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, squirting, IT’S VAMPIRE SEX YALL
genre: vampire, romance, throuple, drama, smut
pairings: vamp yunho x human afab reader x vamp mingi
word count: 9.6k
chapter two coming soon
masterlist
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It was supposed to be just one night. That’s how it always started in New York, fast, impulsive, forgettable. Y/N hadn’t dressed for anything in particular, just a night out with her coworker at a Midtown club she didn’t even want to remember the name of. It had one of those obnoxious velvet ropes and a line wrapped around the block, but her friend knew the DJ, and a whisper at the entrance had the two of them sliding past security like smoke.
Inside, it was a crush of neon, perfume, and bass so deep it rattled in her bones. The crowd pulsed under kaleidoscopic strobes, faces blurred in the heat and sweat, bodies moving like water. Y/N wasn’t even looking for anyone. She was tired of men, of the letdowns and the lies and the fake deep small talk. She was in New York for a reset, not a rebound.
But then she saw him.
Across the dance floor, leaning casually against the bar like he owned it, tall, sharp jawed, and dressed in black from head to toe. The dim lights licked silver off his satin shirt and his hair looked too perfectly tousled to be an accident. His eyes were on her, dark and heavy like the air before a thunderstorm. He didn’t look away when she caught him staring. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink.
He smiled. Just barely. And it knocked the breath clean out of her.
She didn’t remember deciding to walk over. One second she was at the edge of the crowd, and the next she was standing in front of him, like she’d been pulled in by gravity.
“Do I know you?” she asked, already knowing the answer, almost cringing at her own ridiculous pick up line.
He tilted his head slightly, eyes still fixed on hers. “Not yet.”
His voice was low, velvet smooth and dipped in something dark. He held her gaze like he was reading something written on the inside of her skull.
She should’ve walked away.
She didn’t.
She didn’t remember what they drank. Just the clink of glasses, his fingers brushing hers when he passed her a cocktail she hadn’t asked for but somehow loved. She remembered the way he listened, like nothing else existed but her mouth and the way it moved. Like every laugh and story she shared was new, when she’d told it a hundred times to people who’d already forgotten.
He didn’t touch her much. Not at first. But when he did, fingers lightly resting on the small of her back as he guided her away from the bar, she nearly forgot her own name.
By midnight, they were in the back of a cab. His hand was on her thigh. Her head was spinning but not from alcohol.
“What’s your name?” she whispered, breath catching when he leaned close to her ear.
“Yunho.”
He said it like a secret. Like a promise.
His apartment was somewhere in the Lower East Side. Big windows. No lights. Just the soft glow from the city outside painting long shadows across the hardwood floors. She saw books stacked on tables, a guitar leaning against the wall, a coat rack with a black leather jacket and a dark flannel.
She turned to say something, but he was already close. One step, maybe two, and his hands were on her hips, his lips brushing hers like he was tasting the idea first.
She didn’t expect the kiss to feel like that, slow, devastating, like he wanted to memorize every second. Like he had time.
But when she moaned against his mouth, Yunho pressed her back into the wall like he’d been holding back the entire night. One hand cupped the back of her neck, the other slid beneath her shirt, palm burning hot against her skin. His tongue teased, deepened, until she felt like she was unraveling right there.
Yunho’s hand was still curled around the back of her neck as they moved toward his bedroom, her body warm against his chest, her breath hitching every time his fingers skimmed exposed skin. He didn’t rush. He couldn’t. Not with her.
Not with that scent.
It wrapped around him like silk soaked in sin, he smelled it the second she walked into that club, warm honey and crushed berries, threaded with adrenaline and the faintest edge of salt from her skin. And underneath it all, something deeper. Older. Something that whispered directly to the part of him he kept locked away.
God, he hadn’t wanted to feed in weeks, strictly on blood bags, and now? He could barely breathe without wanting to sink his teeth into her.
He didn’t understand it. Not really. She wasn’t the first human he’d taken to bed. Not the first who laughed too easily or kissed like she had nothing to lose. But there was something about her that coiled around his instincts like a fist.
And she didn’t even know.
She looked up at him as he backed her toward the edge of the bed, shirt already undone, her eyes wide and trusting and hungry all at once. Her lips were kiss swollen, pupils blown wide with desire, and Yunho’s jaw clenched so hard he thought his fangs might tear through on their own.
He swallowed hard, blinking away the faint red haze creeping at the edge of his vision.
Focus. You are not feeding tonight.
He couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Not with her. Not when it wasn’t… consensual. And not when it felt so much like fate it made his bones ache.
He tried not to think about how good her pulse sounded, how strong and steady it beat beneath her skin. How it fluttered faster when his hands slipped beneath the hem of her shirt, when his lips brushed her jaw, her throat.
Yunho paused there. Just for a second. His nose skimmed the soft curve below her ear, and he exhaled slowly, silently.
She smelled like temptation. Like the first inhale after being buried alive.
He pressed his mouth to her neck, open mouthed, kissing, not biting, but the way her body shivered against him had his control splintering.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, pulling back for a moment and letting his forehead rest against hers.
“What?” she whispered, voice breathless and a little dazed.
Yunho forced a smile. “Nothing. Just… glad my roommate’s not home.”
That was true enough. If Mingi had walked in? One look at her and he’d smell it too. The sweetness. The pull. Yunho could already imagine Mingi’s teasing voice in his head.
But Mingi wasn’t home. And that meant Yunho didn’t have to share. Or explain.
She was on his bed now, knees on either side of his thighs, pulling her top over her head like it was the most natural thing in the world. Her bra matched nothing, her lipstick was smudged, and Yunho thought he’d never seen anyone look more dangerous.
He wasn’t supposed to care.
He wasn’t supposed to feel.
And yet, as he kissed her again, slow, desperate, reverent. She kissed him back like she was starving for him, mouth hot, open, wanting, and Yunho could feel her thighs tighten around his waist as she rocked forward, grinding slow and deep against where he was already hard beneath her. Her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging just enough to send a bolt of want straight down his spine.
He groaned low in his throat, a sound that vibrated against her mouth, and when her lips curled into a smile, smug, teasing, he nearly lost it.
His hands slid up her back, fingers splaying across bare skin, mapping the soft curves of her spine like scripture. He’d seen her naked only minutes ago, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing about her ever would be. The more he touched, the more he needed. The closer she got, the more his body screamed to taste.
And his fangs were out.
Not fully dropped. Not bared. But lengthened, just enough to ache. Just enough to threaten. He could feel the pressure in his gums, that familiar pulse of hunger curling low and dangerous inside him. It wasn’t just bloodlust.
It was her.
Her heartbeat thundered against her chest, so close to his mouth. Her scent clung to his sheets, his hands, the very air around them. He dipped his head again, dragging his lips along her jaw, down her neck, just to inhale her. Just to torture himself.
She shivered. Not from fear, never fear. From pleasure. From want.
“Yunho…” she breathed, hips rolling into his. “Touch me.”
Oh, baby. If only you knew what kind of touch I’m trying to hold back.
His hand slid between them, slipping beneath her underwear, wet, hot, everything he shouldn’t be getting addicted to. She gasped, her whole body arching toward him, and Yunho kissed her again, trying to drown the beast inside his chest.
She didn’t notice. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t feel the sharp scrape of his fang just barely graze her lip.
Yunho froze, just for a second as the faintest taste of her blood hit his tongue.
Sweet. Silken. Pure fucking narcotic.
He pulled back, chest heaving like he’d just run through fire, hands trembling with restraint as he stared at her, panting, flushed, pupils blown wide.
“You okay?” she asked, voice soft, lips kiss bitten and glistening.
Yunho swallowed the hunger burning up his throat. Forced a small smile. “Yeah,” he lied, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “Just… you’re a lot.”
She grinned at that, tilting her head. “Too much?”
“No.” His voice came out lower than he meant it to. “Not even close.”
She smiled at him as she laid back on his bed, beckoning him with a crooked finger, and Yunho followed like a man under a spell.
He kissed his way down her chest, worshipped every inch with mouth and tongue and aching patience, even as his body begged him to feed.
But he didn’t.
Because she didn’t ask.
And Yunho might’ve been a vampire, but he wasn’t a monster.
At least… not tonight.
She laid back for him like a dream spun out of sin, her chest rising and falling with every shaky breath, thighs spread, her eyes locked on his with a look that said she didn’t even realize what she was doing to him.
And that was the worst part.
She didn’t know.
Didn’t know what it cost him to move slow. To kiss his way down her body instead of taking her the way his instincts howled for. Didn’t know that every inch of skin his lips touched made the hunger worse, not better.
Yunho pressed his mouth to the hollow of her throat first, tongue dragging lazily along the pulse he could feel hammering just beneath her skin. Her heartbeat fluttered like a trapped bird, alive, fast, so so sweet. He didn’t suck. Didn’t bite. Just… lingered there. Breathing her in like she might disappear if he stopped.
She moaned softly, her fingers slipping into his hair. “Yunho…”
His name on her lips made his fangs throb.
He dragged his mouth lower, over the curve of one breast, leaving a trail of open mouthed kisses down the slope of her ribcage, her stomach. His tongue flicked over her skin, slow and reverent, and every time her hips twitched or her breath caught, he closed his eyes and begged whatever god had abandoned him long ago to keep him from fucking up.
Don’t bite. Don’t bite. Don’t bite.
Her thighs trembled as he settled between them, spreading her open with hands that shook only slightly now. His mouth was so close to the heat of her, to the slick proof of her desire. Her scent was overwhelming this close, raw, intimate, addicting.
He leaned in and kissed her inner thigh, then the other, leaving a mark not with teeth, but with tongue and lips. She was already squirming, breath hitching, one hand clutching his sheets, the other still buried in his hair.
“Yunho…” she gasped, voice breaking like a spell being cast. “Please….”
He didn’t make her beg twice.
He licked up the center of her slowly, his tongue flat, broad, deliberate. Her entire body jolted beneath him.
She tasted like heat and sweetness and danger. Not blood. Not yet. But close. So fucking close.
He groaned into her, devouring her like a man starved, dragging the tip of his tongue in slow circles, teasing her clit until her hips lifted off the bed, chasing every flick, every pass of his mouth like it was the only thing tethering her to earth.
He slid one hand up to pin her hips down and slipped two fingers inside her, curling them expertly as he sucked her clit between his lips.
“Fuck…. oh my god, Yunho!”
Her voice cracked as her thighs tightened around his head, and Yunho’s fangs ached so badly now he could barely stand it. He felt them press against the inside of his lips as he growled into her, but still, she didn’t notice.
Too caught up in her own unraveling. Too lost in the way he was ruining her with his mouth.
And god help him, he loved it.
He worked her open with his fingers, fucking her slow while his tongue circled and pressed and worshipped her. Her moans got louder, breathless, wild, and Yunho knew she was close.
“Don’t stop,” she whimpered, rolling her hips into his face. “Please…. don’t stop.”
He wouldn’t. He couldn’t.
She came with a cry, hips jerking, thighs trembling, her hand fisting in his hair like she was anchoring herself to the earth. He held her through it, slowed his tongue, eased the motion of his fingers until she was panting, twitching, glowing.
And all the while, he never bit.
Even though he wanted to.
Even though his lips were wet with her, his tongue tasting everything but the one thing he craved most.
He rested his head on her thigh, breathing in her scent like it might be the only thing keeping him alive now.
One night. That was what he told himself. Just one night. And then he’d forget her.
Even if… even if every part of him already knew he wouldn’t.
Her thighs were still trembling, lips parted in the aftermath of her orgasm, and Yunho thought she’d never looked more fucking devastating. Eyes half lidded, sweat at her temples, a dazed smile pulling at her lips like she didn’t even realize the kind of hell she was dragging him through.
He kissed the inside of her knee once more, slow and reverent, before beginning his slow ascent.
Up the soft of her thigh. Over her stomach, where his tongue traced the line of her navel. Across her ribs, where he felt her breath catch. Then higher still, his lips brushing between her breasts, teasing one nipple with a flick of his tongue before dragging his mouth up her chest.
She exhaled like a sigh, fingers already sliding down to his belt, fumbling slightly before getting the clasp undone. Her urgency wasn’t messy, just… hungry. Focused. She wanted him, and she wanted him now.
Yunho braced his hands on either side of her body, muscles coiled, heart thudding against bone that didn’t need it to beat. But when she pushed his pants down over his hips, past his thighs, all the way to the floor and he stepped out of them, her breath stuttered.
He watched her eyes drop. Watched them widen. “Jesus,” she murmured, more to herself than to him.
Yunho’s jaw clenched, throat dry as he watched her reach for him. Her hand wrapped around his dick, her grip just a little hesitant at first. He was hard, flushed, leaking at the tip and the way her thumb swiped across it, slow and curious, made his knees nearly buckle.
She sat up, licking her lips as she leaned in, and Yunho’s hand immediately slid into her hair, not guiding, just there. Needing to touch. Needing to feel her mouth on him.
The second she took him in, wet heat sliding over the tip, lips wrapping around him, tongue swirling, Yunho’s vision went red. His head dropped back with a hiss, muscles straining, fangs fully dropping with a sharp ache he barely registered. They tore through his gums, long and sharp and ready, his hunger howling now beneath the pleasure.
But she couldn’t see.
She was too focused, too far down.
Because she didn’t stop. She pushed lower, slowly, carefully, until her lips brushed the base and Yunho had to bite down on his own tongue just to keep from growling.
His hand clenched in her hair, eyes squeezed shut, throat working as he swallowed back every dark instinct clawing to the surface. Her mouth, fucking heaven. Her throat, warm and tight and perfect.
“Fuck,” he hissed, his voice raw and guttural. “You’re gonna kill me.”
She hummed in response, the vibration shooting straight through him, and Yunho’s eyes rolled back as his hips bucked forward just a fraction.
His fangs throbbed. His hunger coiled tighter. Every part of him screamed to bite, to claim, to feed.
But he didn’t.
Because even with his dick buried in her mouth and his fangs aching for blood, he still didn’t want to scare her.
He looked down, hand softening in her hair now, watching her work him with a hunger that almost matched his. Her lips were wet, stretched wide around him, eyes fluttering shut as she moved up and down, slick, filthy, perfect. He knew she couldn’t see his face like this, couldn’t see the way his mouth had shifted, his teeth glinting like a promise.
Thank god.
Because if she had?
She might’ve finally realized that what was groaning above her, twitching in her mouth, trembling at the edge of control…..
Wasn’t human.
Yunho’s hips jerked once, involuntarily, as her mouth dragged back up his dick, lips swollen and slick, tongue tracing a line that had him biting back a snarl. He was losing it. He could feel ii, muscles trembling, jaw tight, fangs fully out and pressing into the corners of his mouth.
If she kept going, if she looked up at him just once, if she so much as whispered his name like that again, he was going to bite her.
He slipped his hand down, fingers grazing her cheek, and then, gently, firmly, pulled her off. Her brows lifted slightly in surprise, lips wet, her breath warm against his skin. “Did I do something wrong?” she asked, voice sweet and hoarse and drenched in innocence she didn’t even know she had.
Yunho shook his head, breathing hard. “No,” he said roughly. “You’re perfect. I just… I need you.”
The way her expression melted at that, her lips parting, legs already lifting to wrap around his waist, it was too much.
He leaned in and caught her mouth with his, kissing her like he needed it to breathe, like her lips were the only thing anchoring him to the idea of restraint.
Then he shifted forward, the tip of his dick sliding against her soaked entrance, his hand bracing her lower back. She gasped into his mouth when he began to press in, her nails digging into his shoulders.
“Yunho…” she whimpered, hips twitching, trying to adjust as he pushed in slowly, steadily.
And god, she was tight. Hot, slick, pulsing around him like she was trying to squeeze the soul out of him, and if he had one left, he would’ve offered it.
“Fuck,” he groaned against her skin, eyes fluttering shut. “You feel… you feel too good.”
She clung to him, panting into his neck. “You’re so big… fuck, Yunho….. how are you even…”
He stilled for a moment, letting her adjust, forehead pressed to hers. Her walls clenched around him with every breath, every needy little whimper, and Yunho fought the bloodlust roaring in his ears. Her throat was right there, bare, slick with sweat, throbbing with heat and life.
He pulled back slowly, then thrust in again, shallow, controlled. But her moans. The way her legs tightened around him. The way she wanted more, hips rocking up to meet him, he broke.
He sat back on the bed, adjusting his grip on her hips, and in one smooth motion, lifted her up, just enough so gravity made her drop back down onto him.
She cried out, head thrown back, her voice echoing off his walls like a fucking prayer.
Yunho growled low, his fingers digging into her thighs as he bounced her on his dick, harder now, deeper, thrusting up into her with a force he’d been holding back for too long.
Every time she moaned his name, he slammed into her harder. Every time her nails raked down his chest, he lost another piece of his restraint.
Her body rocked against his, and he used his strength to hold her just enough above the bed so he could fuck into her from beneath, the slap of skin on skin filling the room like a rhythm built for worship.
He was shaking. He was coming undone. And when she buried her face into his neck, panting into the curve of it, he almost bit her.
Almost.
But instead, he kissed her shoulder, gritted his teeth, and drove into her again, harder, faster, more desperate.
“Say my name,” he panted, breath ragged. “Please.”
She whimpered against his ear, body trembling. “Yunho…. fuck, Yunho… I’m close”
He held her tighter, chest to chest, every thrust deeper than the last. And as she came again, falling apart in his arms, gasping and writhing and sobbing his name, Yunho wished he could forget.
Forget what she smelled like. What she sounded like. What it felt like to lose control and still try so damn hard to be good.
She came in his arms, writhing, trembling, clinging to him like she never wanted to let go and Yunho was ready to die like this. Her body still fluttered around him, aftershocks rippling through every inch of her, her breath hot against his neck. He was barely holding on. His thighs were trembling. His hands still gripped her hips like she might disappear.
But then she moved.
Before he could process it, she was pushing against his chest, shifting her weight, muscles tightening around him as she rolled her hips with purpose. He blinked, dazed, as she pressed her palm against his sternum and flipped them.
And he let her. He didn’t know why. Didn’t question it. Because the second she settled above him, still impaled on his dick, her hands splayed across his chest and her eyes locked on his with that dark, curious heat, he couldn’t breathe. Not that he needed to.
She started moving again. Slow, deliberate, dragging her hips in deep circles, teasing every ridge of him inside her. Yunho’s jaw clenched as he groaned, his hands twitching where they hovered beside him, wanting to grab her, to slam her down harder, to take over. Use his vampire speed, his strength to ruin her.
But he didn’t.
He watched her.
