I think that when you're overstimulated you should appear kind of grayed out and no one should be able to interact with you like a locked character in a video game
I was bored, so I decided to make a compilation of sorts on my favorite autistic character, Dr. Spencer Reid. These have been piling up in my files, so prepare for a gif-style infodump.
Stimming
Self-stimulatory behavior often consists of repetitive movements. Reid is frequently seen fidgeting with his hands and other objects. He almost always talks with prominent hand movements. He also frequently touches his face. Reid occasionally spins in chairs, rocks back and forth, etc.
Missing Social Cues/Confusion in Social Situations
Despite his excellent profiling skills, his interactions with strangers and friends often leave Reid confused and causes him issues when trying to connect with people. He will miss jokes and sarcasm, take things literally, and occasionally gets uncomfortable when speaking publicly.
Infodumping, Hyperfocus, Special Interests
Reid’s special interests, as I have observed them, involve general knowledge seeking, criminology, Halloween, old foreign films, and sci-fi. Reid has a more rare trait of autistic people; savantism. If you believe in quantifying intelligence, Reid has an extremely high IQ (187), He also has an eidetic memory and can read 20,000 words per minute. When Reid is working a case, he frequently enters hyperfocus, ignoring everything else around him. Reid often goes into long-winded explanations of things and is oblivious to others’ frustration with his infodumping.
Sensory Issues
Reid doesn’t have as many obvious sensory seeking/avoidant behaviors as many other autistics, but it does manifest every once in a while. Reid is often uncomfortable with touching strangers, especially shaking hands. He has shown sensitivity to bright lights and loud sudden noises. Reid’s clothing choices also reflect his preference to be comfortable.
Coordination/Spatial Issues
Reid tends to display spatial awareness, coordination, and dexterity issues. He prefers academic pursuits, and ridicule in childhood further led to his aversion to physical activity/sports. He has also only very rarely been shown to drive a car, and takes the train to work. This may be due to difficulties with driving ability.
Appearance/Hygiene issues
Many autistic people struggle with basic hygiene and appearance upkeep. Reid’s hair, whether short or long, is almost always messy and unkempt. Reid’s clothes are often disheveled as well.
Trouble Regulating/Expressing Emotions
Reid tends to suppress his emotions much of the time, but when he experiences strong emotions they tend to pour out and seriously effect him in ways that don’t effect the rest of the team. Reid also tends to have odd/exaggerated facial expressions which may be a way of overcompensating for his struggles of expressing himself acceptably.
Additional stuff:
Avoiding Eye Contact
Going Non-Verbal (I’ve only ever seen this happen to Reid once)
Resistant to Change
Sitting Cross-legged (I’m not actually sure if this is an autistic trait but I always sit like this and so does Reid so I thought I’d include it)
So yeah, I hope that was informative. It was fun to make this post! Thanks for reading!
SYNOPSIS: Seungmin floats through life alone, haunted by his memories—keeping himself under control, and quieting his mind the only way he knows how…killing and watching the life leave his victims eyes. When you cross his path on a morning hunt, something new (something forgotten) starts to move inside of him, leading both of you on a path to confront the unspeakable past.
[ ML— DEITY MASTERLIST ]
The smell of smoke reaches his nose, and the craving comes on so suddenly, and so strong…he hates this, not being able to control something so small. He doesn't have much control at all, if he thinks about it. He hasn't had any real control in years—just the illusion of it. The first chance Seungmin gets, he disappears into a convenience store, and he walks back out with a pack of cigarettes clenched in one hand. He bites down on a fresh book of matches as he bounces it against the heel of his palm, eyes still carefully scanning the streets as he unwraps the plastic and pops one between his lips.
The sound of the match against the striker strip is enough to calm his nerves, but the first slow drag quiets his mind and numbs the itch in his limbs. The part of his brain that doesn't shut up when it's time likes to smoke lately, it seems, so he listens. More of his illusion.
Just as he pulls in another lungful, you breeze past him, head down, eyes glued to your phone. Seungmin can see exactly what you're doing—looking at a map as you walk, probably a little lost, and you’re mumbling quietly. Scolding yourself, maybe, but taking your time and obviously trying to keep it together. He wonders just how lost you are, but he doesn't move right away…he’s smarter than that. That itch returns very quickly, despite the cigarette, and his legs shake a little with the anticipation of following behind. Lucky for him, you stop and duck under the awning for some shade, and probably to get your bearings.
He likes the way you look.
You feign confidence, and you really are doing a great job of fitting in and acting like you know where you are—where you need to go. If anyone else was nearby, they wouldn't even suspect you needed help. And you’re pretty. Seungmin thinks you probably don’t know that, not here, so out of your element. You are, though.
Just as he moves to approach you, you lift your gaze, and your eyes find his. Seungmin freezes for a moment, then slowly takes the cigarette from him lips. “Hello,” he smiles and turns away a little to blow out his smoke. “I’m sorry, I can…” he discards it, then turns back, hoping your eyes are still on him…
He was a little rushed this morning, his hair dryer broke, and he spilled an entire iced coffee on his way out the door. Going out today didn’t seem like the best idea, but he figured he would at least make the attempt, and try again tomorrow if he had to. Seungmin is very glad he tried today. You still look up at him with keen, hopeful eyes when he turns to face you again.
“…put this out.” He tries English—it’s the only western language he knows. “Do you need help reading your map?”
Still, you stare…silent. If you don’t speak English or Korean, he’s out of luck, and he’ll have to drag himself back home, alone, and crawl into bed until tomorrow.
“Yes…thank you”
He sighs internally, and smiles softly at you. Once again, his looks (and his fluent English) get him what he wants. Seungmin doubts you would have taken the help if that first look didn't get something moving in you. He could see it in your eyes. “Where are you headed? I might be more useful than that map.”
Still, you hesitate for a brief moment, “...my apartment. I took the bus, and I missed it coming back. But I think I’m almost there. I’m just a little anxious, and I’m being stupid…”
“No, you’re not. Have you been here long? In Seoul?”
“About a week”
“No, not stupid. What’s the address?”
/ / /
“Stay close, we can probably get the whole way across.” He looks back at you, and slows enough for you to catch up to his long strides. “No, maybe not,” he takes your wrist in his hand, and it’s unnecessary, because you stop with him. It’s a good start…the first touch. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” you glance at him, and then to his hand wrapped around you, “I think I know where I’m at now.”
“You think?”
“I think”
“I’ll take you to your building. You don’t have to invite me up…promise.”
It’s another two blocks before you finally see it, and the sight of it is a relief. Seungmin can almost feel the tension leave your body as you approach it, but there’s a long moment of silence between you when you finally get there.
Eventually, you unfreeze yourself and speak,“thank you for your help…uh, what should I call you?”
“Thank you for letting me help. You can call me Seungmin.” He smiles shyly when he says his name.
“Seungmin, is it okay if do?”
“Do what?” He already knows what you’re getting at, but he cocks his head and bites his lip.
“Invite you up. I’m sure you have better things to do, though.”
Seungmin loves the flush in your cheeks when you ask. The nervous energy that left you returns, and it gets his blood pumping everywhere it needs to—his heartbeat jumps, and he hopes his cheeks pink up a little bit, too. “No, that’s been my best offer all day.” He knows he can’t do anything here, but this is also an unusual feeling—visiting the home of a potential victim. It's not necessary, and it's very personal...and it's a little bit awkward.
“This is cute.” Seungmin stands in one spot, and examines the tiny apartment. It’s simple, and still a little plain, but you’ve barely had time to settle. He can picture the twin size bed you’re sleeping on, and how the two of you would barely fit; the commotion you’d make…the mess. The thought sends a jolt of pleasure through him, and he feels himself getting hard as he watches you stare so intensely.
“What?” He smirks. You smile back, so Seungmin lets his grow a little wider.
“Do you want some coffee? You look like a coffee person.”
“I am, I would love some”
/ / /
“You’re a long way from home,” Seungmin says over the rim of his mug, casually scanning every part of you as he does—your bare feet shuffling on the area rug; your legs, easy to admire in the tight leggings you’re wearing; body sinking comfortably into the squishy couch. He sits up and turns himself toward you a little more. “May I ask why?”
“Work. But I think I’m very under-qualified for the position…I took it to get away from my old life, and my ex.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Bad breakup?”
“Bad enough…I’m sure things could’ve been worse”
If he can find out when the break-up happened, Seungmin can figure out just how vulnerable you still are. “If it was worth coming this far, I’m sure it was bad.” Reaching out right now and grabbing your throat would be so, so easy. It would be nothing; his hands would wrap perfectly around your delicate neck. He can almost feel the snap of your hyoid, your pulse as it speeds up; slows down; stops completely. Vulnerable, but still guarded—soft, sad eyes, and nervous fingers tapping against the mug, turned slightly away from him.
Still, when you look at him again, you light up a little. “My turn…what were you doing smoking outside a GS25 all alone this morning? I’m very glad you were there…just curious.”
“Oh…” Seungmin actually laughs at that—a genuine laugh. He wasn’t prepared for such a blunt question. “People watching, I guess. I like to observe.” He notices your eyes wondering over him, the same as he did to you, only you’re a lot less subtle about it. “What is it?”
“What do you do for a living?”
A living. What does he do for a living? He doesn’t do anything except survive day to day within his careful, tedious routine. He’s a trust-fund baby, thank god. Seungmin can’t imagine having to work a day job, deal with the public, wear a mask every moment of the day just to get by.
“I make music…write, produce. Independently. Nothing major, but it pays the bills.” It’s not his usual lie, but it seems fitting for you. It’s not even a lie, because Seungmin does make music—music that has ever seen the light of day.
“You sing?”
Seungmin nods, puts on another shy smile for you. “Yeah, I do. Mostly for myself, though.” He’s not used to fielding so many personal questions so quickly, because by now, someone has their mouth on something. Or something in it. The thought gives him another twinge in his groin, and he almost whines along with his sigh.
Now is probably a good time to get more information, but his dick continues to distract him. “Uhm, what was your promotion? What do you do?” Not this information, but he has to start somewhere.
“Nothing very exciting. Customer relations for a cosmetics company. I don’t like it very much, but it pays well enough, and I’m here now.”
“Is that where you went this morning?” It’s almost too nosy, but he goes with it. “Sorry, that’s not really my business.”
“No, it’s okay. I was coming back from Dongguk University. I’m taking language classes."