The way her lips parted when she found the angle she liked. The way her nails traced down his chest, not scratching, claiming. The way she leaned over him, her sweat slick skin glowing in the moonlight that filtered through the blinds.
Her hand wrapped around his throat. Gently. Firmly. Possessively and Yunho’s breath hitched. She wasn’t choking him. Not really. She didn’t press hard, didn’t threaten. But her hand stayed there, daring him to stay still. Daring him not to take control.
No one had ever touched him like this.
Not in ninety years.
No one had ever tried to hold him down. No one had ever succeeded. No one had ever made him want to give in.
But she did.
And god help him, he let her. Her hips moved faster now, her pace rough and perfect, and Yunho moaned, eyes fluttering shut as he let her ride him into oblivion. His hands stayed flat against the mattress. Every muscle in his body burned with restraint, but he didn’t fight it.
He let her fuck him.
Let her take what she wanted.
And when her fingers flexed around his throat, when she leaned in and kissed his jaw, whispered, “Mine tonight,” Yunho shattered.
His fangs pulsed, aching to sink into the curve of her neck, but he didn’t move. Didn’t bite. Just groaned deep in his chest, hips bucking up into her in time with her rhythm, chasing the edge he’d been holding off all night.
“Y/N,” he rasped, voice cracked and raw. “Fuck… you feel too good…. if you don’t stop……”
She didn’t. She rode him harder. Filthier. Her body bouncing in perfect rhythm, breasts teasing his chest, sweat dripping from her temple. She looked like a vision of sin, a dream made flesh, a goddess riding the devil himself and making him beg.
He was going to come. He could feel it building, deep and hot and consuming. But he didn’t want to finish without her. Not until she fell apart one more time.
He reached between them, finally touching again, thumb circling her clit with practiced precision, watching her fall apart in real time.
She gasped. Moaned. Twitched.
And then she came again, with his name on her lips, her body collapsing against him, tight, pulsing, dragging him down with her.
He came with a roar. His hips jerked once, twice, driving deep as he spilled into her, vision going white at the edges. He grabbed the sheets, her hips, her back, anything but her neck, shaking as the orgasm ripped through him like something ancient and terrifying.
And when it was over, when she was still clinging to him, breathless and wrecked, he realized he’d let her have everything.
His control. His body. His restraint.
And the scariest part?
He liked it.
═════════ ═════════ ═════════
Mingi hated mornings.
The sun didn’t kill him. It wasn’t that dramatic. But it drained him, left his limbs heavy, his head foggy, his patience nonexistent. That’s why his hoodie was up, his sunglasses on, and his mouth full of lukewarm coffee he’d barely swallowed by the time he opened the door to the apartment.
He stepped inside, nudged it shut with his hip, and yawned through his teeth.
The place was quiet.
Too quiet.
No music. No kettle boiling. No Yunho humming in the kitchen like he usually did after a long night of feeding, or fucking. The only sound was the lazy hum of the AC and the slow thud of his own heartbeat in his ears.
He dropped his keys in the dish by the door and was halfway through unzipping his hoodie when…. he smelled it.
Sweet. Sharp. Lingering.
Human.
The scent was intoxicating, sweet, salty, and slick with the kind of sex that clung to walls. It wasn’t fresh anymore. Just faded enough that it tickled the back of his tongue like the memory of a kiss he didn’t get.
It made him curious as he followed the scent to Yunho’s room where Mingi’s best friend for the last century was out cold. Face turned toward the wall, hair a mess, lips kiss bitten and parted like he’d been moaning in his sleep. One arm was slung across the mattress like he’d reached out for someone who wasn’t there anymore. The sheets barely covered his hips, just enough to be frustrating.
Mingi smirked.
“Well, fuck me,” he muttered, pushing his sunglasses up onto his head. “Guess you did get your dick wet last night.”
He crouched beside the bed, not touching, just watching.
Yunho didn’t move.
Mingi leaned in just a little, voice dropping to a singsong whisper. “Yunhooo. Rise and grind, sex demon.”
A groan. Muffled. Annoyed.
Mingi grinned. “Oh, don’t go all shy on me now,” he said, nudging the mattress with his knee. “You smell like a goddamn porno. I thought you were trying to be low profile lately.”
Yunho’s voice was rough when he finally cracked one eye open. “You’re the worst person I know.”
“And yet, a century later and you still want to be my best friend.”
“Remind me to stake you later.”
Mingi laughed, flopping dramatically onto the edge of the bed, ignoring Yunho’s glare. “You should see yourself right now. You look fucked. Like, you let someone ride you until you lost consciousness kind of fucked. Who is it?”
Yunho blinked up at the ceiling, throat working. “No idea.”
“Oh,” Mingi grinned wider. “One of those nights.”
Yunho ran a hand through his hair, wincing slightly at the sensitivity in his muscles. “She was… different.”
Mingi raised a brow. “Different how?”
Yunho didn’t answer right away. His eyes were distant. Haunted almost. “I let her take control,” he said finally. Voice quiet. Like he didn’t quite believe it himself.
Mingi sat up straighter. “Wait. You let someone on top of you?”
Yunho rolled his eyes, dragging a pillow over his face.
“That’s it. You’re in love. I’m calling Wooyoung. I need backup.”
“Get out.”
Mingi stood, heading toward the door but not before taking another deep inhale. That scent… it still lingered. Soft. Addicting.
═════════ ═════════ ═════════
Two months in New York, and it was finally starting to feel like home.
Not perfect. Not easy. But familiar enough that Y/N didn’t wake up panicked every morning. The apartment she shared with her younger half brother, San, still smelled like paint and cheap coffee, but it was theirs.
San came out of his room around 6 PM, hair still damp from a shower, pulling on a black tee over his toned chest. He was distracted, again, but that wasn’t new.
“You working late?” she asked from the couch, half wrapped in a blanket with her laptop balanced on her knees, she wasn’t due for her shift at the diner, a job she hated, until later.
San grabbed his phone and keys from the counter, shoving them into his jacket. “Yeah. Jongho’s off tonight so I’m pulling the late shift.”
“Again?”
He shrugged. “Bar gets busy Thursdays. You know that.”
She hummed in response, not really thinking much of it. San had been working a lot lately, but she figured he was trying to impress his new boss.
Besides, she had her own distractions tonight.
Her friend and coworker, Santana, had texted her earlier about a party downtown. One of those rooftop things with overpriced drinks, pretty strangers, and the kind of music that made your thighs ache by midnight. Y/N wasn’t planning to stay long, just needed a night to feel something other than exhausted.
She got dressed after San left, black mini dress, chunky boots, leather jacket, lip gloss that looked like sin. She didn’t try hard. She didn’t need to. New York wasn’t LA. People noticed confidence here, not effort.
By the time she made it to the rooftop, the sky was deep indigo and the skyline was a blur of stars and light pollution. The music was loud. The crowd was already drunk. And Y/N? She didn’t care about either.
Not until she saw him.
Across the rooftop, tall, lean, broad shouldered. A black silk shirt half unbuttoned, chains around his neck, and the kind of energy that pulled attention like gravity. He had sunglasses on even though it was pitch black outside, and when he laughed at something the guy next to him said, his tongue peeked out just slightly and she felt it.
Somewhere in her gut. Somewhere low and coiled and dangerous. She didn’t know his name. Didn’t know he’d just fed an hour ago. Didn’t know he lived with the man who’d already ruined her once.
All she knew was that he was watching her now. And she wasn’t planning on going home alone.
“Okay, bitch,” Santana hissed beside her, snapping her gum. “Do you see that man over there? The one with the sunglasses on at night like he’s some dark and mysterious man candy out of a bad telenovela?”
Y/N laughed into her drink, sipping the cheap rum and pineapple combo Santana had shoved into her hand earlier. “You mean the one with the mouth I could sit on? Nope. No idea who you’re talking about.”
Santana wheezed. “Y/N.”
“What?”
“He is staring at you like he wants to eat you.”
Y/N side eyed her. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“No, baby, I say that like you might need holy water in your panties before the night’s over.”
Y/N snorted, but her smile tugged wider. She risked a glance over her shoulder.
Still watching her. His sunglasses were pushed up into his hair now, revealing dark hooded eyes lined in smudged black. His lips were slightly parted, the corner tilted in a faint smirk. Like he knew what they were talking about. Like he didn’t care. Like he was already imagining what she looked like underneath that dress.
And suddenly the air felt hotter.
“You should go talk to him,” Santana said, nudging her elbow.
“You’re the one always telling me not to hook up with strangers again.”
“Yeah, but that’s because most of them don’t look like they could snap me in half with their thighs and make me thank them.”
Y/N raised a brow. “You want me to thank him for you?”
“If you don’t go talk to him in the next thirty seconds, I will.”
That got her moving. “I’ll ride that man’s face like a fucking roller coaster.” She handed Santana her drink, smoothed the hem of her dress, and turned toward the inevitable. Each step across the rooftop pulsed like slow music in her ears. Her heels clicked on the concrete. His gaze didn’t flicker.
When she finally reached him, he didn’t say anything. Just looked her over, slow and unashamed, his head tilting slightly like she was prey and prize all at once.
“You’ve been staring,” she said, arms folding across her chest, trying to stay cool.
He smirked, teeth flashing faintly. “You noticed.” His voice was low, gravel smooth, and entirely too confident.
Y/N bit the inside of her cheek. “Not exactly subtle.”
“Didn’t want to be.”
Her breath caught as he stepped closer, not too close. Just enough that she could smell the faint hint of something earthy and sharp. Like smoke and cedar and something older.
She raised a brow. “Got a name?”
“Mingi.”
His hand extended casually, but there was nothing casual in the way he looked at her. Like he already knew how she’d taste. Like he already knew how she’d sound, moaning his name into a pillow or his mouth or both.
“Y/N,” she said, taking his hand.
He didn’t shake it.
He kissed it.
“Of course it is,” he murmured.
Mingi didn’t usually go to these things. Rooftop parties, open bar invites, the drunken hollowness of human lust echoing off cheap speakers and neon lights, it was all noise. And after a week of double shifts at Velvet Midnight, his tolerance for anything loud, flashy, or alive was razor thin.
But something pulled him here tonight.
And now, standing by the railing, drink untouched in his hand, he finally understood why.
She was walking toward him.
Legs like temptation, lips glossed in something sticky and sweet, black dress clinging to her body like it knew how he liked it. Her eyes locked on his like she wasn’t sure if she wanted to kiss him or slap him, and Mingi felt his pulse twitch in places that had no business reacting to a stranger.
Her scent hit him halfway across the rooftop. Warm, musky, sharp with the tang of sweat and skin and something richer underneath. Like crushed berries and honey and the faintest trace of a moan caught in silk sheets. Something familiar though he couldn’t place it.
It made his mouth water.
Made his gums ache.
His fangs threatened to drop right then and there.
But he held back.
Barely.
She stopped in front of him, arms crossed, chin tilted, confidence rolling off her like heat. “You’ve been staring.”
He almost smirked.
Almost.
Instead, he met her eyes, slow and deliberate, letting his gaze drag from her lips to her throat to the bare skin above her collarbone.
“You noticed,” he murmured.
She was already affecting him. That quick. That strong. And still, he couldn’t place it.
The scent. The way his instincts roared and purred and begged.
She to “Y/N.”
It hit him like a whisper he’d heard in a dream once and forgotten the second he woke up.
He kissed her hand, lips brushing her skin just lightly enough to taste her without tasting her.
They didn’t talk long.
They didn’t need to.
A few exchanged glances. One drink. His fingers brushed her hip, and she didn’t move away. When he asked her, casually, like it didn’t mean everything, “You wanna get out of here?”
She nodded once, slow, sure.
And they left together.
He still didn’t realize it.
Didn’t recognize the scent as the same one that had haunted his apartment two months ago, when he had come home to Yunho, ruined and useless for days, smelling like someone who had marked him from the inside out.
They climbed into the back of a cab, her laughing at something he said, fingers brushing his thigh, eyes glinting with reckless promise.
He still didn’t know.
That the human girl he was about to fuck tonight?
Was the same human girl Yunho never really came back from.
They barely made it out of the cab before Mingi had her pressed up against the brick outside her building, her fingers tangled in his shirt, her mouth hot and demanding against his. Her lips tasted like rum and sin, her body warm where it pressed against his, and he was already painfully hard, already imagining what she’d sound like if she moaned his name.
He was going to ruin her.
And she was going to love it.
They stumbled up the front steps, laughing between kisses, her breath short and her hands not exactly subtle as they slipped beneath the hem of his shirt. Mingi let her guide him through the lobby, down the hallway, until they stopped in front of a door with a scuffed up number on it.
She fished her keys out of her bag with a frustrated little huff, her hands shaking from adrenaline and want. Mingi stood just behind her, watching the way her dress clung to the curve of her hips, the way her breath caught when his fingers skimmed the bare skin just above the waistband.
She finally got the door unlocked, pushing it open. Warm light from a kitchen lamp spilled into the hallway, casting gold across the floor as she turned, silhouetted by the apartment behind her, one brow arched, lips still kiss swollen.
“You coming in?” she asked.
Mingi froze.
Just for a second.
The words echoed in his head. Ancient. Loaded. A trigger more powerful than any weapon and his lips curved slowly. Wolfish. Dangerous. Satisfied. Because she didn’t know. Didn’t realize what she’d just done.
Didn’t know that vampires couldn’t enter a human home uninvited, an old truth, buried in folklore and history, but still very real.
She’d just opened her door, her body, her whole life, to him. And he was going to take every inch she offered.
Mingi stepped forward, crossing the threshold like smoke, his eyes locked on hers. “I thought you’d never ask.”
The door shut behind them with a soft click. The apartment was warm. Lived in. Faint scent of cinnamon and sandalwood in the air. Two mugs in the sink. A jacket tossed over a chair.
But the space was empty.
Her roommate, whoever that was, wasn’t home. And Mingi?
He didn’t care. Not with her standing in front of him, slowly backing toward the couch, fingers already reaching for the zipper of her dress.
His shirt hit the floor first.
Then her laugh, low, wicked, inviting.
And just like that, Mingi crossed a different kind of threshold.
The moment she invited him in, Mingi was hers.
Not in any emotional sense, please, he wasn’t that far gone. But his body? His hunger? His focus?
Completely hers.
She reached for him, arms looping around his neck, pulling him into a kiss that stole the last breath of restraint from his chest. Her lips were soft and greedy, tongue slipping between his with practiced ease, and Mingi groaned low in his throat, gripping her waist, sliding his hands down to cup the backs of her thighs.
“Bedroom?” he muttered against her mouth, voice already ragged.
“Down the hall, second door on the left.”
He didn’t wait for further instruction. In one swift motion, he picked her up, effortless, her legs wrapped around his waist, her laugh breathy and wild in his ear as he carried her down the hall.
She peppered kisses along his jaw, nipping at his neck, completely unaware that she was playing with a fire far older than she’d ever known.
And Mingi? He was too caught up to care. He didn’t notice the framed photo on the entryway table. Didn’t glance at it. Didn’t even feel its importance brush against him.
If he had, he would’ve seen it, Two teenagers, her and a smiling boy with soft eyes and dimples, arms slung over each other’s shoulders. Their parents behind them, all sun drenched and grinning.
San.
The same human Mingi had worked beside for the last two months. The only human dancing in Velvet Midnight.
But that realization? Wouldn’t come tonight.
He kicked her bedroom door open with one booted foot, crossing the threshold and laying her back on the bed like she was precious. She wasn’t, of course. Not really. But damn if she didn’t feel like it.
Her breath hitched as he looked down at her, reaching for his belt, but he caught her wrists gently, pinning them above her head as he leaned in. “You know,” he whispered, brushing his nose against hers, “you keep letting me take the lead for someone who clearly likes being on top.”
She grinned, eyes hooded. “Then stop talking and show me what you’ve got.”
Mingi growled at her words, at her scent, hitting him like a brick wall. Slick, pulsing, pheromonal. It wasn’t just arousal, though she was soaking in it. It was her.Y/N.
And something about her scent was starting to unravel him. He didn’t understand it, he’d had his fill at the club the night before. No blood cravings. No hunger. But now? Now his throat was tight. His fangs were threatening to drop. His body was vibrating under his skin like it hadn’t in years.
She smelled like fucking temptation. And she didn’t even know. She didn’t flinch when he hovered over her, eyes dark and heavy lidded. She didn’t question the way he moved, predatory, smooth, slow like he had all the time in the world to devour her. She didn’t notice the tension in his jaw when she tilted her head and gave him full access to the delicate curve of her neck.
“God,” she whispered as he trailed kisses down her throat, her fingers in his hair. “You feel so good.”
He swallowed hard, lips brushing that warm, thudding pulse just beneath her skin. One bite. One slip. One second of letting go and…..
No.
He pulled back slightly, blinking through the haze.
Not yet. Not her. Not when she didn’t know.
Because whatever kind of human she was, she didn’t know what he was.
He kissed her harder. Rougher. Lower.
A distraction. For both of them.
She arched into him, hips lifting, legs wrapping around his waist again. Her dress was already hiked up, her thighs bare and trembling, and when she looked at him like she was ready to let him do anything, everything, he almost forgot what the hell he was trying to hold back.
“You okay?” she asked, breathless, brushing his hair back as he hovered above her.
He nodded slowly. Smirked.
“Just trying to be good.”
She grinned, pulling him down by his shirt. “Don’t be.”
He growled low in his throat. Not human. Not even close. But she didn’t hear it for what it was. Because all she knew was that Mingi kissed like he was starving, and touched like he already knew where she was going to fall apart.
And he was trying, really fucking trying, to stay in control.
She was already breathless beneath him, legs trembling around his hips, her dress bunched up around her waist and her underwear somewhere on the floor. Her hands gripped the collar of his shirt like it was the only thing keeping her grounded, and Mingi? Mingi was floating somewhere between restraint and devastation.
Her scent was still clawing at him, curling around his ribs like smoke, rich and sweet and soaked into the air. His fangs were just barely held back, and if she tilted her head too far again, gave him another glance at that soft, pulsing throat, he wasn’t sure he’d survive the night without tasting her.
He suddenly remembered what she said. On the rooftop. Before she even walked over. He’d heard her. Every. Damn. Word.
You mean the one with the mouth I could sit on?
But it was what came next that had burned into the back of his brain like a brand.
I’d ride that man’s face like a fucking rollercoaster.
He’d choked on his drink when he heard it, hidden behind his sunglasses, pretending not to listen. He’d stored it away. Filed it under immediate priorities if things go right tonight.
And now? Now she was sprawled beneath him, chest rising fast, pupils blown wide, and he couldn’t stop himself from smirking.
“Hey,” he murmured, voice low as he kissed a slow line down her jaw. She blinked up at him, dazed. “Hm?”
“You said you wanted to ride my face.”
She froze. “What?”
Mingi just grinned, that wolfish, smug, lazy grin that always meant trouble. “I think you should.”
She opened her mouth to question it, to ask how the hell he knew, but then his hands were already on her thighs, strong and steady, flipping her effortlessly until she was on top again.
“Mingi….” she started, but he cut her off with a kiss to the inside of her thigh, trailing lower, his breath hot and hungry.
“You want it or not?” he teased, dark eyes flicking up at her. She was already moving, crawling up his chest, breath shaking. “Don’t stop talking unless you’re choking on me.”
He growled. “Bossy,” he muttered, pleased as she lowered herself slowly, her thighs trembling around his head, hands braced on the wall behind the bed. Mingi’s mouth was already open, tongue flat and ready, licking up the center of her, groaning the second he tasted her fully.
Sweet. Slick. Fucking addicting. He buried himself in her, hands gripping her thighs, guiding her movements as he devoured her like worship. Tongue circling her clit, dipping down, fucking her slow and deep while her hips began to rock, testing, teasing.
Y/N gasped, the sound wrecked and desperate. “Oh my god… Mingi….”
He moaned into her, the vibration making her shudder, thighs clamping tighter around his head. He didn’t stop. He didn’t want to stop. He let her grind down on his face, faster now, chasing her high with complete abandon. Her fingers fisted his hair. Her cries got louder. She didn’t even realize how deep his fangs had dropped, how close he was to biting, how completely gone he was in her taste.
And when she came, shaking above him, hips jerking uncontrollably as she moaned his name, he licked her through it, drank it in like salvation, and thought, I need more.
Her thighs were still shaking when she started to lift off of him, gasping, ruined, sweat dripping down the curve of her back.
Mingi didn’t let her get far. He grabbed her. One hand curled around her waist, the other braced at her hip as he flipped her effortlessly, pressing her down into the mattress with a force that had her breath stuttering out in a shocked, breathless sound.
She didn’t fight it. She moaned into the pillow, her body limp with afterglow and anticipation, back arched perfectly. Mingi sat up, removing his pants, boxers, all gone as Mingi ran his hand down her spine, slow, possessive.
“You okay, baby?” he rasped.
She nodded, but the sound that came out was closer to a whimper as he leaned down, bare skin pressing against her back, his dick heavy and hot against the curve of her ass as he pressed a slow kiss between her shoulder blades.
Then another. Lower. Another, just above her tailbone. His fangs grazed her skin, barely. Just enough to make her shiver and gasp into the sheets. He smirked against her skin. “Sensitive.”
And then, he sank into her. One slow, unforgiving thrust. Deep. Stretching. Complete. Her body arched like a bowstring, her mouth falling open around a sound that wasn’t even a moan, it was a broken, wrecked sob.
“F… fuck…. Mingi!”
“Shhh…” he whispered, brushing her hair back with one hand while the other gripped her hip like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. “You can take it.”
She felt too good. Hot and tight and pulsing around him like she was made for this, made for him. His vision blurred for a second, fangs throbbing, his breath coming out in ragged gasps as he fought the urge to bite her. Claim her. Fuck her into his mark.
But not yet. Not yet.
He rolled his hips back and thrust again, slow but deep, burying himself to the hilt. Her moan was muffled in the sheets, her fists gripping the blanket like she didn’t know what else to hold onto.
“Look at you,” he groaned, pulling back just enough to snap his hips forward again. “So fucking tight. Still trembling from riding my face and already falling apart again.”
She whimpered. “Y…. you’re so big…. fuck….”
He was fucking her now, harder, faster, his hips slamming into her ass as he pulled her back onto his dick with every thrust. Her body took it, melting beneath him, shaking under him.
And Mingi was unraveling. “Tell me who this pussy belongs to,” he hissed, voice dangerous and her answer was breathless, broken. “Y… you…. fuck… it’s yours, Mingi…. yours!”
She was choking on moans now, wrecked, shaking, her body stretched out beneath him as he drove into her harder, deeper, skin slapping against skin in a rhythm that felt eternal. Her hands gripped the sheets, her voice high and helpless.
“Fuck… Mingi….. I can’t” she gasped.
“Yes, you can,” he growled into her neck. “You’re gonna come for me again. I feel it…. you’re right there.”
She was tight, pulsing, fluttering around his dick like her body was trying to keep him inside forever. He shifted his angle just slightly, one hand slipping under her to circle her clit, the other gripping her hip hard enough to leave bruises.
That was it. She screamed his name, her body convulsing around him, thighs trembling, and then she snapped. Her back arched, legs kicking out, and with a helpless sob she squirted, hot and wet and completely undone, soaking his dick, his thighs, the sheets beneath them.
Mingi lost it. He groaned low and fucking feral, feeling her completely give out beneath him, body limp and twitching, breath catching in soft, ruined gasps. And that was when his fangs grazed her neck. Just a scratch. Just a slip.
He hadn’t meant to, he was just mouthing at her throat, drunk on her scent, on the way she shattered under him, and his fang caught skin.
Barely.
But it was enough.
He felt it the moment her blood hit his tongue, warm, rich, devastating. Everything stopped. The world tilted. His body froze. And then the taste bloomed in his mouth like velvet and fire.
Sweet. Pure. Unmistakably hers.
His dick throbbed inside her. His breath caught. And for the first time since he had first turned, he shuddered from the taste of blood alone.
Y/N didn’t even seem to notice. She was still whimpering into the sheets, her body spent, his name still whispered between breaths like a spell.
But Mingi? He was fucked. Because now that he’d tasted her, just that tiny scratch,
he knew he’d never forget it.
Never stop craving it.
She was trembling beneath him, body limp, thighs slick and shaking as her orgasm echoed in the messy wet beneath them. Her breath hitched with every aftershock, face buried in the sheets, completely wrecked.
And Mingi had never seen anything so fucking beautiful.
But he wasn’t done. He pulled out slowly, dragging his dick through the mess of her release, biting back a groan at how soaked she was, how perfect she still felt wrapped around him. Her back arched slightly as he shifted, and she turned her head to look at him, eyes glassy, lips swollen, a faint red mark on her neck where his fang had barely scratched her.
He didn’t look at it. He couldn’t. Instead, he slid his hands under her thighs and flipped her onto her back, her body rolling easily into his hold, pliant and breathless and blinking up at him like she didn’t even realize how completely she’d destroyed him.
She opened her mouth to speak, but he kissed her first, hard. Mouths colliding. Tongues messy. Teeth clashing. He gripped her thighs, lifted her legs onto his shoulders, the position angling her perfectly as he pressed forward again, thick and leaking and still hard as he slid back into her.
She gasped against his mouth, fingers clutching his shoulders. “Fuck…Mingi…..” she whined, already close again, already falling apart for him.
“You’re so fucking perfect,” he growled against her lips, hips rolling deep, each thrust slamming into the spot that made her eyes flutter and her breath stutter. “Taking me so well, baby…. so tight, fuck”
She kissed him again, desperate, hands fisting in his hair, biting his lip. Hard. Sharp. Enough to sting. He hissed into her mouth, hips snapping faster, his body going rigid above her as the pain mixed with the pressure, the taste of her blood still on his tongue….
They came together.
Her legs tensed around his shoulders, her body trembling as she moaned his name like a curse and a prayer, while he groaned low and broken, thrusting deep one final time as he spilled into her, filling her completely.
His body shook with the release, intense, searing, fucking cosmic.
They stayed like that, bodies locked together, breath mingling, mouths pressed against each other as the heat faded slowly.
She whispered his name again, softer now.
And Mingi kissed her like he was afraid she’d disappear if he didn’t.
═════════ ═════════ ═════════
It was early afternoon, and the bar across the street from Velvet Midnight, Joong’s Fang, hadn’t opened to the public yet, which made it the perfect place for certain night creatures to get their caffeine fix. The lights were dim, the air still laced with the faint scent of whiskey and sweat from the night before, and Yunho was leaned against the counter sipping a cold brew like it might give him answers to life’s biggest regrets.
Across from him, San wiped down the bar in his usual calm, casual rhythm, black t shirt clinging to his arms, hair tucked behind his ears, a single silver ring glinting on his right hand. He looked like any human bartender.
But he wasn’t naive. Not anymore. He knew exactly who he was serving. What they were. What he was dancing beside almost every night.
And he kept that truth locked tight behind a calm smile.
“So,” Yunho drawled, “you just not gonna come home anymore? We still roommates or did you move out and forget to tell me?”
San arched a brow without looking up, wondering who the vampire was talking to and Yunho smirked, sipping again.
Then the door opened.
Mingi stumbled in, hoodie up, sunglasses on, hunched like a cat avoiding daylight.
“Speak of the devil,” Yunho muttered.
Mingi dropped onto the stool beside him with a dramatic sigh. “Fucking sun.”
“You reek,” Yunho said without looking at him.
“I reek of happiness,” Mingi shot back, peeling the hoodie off his head and pushing his glasses up. “And pussy.”
San paused, his grip on the rag didn’t change, but the wipe slowed just slightly. “Jesus.”
Yunho grimaced. “Classy.”
“You’re just jealous.”
Yunho side eyed him. “Please. You’re acting like you discovered sex for the first time.”
Mingi grinned, eyes still slightly glassy. “Nah, man. This one… different.”
“Oh?” Yunho said flatly. “Do tell.”
Mingi leaned back on the stool, draping his arm across the bar like he was lounging in a throne. “She’s got this laugh, man. And her mouth? Fucking sinful. Like… she came so hard she squirted all over my thighs and then begged me to keep going.”
San’s hand froze, wishing he was anywhere else than hearing the two vampires talk about the naive human girl Mingi fucked last night.
Yunho groaned. “Spare me the imagery.”
“I’m just saying.” Mingi smirked. “I didn’t sleep. Not for a second. Not with her riding me half the night and then kicking me out like, my brother’s gonna be home soon.”
Yunho rolled his eyes. “What, you in love now?”
Mingi shrugged. “Kinda feels like it. Like… turn me and spend eternity with me kinda love.”
Yunho choked on his drink. “You’re so pathetic.”
Mingi shoved his shoulder. “You were pathetic for a human what? A month ago?”
Yunho snapped his gaze to him. “I was not pathetic. And… it was like two months ago.”
“Totally pathetic.” Mingi grinned as San groaned loudly from behind the bar, the poor human oblivious that the human girl they were talking about was his sister.
And Yunho and Mingi had no idea their human girl was the same girl.
⭑ bf!mingi x gf!reader x bestie!yunho
⭑ planning to buy a house, get married and start a family within the next few years, you and mingi are the blueprint for the perfect relationship— until one of yunho’s infamous stories about his intriguing sex life gets stuck in your head for a little too long, and has you curious about spicing up your own sex life.
⭑ smut minors dni, praise, oral/both ways, p in v, degradation, choking, mention of toys, overstim, voyeurism? heavy on dom/sub dynamics, reader is a switch and so is mingi, yunho is a dom, very experimental/educational vibe, mxm
⭑ part one of ? / wc 21.4k
⭑ — this idea came to me late at night and plagued me until i finished writing it. i am obsessed with this trio, this dynamic. i love them so and i hope you do too <3
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Yunho faced the two of you from the twin blue upholstered couch across your living room, his brows slanted, upper lip raised in clear disgust. “Iron Man 2 clears the entire verse, best MCU movie to date.”
You faced your boyfriend with a smile, eyebrows raised, expression saying ‘Are you really gonna take that?’
Lopsided front teeth poked out from his pink, plump lips, a smile that was fighting to keep itself hidden. Mingi shook his head and leaned back, his heavy palm sliding over your knee, “Can’t argue with that, excuse me for wanting to watch Endgame.”
“Psychotic suggestion for movie night,” Yunho says and a disbelieving huff of a laugh falls from his lips right after, “Excuse me for not being in the mood to cry.”
“What if we watch a romcom?” You look between the two who give you wary glances, but don’t respond. “If we’re going to watch a Marvel movie, we’re starting from the beginning and not watching anything else until we finish all of them. Is that something either of you want to commit to?”
They both shrug as if you have all the time in the world, because you do. Every Friday night Yunho came over with snacks and soda in tow, sometimes beer if he had a particularly shitty week, and the three of you sat around your living room shooting the shit until you decided on a movie. It was an unspoken thing, your movie nights, your weekly hangouts, they’d started almost immediately upon moving into your shared apartment with your boyfriend, Mingi, and simply never stopped. Rarely did a week go missed.
You huffed a heavy breath, sinking back into your couch, snuggling up to Mingi. You slid your gaze over to Yunho who held the remote, “What are you waiting for? Everyone knows the first watch is The First Avenger.”
Yunho didn’t respond, but instead pointed the remote toward the TV, his hand completely swallowing the device beneath his palm as he searched the movie and put it on. You tugged the blanket that laid over the back of the couch over yourself and Mingi, laying your head over his shoulder, letting your arms wrap around one of his, letting his warmth seep into you. It’s been years since you’ve seen this movie, since any of you have seen this movie probably, yet your brain wanted to do anything else but pay attention.
With it being days after your period ended you were now nearing dangerous territory, ovulation week, a week your boyfriend adored yet had to physically prepare himself for. You resembled a fucking hormone monster for a long five days, needing your boyfriend at all hours of the day to tame the fire that would not die down inside you. Before Yunho came over Mingi had already taken you six ways to Sunday, you only stopped because Yunho trudged inside your apartment with a six pack and a face contorted with grief.
Another situationship over, he’d said. Not amicably, either.
You didn’t see the big deal, she wasn’t anything special, the girl he was hooking up with six months ago that he ended things with was better for him than this one. But Yunho is Yunho, somehow still a glutton for punishment as if it didn’t completely offset how he was with women, how he fucked. Not that you knew from experience, but from the stories he’s told while five beers deep, lounged out in your living room, complaining to you and your boyfriend, you’ve learned some things.
Things you could not think about right now. Not while your body was begging you to make a baby, not while you were literally laying on your boyfriend, not while Yunho was sitting just across the living room.
Right now was not the time.
But would it ever be the time to think about your boyfriend’s best friend’s sex life?
It’s not that you inherently wanted Yunho. You couldn’t possibly deny a gorgeous man’s beauty, but it wasn’t about wanting Yunho. It was the stories, he never should have opened his fucking mouth– how he naturally slips into dominance with every woman he sleeps with, no, he doesn’t slip, it’s intentional.
Yunho is a Dom. How he instructs, how he expects submission, how he corrects, how he tames.
Your sex life with Mingi was far from dull, Yunho and his stupid stories should be miles from your mind, but you can’t control the thoughts, especially not right now. You untwist your arms from around Mingi’s bicep, letting your palm fall to his thigh, his bare skin feeling like velvet. So soft despite the hair that grew sparsely in that area, you’d give anything to let your tongue lick up the skin, to watch his eyes roll back, to hear his deep groan as you suck a mark into him.
Your thighs tightened at the thought, eyebrows twisting because you know Mingi could feel it, and how he shifted beneath you confirmed it. You tilted your head, peeking up at him with a sheepish look through your lashes, just to be met with a disapproving crinkle between his brows.
You could basically hear his thoughts, Don’t even think about it.
You almost pouted. I need you. Now.
He shook his head once. Not here.
You looked toward the hallway where your bathroom was, that led to your bedroom. We have plenty of options.
He glanced at Yunho, then back at you. When he leaves, I’ll take care of you.
You held his gaze, I can’t wait that long.
He didn’t back down. You can, and you will.
You huffed, shuffling to the side, putting inches of space between yourself and your boyfriend. You caught the sideways glance from Yunho which lasted all of a millisecond before his eyes were back on the screen, watching the movie again. You pouted, arms crossing over your stomach, legs propped up on the coffee table in front of you that was littered with empty bottles of beer and half-filled chip bowls.
Mingi clearly wasn’t going to crack, and you could hold onto your anger until it killed you, so you leaned onto the armrest of the opposite side of the couch, the pillow shoved beneath you not giving a shred of the comfort your boyfriend’s body did. You kept your eyes trained on the screen, brain whirling in frustration and arousal, letting yourself daydream about Yunho’s debauched sex life until your eyes inevitably closed.
You woke to fingers hooking into your waistband, sliding it down your thighs with careful precision, like he didn’t want to wake you. You lifted your hips anyhow, welcoming the head of black hair between your legs, eyes still heavy and low-lidded with sleep. Mingi looked up at you through thick lashes, gaze heavy, his lips slightly parted, as if he’s been waiting for this.
“He just left,” he said like an excuse as your sweatpants hit the floor, black panties folded into the gray fabric, a contrast to your deep hardwood floors. Your back arched on command as he bent down, laying on his stomach, strong arms hooking under your thighs.
“Mm, needed this pussy just as much as she needed me,” he didn’t dare glance back up at you, eyes zeroed in on your center, leaning in just as your legs parted. He started slowly, tongue slipping through your folds, his eyes softly shut, ripping mewls from the back of your throat, low and grumbled, muddled with sleep.
Your hand flew to his hair as your chin tipped back, your neck digging into the uncomfortable armrest, the pillow beneath you doing nothing to soothe the ache. You didn’t care, you barely noticed, not with your boyfriend’s head between your legs, lips wrapped around your clit, sucking just the way you liked. He groaned as you pulled on his roots, tongue flattening against your folds, sliding upward to draw circles into your clit.
You sighed, staring at him through heavy lids, watching as his face contorted in pleasure, how his hips rutted into the cushions at the end of the couch. He pulled a hand from beneath your thigh, ripping his mouth away to spread your folds with his fingers, finally glancing up at you. Noticing your expression, he let out a huff of amusement, lips tilted in a smirk, “Have a good nap?”
Eyebrows knitted in pleasure and anticipation, you nodded, lips parted, fingers that fell to the couch gripping at the fabric. He chuckled as he inserted the tip of his middle finger into your center, earning a gasp from you. With his focus back at your core, he asked, “What had you so worked up?”
You were thankful he kept his eyes down, you couldn’t control the way your eyes widened ever so slightly, couldn’t hide your reaction to the last question you’d expect him to ask. You wished you could avoid the question, you couldn’t answer honestly and say that you were daydreaming about his best friend’s sex life.
You stuttered, “S-Steve Rogers was on the screen.”
He paused, looking back up at you with his eyebrows raised, “Steve Rogers had you ready to fuck me in the bathroom with Yunho, of all people, here?”
You cracked a smile, it was kind of funny, even funnier that it was believable. “Can you blame me?”
“No,” he bid you one more amused glance before he slipped his middle finger inside you, “I can’t.”