He takes the opportunity to switch to Korean, “good…so you don’t speak any Korean?”
And all you can do is stare back, clueless. “I think I caught a word,” you laugh when he grins at you.
“I’m going to have so much fun with you”
An exchange of phone numbers, the promise of dinner, and Seungmin is on his way back home. Empty handed, yes, but he already has a plan unfolding in his mind. A few times before, he’s deliberately taken his time—did the cat and mouse thing, or more appropriately for him, a dog with a bone. It’s usually not by choice, though. He may have to find another in the meantime; something quick and easy to hold him over. Rushing things with you won't satisfy him.
“Wow, this is…great,” the girl turns and gives Seungmin a heavy, confident look. She only has one thing on her mind, but he’s alright with getting straight to the point. “How about the bedroom?” So why does the eagerness almost turn him off? It’s a stark contrast to what you just gave him, and to what anyone else ever gives him. The dates he picks up don’t want coffee and conversation.
There is no foreplay—not a single touch until his pants are undone and on the floor, but she goes for his shirt, and Seungmin grabs for her wandering hands.
“What’s wrong…self-conscious?” She slips one under and runs her fingertips across his ribs.
He has to tilt his head to the side to avoid her lips. “No, I’m not.”
“You are a little skinny, but that’s okay”
The gasp the girl makes when he grabs the side of her neck, the little bit of fear in her eyes, is what finally gets him completely hard. He squeezes, just enough to not be threatening, and she relaxes for a moment.
“Sorry…sorry, just teasing,” she smiles a little, and her eyes dart from the window, and then back to him.
“Get on your knees”
She does so without hesitation, but Seungmin turns and walks away before she has a chance to touch again. There wasn’t much prep for this, so he has to be careful, and he has to be quiet, so he stares absently into the drawer of his bedside table for a few long moments. Handcuffs could be helpful, but the gag might be even better. He opts for the handcuffs, and when the girl sees them dangling from his finger, she smiles. “Okay, I like kinky…are those for me?”
Seungmin nods, and very gently secures one of her wrists. The other end snaps around the bedpost. Now she reaches her free hand toward him and gets a handful of dick, and he lets her touch.
“Are you gonna be a tease now? Take these off.”
A hand comes down fast, and again she gasps as he tightens his grip around her throat. She grabs for him and claws at his skin, but it does nothing. His grip still tightens, even as her nails cut and a thin line of blood starts to form. Seungmin relaxes, and then lets go.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” She coughs and pulls at the cuff, but it's not going anywhere. “Get this off of me. Now."
None of this is new for him, and most of the time, his jobs aren't easy. Last time, he was lucky. "No," Seungmin laughs and pulls his shirt over his head, but just as he's about to return to his drawer for something new, he hears his phone buzz in the pocket of his discarded jeans.
"Take these off…please"
"Not yet, relax"
"But you will? What are you gonna do? I'm sorry I teased you…please, you can do whatever you want, but—"
"But? I can do whatever I want, but what?"
The fear in her eyes is enough of an answer, but another buzz of his phone distracts her for the briefest moment. "Please let me go. We can just pretend this never happened.”
Seungmin goes for his phone this time, "no, I don’t do that," and stares at the number for a few seconds before recognizing it, because he didn't add you to his contacts. He's not even sure he should.
Hi! I just wanted to thank you again for being so kind. I haven't had any really nice interactions with anyone until I met you today.
And there is a place a block way from me that I've been wanting to try since I got here, if you're still interested.
Seungmin doesn't catch himself grinning, but his guest does. "Good news?" She asks. "Look, this was just a date gone bad. I'm not into whatever kinky shit you're into.”
He's bored. To be honest, he's been bored since he got this girl back to the apartment, so this may not do the job as well as he was expecting—he’s already starting to get soft. But letting someone go? Seungmin doesn't do that. The phone gets tossed onto the bed as he makes his way back to his drawer, and this time, he knows what he needs. The girl gasps and screams as soon as she sees the glint of the blade against the lamplight—the gag definitly would have helped, but it's too late now. The neighbors are mosty likely at work, at least.
The rattle of the cuffs against the bedpost is annoying, and Seungmin thinks for a moment that it might actually break. "You need to relax, and you need to be quiet. This…" he gestures to her antics, "this is not helping either of us."
"Fuck you, you're gonna burn in hell"
That's the last thing she says. There is one more reach, and one more scratch of her nails (right across his cheek), but she gives in as soon as the knife slides neatly between her ribs. One last hitch in her throat, one last exhale, and the light fades from her eyes. Exactly what he needed.
"I know"
I am still interested. I wonder if we're thinking of the same place.
He sends that off and thinks, but the first text is more of a challenge to acknowledge.
I'm glad I could be your first.
It doesn't sound quite right to him, but maybe that's a good thing. He sends that, too.
Now he looks to the lifeless body on his floor. The blood has soaked through her clothes, and onto the area rug where she was kneeling. Seungmin suddenly remembers why he hates doing things this way. Okay, no blood for a while, he thinks as he begins to conceal the body. He has a long day ahead of him now.
The week passes slowly, and Seungmin spends it hidden away in his bedroom. He wrote a little, and he forced himself to sing last night, but aside from that, he's just existed beneath the warmth of his blankets. One more text came from you a few days ago, but he hasn't bothered looking at it yet. Ignoring his phone has been a test for himself, and he has done pretty well at not thinking about what you said.
That can't last forever, though. Seungmin doesn't think you're going to lose interest that easily. He knows you won't. And besides, he's hungry. It's time to get out of bed.
I'm free all day on Thursday
Fuck, today is Thursday. Seungmin sits up in bed and stares at the screen, thinks…wonders if chasing you will be worth it in the end. What if he spends all of this time on you, and it doesn’t fill the need he’s expecting it to? What if it’s just like the last one? He starts to type.
I am free today. I'm sorry I took so long to reply. I understand if you made other plans.
No, it can’t be as bad as that one.
Lunch. Maybe a walk, if it's not to cold for you. Back to the apartment. It's not time, though. The feeling hasn't quite returned yet, and it won't feel right if he does this now. Maybe today isn't the day.
I'm still free. Let me know when!
But lunch wouldn't hurt. Seungmin needs you here, in this apartment, if he's going to do this right. He needs you comfortable with him.
I can get dressed and head to your building. Half an hour? Meet me outside.
/ / /
You dressed up for him. He's still a half a block away, and you’re turned in the opposite direction, but he can tell that you put some thought and effort into your outfit. Seungmin looks the same as he typically does; black jeans, black sneakers, a Carhartt jacket over a loose fitting t-shirt. Not much effort, really, but…
"Hi!" You examine him, not so subtly, starting from his dark parted hair, all the way down his long, slender legs. The smile on your face grows when you meet his eyes again. "How was your walk?"
Now it's beginning to feel like a date, and it’s very obvious that you’re attracted to him. There’s no doubt you would’ve looked at him the same had he arrived in the sweatpants he had on in bed this morning. "Very nice. How was the trip from your apartment?"
Seungmin gets a genuine laugh out of you. “It was great, I was very excited to get down here and see you.”
Excited to see him. Okay. Seungmin is used to the attention, but he isn’t as used to the cute, innocent flirting. He sees your cheeks blush before you drop your gaze.
“You lead the way”
He nods, and brushes by you very gently.
Lunch is perfectly normal; a real date. Seungmin learns a little more about you, and you learn a few more exaggerated, somewhat true things about him. The breakup between you and your ex was recent—only six weeks ago. The move was actually the catalyst for ending things. You confessed to him that you’re still unsure if it was the right thing to do, but you are beginning to like living in Seoul already. Maybe because of him. You thanked him again for his help, so Seungmin starts to wonder if simple kindness isn’t something you’re used to. Getting it from him seems a little ironic.
“Would you like to take a walk?” The second part of his plan already seems to be in motion, because you walked right by your building without even realizing. “There’s a nice park I like to visit about a half a mile that way, and a cafe a little closer, actually.”
“Either sounds good"
“Or, my apartment is closer than both. And I have a very nice coffee bar. And a regular bar, if you prefer.”
He hears your soft laugh, and he can picture you blushing again. A no wouldn’t surprise him, though—going straight to his apartment was beginning to feel like a stretch, but he has to ask. After all, you did invite him up fifteen minutes into knowing him.
"Are you gonna make me a homeade latte?"
"Whatever you desire"
/ / /
Seungmin waits for you to give him a surprised look as soon as he leads you through his front door, just like everyone else does, but you don’t. You’re quiet as you take your shoes off and look around, and you don’t make a sound until he speaks up.
“Make yourself comfortable. I’ll get the espresso machine going.”
“You must do good work”
“I wouldn’t say that. My dad left me a lot when he died, so I can’t take any credit for it.” Why did he say that? He had no reason to tell the truth, and yet, it slipped right out.
Now you do give him a look—a sad, apologetic one. “Well, I’m sure you still do good work.”
Seungmin keeps his mouth shut as he flips a switch and grinds the coffee beans. You don’t say anything else, but he watches you watching him carefully from the corner of his eye as he works. He makes one for himself, too, and as he walks to join you, a reflection on the hardwood makes him stop in his tracks. A small, silver earring is shining up at him, and he silently scolds himself for his sloppy cleanup. How did he miss that all week? He did stay in bed for most of that time, but he has never, not once, left something behind. It looks clean, at least...no blood.
“What’s wrong?” You look to where he’s looking, and you see whatever has him frozen. A small silver hoop earring.
“Uh, nothing…” he sets both coffees down on the table and tries to ignore it, but he can’t. Besides, you’ve seen it, and he can’t just leave it there. Seungmin wonders if he left something even more damning in the apartment as he bends to pick it up.
“One of your dates lost something?” You say it casually…just an observation, “I assume you have a lot of them coming and going.” But Seungmin looks ready to defend himself.
“No…no, I don’t. Not that often, really.” He slips it into his pocket. “How is your drink. I can make another if it’s not quite right.”
“It looks good,” you pick it up and hold it under your nose, “smells good,” and take a slow, careful sip. It’s hot, but just the right amount of hot. “It’s very good, thank you.”
He sits down, and his knee grazes against yours. You hold still and watch his hand run down his thigh, follow his arm up to his shoulder—to his neck, where his loose t-shirt reveals some collarbone, soft and tan. Seungmin is staring right through you, and he doesn't seem to realize it. The movement of his eyes is hypnotizing, and they're so big and dark, you feel like they could swallow you whole.