You gasped a moan, back arching again, hips bucking up to meet the length of his finger. He pumped it inside of you once, twice before he was curling it, the pad of his finger rubbing up against that spot inside you that made your bones feel like jelly. You were loud now, moans slipping from your lips one after another as he built up a rhythm, his finger curling into you with each thrust, putting pressure where you needed it. When he brought his lips back down to suck on your clit your hands flew to his roots again, holding him there, broken cries leaving your lips, he was so fucking good at this.
He knew how to coax you to orgasm better than you did by now. You supposed after being together for years, he should. You gasped when his teeth grazed your clit, hips bucking into him, curses flying from your lips. “F-fuck,” you hissed, “Yes, Mingi, just like that.”
He grunted in response, feeling your walls tightening around his finger, quickening his pace, the rhythm you needed to push you over the edge. Your legs shook around his head, your breath catching in your throat, shakily inhaling with each wave of pleasure as he brought you to orgasm with ease, movements he’s been perfecting for years now.
“Please tell me you’re planning on fucking me again,” you gave yourself no rest, staring at him through glassy eyes, your body heavy and slightly spent, you didn’t even know what number orgasm you were on today.
“I don’t know if my dick still works,” he sat back on his calves, pulling your body towards him with your hips. One fluid movement, so easy, he was so strong, he could throw you around if he wanted to, god, you wish he wanted to.
You rolled your eyes, arms reaching in front of you to wrap around his biceps, letting your fingers slip beneath the sleeves of his tee shirt as he bent down, bringing his face to yours. “I watched you hump the couch two minutes ago, Mingi.”
“Hey,” he pulled back before you could attach your lips to his, “Don’t make fun of me for that.”
“What?” You smiled, head tilting to the side, “I would never.”
He pouted, bottom lip jutting out, wet and plump and soft, your arms slid up to flatten your hands around his shoulders, pulling him back down. “I think it’s sexy that eating me out makes you desperate.”
He finally kissed you, tongue slipping into your mouth, letting you taste yourself. You hummed, stretching your legs to lay them over his thighs, pulling him into you, where he rutted his hips into yours the second you made contact. You kissed for a while, letting your tongues sloppily lick into each other’s mouths, your hands flying into his hair again, his hands sliding down your torso. You let your mind drift as you kissed, thinking about how he pulled you into him so easily, how much he could rough you up if he wanted to, if he had a dominant bone in his body.
Mingi is a lot of things, but you would never say dominant is one of them. Over six feet tall and so fucking strong, Mingi seemed intimidating until the moment he opened his mouth. Sweet, caring, eager to please, Mingi would do anything for you. He’d fight wars for you, swim across the ocean, you shouldn’t want anything more. You shouldn’t want anything different.
And you don’t. Not really.
Mingi is perfect how he is, you wouldn’t want him any other way. But curious you are, and you couldn’t help but wonder what he’d be like if he treated you like a pet rather than his girlfriend. Would he be anything like how Yunho describes his encounters? Would he be strict, would he control when you came, how you came? Would he choke you, slap you, take you in any way he wanted, instead of what you wanted?
What you wanted was to be fucked, and as Mingi slipped his sweatpants halfway down his flexed thighs and lined himself up with your center, you knew what you wanted would always be his top priority. Song Mingi didn’t know what the word selfish meant.
You didn’t deserve it, you acted like a brat earlier, huffing out of annoyance and putting physical space between you because you didn’t get what you wanted. But instead of punishing you, instead of fucking you only to get himself off, of denying you the pleasure of another orgasm, Mingi woke you up with his face between your legs. Because he knew you, what you wanted, what you needed, and Mingi’s life’s pleasure is making you happy.
You cried out as he sheathed himself inside you, nails painting crescents into his biceps, your eyes flying to the back of your head, flushing out your entire thought process. No, Mingi is perfect, the way he carves himself space inside you as if it’s the first time, every time, is more than you could ever ask for. He leaned back down, barely attaching his lips to yours, only the sounds of your breath and skin slapping against skin to be heard in your living room.
With his hands still wrapped around your hips he tilted them upward, fucking into you harshly, angled to hit that same spot inside you, he wasn’t in the mood to draw this out and you couldn’t blame him. You’ve been insatiable all day, when you woke up, in the car earlier, against the kitchen counter before Yunho came over, you wondered if he had anything left to give you. You slid your hand down between your legs, drawing quick circles over your clit, your jaw falling slack, lips unresponsive against Mingi’s.
“Gonna cum for me already, hmm?” He tried his best to sound like he wasn’t completely losing it, voice strained yet still teasing. His hips stuttering told the truth he tried to hide, he was just as close as you were.
“Yes,” you whispered into his mouth, voice high pitched, on the cusp of orgasm, your hips meeting his thrusts like you couldn’t get him deep enough.
He let his forehead press against yours, both surfaces coated in sweat, mixing together in their meeting, getting a glimpse of his fucked out face was enough to send you over the edge. Your knees tightened around his torso as you came, moans guttural and unabashed, embarrassment might’ve crossed your mind two years ago. But now he’s seen everything, he’s heard everything, he aches for it, if you aren’t cross-eyed and crying into his ear, he knows he isn’t hitting it right.
“Yes, baby, that’s it, so fucking good,” he praises, hands gripping under your thighs, pressing them back, bending you in half. “Gonna fill this pussy up.”
Chest heaving, mouth ajar and unable to close, you could have finished again at the sight of him. Sweat sticking his hair to his forehead, the muscles surrounding his hips peeking out from beneath the hem of his tee, bottom lip tucked between his teeth, Mingi was a vision, a sight to be seen.
“Please,” you begged, voice whiney and desperate, “Wanna feel you cum inside, I need it.”
His thrusts turned erratic, smacking into you harshly, a deep groan leaving his lips as he emptied himself inside you, fingers holding onto your legs tight as he came. Where you wouldn’t usually notice the sharp pain of his grip, your senses were on high alert, the feeling making you moan with him, the pain mixing with the comforting warmth of his cum filling you up. Hypnotizing, addicting, for a moment you thought maybe this wasn’t ovulation brain– maybe this was something you were really curious about.
Maybe something you really wanted to try.
He keeled over, lips finding yours again, palms softly running over where he’d just gripped onto you, soothing the area. Your skin burned under his touch, you wanted him to do it again, harder this time, maybe wrap one of his pretty hands around your throat–
“You’re cut off for the night,” he said into your lips, then pressed a kiss to your cheek. “No more sex.”
“Boo,” you wrapped your arms around his neck, crossing your ankles over his back, “If I keep you here maybe you’ll get hard again.”
He laughed into your cheek, heavy and genuine, “You’re terrifying when you’re ovulating.”
“Says the man who just came inside me,” you pressed a kiss to his hair, then loosened your grip on him. “You want a baby more than I do at this point.”
He shrugs as he sits up, pulling out of you, “Sue me.”
“We have a timeline, Song Mingi.”
Sundresses, swim trunks and margaritas surrounded you, all of your friends bouncing around Seonghwa and Hongjoong’s massive backyard, a ridiculously sized plot of land behind a farm-style rancher that they bought just last year.
Don’t mind the setup, Seonghwa said, We’re still renovating!
Meanwhile an inground pool enclosed by several feet of perfectly laid concrete took over the space just outside the back door, a tiki bar, a patio with a full grill, a table and chairs, couches, a fucking fire pit… We’re still renovating, your ass. It was both perfect and absolutely ridiculous how much they have it together in contrast to yours and Mingi’s one bedroom apartment two towns over.
They wanted to be the house, the place where all your friends and families gathered, the permanent hosts, and damn, did they succeed. They’ve been planning Wooyoung’s going away party ever since he broke the news of his job offer three states away, a bittersweet gathering, both in congratulations for Wooyoung’s raise and sadness that such an important voice in your friend group would be so far away. You hoped it wasn’t permanent, the selfish part of you hoped he hated it and came back to you guys immediately, he was the biggest light amongst you, one of your favorite people to be around, but you were also proud of him for his success, his hard work paying off.
You could hear him laughing now from across the lawn, chatting with his girlfriend, Sana, Jongho and his girlfriend Jihyo, about god knows what, the sound warming your heart while breaking it simultaneously. You’d miss him more than he knew.
“Want another, my love?” Mingi came up behind you where you sat, pressing a swift kiss to your cheek, stealing your glass out of your hand.
You nodded, “Yes, please,” and watched him scurry off toward the tiki bar, Yunho and his date sitting at the teal colored stools lined up on the outside. You watched Yunho’s head turn toward Mingi, how he got off his stool to follow Mingi behind the bar, no doubt to help him make you another margarita.
You turned your head back to the group lounging on the couches, Yeosang and his girlfriend Tzuyu, Hongjoong and Seonghwa, San and his boyfriend Jongin, everyone in the middle of a conversation you had accidentally clocked out of. You crossed your leg over your other one, fixing how your sundress laid over them, trying to ignore the sweaty stick of the summer heat on your skin, the alcohol that warmed your blood doing nothing to cool you down.
Past seven, the sun was still annoyingly bright and agonizing, your hair tied up atop your head, probably matted at this point from the time you spent in the pool earlier.
“...I keep telling you that you need to fire him,” San says to Hongjoong, his top lip bent in irritation, “He’s nothing but a lazy nuisance. If he messes up one more deal, I’m gonna talk to him myself.”
“He just started, San,” Hongjoong shook his head, “Cut the man a break.”
San sips his whiskey instead of responding, his hand laying over Jongin’s knee, and it’s the reminder you needed as to why you initially clocked out of the conversation. You hated when they started talking business– even if that’s how all of them remain close, minus Wooyoung and Jongho, who are old college friends of Mingi and the others. They were all college friends, the group of them in the same fraternity, still close as ever post-grad, even now that so many of them work at the same firm.
You loved when your parties and hangouts stayed free-spirited, light hearted, less talk about work and more stories from their college party days. Those stories you loved, especially the ones that included your boyfriend, the ones that told you exactly who he was before he met you. Not one story was surprising, though, he’s the same lover boy he’s always been, back then just included a lot more keg stands.
You let your eyes drift again, moving back to the tiki bar, where you caught Mingi, Yunho and his date walking towards where you sat around the fire pit. You shot them a tight lipped smile, grateful they were coming to join in on the conversation, hopefully derailing it to something more enjoyable.
“Wooyoung!” Seonghwa called across the lawn, “Why don’t you guys come join us?”
You grabbed your glass from Mingi as he sat down next to you, thanking him before you took a sip. Cold and refreshing, just what you needed to cool you off, tequila and summer was your favorite combination. Yunho sat down beside Mingi, and you watched as his date propped herself on his knee, her hands folded in her lap, crinkling the fabric of her pretty sundress. Yunho sat back, one hand holding his beer, the other haphazardly laid on her thigh as if it was nothing.
You wondered if that’s something he told her to do, or if she chose to sit there herself. There was space next to him, even more space on the couches across from you, surrounding the fire pit. Was that a part of it? Yunho’s game? Maybe it’s not a game, a lifestyle rather than some joke, a clear show of possession so everyone in the circle knew she belonged to Yunho.
Your tongue poked out to swipe over your bottom lip, ripping your eyes away from the pair, shoving the curiosity down. You turned into Mingi, crossing your other leg instead, your entire body leaning into him. You wondered if Mingi would ever ask something like that of you, maybe he would if he ever got jealous enough.
Mingi isn’t the jealous type, though. He never has been. He has full trust in you, and that trust outweighs everything, lingering eyes of others, shameless flirting that you never caught on to. Even that one time where Yeosang’s hand lingered on your forearm for a little too long after too many drinks, telling you how gorgeous you looked in blue, Mingi still didn’t care. He nodded his head with an excited smile and said, I know, right?
You wondered what Yunho would do in that situation. Would he rip your arm away, take you into an unused bedroom, a storage closet even, and remind you who you belonged to? Would he leave marks, trailing from your jaw to your chest, to show who owned you if they stepped too close?
Mingi nudged you with his shoulder, pulling you out of your thoughts, and you looked up to his concerned expression, giving him a small smile. He quietly asked, “You okay? Tired?”
You shrugged, “Was just thinking.”
He leaned over, kissing the top of your head, “Don’t think too hard, I’m starting to see steam coming out of your ears.”
You smiled, a huff of amusement leaving your lips. You don’t even know where you had been staring, if it was at anyone, you needed to control your thoughts, but they were starting to plague you. Especially when you caught Yunho holding up his beer bottle an inch above where it rested on his thigh, how his date immediately caught on, taking the empty glass and standing up to get him another. She was his date, it’s not like she was his girlfriend, someone who knows him well enough to understand his body language without a word being spoken.
The more you saw, the more you understood, the more it made sense. They were playing, even now, in front of everyone. You didn’t like the burning in your gut, the sting of jealousy, the interest it brought you, how a part of you wanted to try being in her situation. If you could be good, if you could pick up on cues so easily, so fast, if you could please. Will she be rewarded for it later? What does that look like?
You ripped your attention away again, blinking, staring down at your margarita held between your fingers. You could be completely wrong, all of this could be innocent, she could be sitting on his lap because she wanted to be there. Maybe she got him another beer because she was being a good date, doting on him. You could be sexualizing it for no reason, which changes the burning in your gut to a burn of shame, embarrassment that you’re sitting with your entire group of friends, once again pondering over Yunho’s sex life.
“What do you say we play beer pong, for old time’s sake?” Wooyoung’s loud voice washed over you like a bucket of cold water, grabbing your attention. Groans and laughter were mixed among the group, and Wooyoung tilted his head, his smile growing larger.
“How old are we?” Jongho smacked his arm, sitting on the side of the chair Jihyo was sitting in, one thigh on either side of the armrest, “Twenty?”
“Come on,” Wooyoung begged, his lips bending to a pout, “When’s the next time you guys are going to see me?”
“Guilt tripping us into playing beer pong,” San shakes his head, a smile on his cheeks, dimples out on display, “Very you– And it worked.”
Wooyoung cheered and Sana turned her gaze your way, meeting your eye, shaking her head with an amused smile on her face. You mirrored her expression, letting your eyes slide to Jihyo and Tzuyu, all four of you mentally preparing to sit on the sidelines while your boyfriends got trashed. All of you would have to deal with their hangovers in the morning.
An hour later, you and the three girls plus Jongin were all seated just off to the side of the beer pong table, where all eight boys were loudly playing, laughing, or taunting the ones currently in the middle of a game. You listened to the commentary just as much as you were watching the game unfold, your ear catching every other sentence, laughing when one of them made a remark that was out of pocket, but the five of you currently in the midst of conversation didn’t have much attention left to give the game behind you.
“...And she said she was not giving him the ring. It’s fucked up,” Sana sat back in her seat, her arms crossed over her bikini top, in the middle of telling a story. “She said she’d rethink it if I stayed with him for over a year after we move away, but I don’t believe her one bit.”
“Maybe she’s telling the truth, she’s probably just watching out for her son,” Tzuyu smiled at Sana, ever so optimistic, always looking at the bright side. Her brown hair laid in long braids down her shoulders, far past her bikini top, the tips just caressing the hem of her denim shorts. You tightened your lips, that was not what Sana wanted to hear right now. Wooyoung’s mom has never liked Sana, and you’re starting to think she never will.
“It’s crazy how she thinks she can control your relationship, I mean, Wooyoung is twenty seven. He’s far past the age of her coddling him,” Jihyo added with her face twisted in disgust, that was what Sana wanted to hear, Jihyo was always good at fulfilling whatever idea Sana came up with. The two of them were a pair, the moon and the sun, where Jihyo appeared harsh and was sweet as candy, Sana was bright and colorful until she bared her teeth.
“I know!” Sana said, a little too loudly, nervously glancing at the table behind you to check that none of the guys heard her, blonde hair moving with her. You’ve always been on Woo’s mom’s side, you always expected him to end up with someone… Nicer. He deserved someone who would treat him like a king, but in a way, you supposed Sana did treat him like one. Anyone else who wasn’t Wooyoung, though? That was a different story.
“I’m sure she’ll give in,” Jongin added, an encouraging smile on his face, he knows Sana just as well as you do by now. A linen button up laid loosely over his shoulders, the white a contrast to his golden, sunkissed skin. Him and San must have spent a lot of time at San’s beach house this summer.
This was always the dynamic between you, the partners. Jihyo genuinely believed what she said to Sana, Tzuyu was supportive, and Jongin tried to keep the peace. You kept quiet, you weren’t much of a liar, and your brain couldn’t be farther from Sana’s impertinence.
Your knee bounced, margarita watered down and loosely held between your fingers, Yunho’s date was glued to his side at the table behind you. She didn’t leave him once, not when Tzuyu invited her to sit with you, not when Yunho was actually playing the game. She respectfully declined with a bashful smile, cheeks rosy and chest gleaming with a sheen of sweat, then she stayed hung off of Yunho’s arm like an accessory.
It was beginning to fucking consume you. Was that one of his rules? Was she not allowed to leave his side, stuck there to be his personal waitress? Was she getting off on it, too?
Was the reward really worth it?
“Hello?” Jihyo tapped your knee, pulling your attention again, her smile amused as if catching you off guard was the funniest thing in the world.
“Sorry,” you tried to smile, tucking your hair behind your ear, “Did I miss something?”
“I asked how Mingi is, how you guys are,” Sana smiled the same way Jihyo did, “What’s got you so out of it today?”
You forced a chuckle, “My bad, I didn’t get good sleep last night, the margaritas are making me sleepy.” A lie so easily told, white lies you could handle. “We’re good, thinking about moving into something bigger soon.”
“Oh?” Tzuyu asked excitedly, “You guys have been in that apartment for years, are you thinking about renting or buying?”
A two-story, white house, with three bedrooms and an open floor plan, yes, you were thinking about buying. You fought to not glance behind you, keeping your eyes trained on Tzuyu, “If we can get a good loan for a mortgage, we’ll own.”
Tzuyu cheered, her grin bright and wide, “I’m so happy for you, me and Yeosang always talk about how perfect you guys are together. Do you think he’s planning on proposing this year?”
You smiled, a shy giggle escaping you as you stared down at your margarita again, “I think so.”
“Your wedding is going to be gorgeous,” Sana adds from across the small table between your chairs, “If it’s anything like how you decorate your apartment– and the bridesmaid dresses, don’t even get me started.”
You waved a hand, ignoring the bridesmaid comment, “I won’t, I’m not jinxing it. Who knows what might happen?”
You catch Jihyo as she rolls her eyes, “I wouldn’t be surprised if he proposed tomorrow, you’ve been together longer than any of us. You’re the OG girlfriend.”