Just when you think he's going to reach for his coffee, his hand lifts toward you, and everything moves in slow motion—Seungmin's tongue pokes out to wet his lips, he bites down on it a little…and his fingertips just barely graze the far side of your neck.
You shake free of your trance and move back.
"Sorry"
"It's alright," you take another long sip of your coffee and avoid his gaze, but you can feel him staring at you. Hard. You look around his big, well decorated apartment and suddenly wonder how you ended up here with a man you hardly know, inches from him, his eyes eating away at you.
He's not sure why he went for that touch. Curiousity, maybe. Your skin looks soft, it is soft, and though he has no overwhelming urges at the moment, he still wants to to know how your skin feels squeezed against his palms, and pinched between his fingers. The image gives him a pleasant twinge in his stomach, and he doesn't even think about the possibility of his dick growing in his jeans right here and now. Today, nothing will happen, and if he scares you off now, he’ll never get you here alone again. It’s not a risk worth taking.
“I am…please forgive me. I don’t know why I did that. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”
“I don’t.” It’s a little bit of a lie, but he seems sincere. It’s easier to relax and take a deep breath now that he’s up and making a little bit of distance between you. Still, you admire him from this angle—his long, slender legs, perfect in proportion to the rest of him. Broad shoulders, and a strong looking back that you can see when the light hits his white t-shirt just right.
His face is soft, his jaw is strong, and his skin pretty, but not quite perfect. Seungmin looks like a piece of art come to life, and he’s here with to you. Talking to you. Staring at you. Reaching out to touch you.
There has to be something wrong with him.
“Are you okay?”
“Hm? Yes, I’m okay”
“I asked if you wanted to see the balcony”
There is no doubt he caught you admiring him. The grin on his face warms your cheeks…it warms your entire body. “Yeah, sure”
The balcony is in his bedroom.
Very cautiously, you walk through the doorway, but you’re not sure why you’re still on edge. So far, Seungmin has been sweet and thoughtful…maybe a little odd, but not so odd that it should concern you. Regardless of how handsome he is, maybe he really doesn’t go on many dates, or even get out of this apartment very often…his room is dark and moody, maybe more of a reflection of his mind than anything else in the apartment. Everything looks expensive—the high windows, the lighting, the music equipment in the corner. His bed is oversized and covered in soft pillows, and an old stuffed dog sits right in the middle. It looks like it’s seen better days. Seungmin doesn’t stop to show you around, though. He heads straight for the balcony.
“You’re not afraid of heights?”
You shake your head.
“Good. It’s a nice view.”
It is a nice view, because he’s almost at the very top. The wind gusts a few times as you stand there, and the air is chilly, but Seungmin stands to your side and blocks most of it. His eyes burn into you again, and you’re starting to like it.
“I should probably go.” Another lie. There is no reason to leave, and you don’t want to, but if you do stay, something will certainly happen.
“Oh, of course…I can call a ride for you”
And you want something to happen. Being in his room, within falling distance of his bed, is driving you a little bit crazy. His big, soft eyes are driving you crazy. But you barely know him, and you’ve barely settled into your new life. Feeling vulnerable isn’t new, but you’re extra vulnerable right now, and you know what can happen when you feel that way.
/ / /
Someone else will come along, and he’ll be fine. Eventually, he’ll come across another perfect one, and when he does, he won’t drag his feet and fuck things up. You were right here, inches from him…more than within reach, and Seungmin is not used to failing at getting his way. Maybe he missed something. Seungmin isn’t completely aloof when it comes to emotions and reading them on people, but he doesn’t typically bother with it, and he isn’t the best at it.
Fortunately, he doesn't have to dwell on it too long. You send him a text right before he begins to doze off that night...
Thank you for lunch today, and the walk…and coffee. Sorry I ended everything so quickly, it was nothing personal. I would like to see you again.
Okay, everything is fine. Just a little overreaction on his part. He just…scared you off? Came on a little too strong with the neck touch, more than likely. It didn't seem like much, but you're obviously a little reticent.
I would like to see you again
No reply to that, but a heart pops up next to his message after it sends.
He drags himself to the other end of the street, but he's tired. Sleep hasn't come easily the past few days, and the nightmares that come and go have returned…the same ones—the old shed, the soft, rain soaked ground, and the earth covering his father's hands when he reaches out for Seungmin. There's more, so much more, but it always comes in pieces. Maybe tonight he'll get another piece.
For now he focuses on the woman entering the bar, and he's certain he's going to lose her in there on a busy Saturday night. The urges have returned, and the sleepless nights haven't made things any easier, so he has to do something, and this half-hearted chase helps a litte bit. You haven't said a word since Thursday, and if you don't by tomorrow morning, he might just come and find you himself. If that's the case, he doesn't even need to pursue this one—he can go back home, take a hot shower, make a strong drink, and finish his nightmare.
“Seungmin?”
His heart jumps into his throat.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sneak up on you”
It’s you. It’s your soft, lilting voice, and your pleasant accent. He turns and your eyes connect, but his heart still continues to pound. “Hi, what are doing so far from home?” Very far. He ventured a little further out of his comfort zone this time around. Running into you this far away can't be a coincidence, even if Seungmin doesn't believe in things like that.
“You first”
“Oh, uh…trying to be social, I guess”
“It’s alright, you don’t have to tell me the truth.” You smile at his smirk. “A few of my classmates dragged me along, but I’m over it already. I don’t usually stay up this late.”
“I can ride home with you, if you’d like. Unless I can convince you to have a drink with me first.”
You think about it, but not for very long. Part of you wants to make up for last time, and for struggling to text him back. “Yes to both. Can we try a different bar?” The other part wants to remain strong.
“Of course, anything you want”
“Your bar?”
But the former part is bigger.
It's a quiet ride back to his place, but it's not an awkward quiet. Seungmin is relaxed, body turned sightly toward you, and you can tell he's watching every subtle movement you make; the fidgeting of your fingers, and the bounce of your knee, the occasional shift to adjust yourself and pull at your sweater. You can't quite figure out what he seems to see in you, and maybe that's part of your hesitation—being a clueless foreigner with a native drinking up every little thing, emphasis on little, that you have to you offer.
He walks ahead of you as you head for the elevator, and it's another opportunity to look at him in the harsh light. The leather jacket he's wearing is a bit big, but it doesn't hide the broadness of his shoulders. Just as you move your eyes down, he begins to take it off and reveal even more. His muscles move delicately beneath the black t-shirt as it slides down his arms, this time a more form-fitting one, tucked loosely into his black jeans. Tiny waist, narrow hips, but just enough ass to grab.
The elevator opens and he turns to you, "don't worry, I won’t keep you up too late."
When you arrived, he did all of the things guy's don't actually do on your dates: pay for the ride, open the door, hold a hand out for you. It was a little bit cheesy, but you're not going to complain about his good manners.
"Do you mind if I change? I can smell the smoke on me."
You shake your head at him, make yourself comfortable on the couch, and listen carefully as he moves around in his bedroom…the slide of a drawer, a door softly opening and closing. He's not in there long, and when he comes out, he looks like a different person.
Seungmin’s face is so striking, and it’s like that no matter what he does to his hair, but he definitely combed everything back with his fingers while he changed. It’s parted just off to the side and pushed away from his eyes, save for a few lose strands, and his eyes are so pretty and intense. The outfit is completely different—a loose fitting t-shirt, a thin white one this time, and sweatpants. It looks so out of place, because the three times you’ve seen him, he was dressed a little more than casual.
A silver Chanel necklace still hangs around his neck, and you wonder if he just forgot about it. “Better?” You stand and take a step toward him, he moves a little closer, but heads toward his small, but elaborate bar.
“Yeah,” he smiles and beckons you. “What do you like to drink?”
“What do you think I like?”
“Oh…good question, let me think,” he very patiently scans over his selection…
Ice in the shaker, cherry soju, coconut vodka—he gives it a shake, never breaking eye contact until he has to grab a glass and pours—he stops and looks around, thinks, then grabs another bottle from under the bar. As soon as he twists the cap off, the sweet smell hits you. Seungmin tops it off with cream soda, and drops in a cherry before sliding it toward you. Then he pours some for himself, minus the soda.
“Is this me as a cocktail?”
He sips his, and you can hear a little laugh from behind the glass. “First impression? Yeah. Is it good?”
“It’s good, it’s sweet…goes down easy”
“Oh, I hope so”
The whole room warms. You feel like you’re on fire. You know you’re blushing, and you might even be grinning like an idiot, but you can’t pull yourself away from his stare. Seungmin bites down on his bottom lip and a smirk slowly tugs at his mouth, and it’s now that you notice how plump and red his lips are.
All you can do is clear your throat and shift in the bar stool, but thankfully, Seungmin still has the reigns. He finishes his drink in one swift movement, and you take one more sip as he rounds the bar. The warmth of his hand on your thigh, you do feel that, but everything else is either numb or pulsing with nervous excitement. He spins you to face him, but his hand doesn’t move—it squeezes as he leans in and whispers in your ear.
“Stop fighting against it…just…” he sighs, and it turns to a soft moan. You feel like you could melt right out of this stool and onto the floor. “Don’t make me beg.”
Fuck, your mind went from nothing to everything you want him to do to you, and everything you’ve been wanting to do to him. But you haven’t done anything yet, and you don’t have to. Seungmin hasn’t come off as that type, but god…the way he’s looking at you and gripping your leg. He gently pushes your thighs apart until he can put himself between them, and your eyes drop to the growing bulge in his sweatpants.
“Seungmin…uh, fuck…um”
“What? Look at me. Eyes up here.”
The ease at which he makes you listen is surprising. He has you now. The smoke-tinged smell of his skin, the vanilla of his cologne, and the sweet smell of booze on his lips. His eyes soften, and you can’t even begin to imagine resisting that look—from here you can see the little bit of black eyeliner starting to smudge. You don’t even feel yourself reach up and wipe your thumb at the corner of his eye, not until he smiles and wraps his fingers around your wrist.
“I’ll take care of you. I’ll give you what you need.”
No answer will come out, so you squeeze your thighs and hope he can read the look in your eyes. He does. Seungmin grabs your hips and pulls your body into his, lifts you, and doesn’t hesitate once he has you in his arms. He turns and takes you right into the bedroom, and the feeling of being outside of your body is intense. You can feel your legs wrapped tight around his hips, and your arms clinging to his shoulders…you can hear his soft grunts as he keeps you steady against him. He pulls you close right before he drops you, and you get a taste of his skin before you hit the bed.
“Keep your eyes on me”
He pulls his shirt over his head, and you study every inch of him while you can. A long, lean torso—his muscles underneath flex with every shallow breath; his bare shoulders—you count every freckle as your eyes move down his arms; his hands grab his waistband and pull, and his cock bounces out, bigger than anything you’ve taken before, and you’re not even sure he’s fully hard yet.
Seungmin laughs at your reaction. “I’m usually a little more subtle…but,” he stops and looks you over, and his voice turns so sweet, “take something off for me. Please.” He’s never this needy, and he doesn’t usually move so fast, but he’s aching for it. Nine days of teasing him was far too long. “Yeah?,” he purrs as you sit up and slide out of your oversized sweatshirt. “Much better….” He strokes himself as he climbs onto the bed.
As soon as your tank top makes it over your head, and your breasts bounce free, you feel your nipples harden even more. Seungmin groans like a horny teenager. “Good…lie back for me.”
The steadiness of his hands is what you expect from him, though. You know he’s experienced, and you know he wants all the control. He unbuttons your skirt and pulls, leaving you in nothing but your panties—you wore cute ones, the lacy ones, just because. Of course you weren’t expecting to get anything tonight, but you’re so glad you did when you see Seungmin smiling at them…but then he snaps out of his trance.
Fuck, he mumbles and moves back. You watch him hop off the bed, and take another chance to admire his naked body, but he doesn't take long getting into his drawer, grabbing something, and returning to you. The condom is out and on him before you even realize what he was doing, and your panties are gripped and pulled down.
"Open up for me," he coaxes your shy legs apart until he has an eyeful of your throbbing, swollen cunt—good—and his tongue slides hungrily into you, making you gasp. "Soaking wet for me already?" Seungmin looks at you for an answer.
You nod and cautiously run your fingers through his hair, and he leans into it before getting back to work, but he just teases you. Licking and sucking just enough to make your hips move against him for more. You relax and enjoy it while you look around the dark room. The curtains are pulled shut, but you can see a little slice of city through the balcony's sliding door. The built-in shelves in the corner are over flowing with books, records, little trinkets you can't quite make out. There’s a bouquet of fresh purple flowers poking out just enough to see. You reach up and slide your hand across a silky pillow, and your fngers close around it.
"Oh…right there," you whine and take another fistful of hair. "Seungmin, god."
He laughs again, takes your words to heart, and doesn't hold back.
Your eyes squeeze shut, and you try hard to keep your body relaxed as he works, but all you want to do is thrust into him, make more fiction…finish…come hard. Seungmin moans and the vibration runs through you.
"Fuck”
He stops, and lifts his mouth off of you completely…
"No…please"
…and he laughs. "Not yet, not yet."
"So mean," you whimper, "why…"
You force your legs closed, but Seungmin doesn't like that. He grabs each knee and spreads you open again, and he slides himself between your thighs until his cock grazes your sensitive clit.
“Relax…” he comes down and bites the skin on your hip.
“I am,” you lie back and look to your left this time; at the desk, the instruments, everything he uses for work. The bedside table is bare except for a lamp, a pair of glasses you’ve never seen him in, and a silver bracelet…it matches the necklace you feel tickling you as he moves his lips up your body. “I am.” Your fingers tangle in his hair as he gets closer and closer to your throat, your neck. He bites down gently, and the pressure as he pushes himself in is so much more than you prepared for. He doesn’t tease—but he does at least take his time. After a few patient movements, he pushes in, and you whine in pain as he moans in pleasure, pulls out, laughs softly as he pushes in. Again and again.
“Fuck, you feel good”
“Slower…slow down,” your own voice echoes in your head, and you don’t feel like you’re all there. But you watched him make your drink, and he didn’t put anything in it. It’s stupid, but maybe it’s just him, and this room.
“Slow down? Oh, I’m hurting you.” He pushes in and stops, “I don’t wanna hurt you, but...you look so good stretched around my cock,” and pulls out carefully, “so wet.”
“You’re not hurting me…”
“I am”
It takes so much restraint, but Seungmin listens to you, and he’s patient as he pumps in and out. Every few strokes, he moves a little faster, and he knows he finally finds a good pace when you whine for him and squeeze his arms.
“Yeah, you like that?” He whispers and you nod, “you take it so well, fuck.”
His gentle affirmations keep you wet, and the sound you make together, the mess of arousal dripping out of you as he works—Seungmin pushes your thighs apart and takes in every little detail.
It does hurt, and it feels so good at the same time. “Please…”
The soft movements of your breasts distract him, and he takes them in his hands and squeezes. The look on his face is dazed, so full of pleasure. So lost.
“…don’t stop.”
"No." He’s not stopping anytime soon, not when it feels this good. “No, I’m not,” Seungmin speeds up, "I'm gonna break you in two," and slams hard into you, and no, he doesn’t stop, even when you cry out in pain. One hand falls down on your mouth, and the other pushes your shoulder into the bed, making you scream out again, but it’s muffled by his palm.
Your hands jump up and squeezes his forearm, and the other scratches at the hand covering your mouth. You can still breathe through your nose, but just barely. Seungmin doesn’t relax, and he doesn’t let up when you grab his side and dig in. Everything goes numb, but your skin prickles with goosebumps. You’re outside of your body again, looking down at the struggle, and the ceaseless pounding of his hips against yours. Every move he makes knocks even more air out of your lungs. Maybe if he comes, he’ll stop, or at least loosen his hand and let more air into your lungs. Time slows down, and lights pop up in your vision. You’re getting dizzy, and your heart was threatening to explode before he attempted to stifle your moans. Your chest starts to burn as you exhaust yourself.
There’s nothing you can do. Seungmin is stronger than he looks. Fingers squeeze into his arms one last time before the feeling disappears, and you think he finishes just as you let the rest of your body relax. Sleeping, that’s what this feels like. Falling asleep…feeling so tired you can’t possibly keep your eyes open any longer. Something in you needs to say his name one last time when the pressure of his hand is finally gone, but so are you.
/ / /
Seungmin can barely hold his body up, because he can’t remember the last time sex felt that good; the last time he came so hard. It takes a moment for enough blood to return to his brain, and for the post-orgasm bliss to subside enough that he can speak, but when he does, he finally realizes how silent you are.
“Hey, sweetheart…look at me,” he runs a soft thumb across your brow, and wipes away a stray tear running down your temple. Seungmin freezes, and the air catches in his throat. “Open your eyes,” he whispers, taps your pink cheek, and caresses it with a softness he isn’t used to giving out. Nothing happens. He pulls at your chin until your lips part to listen for the movement of air. Still nothing. “Fuck.” The shakiness of his voice surprises him. He climbs off of you and collapses onto his pillows, but his eyes don’t leave your still body. “I didn’t. You fucking idiot, you didn’t…” he’s up again and walking on unsteady legs, still weak from the exertion. Back in his sweatpants, Seungmin climbs onto the bed again and straddles your waist. Your cheeks are still flushed, and your lips, also still very alive looking, stay ever so slightly parted. Still, no air passes through them. He knows his own strength, and he prides himself on his control, but sometimes he does lose himself in the moment. But he kept his hands away from your neck. He very specifically forced that on himself, because this wasn’t the plan tonight.
“Hey,” he moves a piece of hair away from your damp forehead, places his lips against yours for the very first time, and he fills your lungs with air. Once…twice. Nothing. He tries one more time, and after, kisses you softly before returning to his spot on his pillows. The puppy plush falls onto his lap, and he grabs it, “you see that, Daengmo?” he says, and points its face toward you, “I still can’t do anything right.”
The first gasp for air feels like nothing—a useless, struggling breath like you’re still trapped underwater, but your eyes somehow open and see nothing but a blue tinted darkness. Hands clench something soft and slick…silky. Still corporeal after death, that’s the only thought you can create. The second breath fills your lungs and you cough it out, hard. So hard you sit up, and he’s there, holding your face, whispering your name. You try to push back, but you don’t think you actually move. Seungmin’s grip tightens on your shoulder, and he lets you fall back on the bed.
“Stay awake for me,” he says.
“No…no, stop”
“I’m not going to hurt you…I promise”
“Seung—” you feel yourself slipping again, and then his hand is on your bare chest, sliding up and down your sternum. It feels good, and you finally feel like you might be alive. “Seungmin?”
“I’m sorry”
And then you’re truly awake. The memory hits you suddenly—the hand caressing you is the same one that was clamped across your mouth. The other pinned you down onto the bed, and you can feel the sore spot where it's going to bruise. You somehow find the strength to move your arms and pull yourself away, but the burning of your thighs, and the leftover pain from the sex makes you shake and collapse.
Seungmin watches quietly as you scramble back up and gather your discarded clothes.
“You need to lay down. Please, get under the covers and get warm.” He finds your sweater, and holds it hostage. “I know I scared you, I'm—"
“Scared me?” Somehow, you manage to find and slip back into your underwear and tank top, but your skirt is nowhere. Why are you even looking for your clothes? You should have been up and running for the door, but your mind is nothing but static.
“No…I mean, what just happened is not what I intended. I lost myself.”
Finally, you go for the door, clothes or no clothes but it’s, unsurprisingly, locked. That’s an unbreakable habit of Seungmin’s. “Please let me go…please.” As much as you want to cry, nothing happens—but your throat tightens and it’s hard to breathe again, so you do the only thing you have left in you—collapse onto the floor and wait. "This can't be happening, not to me...no, everything felt right," you say to yourself, to the door. “Didn’t it?”
“I can't let you leave, I'm sorry.” He hears himself speak so softly, and it sounds as if it's coming from someone else, from somewhere else…not him. “You shouldn’t even be here right now. What’s wrong with me?” He mumbles the last part to himself, but it comes out louder than he intends.
You stare wide-eyed at nothing, forehead against the door, breathing deeply as you do everything you can to not have a full-blown panic attack. The adrenaline is quickly running out. But you hear the rustle of blankets and sheets, and then you sense him getting closer. His fingers close around your shoulders, very cautiously, and he pulls you against his chest.
“I’m going to pick you up, okay? And then I’m going to take you to the bed. That's all."