That ripped a laugh from your chest, it’s true, you’ve been with Mingi long before any of the other guys’ partners entered the picture. Jongin interrupted, “I could help you with a mortgage loan, you know, my dad’s a banker.”
“When the time comes,” you nodded toward the brown haired man with kind eyes, then finally let your eyes fall to the table behind you, seeing who was playing now.
Who might still be glued to their date.
Mingi and Yunho were playing Yeosang and Wooyoung, a cocky smile on your boyfriend’s cheeks, a lazy smirk on Yunho’s. They must be winning.
And his date, her dark hair up now, in a claw clip behind her head, two pieces fallen out and framing her face perfectly. She stood just beside Yunho, her drink clasped in her hands, barely a sip drank from the clear glass. You wondered if she was allowed to drink, or if that was one of his rules, too.
Your lips pursed and you stood up, legs bringing you to your boyfriend before you could think about it. You slid in between him and San, the dimpled man throwing an arm over your shoulders, “You come to play?”
You smiled up at him, shaking your head, “Just wanted to watch.”
“Wanna watch me win,” Mingi added, shooting you a wink, then tossed the ball across the table, sinking it into one of the red solo cups filled with water.
You clapped with the rest of the boys, your grin wide as a low whistle left your lips, staring down the table at Yeosang and Wooyoung who wore red cheeks and sour faces. The difference in the amount of cups left standing made it clear who was winning, not that it surprised you, Mingi was always more competitive when he had Yunho by his side.
You watched as Yunho’s date tugged on his wrist, whispering something into his ear, and he nodded down at her. She silently excused herself, dress flowing in the breeze as she walked across the patio, inside the back door.
You watched, and then your legs were moving before you could stop yourself. You followed her in, just as she was draining her glass into the kitchen sink, one of her hands on her hip.
She turned to you as the backdoor snapped shut, surprise on her face, eyebrows raised and lips parted. “Oh! Sorry, I would have left the door open for you.”
Ah, fuck, she’s nice. You smiled, walking across the hardwood floor, your sandals smacking with every step, “No biggie, I don’t think I’ve introduced myself yet, I wanted to say hello.” You introduced yourself, a smile on your cheeks, “Not in the mood to drink?”
She glanced down at the empty glass in her hands, then at the sink, then up to you. She laughed nervously, “I'm a slow drinker, it got watered down, not all that tasty anymore.”
You slowly nodded your head, “Totally get that. Did you need help finding the bathroom?”
She looked around Seonghwa and Hongjoong’s kitchen as if you reminded her why she walked in here, the bathroom nowhere to be found. She smiled again, her cheeks rosy and squishable, face completely bare beside mascara, she’s adorable. A perfect, submissive girl. “Yes, please, that’d be great.”
“Down that hallway and to the right,” you pointed to the dark hallway and she thanked you, setting her glass down in the sink and scurrying off in the direction of the bathroom. When she was out of eyesight, you pouted, you don’t know what you expected from coming in here, but you definitely didn’t learn anything new. You took a sip of your margarita, setting a hand on the kitchen island for purchase, your mind whirling. You wanted to know. You wished you could just ask.
The door opened and closed behind you and you turned to find Jihyo walking in, her own cheeks red from the seltzers she’d been sipping on, the summer heat she’s been basking in all day. She smiled at you, eyebrows popping up in surprise and confusion, “Girl, what are you doing in here? You’ve been acting weird all day.”
Your lips pulled to one side, you wondered if Jihyo had any experience in this area, if she and Jongho ever explored in the way you’re curious about. If anyone in your group has done some experimental shit, it’s Jihyo. “Can I ask you a question?”
Her face turned serious, quickly walking closer to where you stood, gathering her dark hair behind her head to pull up into a bun. “Of course, is everything okay?”
“Yes, yes,” you said, shaking your head, loosing a quick, heavy breath. “Is Jongho ever… Rough with you?”
Jihyo paused in the middle of tying her hair, cocking her head to the side. “What do you mean ‘rough’?”
You scrunch your lips, trying to reword the question properly in your mind. “Have you ever experienced… Like, a dominant guy? That kind of role, in a relationship?”
Jihyo’s lips curved upward, a devious smile on her cheeks, eyebrows wiggling. “You thinking about spicing things up with Mingi?”
Your cheeks warmed, you looked down at the hardwood floor in embarrassment, then back up to her. “Possibly. I’m just curious, I guess.”
“Then yes, Jongho can be rough sometimes, but only when I purposely pissed him off or made him jealous or something. The relationship I was in before I started dating Jongho, though…”
Your entire face lit up, she giggled as she noticed.
“He was a very strict man, but not in a gross way, more so in a… Domineering way, I guess, everything I consented to. He thought it was sexy to control unsexy aspects of my life, what I wore, how I acted, what I did, who I talked to. In bed, he was a fucking freak.”
Your eyes filled with stars, you asked, “In a good way?”
“Oh, absolutely. He’d tie my hands behind my back, attach a spreader bar between my knees, or put a vibrator on me and leave the room until he was satisfied with how long I’d been in there by myself. Then he’d come back in and fuck me like I hadn’t already came a gazillion times.”
You released a shaky breath, toes digging into the soles of your sandals. It sounded so… appetizing.
“He was fun, that whole relationship was fun,” she smiled brightly, you almost felt bad about making her reminisce on something she loved so much, but clearly didn’t have anymore.
You couldn’t stop yourself, asking, “Why’d you break up?”
“He cheated on me,” she rolled her eyes, “Ruined a good thing. Fuck him.”
“Fuck him,” you nodded your agreement, cheeks warm, your whole body warm… You imagined Mingi tying your hands behind your back, attaching something between your legs to keep you from closing them, fully in control of your body and your pleasure. The thought was so hot, you could see it in your mind, you licked your lips as if it was happening now.
“I gotta pee, I’ll be right back,” Jihyo’s eyes flew back to the hallway, in the direction of the bathroom. Just as you started to warn her about Yunho’s date being in there, she bounced back out, apologies on her lips about being in there for so long. She was barely in there for five minutes.
You followed her back into the backyard, not stopping by the table again, but sitting yourself back in your cushioned chair, legs crossed, slowly sipping your margarita. You didn’t want to see her fall back to Yunho’s side like a lost puppy dog.
God, you needed to get a grip. The girl didn’t do anything to you. Jihyo’s story filled your head again, but instead of imagining Jihyo and the mystery man, it was you and Mingi, a vibrator strapped to you while he sat back, watching, analyzing, telling you no when you begged him to cum.
When Jongin pulled you back into the conversation you were barely paying attention to again, your body physically shook off the thoughts, a chill cooling off your very blood.
You really needed to get it together.
“I have something I need to tell you.”
Almost a full week after Wooyoung’s going away party, another movie night with Yunho under your belt, you couldn’t let these feelings fester for any longer, you were losing your fucking mind. Night after night, your boyfriend has rocked into you, sweet words on his tongue, soft caresses to your face. As much as you enjoyed it, you felt guilty for your feelings, for wanting more, something different. Admitting it was a start.
Day after day you’ve done little things, almost unnoticeable things trying to get his attention, trying to spark an ounce of jealousy. You made a comment about how good San looked at Wooyoung’s party, how he looked like he’d been hitting the gym– Mingi had given you puppy eyes, asking, “Should I start going to the gym more?”
You felt so guilty you dropped to your knees then and there, feeding praises into his ears, worshipping his body, vowing to yourself to never make him ask you a question like that ever again, to never make him feel self conscious or worth any less. The whole encounter left you feeling icky.
But maybe another route would work.
Just yesterday you asked him, What would you do if someone hit on me at the bar?
He furrowed his brows and said, Tell them not to do that, I guess?
You were getting nowhere like this, and it was frustrating. Granted, you probably should have just opened up and told him your feelings the moment these thoughts started crossing your mind.
Mingi turned over in your bed to face you, eyes sparkling, staring at you like you were his whole world. You needed to bring this up delicately, propose it in a way that wouldn’t leave him feeling like he wasn’t doing enough, that he wasn’t enough. You didn’t want to pressure him into anything, either. Asking him to slap you around was strangely feeling meticulous, you sucked your bottom lip between your teeth, eyebrows furrowed in focus and fear.
“Is everything okay?” He asked, eyes glossed over with worry, he shuffled a bit closer to you in your shared bed, needing your warmth to soothe his own nerves.
“Yes, baby, everything’s fine,” you smiled weakly, your arm stretching across the sheets to lay your palm over his cheek. “I’m just nervous to say what I need to, or ask my question, I guess. I don’t want you to feel like I’m unhappy, or that you aren’t doing enough, but… I’ve been thinking.”
He mirrored your smile, teasing, “You know what I say about you and thinking.”
A huff of a laugh left your lips, smile growing stronger, “I’m serious, Min.”
“Okay, I’m sorry,” his smile grew too, genuine and light, he’s always been good at diffusing situations, easing your stress. “Hit me.”
“Funny choice of words, actually,” you start, and the crease between his brows shows itself. “Do you ever think about… Being a little rough with me?”
He lifts his head up off the pillow ever so slightly, surprise flashing in his big brown eyes, “Like, when I’m fucking you?”
“Yeah,” you watched his face morph into confusion, “Throwing me around, saying mean stuff, choking me a little, maybe even slapping me–”
“Slapping you?!”
“I don’t know!” You shuffle in your bed, sitting up straight, tucking the baby pink comforter in your lap, hands mindlessly playing with the fabric. Staring down at him, voice coated in shame, you asked, “Do you?”
He blinked a few times, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Finally, he says, “I don’t think I have ever, once in my life, thought about hurting you.”
“Does it freak you out if I say it’s something I might be curious about?” You lay a hand behind your back, using your arm to support your weight. Mingi shifts too, sitting up beside you, still staring at you like you’re a math equation he can’t calculate.
“It doesn’t freak me out, I–” He shakes his head once, as if he’s trying to figure out his own feelings, what to say. “When did you start thinking about… this?”
“The night we watched that Captain America movie with Yunho,” you answer honestly, staring into his eyes, trying to get a read on him. He looks down at his lap, thinking, counting, before he looks back at you.
“Dude, that was like two weeks ago,” he says, horror in his voice, “You’ve been sitting on this for that long?”
“It’s not a big deal if it’s something you aren’t interested in,” you wave a hand in front of you, trying to fake nonchalance, but there was no way to prove to Mingi this isn’t important to you if it took you this long to say something. He knows you far too well.
He glances up at your ceiling, moving his lips, scrunching them to either side of his mouth, thinking. He finally looks at you, a gleam in his eye that you couldn’t place, “You really want me to be mean?”
“I–” Now it was your turn to look like a fish out of water, and then you realized this was the time to admit it, to tell him what you want. With defeat heavy in your voice, you said, “Yes, I do.”
“Okay,” he breathed, nodding slowly, “I can try.”
“Really?” you raised your brows, staring at him in surprise as if you expected him to say no. But this was Mingi after all, always eager to please, the man who would walk through fire for you.
“You’ll have to, like… Tell me what you want in more detail, what to do, I mean.”
Your entire face lit up, eyes wide, grin bright, you jumped over the mattress to swing your arms around his neck and your thighs around his hips. You kissed his entire face, perched in his lap, mumbling thank you thank you thank you and he giggled beneath your assault, wrapping his arms around your back, holding you close.
“Do you wanna do this, like… Now?” He asked when you stopped peppering smooches to the tip of his nose, his voice not quite uneasy, nervously curious.
“We could,” you shrug, arms still hung over his bare shoulders, “We haven’t fucked since last night.”
“God forbid a day goes by where we don’t have sex,” he teases, his hands sliding down to your ass, squeezing lightly.
You gasp, dropping your hips to drag against his barely clothed crotch, smirking when you feel him half-hard beneath you. “There should never be a day that goes by where we don’t have sex.”
“As long as you’re still you, there won’t be,” he says, still teasing as he presses his lips to yours, soft and sweet, normal. You sink into him, letting your hips drag over him in a slow but intentional rhythm, allowing your mind to ease, releasing soft gasps as his hands slide up your body, under your shirt.
No, you didn’t need to do this right now. You didn’t want to. You wanted him, close to you, feeling his warmth and his weight anchoring you, to set the thoughts you’d finally gotten off your chest free. You told him, you’d talk about it, you’d plan, you’d do it. He said yes. God, you love him. You let your hands slide up his biceps, fingers dancing over the sides of his neck, cupping his cheeks to hold your world in your hands.
“Not tonight,” you whisper into his lips, forgoing an explanation he didn’t need, “I changed my mind. Tonight, I just want you.”
He smiles, bared teeth pressing against your lips, soft and comforting, home. “Yeah? You sure?”
“We have time,” you pull him closer, chest to chest, elbows hooked over his shoulders and hips still rocking as if he’d feel the truth laid bare, in your skin, in your breath, in your bones. He didn’t need to change, you didn’t want him to change, if things stayed like this you’d still spend forever by his side. “We have forever.”
He kissed you again, only breaking it to tug your shirt over your head, tossing it somewhere behind you, hands gliding up your skin with precision, feeling every dip and curve of your body. As if to burn it to memory, as if he didn’t know it already, as if he hasn’t worshiped every inch of your skin before. “I love you,” he murmured into your mouth, bodies still too close to be considered separate.
“I love you,” you whispered, barely breaking the kiss, eyes closed and heart aching with how much love for him it contained.
Another Friday, another movie night, another story told by Jeong Yunho.
Except this time, you and Mingi were more versed in his area of expertise, your listening was active, asking questions, looking deeper. Where you once sat nodding, periodically saying mhm and no way, you were now asking him to explain, asking why. And because Yunho is Yunho, he answered every question with honesty, even over-explaining when your brow quirked too high for his liking. When he read the question on your tongue.
For the past several days, you and Mingi have been doing research. Articles from legitimate blogs on the internet, books from the library, romance novels pulled from your bookshelf, Mingi had said, “If I’m going to do this, I’m going to do it right.”
You hadn’t quite explored yet together– meaning he hasn’t necessarily slapped you around just yet. He’s taken it slow, tugged on your roots during a blowjob, extended your orgasm by ripping his fingers away at the last second, he even called you a slut once. Just once, though. And he apologized after.
You didn’t think you could possibly be any more in love with him, but seeing him learn for you, express genuine interest in something you asked for, you couldn’t wait for the wedding Sana was running her mouth about. But that could wait. For now, you were still exploring, experimenting, basking in the relief of getting this off your chest and doing something about it. You never want to withhold information from your boyfriend again, and Mingi might go into cardiac arrest if he finds out you’ve been sitting on your feelings ever again.
Mingi’s been honest with you. He’s told you his doubts, his fears, that he’s petrified of doing something wrong, not knowing his own strength and hurting you, saying something vile that he can’t take back. You’ve taken them all in, easing his worries by offering him solutions, reminding him why you’re taking it slow. To set boundaries, to plan, to play, to find out if this is something he’d even enjoy. If either of you would enjoy it.
Because in theory it sounds wonderful, a wet dream coming from the pits of your ovulation, but to put it into practice… What if either of you hate it? What if your sex life is forever tainted because you’re trying to fix something that isn’t broken?
Clearly, you’re both overthinkers. But luckily, you’re both good at soothing each other, and Mingi has reminded you the two times that you’ve brought this up that nothing could destroy your sex life, the two of you were made for each other. There wasn’t much room for stress after that.
Yunho came over with a smile on his face this week, a telltale sign that things were going well with his newest partner. Walking inside empty-handed and talkative, he cracked a can of beer from your refrigerator, starting his story from the beginning as his long legs brought him to your living room. He was playing with her at Wooyoung’s going away party, a detail he left out when he was over last week, when he was too engrossed in the freshness of dating her to get down to the nitty gritty.
This week he was exploding with things to tell you both, his mouth running a mile a minute, sharing things you nor Mingi asked him to, but didn’t mind hearing. Especially not now.
“The rules I made with her are different than the ones I’ve made with others,” splayed across the couch he always sat on, Yunho’s Spot you and Mingi call it, a leg hung over the armrest with the other stretched in front of him, he sat lazily, relaxed. Yours and Mingi’s apartment was always a comfort to him.
“Like how?” You had your head laying on the godforsaken armrest, pillow beneath your head actually providing solace for once, your legs stretched over Mingi’s lap at the other end of the couch. He studied Yunho as he listened, hands on your bare legs, eyebrows bent only enough to imply focus. You knew it was more than just listening to his words, he was memorizing them, saving them for later. The sight made a soft smile live on your cheeks.
Yunho sucks a breath through his teeth, brows rising as his head tips back in thought, silver hair a contrast to the deep charcoal of the cushion behind him. “She can only wear dresses around me, when we’re in public she has to ask permission to leave my side, she can’t drink unless I allow it, hmm… Oh, I banned bras. And panties.”
You crane your head to see him over the armrest, mouth gaping and teeth poking out in a smile, a giggle leaving your lips. You fought the urge to say I knew it, instead reiterating, “Bras and panties?!”
“What’s the point of it, though?” Mingi asked, and Yunho directed his gaze to his best friend, his eyes smiling just as brightly as his lips. Mingi glances between you and Yunho, “All the rules, they just seem… Inconvenient.”
“Inconvenient for who?” Yunho raises his eyebrows, “Would it be inconvenient for you if your girlfriend walked around without a bra, without panties, in a dress?”
“Not inconvenient for me, inconvenient for her,” Mingi should have just added duh at the end of his sentence. Yunho knew what he meant, but Mingi couldn’t read between the lines of his answer. Your tongue poked your cheek as your eyes danced between the two men.
“Then you know the point of it already,” Yunho’s grin was sly, his head tilting ever so slightly, as if he knew why Mingi was questioning him. He never has before.
Mingi’s lips fell into an O shape, you watched him put the pieces together in real time, another laugh leaving your lips. Mingi glanced at you for a second before his eyebrows knitted again, turning his head to look back at Yunho, “Why couldn’t she drink?”
“Because it’d make her have to pee, and she has a piss kink,” you knew he was answering honestly by the look on his face, the ease of the words leaving his mouth. “It denied her of having the fun of toying with me and saved me the punishment of fucking her in Hongjoong and Seonghwa’s bathroom.”
Your jaw dropped as your head whipped around the armrest, gaping at Yunho, “You’d really do that?”
“If she disobeyed me?” He raised his brows, “In a heartbeat.”
“In their bathroom?” Mingi’s eyes were as wide as yours, the corner of his upper lip bent upward in disbelief.
“I would have done it in front of all of you if I had the consent of everyone in the room.” He said it so casually, too casually, as if this was normal, common. It could be these days, for all you know.