If there’s something you can do to save yourself, you can’t seem to think of it, so you give in and let him put his arms around you. And he does exactly what he says—places you gently in the spot he prepared a moment ago, and then pulls the blankets over you. He moves back a little bit, and stares. The strong, sweet scent of him is all around you now, but you manage to keep your eyes closed and off of him.
“I’ll be right back, I’ll get you some water”
They remain closed until you hear the lock, the door, and then him locking it again from the outside. He won’t be gone long. You’re up and scanning the floor again, trying to remember if you had your phone in your pocket. No…you left it on the bar, right next to your empty glass. The balcony…you have no clue what you expect to find out here, but you go out and look left, and then right. And then 25 stories down. The closet. It's spacious and neat; tshirts, jackets, shoes. The black and white windbreaker he was wearing when you first met him briefly catches your eye, but you close it quietly and head for his bedside table. You heard him slide the drawer open and shut right before he walked out. Maybe there's something in there.
“Oh…” The inside of it is neat and organized, just like everything else, so you get to see exactly what’s in there with one quick glance: a small knife, concealed in a black sheath, a few small syringes pre-filled with a milky liquid, handcuffs, nylon rope, a gag…"what the fuck"…lubrication, and several more condoms. “This can’t be happening.” A moment later, the lock clicks again, and without thinking, you grab the knife, quietly close the drawer, and climb back under the covers.
There's a bottle of water under his arm, and a mug in his hand. "I am going to drink some of this so you know I didn't put anything in it…and then I would like you to finish it," He takes a long sip before handing it to you, "The water bottle is unopened, don't worry."
Something is different about him. As soon as you woke up, something felt not quite the same. Even his voice, which was so serious, and a little bit solemn before, seems lighter and higher. You stare into the mug and take a deep breath, smelling the chamomile, the spearmint, and the orange. Seungmin finished nearly half of it.
"I'll take another drink," he holds his hand out for it.
"No…" you sip it very cautiously, and then take a longer drink. The taste and the warmth does help, and you finally take a full, deep breath. Seungmin rounds the bed as you sip, and you watch him carefully. If he opens that drawer again, he'll know you have the knife…and unlucky for you, that's exactly what he does. Maybe he heard you. Maybe he can just read it on you.
But he's quiet as he looks, and his expression doesn't change. He just closes it again and sits at the edge of the bed, naked back facing you. You find yourself admiring him again…his neck, his shoulders…stupid. He slides back and relaxes against the pillows, but he keeps a good distance. The bed is big enough for that.
"You have my knife?"
The way he asks isn't accusing. It isn't threatening. It isn't even rude. He asks as if it's just the next part of the conversation. When you don't answer, you see him nod his head from the corner of your eye.
"If it makes you feel safer, you can hold onto it. If you want to use it, I probably won't try to stop you."
"How long are you going to keep me locked in here?"
"I'm not going to let you go home alone in your state, not this late. You can leave in the morning."
"You're lying"
Seungmin sighs and turns on his side, and he looks at you—you look at him directly for the first time since coming back, but you're both silent. Just like his voice, his gaze is softer, and less intense. It’s also full of confusion, like he doesn’t know what to make of you; as if he’s wondering why you’re in his bed right now. His eyes start to close. At the same time, your eyes grow heavy, and it feels just like before. It feels like you can't possibly win against the sleep, and your thoughts wander as you drift; now you'll die, no more waking up.
The sun coming in through the balcony window warms the room. The light slices the bed right in half, and when you open your eyes, the first thing you see is his sleep tangled body—the legs of his sweatpants are pushed up almost to his knees, and his skin glows in the sunlight. He's sound asleep on his stomach for a few more moments, but then he mumbles something that you can't quite make out. A groan, but it's not a good groan. It isn't until right this second that you remember the situation you somehow ended up in. Locked in with him…whatever he is…a murderer? The drawer screams experience, and that experience screams serial killer, but last night didn't seem like an experienced killer. You suppose not every time can be perfect.
What are you even thinking? You pull the covers away and move to sit up, and it's then that you feel the knife, still tucked safely beneath the pillow. So Seungmin didn't sneak over as you slept to retrieve it, because you assume he actually did put something in your tea—something he himself also drank. Both of you fell asleep together, and now you have to wait for him to wake, and hope he meant what he said a few hours ago. No, you idiot. Where did he put the key? It's probably in the pocket of his sweatpants, so you move closer to him as carefully and as quietly as possible.
He doesn't stir. You stare down at his sleeping face as you slip your fingers into his pocket, and again, you admire him—the lips you never got to kiss, soft and pouty. His cheeks, his nose, all perfect and screaming to be touched. Seungmin must hear your thoughts, because his eyes open to you, and his hand clamps down on your wrist. Ice runs through your veins and your stomach drops, but instead of pulling away and retreating to the other side of the bed, you lean forward and press your lips to his, because…you don't know why. But Seungmin kisses back, and he means it—every nibble and lick, every soft moan coming from deep in his chest. You return the intensity, and something about his kiss feels good, but still…
“Oh…right,” Seungmin licks his lip and keeps his chin high, because he knows exactly how sharp his knife is. It grazes his throat, and your shaking hand doesn’t do much to relax him. “How could I forget?”
“Where’s the key?”
“I told you I’d let you leave, I meant it”
“Give me the key.” Now, of course, you can cry. Tears stream down your cheeks, and your hand shakes even more.
“Okay…okay,” he digs in the pocket you were going for, pulls out a leather keychain, and one gold key hangs from it. “Please don’t cry.”
You snatch it, but keep the knife against him until you’re too far away to reach. He doesn’t get up when you do. He doesn’t move when you grab the clothes you finally find on the floor, try the key, and sigh with relief when it works. It’s possible that he finally moves when the door shuts behind you, but you’re dressed and gone before you have a chance to find out.
-> Seungmin meets you and falls instantly. But as someone who's not the best with words, he'll use a different language to let you know what he's thinking - flowers.
florist!seungmin x baker!fem!reader
flower shop!au, bakery!au, strangers to lovers, love at first sight, so much fluff it hurts a little bit
5.5K
no warnings
this is me vomiting my hopeless romantic obsession with soft boy seungmin. he's so lovely <3 kinda sorta proofread I guess. feedback is appreciated!
The first time Seungmin lays eyes on you is in the morning.
He likes this particular time of day because every time the door opens, warmth pours into his humble flower shop, coating every corner and crevice in beautiful sunny streaks. Only this time, when the door opens and Seungmin lifts his eyes to greet the customer, every ounce of warmth he feels comes directly from your smile.
"Hi, I'm ___."
His father used to tell him about the moment he met his mother. Back then it sounded like gushy mush, but as he got older, he kind of wanted that gushy mush. He wanted it bad. A special moment when he meets someone and just by looking into their eyes, knows something is different about them.
"I'm Seungmin."
"That's a lovely name. Is this your flower shop?"
"Yes. Well, actually my mom and I run it together. She'll retire soon and it’ll be mine."
You nod with a soft 'ah' leaving your pink, parted lips. Taking a gander around the shop, Seungmin notices your eyes jump back to the daisies in the far corner several times. You're dressed in an apron, not like his. Cute and pink with a monogrammed cupcake on the tummy.
"I just moved in across the street. I understand that space used to be part of a restaurant chain, but unfortunately I'm just a simple bakery." You then place a large plate of perfectly round chocolate chip cookies in front of him, still hot and tantalizingly tempting. "They're allergy friendly and fresh, so please enjoy them."
"Well, if this batch of cookies is anything to go off of, I'm sure your bakery will do really well here."
"Thank you,” you shyly respond, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “But, you see, my bakery looks rather drab on the inside. I'm afraid I'm not very good at decorating anything but cakes.” Seungmin involuntarily tilts his head when you chuckle at yourself. "I was wondering if maybe our shops could work together?"
"How?"
"I was thinking," you reply with a little hop, clearly excited to present your idea to the nice boy, "if you would provide my bakery with fresh flowers each week, I can provide as many sweets as you want, any time. And I can even help out if you need an extra hand. I promise I'm a very hard worker and I'll do my absolute best. An equal give and take."
At that moment, the curtain leading to the back of the floral shop is pushed to the side and Seungmin's mother steps into the room, her other arm stacked high with the most breathtaking Orchid you've ever seen.
"Is that a business proposal I hear?"
Immediately, you turn to introduce yourself, respect oozing from your voice. "Good morning, ma'am. My name is ___, and I own the--"
"Yes, I heard you before," she interrupts you with a happy chuckle, "please don't repeat yourself."
Seungmin watches a hint of embarrassment wash over your cheek bones. He wants to place his fingers on your skin and feel how warm you are, but he refrains himself on the account of that would be weird.
"I think it's a great idea," his mom cheers, placing her flower on the front counter beside her son. "Call me Ms. Kim."
She wipes her hand on her apron, a brown one identical to Seungmin's, before offering you a handshake. Gratefully, you accept it.
"It's so nice to meet you. Both of you." Your attention blinks back to Seungmin for a split moment, and that's all he needs to start feeling ticklish behind his ribs. "I'm very excited to start baking for everyone."
"We are too," Seungmin decides to say, heart beating just a tad bit faster when his vocal chords start scratching.
Ms. Kim flashes her son a knowing smirk, then brings you to a smaller display in the middle of the shop. There she picks a small, violet flower and hands it to you.
"What's this for?"
"This is our way of welcoming you to the neighborhood. I think it's really impressive that you started your own business at a younger age." She pokes the small flower and grins when the petals bend and pop up again under her finger. "Did you know that certain flowers have certain meanings?"
"You mean like roses mean I love you?"
"Well not all roses but, yes, that's the gist of it."
You can't help but gaze in wonder at the tiny flower between your fingers, and Seungmin can't help but gaze at you. While you study the color and texture and shine of the plant, he studies the details of your eyes and the lines beneath them when you smile.
"What does this one mean?"
"This is a wisteria," his mom informs you. "It means thank you. And good luck.”
"Oh, but I haven't done anything yet."
"Then think of it as a future thank you. I have a feeling you'll do plenty."
You perk up immediately before dropping into a deep bow. "Yes ma'am. I'm here and ready to be a helpful part of the neighborhood."
With that, Ms. Kim says her good-byes and makes her way into the back once more to finish some work, but not before sending a playful wink over her shoulder at her son, one Seungmin prays you didn't see.
You approach the front counter and present Seungmin with a precious, shy smile while he hides his flustered state behind a nonchalant shrug.
"Looks like my mother already adores you. She doesn't give free flowers to just anyone."
"I already adore her," you reply, twisting where you stand and inhaling the lovely aroma of your new flower. "I wish I had something better than cookies to offer. I promise once my bakery is running well, I'll bring something much more delicious for you both."
With that, you offer one last thank you and skip out the front door and across the street. Seungmin can't help but watch you, leaning his chest over the front counter when you make a quick turn and wave before disappearing inside your bakery.
For the rest of the day, Ms. Kim takes note of her son's newly developed habit of contorting his body to inconspicuously look out the window.
::
The neighborhood is calm this morning. But something is different.
It's a beautiful day, so Seungmin decides to open the front window only to be greeted by the most amazing smell he's ever smelled. He can't help but take it in a few more times, trailing the delicious scent across the street and through your front door standing wide open.
There, he sees you just inside, rushing from station to station to prepare for the day. It's barely after sunrise and you're already working so hard.
Despite obviously being extremely busy, every task you do is completed with a smile on your face. You love what you do, and Seungmin finds that very attractive. He likes the fact that he can relate his love for flowers to your love for flour. You're so cute in your pink apron and cinnamon covered cheeks. Every once in a while you pull out a tiny notepad and mark a happy check somewhere on the paper with a satisfied sigh.
He unconsciously starts making mental notes about certain aspects of your personality. You like checklists.
It's a few moments later when you carry a large stack of fresh cupcakes to a table on the sidewalk just outside your bakery. With careful precision, you arrange them so they're presented in the most pleasing way possible. Brushing off your apron, you nod, seemingly pleased with your efforts.
Seungmin grabs the first flower he can get his hands on and rushes out the front door.
As soon as his footsteps land on the concrete, your attention is pulled toward the flower shop where you see your neighbor frozen in place, eyes wide and locked on you.
"Good morning!" You greet him and wave.
He waves back somewhat awkwardly before his legs relax enough to walk him over. "You're up early."
"Early bird catches the worm," you reply with a wink, one that has Seungmin’s stomach doing front flips. "There's been so much work to do lately, I feel like there's not enough hours in the day."
"I get that," Seungmin relates with a tired chuckle. "But you're already doing so well! Look at this cupcake display, I mean, it's almost as sweet as you."
"You should be careful, Seungmin, girls like me fall for lines like that."
Is he imagining it, the way you’re looking at him? Or are you really watching him that sweetly?
You've paused to watch his reaction, hip leaning against the table and hands cutely folded by your side. You smile so prettily and sincerely, it nearly causes Seungmin to trip while standing still. He's close enough to be considered friendly, but if he were to step even an inch closer, a passerby might confuse him for someone attempting to trap you against the table. You wouldn't mind if he wanted to.
Shyly, he hands you a small, blue and white flower. The stem is rather short, so you don't have much option as to where you gingerly take it from his fingers, skin brushing skin for only a moment.
“What is this for?”
“Just to say good morning.”
You lift the flower to your nose and gently inhale the delicate aroma. “It's lovely. Thank you.”
"I'm finishing up your first batch of bouquets. I can bring them over later today if that's okay."
"That sounds great!" You agree, twirling the three petaled beauty between your fingers.
What Seungmin doesn't tell you is how much time he's already put into making these arrangements for you. His mother knows. Ms. Kim heard him stay up all last night, in the dim light of the back room, making trip after trip to collect only the best flowers from the garden out back.
You didn't ask for much, and if you knew how much time and effort Seungmin poured into only a few miniscule arrangements for your little bakery, you might actually scold him. But Seungmin is determined to make your bakery the most beautiful shop in the whole neighborhood. It's only fair considering it's operated by the most beautiful person in the whole neighborhood.
Something about knowing that you're shedding your own blood, sweat, and tears for the sake of your passion makes Seungmin want to try that much harder.
It was three months ago, when it happened. All his passion, all his motivation for flowers drained little by little until it was gone. He just didn't want to anymore. There was no tragedy, there was no trauma. Just a loss of desire for no apparent reason.
Pulling himself out of that rut was proving extremely difficult, and the main reason for that was because he didn't know where this loss of motivation even stemmed from.
It was around this time his mother decided to share some big news: she intended to give Seungmin her flower shop when she retired.
The news did help a little, but in the end, he wasn't overly thrilled to know he would take on the family business. He knew it would be the right thing to do and it would make his mom happy. But still, he felt empty when he looked at tulips. He felt numb when he pruned roses.
But now? Ms. Kim pokes her head through the back curtain to find her son more focused than he's been in months. Eyes locked on the details of each bouquet, tongue trapped between his teeth as he adds the finishing touches to each leaf.
Inside his chest, Seungmin feels a spark of enlightenment. It's warm. Warmer than he's been in a while.
Without waiting another moment, he packs up the completed arrangements into a crate and blindly calls, “Making a delivery! I'll be back!"
His mother, who continues to stand less than ten feet away, simply giggles and watches her son speed his way across the street for the second time today, his smile grand but also anxious. She knew the moment her son laid eyes on you, she wouldn't be Seungmin's favorite girl for much longer.
If she has to relent the title to anyone, she's glad it's someone like you.
Your door is open and waiting. When Seungmin steps inside, he's met with the overwhelmingly sweet environment of hand crafted cupcakes and sugar cookies. He doesn't see you at first; you must be in the kitchen.
"Delivery!" He wonders if you'll recognize his voice.
"Coming!"
A moment later, you appear from the back, slightly rushed but all around still as positive as ever. When your eyes meet for the first time, all your busy energy filters through his smile and settles as butterflies in your stomach. The second you see the flowers in his grip, you gasp.
"They're beautiful! Seungmin, you made these all by yourself? That's incredible! You have an amazing talent!”
Your initial reaction is everything he wanted. He wanted to see you smile again, be excited, fall in love with his work. Somehow, your appreciation for what he does helps him fall in love with flowers all over again too. Of course, everyone wants validation, but this means more than that. Seungmin really wanted something in common with you that you could share together, something special that was just for the two of you.
While attempting to take the crate from him, your hands naturally move to replace his on the handles, fingers gently brushing the back of his hands, coaxing him to release the crate into your arms, but he holds it steady.
"Tell me where you'd like them and I'll help you set them up."
"Oh, I thought you were just delivering them. I don't mind setting them up on my own."
This is usually the part where you step back and take your hands away, but you don't. They stay resting on top of his, knuckles gripping the handles together. The look in your eyes says you realize how forward you're being, holding his hands under the pretense of handing off a crate of flowers, but he isn't about to call you out on it.
"It's not a problem," he insists, "I usually help customers set up flowers in their store after I deliver them."
"Really?"
No, that's not usually how these kinds of deliveries work. Normally when Seungmin makes a delivery, he leaves the crate on a table or a counter and lets the business owner set them up however they wish. Then later he'll come back and get the crate.
But you seem so excited to have Seungmin help you and he's prepared to make any excuse to spend more time with you. He can be home late this one time. It's been a slow day at the flower shop anyway.
"Then," you hum and study the space of your bakery for the hundredth time, "what do you think about putting some of them in the windows?"
"Sounds pretty."
So you do. Seungmin holds the crate and you pick out which of the several arrangements you'd like to be placed on your windowsills, some bigger, some smaller. But each time you have to stop and smell them first, to make sure they'll pair well with the deserts closest to them.
Seungmin is entranced with the gentle way you approach each bouquet, arranging them so the best side faces the public and each flower gets appropriate amounts of sunlight. Your attention to detail is outstanding. It probably comes from your love of baking and decorating cakes, Seungmin thinks. He'd love to see some more of your work sometime.
Once you finish filling all your windows with Seungmin's beautiful flowers, there's still a few arrangements left. So you immediately start considering where you might place them.
"Lots of people like to keep one on their counters," Seungmin suggests, "next to the cash register or by a pickup area."
"That's a great idea!" You exclaim, tugging his arm to bring him around the counter.
Carefully, you select which of the final bouquets you will have on your checkout counter, but you ultimately decide to keep that last arrangement in the back, so you have some flowers to keep you company while you bake in the early morning.
It's such a simple thought, but it's one that has Seungmin grinning from ear to ear.
As a new baker in town, you're up extra early every day to make sure you serve only the best homemade, fresh pastries and cakes. The first few months of any new business are the most crucial in order to make a good impression. Business has been slower than you would have preferred, but now you'll have some of Seungmin's flowers during those stressful mornings.
"Oh, I almost forgot..." (Lies. Seungmin has been thinking about this since last night.) "I wanted to give you this."
Caught between his fingers is a gorgeously crimson flower with large, trumpet shaped petals and a long light green stem. You gratefully accept it, both your cheeks flushing to match the shade of the flower.
"Do you always give people flowers when you meet them?"
"What do you mean?"
"Just that, every time we meet it seems like you're giving me another flower," you explain, quickly adding, "Not that I mind! I like it."
"Oh," he tries to catch a breath as his heart picks up pace, "well, someone as pretty as you deserves to be gifted something equally as pretty."
You don't really have a response to that. As someone who’s typically quick when it comes to pick-up lines, it's surprising how intently his words just hit you straight in the chest. Now it's not just your stomach, but your bones are tingling with something pleasant and soft.
Seungmin rocks onto his toes, eager to let you know that, "It's a hibiscus."
"Does it mean anything? Like the wisteria your mom gave me?" You ask excitedly.
The concept of flower symbolism has become something of interest to you since moving in across the street from such a beautiful flower shop. Often you find yourself eyeing the different kinds of flowers out front and making predictions of what they mean based on their shape and color.
"Uhh yeah. It does..."
"What does it mean?"
"Look it up. It should be easy to find."
While you're not sure why Seungmin doesn't just tell you the answer, you decide to humor him (mainly because he's so damn cute when he's embarrassed like this).
As he disappears across the street, you wander back into your kitchen. Since your biscuits still have three minutes in the oven, you pull out your phone.
Google: what does a hibiscus flower mean?
Top search result: Hibiscus flowers can symbolize beauty, charm, youth, or first love.
::
Seungmin's favorite day of the week quickly becomes Sunday. It used to be Saturday because the shop closes after a half day, but even a half day can't beat delivery day. Nothing could possibly beat being able to carry a crate full of fresh, beautiful bouquets across the street and seeing your face light up when you see him, when you see his flowers.
His second favorite day of the week quickly becomes any other day, more specifically any other morning. Leaning his head and arms out his front window, he has a perfect view of you setting up your bakery display for the day. The whole sidewalk is brought to life by the tantalizing scent of whatever baked sweets you decide to share.