Yours and Mingi’s eyes meet as surprise and intrigue cross his features, as if he was picturing himself doing it. As if he was curating a list of rules for you, too. You assumed you wouldn’t have to wash as many pairs of panties from now on.
Mingi’s eyes trailed back to Yunho, you watched him swallow, the gulp of spit passing down his throat. “And when you say punishment…”
Yunho smiles, daring and wicked, his eyes flaring with amusement. He sits up straighter, white tee pressed against the back of the couch, ankle crossed over his knee, he wouldn’t let your rare curiosity go to waste.
You change spots, too, laying your head on Mingi’s lap instead of your legs, propping them up on the criminally uncomfortable armrest. You made a mental note to start looking for a new couch. Mingi lays a hand in your hair, not moving, just resting, as if he needed to touch you to feel grounded.
“The humiliation,” Yunho released a dragged out breath, as if he loved the word, loved its meaning, the action. “I would have put her over my knee, made her tell everyone watching what she did, why it was wrong.”
Mingi blinked, his lips parted, as if he couldn’t fathom why in the world Yunho would do that. “You’d let everyone see that? See her?”
Yunho shrugs, “If everyone was into it.”
“She obeyed you though, right?” You ask, and he raises his eyebrows in your direction, acknowledging you, “Does she get, like… Rewarded for that?”
Yunho smiled, a proud look sitting on his face, a soft nod of his head. “Of course she does, well, she did.”
You raised a brow, imploring him, and his smile grew as if he could read every thought in your mind. “You two are curious tonight.”
You can feel the embarrassment in your cheeks, and as you look up to Mingi, you see a faint blush spread over his nose. If you could see his ears from where you laid, you’d bet they tipped red, too. Neither of you are being shy with your curiosity, and it was clear.
Yunho didn’t wait for either of you to answer, “I’ll bite. We didn’t even get back to my place, to be honest. She got to finish twice in the car, another three times when we got back for good behavior.”
A huh? ripped from your chest, a disbelieving sound, just as Mingi screeched, “Five?!”
You thought back to when she went to the bathroom at the party, how she tugged on Yunho’s wrist before she went inside, how he nodded toward her in allowance. You wonder if you’d be willing to let it be taken so far, or if you truly just wanted to be slapped around. You supposed you would if five orgasms were waiting for you afterward.
“They weren’t easy, don’t say it like that,” Yunho waved a hand, long fingers bending the air around him, “I was forcing them out of her by the end of it. She likes overstimulation.”
You peeked up at Mingi again, whose lips you think were going to stay permanently parted for the duration of the conversation, with his thick, deep eyebrows touching his hairline. He was shocked— so were you, even if neither of you should be, you’re no strangers to multiple orgasms in a session. But five, for good behavior, a reward like that, it almost made you hand your boyfriend a notepad and a pen and say Yes, I want that.
Yunho’s laugh sends a shiver down your spine, your body involuntarily jerking at the noise, head shifting in your boyfriend’s lap. It sounded borderline condescending, which you weren’t sure if you were making up, or if it was on purpose. Your eyes widened as you felt it, the fucking boner Mingi was sporting beneath your head. He knew you felt it, you could see it all over his face, the blush you thought was from the nature of the conversation, no, he was horny, and Yunho didn’t seem like he was anywhere near done with the conversation.
Realization hits that Mingi must be thinking about doing that to you, and he’s hard. You might have started jumping for joy if you didn’t have to explain to both men why.
“You guys look like you’ve never heard anything like this in your life,” Yunho’s laugh is still showing on his cheeks, the way his head is tilted, his eyebrows slightly raised, smugness oozing off of him. “I’ve told you stories before.”
“Yeah, but…” You cut yourself off, swallowing down the answer you were about to give. He didn’t need to know you were experimenting, or attempting to. No one needed to know. “It’s just crazy.”
“Yeah, you’re crazy,” Mingi adds from above you, the both of you nodding your agreement, hiding why you’re both so god damn affected. His clothed cock pressing against your head, having to pretend like it isn’t there, Yunho so easily talking about how he punishes and rewards his partners, how arrogance seemed to be possessing him, it was all too much.
Yunho raises his brows, his smile still present on closed lips, as if the two of you were transparent. Completely see through, thoughts and feelings laid bare for him to see. If you could peer into Yunho’s mind you might see that he’s enjoying this, that he knows exactly what he's doing, toying with the two of you might be the most fun he’s had in months.
He can see how pathetic the two of you are, you’re wearing it. Too many ideas are brewing in his mind, ones he’s positive he can never verbalize, but if the two of you kept looking at him like that…
“I’ve told you worse, remember when that one girl thought it’d be funny to flirt with that random guy, when we all went out to the club? It was back in February I think,” Yunho’s glancing between you both now, like he doesn’t want to miss a single reaction painted on your faces. “I tied her up and left her alone in the bedroom, in the dark, for an hour?”
You gulped. You remembered this story. Mingi was only growing beneath you, he remembered this story, too.
“She was a crying fucking mess by the time I went back in, so wet, didn’t take any prep at all for me to fuck her. She didn’t cum once that night. Never did that shit again, though.”
Your breath hitched in your throat. You think of a few weeks ago, when Yunho was once again across from the two of you, when you put space between yourself and Mingi, a part of you hoping he’d fuck the brat out of you. You couldn’t even imagine Mingi tying you up and leaving you alone, he’d probably be crying before you would, or he wouldn’t even leave the room. But the thought of it… If he could… You crossed an ankle over the other, trying to create some kind of pressure between your thighs, friction to alleviate your core that was beginning to throb.
Mingi’s grip tightened ever so slightly in your hair and you knew he was showing you the restraint he was quickly losing, that he needed you. Your eyelids fluttered at the feeling.
“How did you get into this? This, uh, lifestyle,” Mingi’s voice was shallow, his mouth drying, he was feeling it just as much as you were. You don’t even know if you heard his question let alone the answer, not when you could feel his cock under you, begging to be touched, probably leaking, the tip red and aching…
Mingi pressed a finger to your cheek and your lips fucking parted. He was only trying to get your attention. “You okay?” Mingi asked, need flashing in his eyes, an unspoken question, a statement. Oh, Yunho has done it now.
I need you.
You blinked. Now?
A small nod. Now. Get him out.
“Not feeling too good, honestly,” you pouted, letting a hand fall across your forehead, “Do I feel warm to you?”
Mingi’s lips scrunched trying to hide his smile, you were the better liar out of the two of you. His palm hit your forehead, “Hm, you do feel warm.”
“Let me feel,” Yunho crossed the living room in a quick stride, his hand falling to your forehead fast, before you or Mingi could think up a silly excuse. His hand damn near laid from ear to ear, sending a spark of something through your entire body. “Damn, you are warm.”
He needed to get out, now. You give him a weak smile, “Must be coming down with something, I’m sorry to cut the movie night short.”
He shakes his head, then clasps Mingi’s hand, and goes to grab his keys off the coffee table, “Don’t worry about it, there’s always next week, Iron Man can wait. Feel better.”
“Thanks, Yun,” you call after him, tucking your smile away until you hear the front door close—
Mingi pounces. Strong arms tugging you onto his lap, assaulting your lips with his own, rough palms slipping under your shirt, thumbs hooking into your waistband. There was no time to waste.
“Fuck,” he cursed into your mouth as you rolled your hips against him, shorts dragging against his sweatpants, and you smiled at his sensitivity. “Fuck, I need you.”
“Yeah?” You rolled your hips again, harder this time, “That bad?”
His fingers tighten on your hips, digging into your skin, his jaw going slack, mouth unresponsive against yours. You let your hands feel up his chest, his shoulders, his neck, lips ghosting his jawline as he guides your hips against his.
His head tilts back as your lips attack a sensitive part of his neck, right below his ear. His voice comes out deep but breathy as he says, “Wanna make you cum five times, too.”
Excitement shoots up your spine. You sit back, hands resting on his shoulders, a grin on your cheeks, “Do it, then.”
He scoops you off his lap and falls to his knees, a muted thump was heard as cotton covered skin hit the hardwood of your floor, he laid you on your back as if you were fragile, made of glass. Your legs parted after he slipped your shorts off anyway.
You kept your hands in his hair as his tongue worked you open, your first orgasm coming quickly, easily, praises falling off your lips, skull digging into the floor beneath you. Mingi didn’t stop, though, not as his black locks ran taut between your fingers as you pulled in an attempt to get him away, when the pleasure became too much.
It was on purpose, the pleasure was fucking blinding, pleasure and pain, the sting of your orgasm that never fully finished turning into another, a pit in your stomach that ached with every swipe of his tongue. Your hips bucked, trying to chase him away, attempting to overpower strong arms holding you down by the bone.
“Mingi— holy shit,” you cried, eyes wide and staring down at him where he was doing anything but looking up at you. Focused, tongue moving in perfect circles, flicking at your clit with enough precision to tell you he wasn’t letting up. Your movements seized, joints locking up, breath getting caught in your throat as he pulled you under, forcing another orgasm to wash over you.
He ate you through it again before you were keeling, abdomen clenching, body jerking enough to where it was annoying for him to keep holding you down. His lips let go with a pop, sucking in a deep gust of air as your bones went fluid, body sinking into the hardwood floor.
Mingi smacked his teeth with plump, swollen lips. He lifted himself up by his arms, saying with a steady voice, “Turn over.”
You opened your eyes again, staring at hunger incarnate, “On my knees?”
He lifted himself farther, sitting on his calves, wrapping his fingers loosely around your ankles where they sat planted on the floor. Again, he said, “Turn over.”
You blinked, “I can’t if you’re holding my ankles like that.”
In a quick motion, he pulled you toward him, forearm scooping under your back, and your palms were pressed to the hardwood floor in a second’s time, knees stinging as the deep swirls of oak stared back at you. You hissed, “Fuck, that hurt.”
Hands that were already sliding up the backs of your thighs paused, “You okay?”
You smiled, thinking of all the limits you’ve discussed in the past weeks, your safe word, what to do in case you couldn’t say it. “I know what to say if I’m not.”
“Good.”
Your elbows hit the floor as his fingers slipped inside, his other hand holding onto your ass, squeezing your skin. “O-Oh my God, Min,” you cried, letting your forehead drop to your open palms, your back arched up into him as his fingers hooked into you, hitting that spongy spot inside, your toes curling, shins lifting off the floor.
It was overwhelming. Yunho had left barely ten minutes ago and you’d already came twice, Mingi working you up to a third without any reprieve. You could hear the smile on his face as he asked, “You gonna cum again? Gonna be good for me?”
You wailed as his fingers assaulted the spot, slipping in and out of you, curling, massaging, your body jerking at every movement he made. He sucked in a breath before he pulled his hand off your ass, letting it fall back down with a heavy smack, “Answer me.”
Your moan was treacherous, loud, somewhere between a score of pleasure and a cry of pain as you came again. Weaker this time but still as blinding as the first, you shook, he hit you. Not as hard and not as confident as he could be, it was still pain mixing with the pleasure, a cocktail of endurance and emotion, a step forward.
“Baby,” you could barely hear as both hands soothed your ass cheeks, rubbing circles into the skin. “Answer me, my love, need you to say something.”
You weren’t sure if your consciousness was still inside your skin, or if you were floating somewhere beyond.
His hands hooked into the crevice where your hips met your thighs, pulling you backward into his lap, moving and dropping you as if you were light as a feather. He was moving too fast, your brain could barely keep up, overwhelmed and overstimulated. You sunk into him, the smell of him pulling you back down to earth, the heat of his cheek pressed against your head warming you. “I’m okay,” your voice came out weak, lagged, tired. Your knees burned, but the fire he had lit inside your belly blazed.
“You swear?” He took your chin in his hand with care, forcing you to look up at him, concern bubbling wildly in his eyes.
You nodded, “I swear. You can keep going.”
He kept you in his lap, his hands moving slower now, uneasy. Fear bled into you with every touch, under your tee, as he unclipped your bra, even fumbling with the clasp. You could taste his nerves.
But his cock still stayed hard beneath you, pressed up against your back. After he tugged off your shirt and bra you faced him, bare legs wrapping around his hips, your boyfriend fully clothed where you sat naked, but not uncomfortable at the difference. You let your lips crash into his again, picking up speed, trying to show him your hunger when his had gotten foggy, masked with fear and concern.
He let you lead him, tongue dancing with yours, his hands sliding over your skin with more confidence now, more pressure. You smiled into him, “You still owe me two more.”
He matched your smile, “And here I thought we were past your insatiability.”
You let your bare center drag over his clothed length, gasping when it brushed against your clit just right. “I want you inside me.”
“I’m supposed to be telling you what to do,” his hands fell to your hips, grinding you against him harder, grinning when your head fell to his shoulder.
“Then tell me how you want me to ride you,” you mumbled into covered skin, your hands sneaking beneath the hem of his tee, fingers tracing his toned abdomen.
“Why do you get all the power?” He placed his hands under your ass, lifting you to shift onto his knees, you yelped when he stood up, easily holding you steady through the movement. A show of strength, a display of dominance, one that sent all the blood on your body straight to your still pulsing clit.
You clung to him on the walk to the bedroom, your arms hooked around his neck, adrenaline thrumming beneath your skin. All the daydreams you’ve had and research you’ve done was paying off now. This was better than anything you could’ve imagined.
He threw you onto the bed before he tugged his shirt over his head by the collar, pulling his sweats down just enough for his cock to spring out. Standing before you in all his glory, Mingi’s cheeks were pink, eyes glossed over and hazy, hair shooting out in four different directions atop his head thanks to your incessant pulling. God, he was fucking beautiful, you sat up on your knees and crawled towards him, wanting to taste—
He stepped back so you couldn’t reach, his right hand wrapping around the base of his cock, squeezing when it was already red and leaking, just as you imagined. You pouted. He raised his eyebrows. “You want my cock, don’t you?”
You met his eyes to find arrogance, something you’ve only seen on your boyfriend a handful of times. You swallowed down the thrill, nodding your head, “Yes, I want it.”
He pumped the length of his cock, a groan sneaking out of his lips, his head falling to the side, eyes fluttering shut. You gasped at the view, your eyes trying to catch the full length of him, not knowing where to look, not wanting to miss anything. Slowly, he built up a rhythm, and you whimpered from your spot on the baby pink comforter.
“Please, let me,” your eyes stayed glued to the way his hand dragged down the length of his cock, how his tip leaked beads of precum, lubing up his hand. He ignored you. “Mingi, please. I need it.”
He groaned instead, his hand pumping faster, until he finally opened his eyes. In a low, lazy voice, he moaned, “Fuck, feels so fuckin’ good.”
Your mouth hung open at the sight, he really wasn’t going to let you touch him. Was it because you told him to fuck you? He really thought you were taking the power from him?
“Please, Mingi,” you were whining now, fists balling at the comforter beneath you, eyebrows furrowed and bottom lip jutted outward.
He tsked. “Get down here. On your knees.”
You’ve never moved faster in your life. Sitting on your calves before him, knees burning again, hands in your lap, staring up at him with every hope in the world, you waited for instruction. He wasn’t fucking around.
He pumped his cock faster, palm circling the tip, squeezing his hand as stuttered moans poured from his lips. He wasn’t even looking at you, eyes focused on his cock, “Open your mouth.”
With your tongue out you sat up on your knees, eyes glued to his cock, waiting for his cum. Your cunt throbbed between your thighs, three orgasms weren’t enough, you needed more, you needed him, his cock filling you up, to cum around it. His moans grew in pitch as his wrist jerked faster, stuttering, his hips bucking forward into his hand, his eyebrows knitted together. It took everything you had not to slip a hand between your legs. At least you were a quick learner.
He came with a loud groan, ropes of white hitting your tongue, your nose, your cheeks, your eyebrows. You moaned with him as you felt the warmth on your skin, swallowing him down, licking your lips to catch what you could.
“Good girl,” his voice had dropped another octave, as if he was getting comfortable in his rank now, dominance surrounding him like an aura. You smiled up at him, stars in your eyes as he took his thumb to your face, scooping his cum off of your cheeks, nose, eyebrows, then promptly shoved it past your lips.
You gagged at the sudden intrusion, but swallowed him down anyway, lips wrapping around his thumb to suck it clean, tongue sliding against the underside. He patted your head with his other hand, a small smile sitting pretty on his cheeks, “So good for me, baby. Kiss me.”
You stood up on wobbly legs and kissed him, he could probably taste the gratitude on your tongue, how much you fucking loved this, loved him. He moved to sit back on the edge of the bed, never breaking the kiss, hands on your waist, tongue licking into your mouth to taste the leftover remnants of his release. Your knees planted into the mattress as you climbed on top of him again, a hand between your bodies, slipping his cock between your folds, spreading the wetness where it gathered.
“Holy shit,” he gasped out, breaking away from your lips to glance down between you, “You’re so fucking wet.”
“That was so fucking hot,” you said in the same tone he used as he looked back up to meet your eyes, “You’ve never done anything like that before. I’m dying.”
He huffs a laugh into your lips, “Dying is dramatic.”
You kissed him again, “And I meant it.”
You dragged your core along his shaft, sliding over his length, and he hisses into your mouth in overstimulation. You smile, “Now you know how it feels.”
“Sit on it,” he grabs his cock with one hand, your hip in the other, completely ignoring your remark, “Now.”
You cursed under your breath at the tone of his voice, at the desperation and order mixing together, how badly he wanted you, needed to feel you, yet overstimulating himself to do it. His cock was already hard again in his hand as you lined yourself up on top of him, hands bracing yourself on his shoulders as you started to sink down slowly, taking him inch by inch with ease.
The sound was deafening, how pathetic the two of you sounded, the whine-coated moans cracking from your gut. Your nails clawed into his shoulders, eyes screwed shut at the stretch, at how easily he slipped inside. His voice was strained, “Too fucking tight, gotta open up for me, relax.”
You were too excited, your joints locked up from adrenaline and anticipation. You took a deep breath, letting your body relax, unlocking your limbs, forehead falling forward to rest against his. His hands come up to your waist, rubbing circles into your back, “There you go, my love, you feel so fucking good.”
You whimpered at the praise, hips bucking forward involuntarily, “Can I move?”
“Go ahead, baby,” he said, letting go of your waist, leaning back against the mattress on his elbows, “Show me how badly you wanted to ride my cock.”
Your jaw went slack at the words, hips immediately picking up and dropping back down on him, your hands sliding up your stomach to pinch at your nipples. You bounced on him slowly at first, watching his face contort in pleasure, letting the sound of him guide you, encourage you. Eyebrows slanted and lips parted he moaned and moaned, hips jerking into you every few thrusts, silently telling you to pick up the pace.