Most days it's cupcakes. Seungmin learned quickly that they're easier to bake than a cake, and you enjoy being able to decorate them to look like animals. You made puppies last week and he thought that was cute.
Almost as cute as you.
Time passes and you gradually grow closer to Seungmin. Each day you see him only makes you want to see him more. Seungmin's strategies to bump into you become more elaborate. You can easily point them out, but you don't. Because you want them to continue.
"Min, can you set up the outside display, please! We're having a sale on short stems today," Ms. Kim calls from out of sight.
"Okay!"
Grabbing his apron and a cart stacked with the sale flowers, Seungmin begins rolling out the front door and gets to work setting up the store.
It's then that he hears something – a soft, subtle melody, higher in pitch and then dropping low. But there's no one around. Seungmin checks around the corner and down the street, but he can't find anything.
The singing gets louder until you appear from inside your bakery, carrying a tall stack of what looks like bread cakes to your outside display table. They're still steaming hot. The smell instantly travels across the street and causes Seungmin to inhale a long, deep sniff. Not that he's ever been one for sweet bread, but now he might be.
You haven't noticed him yet, too focused on your job of making the front of your store look and smell the best it possibly can.
"I didn't know you could sing!”
His shout startles you so much you fumble into the table, ramming your elbow on the corner and dropping your last two bread cakes onto the hard, dirty ground.
Immediately, Seungmin rushes to you. Not that you need help standing or steadying yourself, but he attempts to assist you anyway with a kind hand around your waist.
"Oh my god, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to startle you.”
"It's okay," you sigh, relieved by Seungmin's presence.
He helps you collect the bread cakes you dropped, handing them back to you with a soft "sorry" behind a bitten lip.
But your embarrassment seems to be stemming from something else.
"You uhh, heard me...just now?"
Your singing? There's no need to be shy. Your voice is like an angel! Seungmin felt his heart skip an uncountable number of beats just listening from across the street.
"I won't tell anyone," he assures you.
"No, it's not that, I just..." you shyly tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, "...thanks for helping me."
"Are you going to have to make more now?"
You sigh, fondling the plushy cakes in your hand, attempting to brush off the dirt and gravel although it's nonsensical at this point. The pastry is ruined.
"I can help," Seungmin offers before you have a chance to respond.
"Have you ever baked before?"
"Is it different from making ramen?"
"A little bit," you giggle.
"If you teach me well, I'm sure I can pick it up with no problem."
"Will your mom be okay by herself?"
"She'll be okay. The store is never busy at this time, and everything is already set up."
With that assurance, you feel better about stealing Seungmin for the remainder of the morning. Leading him inside, you drop the ruined bread cakes in a trash bin and smile over your shoulder when Seungmin scurries along behind you.
"Sorry, it's a bit messy in here."
Seungmin has never been in such a massive kitchen before. The ovens are almost as big as he is and there's enough counter space to prepare for an army. He stands in awe at the recipe cards lining the wall, some completed and some with numerous side notes or scribbles indicating something new in progress.
The second thing Seungmin registers is the previous delicious scent of sweets slowly mixing with a hint of raw dough, flour, and something else surprisingly bitter.
"Where should I start?"
"Could you grab the yeast from the pantry?" You ask and point in the appropriate direction.
"Sure," Seungmin starts, pausing and turning on his heel when he realizes, "uhh, ___?"
"Yeah?" You're already measuring the flour and water, setting aside some eggs and pre-tasting the sugar. You're so on top of things and Seungmin feels like a noob.
"What does yeast look like?"
You look at him with blank eyes. Once you process his words, your entire body begins shaking with giggles. Should he be feeling bad right now? Are you laughing at him?
"I'm so sorry," you wipe away a playful tear and reach for his hand. "Come on."
With three of his fingers gripped in your palm, he's led to the pantry and you immediately pick out the specific kind of yeast you want.
"This is what it looks like. Kinda plain, I know, but it's a very important ingredient," you explain. "Without it, bread can't really be bread. I mean, you could use homemade yeast but then you'd need at least three days to let it set and even then it probably won't ferment as well or be nearly as good a leavening agent."
Seungmin listens intently to your every word, studying the container and your lips carefully. His genuine attention causes your chest to tighten, like he really cares about yeast which, you'll admit, is a weird thing to care about.
It's not the yeast so much as it is your passion that he's interested in. God, he could watch you talk about baking for hours.
Your pantry isn't small by any means, but with two people stuffed in the doorway, the area becomes a little stuffy. Suddenly, you're both intently aware of how close you're standing to each other.
"Seungmin?"
"Yeah?"
"Do you even want me to teach you how to make sweet bread?"
He smiles, nodding with gentle eyes drifting over your features. "I'd like that."
Trying not to use any more complicated terminology, you attempt to show Seungmin how to prepare in a professional kitchen. He drops an egg and spills the yeast across the counter, and it's beyond wonderful. He's so passionately clumsy and every time he sneezes due to the flour or mis-measures the oil, you feel a sense of contentment and domestication flood your veins with warmth and happiness.
His laugh might quickly become the soundtrack to your life.
It's so, so nice to bake with someone, to have someone beside you, laughing with you, and sprinkling flour in your hair.
Seungmin is beyond beautiful, you decide. Although you knew he was handsome when you first saw him, now he reflects the afternoon sun in a way that has your heart singing louder than it ever has before. You really like the way he shows all his teeth when he smiles and his dimples become clearer when he concentrates.
When you finally pop the bread into the oven, your kitchen is an absolute mess, cups and teaspoons and ingredients littered everywhere. Your hair is half white while pieces of dough and raisins stick to Seungmin's forearms.
Somehow you end up here, back leaning against the prep counter and Seungmin's body leaning an inch too close to be considered friendly. He places his hands on either side of you and nervously licks his lips.
"Thank you for teaching me today. I had a lot of fun learning about baking." He chuckles, dropping his eyes for a moment before they find yours again, "I had no idea how much went into making a single loaf of sweet bread. You're like Wonder Woman."
"I'm just a girl with a sweet tooth."
"No, you're much more than that."
You can't help your gaze when it falls to his mouth and then his collarbones, eventually finding the floor out of pure anxiousness. He makes you feel lots of things you were not ready to feel. At least, not this soon after moving into the neighborhood. But still, you're becoming desperate for anything he does or says to you, desperate for his interaction and attention.
"Then what am I?" Yours, please.
"You can be whatever you want to be." Do you want to be mine?
You think about it for a moment. And then you pinch his sleeve between your fingers, lightly pulling him closer to you until he's mere inches away. Without a word, you lift yourself to your toes and press a gentle peck to his lips, feeling them turn warm against your own.
::
Seungmin can't believe himself. Is he a total idiot or something?
You were right there! Looking at him with vulnerability spewing from your eyes and lips. Lips that have just kissed his mouth. You freaking kissed him and he froze like a creep, staring wide-eyed until you stuttered an apology and backed out, like anyone would naturally do when being stared down by a creepy guy who works at a flower shop.
You probably think he's incapable. Or worse, what if you think he's a jerk? Seungmin couldn't live with himself if you thought he was unkind or unthoughtful.
His mother is sitting behind the counter with him, scissors in one hand and dozens of roses in the other.
"If you're that concerned, just go talk to her."
"I can't just go over there. I need a reason to see her."
His mother scoffs, "Since when? Just go over there and tell her you need to say something. Then say whatever it is that you want to say. Simple as that."
Seungmin carefully peaks over the counter, eyeing your bakery and the decently long line waiting outside. You're smiling brightly, upselling the chocolate croissants you made specially for today. Looks like everyone adores them. They adore you. Rightfully so, Seungmin thinks.
"She's busy," he sulks, sinking to the floor behind the counter again.
Ms. Kim rolls her eyes at her dramatic son. So freaking dramatic.
"Fine then. Just sit here and think about how awkward and weird you were until ___ thinks you don't like her anymore and cries her eyes out because you ditched her."
"What?!"
"Trust me, son," she says, snapping another thorny stem, "that girl wants you to talk to her. If you keep avoiding her, she'll get the wrong idea and you really don't want that to happen."
"I don't want that to happen..."
"Wanna take a rose?" His mom suggests.
He considers it. But then, "No." He stands and decides to take something different. "I've got a better idea."
Finally the day is over. Flipping your open sign to closed has never felt so euphoric. If business keeps growing like this you'll have to hire help soon. Maybe that boy you met at the supermarket the other day – was his name Jeongin? – maybe he would be interested. He did say he used to make rice cakes with his grandmother. He probably knows his way around a kitchen. If anything, you're sure he would do well with the customers.
Just as you turn the lock, five tough knuckles knock on the door, causing your head to shoot up in shock.
“___? It's me…”
"Seungmin?"
Sure enough, it's him. Peeking through the glass door at you, breath heavy and words muffled through the transparent barrier.
You quickly tear at the padlock and swing open the door, pulling the flower boy into the bakery when he doesn't move.
"What are you doing here at," you check the time, "almost midnight?"
He chuckles, scanning your eyes with a gentle determination or perhaps it's more of a desperate pleading.
"I came to give you this."
Between his fingers is a white daisy, the same kind you found yourself watching the first time you ever visited his humble shop, the same kind you've eyed almost every day since.
"Thank you." You accept it with a bashful smile. "I like you too."
"You know what it means."
"I've been researching," you admit shyly.
"That's... really cute." Seungmin takes a brave step towards you, folding his hands in front of him and humbly swallowing. "I'm sorry for how I reacted the other day. I wasn't expecting you to...kiss me. So, I froze. But the last thing I wanted to do was make you feel bad.”
"It's okay," you immediately respond, but Seungmin can sense that's not entirely true. His lack of a response to your kiss must have hurt you more than you're letting on. That's to be expected. You really put yourself out there and he reacted like a child, leaving you to assume everything on your own. There's no telling the level of embarrassment and confusion he put you through.
"I know what to do now, if you’ll give me a second chance, I think I can make it up to you.”
He offers you his hand, respectful yet tempting. There's no question when you place your hand gently in his. It feels exactly like placing your heart in his palm.
Seungmin pulls you closer to him, a sturdy hand on your waist and a confident gleam in his eyes. A tiny gasp escapes your lips and instantly he knows he's got you right where he wants you.