“Mingi,” you breathed, a hand on his abdomen, using it to balance your pace, “Choke me?”
His eyes widened, “I— I don’t—”
You reached an arm forward, this was one of his unsure areas, where he was scared of his own strength, of hurting you seriously. You wrapped a hand around his throat, fingers pressing into the sides, “Like this.”
The moan he released stopped you completely. It happened in slow motion, the squeeze of your fingers, how his lips parted, his eyes rolling into the back of his head, how you pulsed around his cock at the sight, at the sound.
Now it was your turn to widen your eyes in surprise, “Oh.”
He brought his hand up to wrap around yours, his hips fucking up into you harshly, overwhelming your nervous system, shattering your god damn mind. Oh, he really liked that. You couldn’t fight the smile breaking across your cheeks, your words coming out jagged through his thrusts, “You liked that?”
He whimpered, broken through the pressure of your fingertips, and a small, shy nod of his head. You just wanted to show him how. Encourage him to do it himself. This opened another door completely.
You released him after a moment and he took a deep breath, eyes wild, gasping out, “Holy shit.”
You nodded with a wicked smile, your hips picking up the pace, “You really liked it?”
“Do it again,” he whispered, pushing himself up by his forearms, pressing his chest against yours as you changed your speed, rocking against him, a dirty grind against his cock as your fingertips danced over his throat.
You leaned in, whispering, “Kiss me,” against his lips, and he did, his mouth following your lead, up until you tightened your grip around his throat and pressed into the sides with light pressure.
“Fuck,” he whimpered against your lips, the sound broken and raw, and his jaw went slack again, his eyelids fluttering, his cock throbbing inside you. You could have fun with this.
You dropped your hips against him harshly, making him jolt into you, not a thought behind his fucking eyes as they widened, “So desperate, I told you to kiss me, didn’t I?”
“I can’t,” he cried, eyes closed, chin tipped back, “Feels so fucking good. Harder, please.”
You laughed in disbelief as you picked up your pace, the begging felt good, great even, your body consumed by another pleasure entirely. This was incredible. Maybe you could understand why Yunho does what he does, the sheer pleasure he must feel from breaking his partners down, having them at their wits end beneath him.
Having Mingi like this was unexpected but so fucking hot, even under a spell his cock was still hitting that perfect spot inside you, making you moan in tandem with him, a song of pleasure and worship filling the room, masking the noise of skin slapping against skin.
You let him go to brace your hands on his shoulders and his head fell against your chest, lazily kissing at your skin, his hands coming behind you to graze his fingernails down your back, making you hiss out at the sting. “Shit, Min.”
He whimpered again, making your hips stutter as you tried to ride him harder, faster, clenching around his length, and his fingers clawed at you deeper. Your back arched, “Yes, feels so good inside me, you’re so fucking perfect.”
“Need you to cum,” he said against your chest, a mumble of words, barely comprehensible. He glances up at you through his lashes, eyes sparkling and vulnerable, “Need to feel you cum, need it. Wanna fill you up.”
Your face twisted in pleasure, at the look on his fucking face, “Oh— Oh my God.”
You clenched again and he whined, “Fuck, I’m gonna fucking cum.”
“Wait,” you barked out, rushing a hand between your bodies to rub at your clit, “Hold it.”
His head tipped back, his features scrunching together, hands slipping down to your hips to squeeze, to guide you into fucking him harder. Deeper.
You gasped out a cry as you drew quick circles on your clit, still bouncing on him with the same rhythm, “F-Fuck, I’m so close, fuck, Min.”
“Yes,” he encouraged, “Cum for me, wanna feel it. Wanna feel you cum around me, please baby, give it to me.”
Your hips stuttered as you felt your high hit its peak, Mingi whining at the loss of rhythm, leaning back on his elbows to fuck up into you, his legs pushing against the bed frame surrounding your mattress. Your orgasm crashed over you, sending you forward, body folding in on itself as your vision went white, ears ringing as your body collided into his.
Mingi cried out, hips bucking and jerking into you to get himself off until he filled you up with his second load of the night, a sigh full of pleasure and contentment escaping him as he finished, his joints finally unlocking, laying flat against the bed.
After a moment his arms curled around you, pulling you up, laying your head on his chest from where you landed awkwardly over him. His hand went into your hair, rubbing lazy circles into your scalp, pressing his lips to the top of your head.
“Did I kill you?” He asked, voice teasing, and you grumbled a noise in response. “We can talk about it tomorrow if you want, but we still have to get you all cleaned up. Don’t fall asleep yet.”
You stuck your tongue out, licking the patch of his skin that was just beside your mouth to show him you were awake, making him shuffle in discomfort. He let out a small, disgruntled sound of surprise, “Eugh, don’t lick me.”
“Are you serious?” You picked your head up ever so slightly to see his face, which didn’t look disgusted at all.
A sweet smile sat on his cheeks, one not embarrassed, not shy, not regretful, but happy. You could have sighed in relief if you weren’t absolutely exhausted. He faked a pout, “You look so tired, and I still have one more orgasm to give you.”
He laughed when your face twisted in surprise and fear, you don’t think you even have the strength for a shower.
But because Mingi is perfect and knows you better than you know yourself, he ran the two of you a bath.
And you talked. A little.
But he definitely ripped that fifth one out of you.
You did end up talking about it the next day.
And the day after that, and the day after that, for two weeks. It seemed you and Mingi couldn’t stop talking about it, that night, his words, his assertiveness, how he jerked himself off onto your face, how your hands wrapped around his throat. It quickly snowballed into more, the two of you turning into monsters, it was as if your insatiability had grown a twin and possessed your boyfriend.
“I don’t know what happened,” at your favorite coffee shop in town the next day, the two of you sat cozied up in a booth, laptops out, but the last thing you were doing was working. “Something inside me, like, opened I guess. You put your hand around my neck and I thought I was gonna cum on the spot.”
With your cheek in your palm, you swirled your straw in your coffee cup, the doc you had open on your laptop screen long forgotten. “You really never thought you’d be into anything like that?”
Mingi shrugged, bringing his attention back to his screen, he drew mindless circles on his keypad with his finger. With his eyes on his laptop, big navy frames sitting on his nose, he admitted, “I don’t know, I never really thought about it.”
“Funny how I was trying to show you how to choke me,” you teased, lifting your head from your hand, straightening in the booth. “And here we found out something new about you.”
He rolled his eyes, a shy smile growing on his cheeks, still not looking at you, “Yeah, yeah, I owe you one.”
“No, not at all,” you shake your head, “We should just see what happens. What the vibe is when we’re in it, you know?”
He meets your eyes, cheeks dusted pink, “You’re okay with it? Like… If I asked you to do that to me again, you’re okay with it?”
Your eyes nearly bulged out of your head, was he embarrassed? You leaned forward, keeping your expression serious, “Song Mingi, that was one of the hottest things I have ever seen you do. One of the hottest things I’ve ever seen, actually.”
His eyebrows raised in surprise, as if he wasn’t expecting that answer. You smiled, hoping it came off as reassuring as you needed it to, “You’re not the only person that learned something about themself last night.”
His lips curled up at the edges, lopsided smile crawling across his cheeks, “I still wanna try doing it to you.”
“Good, because so do I,” you leaned back in the booth, still smiling, and you hoped his chest felt lighter, because yours definitely did.
The next morning, he beckoned you awake by peppering kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, your lips, but his hand sliding between your legs is what had your eyes finally opening.
You hummed in delight, sleepy mind curating nonsense to mumble as you stretched your arms over your head, spreading your knees to welcome to intrusion, the skilled fingers that knew exactly what they were doing.
Silently he worked you open, pressing kisses to your lips, slipping his tongue into your mouth to really get you there— he forced the taste of an orgasm on your tongue before he ripped it away, popping his fingers into his mouth instead.
You almost cursed him out for it, eyes wide, jaw dropped and pissed, but he just smiled.
“Be good for me today and you can have the rest later.”
You wore a scowl the entire day, even if thrill was coursing through your blood, excitement for what awaited you at home. He texted you mid-day while you were hard at work at your desk, asking for a present, a sexy picture in your job’s bathroom mirror.
You swallowed down your embarrassment, ears burning as you sped to the bathroom, eyes darting all around your office to make sure no one noticed, that no one saw you. An absurd fear.
Relief washed over you when the bathroom was empty and you quickly pulled your skirt down to your thighs, your ass laying right over the hem, plump and picturesque. You took a few, sending them all to him immediately, feeling scandalous and prideful that you’d done something so sexual in your job’s bathroom, and didn’t get caught.
He sent back a picture of the print of his cock through his slacks, his hand squeezing the base, his veins popping through his pearly skin, the watch sitting on his wrist making it so much hotter. With a caption just as incriminating as the photo, you salivated, tongue swimming in saliva as your thighs squeezed together beneath your desk, lip caught between your teeth.
Your body burned as you set your phone down, barely able to concentrate on your work as you completed your day, fighting with your mind to keep focus. By the time you got home he was waiting for you, already hard, stripping the skirt off your hips before you’d fully made it through the threshold of your apartment.
Five seemed like a lucky number for you two now, how many times you’d finished on various places of his body, on his fingers, his tongue, his cock, his thigh. The fifth came to you with his palm wrapped around your throat, squeezing harder than you ever thought he would, confidence oozing off of him as he drilled into you with your back against his chest.
The next day you seemed to switch places. You tapped into that side of yourself you just met, making Mingi a mess beneath you, tears and sweat and saliva, you took it all in stride with a smile on your face, eyes blazing with a wickedness Mingi’s never seen on you before. It was experimental and fun, fumbling hands and stuttered words, Mingi submitted to you even if you weren’t fully confident in your dominance.
You’d never degraded anyone before, much less your angelic boyfriend, it was a true fight to come up with nasty things to say, but that’s where your research had come into play. If either of you had an ounce of consciousness inside of the bubble you’d created together, you could probably pick apart where each and every piece of your words, actions, where everything had come from.
You two had become obsessed, every waking moment had turned sexual, doing and talking, talking and doing, you couldn’t get enough of each other. You started to feel silly for thinking your sex life would be ruined when, if anything, it had gotten better, somehow more active, because you both had turned insatiable. Mingi couldn’t make fun of you anymore, not when he was just as fucking horny as you were.
As deep as you were in it, the learning, the experimenting, something tugged at you. Maybe it was how you couldn’t grow fully confident in the weeks you’ve played, how you fumbled your words still, or when your hands didn’t quite know where to go, what to say, when to pull away. You knew learning never truly stopped, especially with something as severe as tapping into BDSM dynamics, but you found yourself stumped more than once, and that was enough to consider researching more.
Especially the night when you and Mingi had fallen into your sheets, a mess of lips and tongues and nails, waiting for the other to take the lead. Fighting for dominance but never winning, leaving room for the other to take charge, to set the tone for how the session would go. Ten minutes of kissing and muttering filthy words in each other’s ears, you knew he was feeling it, too.
Above you, he paused, lips parted and hands planted beside your head, chest heaving with adrenaline and slight confusion. You stared at each other for a moment, reading the feelings in each other’s eyes, before a laugh erupted from Mingi’s chest and had you giggling along with him.
“Shit, are we plateauing?” He flopped down next to you on his back, amusement laced in every word, eyes never leaving you once.
You giggled more, letting your head fall to the side to look at him, tilted smile on his lips and deep, hooded eyes. “I’m not gonna lie, I was kinda hoping you were gonna toss me around tonight.”
“That’s funny, I was kinda hoping you were gonna edge me until I cried,” he responded plainly, as if the words spilling from his lips weren’t completely filthy. You both laughed before you let out verbal breaths, a sound to fill the comfortable silence, then met each other’s eyes again.
“Well?” You asked, raising your brows at him, “What the hell do we do now?”
Neither of you knew, and you didn’t have an outlet to turn to. Instead you fucked slow, back to your roots, praises and kisses and soothing touches that felt incredible but still didn’t scratch the itch. The two of you needed more, something to help when you were both feeling submissive, looking for the same type of pleasure.
It wasn’t something you needed. No, you think it might be… Someone. Another person to help. The thought left you feeling uneasy.
You and Mingi have never once talked about opening up your relationship to anyone. Not once in your years together have you discussed a threesome, it’s been years since you’ve experienced a shred of jealousy, never once an inkling of disloyalty. Yours and Mingi’s relationship was the poster for perfection, and opening the door to someone else, even if it was all purely sexual, for education purposes, felt… Weird. Strange. Unwelcome.
Even if you were to say yes, who the hell would you ask? You only know one Dom, one person with enough experience in this area to help you. You forbade the thought for days to come.
Until it happened again.
The two of you weren’t as rough this time, kisses pressed to skin and hands slipping between legs, but it was still there. Mingi was whimpering into your mouth, a sound you’ve learned came from a very specific mindset, when he needed to be taken care of, when he was feeling needy.
And you had a long fucking day.
Your boss had assigned your team with a project that wasn’t anywhere near your area of expertise, accompanied by a deadline that didn’t seem humanly possible. When you had brought it up to him, he was not nice, stern and angry with you for not ‘doing what you get paid to do’ when this particular assignment was under his job criteria. It wasn’t fair, you had stress bottled up inside you from your head to your toes, you hadn’t even had sex on your mind today let alone coming home to dominate your boyfriend.
Your skin burned with every touch Mingi gave, you so badly wanted him to flip you around, take you with no prep, laying harsh slaps against your skin with a hand wrapped around your throat, you wanted these feelings fucked out of you. If you were going to fuck, you wanted to be fucked. There was so much negativity built up inside you from the day you yearned for your mind to go blank, to fall into that corner of consciousness where you didn’t have to be. Where Mingi made decisions for you, where he decided what was best.
“What’s wrong?” With his eyebrows furrowed in concern he pulled you into his chest, hands cradling your cheeks with soft palms, as if you would break in his grasp.
Fuck. Your throat tightened, your bottom lip jutted outward, your eyes closing to try and force the tears ripping their way through your ducts down. Mingi held you closer, threading a hand through your hair, scratching his nails into your scalp to soothe you, “Baby, what happened? What’s wrong?”
You sobbed into his chest, guilt racking through you with every breath, you didn’t know what to do. So consumed with the stress of your day and now Mingi wanted you to perform for him, you couldn’t do it. You didn’t answer at first, and he didn’t pry, he laid you down with him instead, letting you cry into his chest while rubbing circles into your back, kissing your head every few minutes, holding you close.
“I’m sorry,” you finally choked out, eyes opening only to see his tear-soaked tee before you.
He moved his hands to cup your cheeks again, holding your head up to look at him, thumbs swiping under your eyes to paint your tears onto your skin. “What’s wrong, my love? Did I do something?”
You shook your head in his hold, “No, no, it’s not you. I just had a really long, fucked up day, and I can’t…” Another sob ripped from your chest, “…I can’t do this tonight.”
“Baby,” the word laced with the ache from his own chest, he continued, “You don’t need to, you never need to, we don’t have to do anything.”
You sniffed, you couldn’t imagine what you looked like right now. Mingi’s seen worse, though, he’s seen everything. You pouted, involuntarily sniffing up the last of your cries, voice still broken and uneasy, “That’s the thing. I want to, I just don’t want to think, I want you to take my mind off of it. But I think you want the same from me.”
He blinked at you, concern and thought drinking up every inch of his face, he didn’t know what to say, either. It was a crossroads. He couldn’t just say Okay, I’ll dominate you tonight— it wouldn’t feel right. You wouldn’t want him to, either, you only want it if he wants it. Just like he only wants it if you want it.
He looses a breath, running a hand through your hair again, thumb swiping under your eye with his other hand, “Why don’t I run us a bath, order some takeout, and we can sit and watch a movie? Then tomorrow when we’re clear-headed and you’re feeling better, we can talk about this. What to do when it happens.”
You nodded into his hands, bottom lip quivering, because God, you were so fucking lucky. He washed every inch of your body in the steaming hot water, massaging into your shoulders, your scalp as he washed your hair. He had you smiling and giggling by the time you got dressed, after he ordered takeout, and then the two of you talked about your day. He listened actively, he hated your boss already, now that dislike just ran deeper. You watched a comedy, both laughing and talking through the whole thing, cuddled up next to each other before you fell asleep on the couch with every limb on your bodies intertwined.
“Wait, so you’re both switches?” Yunho faces the two of you in his spot, feet planted on the floor, elbows resting on his thighs with his fingers interlocked. His eyebrows laced together in focus as he listened to your story from the beginning, ready to guide you, to give the advice you asked him for.
You and Mingi knew you weren’t going to get anywhere from websites, informational books or romance novels, this was a problem you needed to speak to someone about. A real life human with knowledge, experience, the one person you both know and trust to help you with your little problem. The decision to ask him didn’t come easy, days were spent talking it out, the pros and the cons of opening up your sex life enough to let someone peer inside. None of your friends knew a single detail about yours and Mingi’s sex life, it wasn’t information you gave away easily.
But this? This felt necessary.
You sat with your legs crossed on your couch in your comfiest clothes, and Mingi sat stretched out beside you in an outfit that nearly matched yours. Yunho had walked inside complaining about his latest conquest, a six pack in his hand, ready to drink and forget all about it, maybe pass out on your couch. He was even dressed for the date he was supposed to go on, slacks and a long linen shirt, the top three buttons unbuttoned. Clearly, coming here was a last resort, or an answer to his own problems.
Until you and Mingi bombarded him with your own.
Yunho seemed excited to dive into your sex life, though. From all the stories he’s told, he’s barely ever gotten a detail out of one of you, one sided experiences shared without ever getting a glimpse inside of what you two do when you’re alone. He set the six pack down on the second shelf of your refrigerator and sat down in his spot across your living room, urging you two to spill.
“I guess so?” You look at Mingi and then back to Yunho, “I don’t know how else I’d describe it. It depends on the night.”
Yunho smiles in disbelief, “I would have never expected that. If I had to guess, I’d say you’re the dom, and Mingi’s your sub.”
“He’d love it that way,” you joked, nudging Mingi with your elbow, the six foot man beside you who wore the gentlest smile. “All of this started because I wanted him to throw me around a bit.”
“Hm,” Yunho sits back on his couch, crossing a leg over the other, his arm stretching across the back. “That’s a lot to discover, you haven’t been doing it for long, then?”
“A month and some change, I believe,” your boyfriend nods in Yunho’s direction. “At this point I think we’re just confused. We’re extremely similar and our feelings line up more often than they don’t, it’s hard to differentiate when one of us wants to be the one in control. Or doesn’t want to be, in our case.”
“Wait, wait,” Yunho raises a hand, “Let me see if I’m getting this right. The issue at hand is that neither of you want to be in control?”
“Sometimes,” you add, “Not all the time. The issue is what to do when that happens.”
Yunho laughs, and it’s a shrill sound that slithers down your spine, ringing in your ears like a wake up call. You think you can read the words in his mind, on his tongue, the easiest solution here, and it terrifies you when he actually says it.
“Why don’t you just call up a third when it happens?”
So simple. So easy. Like you and Mingi haven’t been together for years, like your sex life was some measly thing you could invite others into, as if it meant nothing. That was dangerous territory.
But you suppose you’ve been in dangerous territory for over a month anyhow.
You glance at Mingi who seemed to be thinking the same thing as you. He’s the one who turns to Yunho and says, “I don’t know if that’s something we’d be comfortable with.”
“Including someone else… Opens doors,” you add, fingers fidgeting where they say in your lap, uneasiness oozing off of you.
“Doors that we haven’t even knocked on, let alone opened,” Mingi nods, and the comfort of his thigh pressed to your knee feels necessary.
Yunho tilts his head, “It doesn’t need to be some big thing. You guys are exploring, figuring shit out, it doesn’t hurt to have someone else to guide you. And scratch the itch.”
You pull your lip between your teeth. That wording, how casual he’s treating the sentiment… You and Mingi were planners, since the beginning of starting this adventure, you’ve talked everything out from day one. Yet as you glanced at your boyfriend, the transparency in his eyes, how he seemed to be contemplating it, too.
Something was nagging at you, saying maybe inviting someone else in is the right option. Yunho was the one with experience, he’s guided people before.
He’s guided people before.
“Do you know anyone who would?” Mingi asked as your eyes skimmed over Yunho. Broad chest, long legs, strong thighs, you’ve never really looked at him. You know he’s gorgeous, but you’re too in love with Mingi to notice when someone looks like that. This could work. Your head tilted, the pearly chest peeking out of the white linen shirt lined with a silver chain, eyes dropping to his slacks clung to every muscle in his thighs. This could definitely work.
Yunho smacked his teeth. “Are you kidding me?”
A smile played at your lips as a bubble of excitement erupted in your gut. Every single story he’s ever told comes rushing back to you, every minuscule detail— Is he thinking what you’re thinking?
“You two have zero structure. As much as it doesn’t need to be a big deal, you should still invite someone that you trust.” Yunho meets your eye as he finishes his sentence, and you watch as he realizes, catching a glimpse of the amusement on your features, he knows.
“I trust whoever you trust, Yun,” Mingi says plainly. “I trust you the most.”
You and Yunho stare at each other, lost in some kind of nonverbal contemplation, who was going to tell Mingi what both of you were thinking? He jerks his chin in the direction of your boyfriend, the action so small it was almost unnoticeable, his eyes saying Go ahead.
So you do.
“Min,” you say quietly, turning to look at him, and Mingi meets your gaze with an absentminded look. As if Yunho couldn’t hear, you ask your boyfriend, “Why don’t we ask him?”
Mingi’s face contorts into bewilderment. “He can hear you— I— Are you crazy?”
You look at him, really look at him. We trust him.
Mingi’s face doesn’t change. He’s my best friend.
You pull your lips together in a line. He’s the only Dom we know. He can help us.
Mingi glances at Yunho, then back to you. Are you sure?
You smile. I’m sure.
When you both looked back at Yunho, his face had completely morphed into something different. Stronger. Thrill is racing in your blood, excitement and nerves combined encouraging the trickle of sweat beneath your clothes. You didn’t give yourself a moment to think, not about what could go wrong, not even about what would go right. Just sitting across from him had your mind floating, staring at that corner of your consciousness where you were everything and nothing all at once, waiting.
Mingi said something. You weren’t listening.
Yunho sat deeper into the couch, knees spread and outstretched in front of him, a smirk on his lips. “God, I thought you would never ask.”
Amusement still rippling in your eyes, impatience sitting shallow beneath your skin, you blink, “What do you mean?”
“The night you were ‘sick’?” He bends two long fingers on each hand around the word, “Don’t think I didn’t know why you kicked me out. What my words were doing to you both.”
Your body flushes, he even felt your temperature that night, yet he knew the whole time? Smirk still etched into his skin, he says, “You both looked at me like you wanted to eat me alive. Like you needed me to put you in your place.”
The breath that leaves your lungs is staggered and Mingi catches it, he could probably feel the arousal radiating off of you, smell the wetness pooling between your legs. You wanted this more than you realized, you think, and you hoped he did, too.
“Is that what you’d do?” The words stumble out of your mouth before you can think about them, “Put us in our place?”
Yunho meets your eye again and his gaze laid upon your body is all consuming, like being under a microscope, as if he can see the brat that laid dormant between your ribs. Voice swimming with simplicity and clean control, he says, “If you give me a reason to.”
He shifts his focus to your boyfriend and you feel colder without it, “Do you want this, Mingi?” With eyes on him and him alone, still exuding confidence and strength, he asks, “Or is it just your pretty little girlfriend that wants me?”
You and Mingi both gasp. Holy shit. Mingi stared, lips parted, you were sure his mind was going a mile a minute about all the things that could go wrong, how he hadn’t done any research on this.
Hold on, Yunho thinks you’re pretty?
“I’m nervous,” Mingi responds, his voice small, brushing his pinky finger against your thigh, but keeping his eyes trained on Yunho. Ignoring the pretty little girlfriend part doesn’t surprise you at all. With a little more confidence, he says, “We should talk about this.”
“We will talk about it,” Yunho nods, “I wouldn’t do this without talking about it first. I need to know your limits, boundaries, what you’re comfortable with. I need to know if you want it most of all though, Min.”
Mingi turns to you, a fire in his eyes, one that you couldn’t place specifically. Nerves or arousal, stress or excitement, they could burn either way. With an even smaller voice, low and raspy, he asks, “Are you sure about this?”
“I trust him,” you say just above a whisper, “If you don’t want it, we don’t do it. Period.”
“Baby,” he squeezes his eyes shut, dropping his head down, voice smaller than you’ve ever heard it, “I want it so fucking bad.”
You smile, peeking to look at Yunho, giving him a quick nod. You turn back to Mingi, excitement laced in your words, “Then let’s do it.”
“I need to hear you say it, Mingi,” Yunho cuts in, voice slicing through the room, an order. Mingi’s cheeks are bright pink as he stares at his best friend across the room, fingers fidgeting with the strings of his sweatpants, nervous. “Don’t be shy with me, I know everything about you, Min. I’ve seen your worst, and I’m still saying yes to fucking you.”
The huff of air that leaves Mingi slices through the room like a knife. It relayed every thought he was keeping trapped inside, every feeling he wasn’t sure if he should feel, as if he released the last bit of apprehension so the truth could lie bare. He looked at Yunho as if he handed his pride over to his best friend to hold between his long fingers, as if one harsh squeeze would leave Mingi ashamed for the rest of his life, as if he’d lose Yunho if this went all wrong.
Mingi swallowed, “I want this.”
Yunho smiled, “Great.” And as if he could read Mingi’s thoughts, his expression just as well as you could, he added, “You won’t regret it, I promise.”
Mingi nodded, leaving silence to lay over the room like a blanket. You steal a glance at your boyfriend, the both of you seeming to be thinking Well? What now?
Yunho answers your thoughts once more, “Tell me what you’ve done, what works, what doesn’t. Any boundaries, hard limits, things that are an immediate No.”
You purse your lips, trying to rack your mind, because in all seriousness you really haven’t tried all that much besides choking, some light power play and orgasm denial.
When you nor Mingi answer right away, the smile on Yunho’s face only grows, sly and knowing. “You guys are like two virgins sitting across from me. Say something.”
As if the one sentence took the edge off completely, you smile, and the lock on your vocal chords open. “We’ve just played around with choking, denying orgasms and stuff, some degradation. Nothing crazy.”
“I did that once,” Mingi raises a finger, a nod of his head.
“I don’t really know what I’d be into or not into,” you shrug, “Do you have, like, a list?”
“What, like a survey? Check off the box next to each kink if you’re into it?”
That rips a laugh from your lungs, “Fuck you, I don’t know. I don’t even know what there is to say no to.”
Yunho’s smile is somewhere between amused and plotting, eyes thinned and menacing. “Okay, then tell me what is an immediate Yes. What you do want.”
You purse your lips again, but Mingi answers first, the confidence in his voice taking you completely by surprise. “I like being choked, and I like when she’s mean to me, but nothing too mean, more like when she calls me names. I don’t know about being spanked or slapped.”
You nod, “Choking and names, yes. Spanked and slapped also yes.”
“Okay, we’re getting somewhere,” Yunho nods, “When you say names, you mean slut, whore, etcetera…”
You and Mingi nod, saying yes simultaneously.
“And we’re both okay with orgasm denial, how about overstimulation?”
“Yes,” you say in unison with your boyfriend once more.
“Then let’s start there,” Yunho leans forward again, elbows on his knees, legs spread before him. “I won’t be too harsh with you. If you guys are still interested in exploring, then we’ll save it for next time.”
He’s already thinking about next time?!
“Have you figured out a safe word already?”
You and Mingi nod, but Mingi says, “It’s kiwi. We googled safe words and it said fruits are good words to use.”
Yunho tries to ignore his amusement but his smile leaks through the mask, “Kiwi, okay. I can kiss you both, touch you both, there’s no limits when it comes to that, either?”
You and Mingi both shake your head. You add, “We’re yours to do whatever you want.”
“Good,” Yunho says, then turns to you, back to the demeanor exuding strength and power, “For starters, never say fuck you to me again, unless you want to watch me ruin your boyfriend while you sit in the corner, watching.”
Your breath hitches in your throat, your body stilling, heat erupting beneath your skin. The thought of him touching Mingi without you, doing anything without you present, active… a shiver racks down your spine, eyes wide and alert. You nod, then squeak, “Understood.”
“So sweet,” Yunho smiles, “I’m gonna have fun with you. Come here, pretty.”
You glance at Mingi, who looks like a deer caught in fucking headlights, eyes wide and slightly panicked, lips pulled into a line. His face seemed to say, He wants to do this now?!
You hold his stare, Should we?
His eyes fly to Yunho, then land back on you, his jaw tightening as he thinks. You can see the thoughts form, the churning of contemplation in his mind, but you watch as they soften, chocolate eyes melting under the heat of his best friend. His lips perked up at the corners, but his eyes told you he wasn’t completely sure, “Don’t keep him waiting, baby.”
You swallow but still stand on shaky legs, sauntering across the room, around the coffee table, approaching Yunho who shifts as you come closer, body sinking into the couch and spreading his knees. His face is too calm and collected, too casual, as if he’d truly been waiting for this, as if he’d seen this picture in a dream. You stand before him, socked toes wiggling against the hardwood as he looks you up and down, eyes catching on your big tee, staring where it swallows your shorts beneath. You were not dressed for the occasion, but he didn’t seem to care.
“Come on,” long fingers hit the top of his thighs, patting muscles and clothed skin, his slacks bunched where his thighs met his pelvis. “Sit.”
Your heart thumps beneath your chest as you sink a knee on either side of him, your head immediately turning to look back at your boyfriend. Yunho catches your chin with his hand before you catch a glimpse, his voice stern, “Eyes on me.”
You didn’t think you’d be apprehensive– every bone in your body was screaming yes, but the thighs beneath you were so different from Mingi’s, more narrow, just as strong but more slender, a lankier build than your muscle mass of a boyfriend. The difference had your body confused, your muscle memory warped, but your muscles relaxed in his hold, submitting to his grip on you, long fingers hooked on either side of your jaw. You stared into the well of bronze below his brows, lighter than Mingi’s, but hardened with steady control.
“Do you still want this?” His voice was low, almost a whisper on your skin, “Be honest. We can just watch a movie, try again another time, or never talk about it again.”
“I do,” It took a single hammered heartbeat to answer, “I want this.”
He smiles again, sweeter this time, “Then kiss me.”
He guided you toward him with his fingers still wrapped around your jaw, his lips softly melting with yours, and the feeling was… Strange. Smaller than Mingi’s but just as soft, you adjusted, allowing him to take the lead, following his lips as his hand traveled to your cheek, taking up every inch of space from your jawline to your ear. It was dizzying, Yunho kissed like he was already undressing you, inside you, passion and lust and conjoining, you could feel every intention behind it. It didn’t take long for your hips to rut against his.
As good as it was, it was still weird. Being with one person for so long but enjoying another, guilt nibbled at your soul, at every ounce of blood in your body that circulated only for Mingi. His hands dropped to your hips, palms covering bone, fingertips digging into plush skin, moving you against him. Your lips still followed his, body pliant for him, your arms flying to his shoulders to keep you steady.
Yunho pulled away after a moment, back relaxing into the cushions, hands laying softly on your hips, he averted his eyes to your boyfriend who sat across the room.
“Min,” you turned your head as Yunho called his name, eyes widening as you took in the view of your boyfriend. Body stretched out before him, jaw locked, eyes glazed over, still somewhere between horny and hesitant. “Come here,” Yunho’s voice was softer now, control still tangled within his words but he’d mixed in something calmer, soothing.
Mingi loosed a heavy breath as he stood, taking the seat beside Yunho, his limbs locked and rigid. You met his eyes, trying to understand what laid below the surface, and for the first time in years you couldn’t read his mind. Yunho’s head still hung lazily over the couch, his eyes raking over his best friend, his thoughts you couldn’t place either.
Yunho’s hand reached out to touch Mingi’s face, his thumb caressing his smooth, pink cheek, a small smile sitting on Yunho’s face as he touched him. Yunho locked a laugh inside his chest as Mingi shuddered, his voice quieter now, “Wanna kiss me?”
Mingi looked like he saw a ghost. Rapidly blinking, his lips opening and closing, yet leaning into Yunho’s palm resting on his cheek. Mingi nodded once, and that was all Yunho needed to lean in, to attach his lips to Mingi’s.
Your lips parted as theirs met, a rush of adrenaline seeping into your bones as they kissed, softly at first, questioning and experimental. Your eyes widened as their kiss deepened, Mingi’s body turning to face Yunho, a rough palm coming up to cup Yunho’s cheek, the two of them holding each other.
It was… Passionate. You wondered if Mingi was feeling the same things you did, the guilt, unease, the feeling of it all being foreign. It didn’t look like it, but you wondered how you looked kissing Yunho, if it appeared anything like this. The heavier it grew, the higher your temperature raised, a blazing heat consuming you as every nerve ending sparked. Watching Mingi kiss someone else— Yunho of all people— had you even more confused than you were before, horny but jealous, enjoying the show but wishing they were touching you, too.
Yunho’s hand slid down to Mingi’s jaw, grabbing it the same way he grabbed yours, you watched as his fingertips turned white with pressure, his grip tightening to ignite jealousy in your fucking soul. You rolled your hips at the sight before you, unsure if it was to get their attention or if it was because of the bucket of arousal that had been dumped on your head.
A hand left Mingi’s jaw to slide up your thigh, to rest on your hip, urging you to continue. You leaned forward at the attention, your hand reaching under Yunho’s unbuttoned shirt by the collar, fingers caressing his collarbone to his shoulder. Your lips followed, tongue licking up his neck, tasting sweat and Yunho as you kissed his jaw, the two still making out just above your head.
Yunho’s hand slid up to your waist beneath your tee, still keeping the other hand on your boyfriend’s jaw, somehow appeasing both of you simultaneously. You think about what he said– God, I thought you’d never ask– It finally clicks that he’s been waiting for this. He wants it just as much as you two do. The thought makes you smile into his skin, your other hand playing with the buttons of his linen shirt, wanting to feel the skin beneath it, wanting the wall between you gone.
Yunho finally breaks away from Mingi, both hands coming to your hips to still you, and you pull away from his neck. Both you and Mingi stare at him confused, waiting for instructions or compliments or degradation, you weren’t sure.
You would have never expected what actually came out of his mouth.
“That’s enough for tonight,” he leans back into the couch, eyeing the two of you carefully. You glance at Mingi who wore swollen lips and furrowed brows, you were sure you looked the same.
“That’s it?” Your eyebrows knit together, “Just some kissing?”
You were baffled. Yunho smiles, “Just some kissing. Now you’ll know if you really want it, with me.”
“I know,” Mingi counters immediately, “I know. I want it, now. With you.”
You nod your agreement, “I know, too. I want it, Yunho.”
Yunho’s smile just grows, sly and wicked as per usual, “Think on it for a few days.”
You can feel him hard beneath you– You stare at him with wide eyes, eyebrows furrowed, jaw slack. The arousal sliding through your veins was begging to be released, the arousal for him, for what comes next. You sputter, blinking rapidly, “I– We don’t need to think. Are you serious?”
He laughs. Not condescendingly, one genuinely full of amusement, “I’m serious, baby.” His hands grab at your hips, lifting you to place you on Mingi’s lap instead, “Next time.”
You look at Mingi who shares the same expression, confusion and surprise, blue-balled. You look at Yunho who’s getting up from the couch, “You don’t want to?”
He stands before you then glances down at his clearly hard cock pressing against the material of his pants, “I clearly want it, but I know you two. You don’t do anything on a whim, everything is planned out, even sex. Think about it, talk about it, and call me.”
It was as you had jumped into the ocean, freezing water washing over you, waking you up while simultaneously putting you down. You blink at him, he was right, he knows the two of you far too well, but for once you didn’t need to think it through. You knew down to the essence of your being that you wanted this, wanted him, wanted to see what he’d do with you. Wanted to feel it.
“Don’t look at me like that,” He tilted his head, pouting, “I promise I’ll come back and fuck you stupid if you want me to.”
Oh, you burned at his words, you wondered what other filthy things could leave his pretty lips. Mingi spoke up before you got the chance to whine, “You’ll come when we call?”
Yunho nods, “I promise. We have, like, twelve more movies to watch, anyways.”
You groan, you forgot about your Marvel Marathon. “God, this is gonna be endless.”
“You have no idea,” He winks, fucking winks, and you sink into Mingi, fighting another groan.
He turns, grabbing his keys from the coffee table, and starts for your front door. He waves a hand as he approaches the door, calling behind him, “I’ll be waiting for your call!”
You and Mingi look at each other as he slips through the door, a thousand words going through your minds, but you speak first. “We are calling him tomorrow.”
Mingi laughs, head tipping backwards, his whole body falling into the couch. “He’s such an asshole, but he’s right. A correct asshole.”
“A correct asshole,” you huff, laying on top of your boyfriend, sinking into his warmth. “I’m horny.”
“Good thing I got a lil’ jealous seeing you kiss him,” Mingi says, his hands sliding up your waist, under your tee– His tee. “Come here.”