When he kisses you, it's like a massive release of nerves and anticipation into every ounce of your bones, like fire through your limbs and spurts of color underneath your skin. With his arms wrapping around your middle, you feel your body encased in his embrace until your feet lift off the ground.
You slowly thread your hands throughout his hair, the flower between your fingers entangling with his gorgeous, chestnut locks as your head tilts to deepen the kiss.
The best part of his lips are the way they smile against your kiss, giggles mixing with the sound of smooches as he spins you around, emitting pure happiness.
"Be mine?"
"I'm already yours."
There, in the middle of the floor, as your flower boy kisses across your jawline and down your neck, you feel utterly and completely weightless. Thanks to you, Seungmin has never felt more ready for whatever the future may hold.
♡ ― [ minors do not interact! ] kim seungmin x afab!reader . masked intruder!seungmin , dubcon , cnc , dirty talk , knife play , breeding kink , mask kink , somnophilia , impact play (reader gets slapped)
♡ synopsis : you wake up to a surprise ..
a/n ๑ this is a repost sorry i deleted it originally :c if you don't like cnc or if it makes you uncomfortable please don't read this.
♡ m.list
smut below the cut - minors gtfo.
it was a typical summer night, the kind where the air is thick with warmth but the breeze carries a soft, calming touch. the windows of your house were open, letting in the coolness of the evening, the air gentle and comforting as it wrapped around your body.
you lay in bed, your body half-hidden under the delicate folds of white sheets, the soft fabric clinging to your form in a way that was both innocent and enticing. your nightgown, thin and light, molded to your curves in a quiet, serene way. the room was bathed in the dim, tranquil glow of moonlight, the world outside still and peaceful.
it was a perfect night.
until it wasn’t.
from the other room, you remained blissfully unaware of the sound of the window screen being cut away. the masked figure, silent and swift, slipped inside your home like a shadow. he moved through the house with the kind of stealth that could only be compared to a predator on the hunt, making his way through your rooms with careful, calculated steps. he rummaged through drawers, collecting what he could, stuffing your silver, china, and other valuables into a duffle bag.
his eyes then wandered to the bedrooms. the glint of jewelry might’ve been tempting, but what caught his attention instead was far more enticing.
there you were, lying on your bed, the moonlight playing over your peaceful face as you slept unaware. the sight of you, your body barely concealed by the thin fabric of your nightgown, stirred something primal within him. his gaze never wavered from your form, watching as you lay on your back, the fabric of your nightgown just barely grazing over your hips, revealing the soft curve of your body beneath.
for a moment, he froze, the sight of you so serene, so utterly unaware of the danger in your room, nearly caused a pang of something—something that felt uncomfortably close to regret or guilt—but it was quickly overtaken by something far darker, something far more instinctual.
"is this fate?" he murmured under his breath, his voice barely a whisper, as if speaking to the shadows around him. his body stirred, his heart racing, a sick excitement building in him. the dynamic between you, so pure and innocent, and him, the dirty stranger standing in your room, sent a rush of heat straight to his core.
his cock hardened in his pants, the pressure making him suck in a sharp breath. there was something intoxicating about watching you, so vulnerable and unaware, lying there in a bed that was supposed to offer you safety, yet now it seemed to be a stage for something darker.
his mind raced with the consequences of his actions, the risk of getting caught and the thrill of escaping. but as he gazed at you, his body pulsed with desire and pain from his aching cock. he couldn't take it anymore. carefully setting down his duffel bag, he approached you with caution, kneeling by the bed where you lay unsuspecting next to him.
with trembling hands, he lifted your nightgown to reveal your delicate panties, hugging your perfect curves and giving him a glimpse of your moist lips. as his heart pounded in his chest, his bulging arousal strained against his pants. unable to resist any longer, he pulled up your nightgown even further, exposing your stomach and bare chest to his hungry gaze.
a guttural groan escaped his lips as his gloved hand left your nightgown to cup and squeeze your breasts, feeling their weight in his palm and rubbing his thumbs over your already hard nipples. the sight of your body responding to his touch only fueled his desire as he lost himself in the ecstasy of exploring every inch of you.
with shaky hands, he slowly slid his fingers from your breasts and fumbled with the elastic of your panties. he tugged them down in a hurry, but then hesitated before shoving them into his pocket for later. he couldn't resist marveling at the sight of your exposed pussy, his own arousal evident as he unbuttoned his pants and freed his aching cock. his touch along your inner thigh was light and teasing until he found the sweet spot between your legs. he ran a finger along your slit, relishing in the wetness that gathered on his fingertip. with care, he spread your folds and couldn't help but let out a breathy "fuck" at the sight of your pink insides.
you stirred restlessly, feeling a teasing finger flicking on your swollen clit. your legs involuntarily shook at the sensation, but he didn't stop there. he continued his ministrations, reveling in the lewd, wet noises emanating from your dripping core. with his free hand, he stroked his throbbing cock, his mind wandering to all the other ways he could pleasure himself while playing with you.
he slid a gloved digit inside your slick entrance effortlessly, the leather material only adding to the tightness of your sex. "shit," he muttered under his breath as his own cock twitched in his fist. the ache and longing were too much for him to bear any longer, he needed to be inside you. carefully, he crawled onto the bed, his arousal causing his shaft to bob with every movement. gripping your thighs tightly, he pushed them up against your torso.
just when he was about to comment on how soundly you were sleeping, your eyes fluttered open and you gasped at the sight before you. he quickly covered your mouth with one hand while reaching for his knife with the other. pressing it against your neck, he applied enough pressure to make you tremble in fear.
"one word and i cut," he growled menacingly. tears welled up in your eyes as you looked down and took in the scene before you. your legs were spread wide, exposing your bare sex, while his flushed and engorged member hovered just above it. you squeaked into his palm and shook your head, pleading with your eyes for mercy.
"fuck, i really didn't want to do it this way," he muttered mainly to himself. through the holes in his mask, you could barely see his dark eyes and searched desperately for any shred of humanity left in them. but there was none. he shifted his hips and pushed himself into you, groaning in sheer pleasure. "oh, you were made for me," he moaned as he thrust into you with a relentless rhythm.
you cried out in pain and ecstasy as his large cock stretched you inch by agonizing inch. your hands flailed and hit his chest, trying to push him away, but he only removed his hand from your mouth for a moment to slap you across the face. "don't make this harder than it has to be, sweetheart," he grunted, his hips slamming into yours with increasing force.
a sharp slap across your cheek stunned you, and as you blinked up at him, your vision blurred and distorted. his grip on the knife against your throat remained steady, a constant threat. with his other hand, he yanked off his mask, revealing a young man with a surprisingly attractive face. he panted from the heat and lack of oxygen under the mask.
your eyes widened at the sight of him. despite the menacing situation, you couldn't help but notice how beautiful he was - his lips pressed together as he focused on thrusting into you, his eyes rolling back in pleasure. it was confusing why someone like him would force you into this predicament.
he noticed your surprise and chuckled, slowing his pace as he teased you. "are you starstruck, pretty girl?" he asked, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in, making you gasp.
but despite your body's betrayal, coating him in your essence with each thrust, your mind screamed for it to stop. your cunt may have been gripping him tightly, but that didn't mean you wanted this.
he panted heavily, his hips stuttering as he neared his climax. "i wanna breed this little pussy so badly," he groaned. "you want it too, sweetheart?" a sly smirk spread across his face as he asked for consent that wasn't really consent at all. you shook your head frantically, trying to show him through your fear and desperation that you didn't want this to happen.
"you could feel the roughness of his jeans against your bare skin as he pinned you down on the bed. his words were laced with malice, but also ignited a sense of forbidden pleasure within you. your body trembled beneath him as his thrusts grew more frantic, your wetness coating his cock and making it slide in and out with ease.
as your orgasm hit, you cried out loudly, your body writhing uncontrollably as he fucked you through it. he couldn't hold back any longer and with a final roar, he released inside you, his eyebrows furrowed in intense pleasure as his hot seed filled you.
breathing heavily, he pulled out of you and tossed the knife aside, looking down at you with a soft smile. "are you okay, love?" he panted, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. you nodded, still catching your breath and trying to process what had just happened. "that was really...believable," you laughed softly.
seungmin leaned in and kissed your cheek. "did you enjoy it?" he asked, concern evident in his eyes as he made sure you were okay. you nodded again. "of course i did," you giggled, nuzzling into his hand as he caressed your cheek. "i just need a minute, that's all."
and he gave you just that - cleaning you up, changing clothes, and staying by your side until you felt ready to move on from the role-play.
❗Warnings: Heavy Themes of Suicide, Reader has a suicide plan, There is no death but there are mentions of waiting to end ones life, Heavy Themes of Anxiety.
❗A/N: Please do not read if you are not in the headspace to consume this type of content. Please do not read if you feel that you can not handle the emotions that this content could bring up. This type of content is not for everyone and I want you all to be as safe as possible.
synopsis: you walk in on your best friend getting off with your name on his lips.
warnings: 🔞!!! slight nipple play, no protection, mentions of masturbation (m!) prob forgot some sorry
wc: 2.2k
an: thank you so much for requesting izzy! ilysm for this one I hope I did it justice :))))) also this is not proofread will you bestow mercy on a poor soul like me? please?
[m.list] [1kevent m.list]
The two of you keep a huge whiteboard calendar on the fridge. A discarded pack of colorful markers was kept in the magnetic cup next to the handle, the sounding rattle synonymous with the closing of the door. Every month the two of you got together to fill out your class schedules, events, holidays, vacations, or just chores. It made both of your lives easier, the two of you knew exactly when the other was going to be late home, fewer arguments over who does what to keep the place clean, and when it was best to just fit in a full series binge on the couch together.
Or it was supposed to work that way and for the most part, it did. But last week when the two of you hosted a study night with all your friends that devolved into just casual drinks and video games, half the board was erased when someone bumped into the fridge. Neither of you minded, trying the best you could to write in the parts that had been messed up, not giving it much thought at all until you finally hit the week that had been completely erased and rewritten.
Seungmin missed a paper that was due, both of your laundry days ended up written for the same day, and you were now rushing out the door to make it to your presentation. You hadn't started the day so stressed, not until you rolled out of bed and opened the fridge to pull out something to eat for breakfast. As soon as you closed the door, markers shaking around reminding you to check the calendar, you noticed the messy star you had drawn on the date, and under it project due! Presentation @ 9:30.
It was like a bucket of ice water was thrown over you, no caffeine needed for how away you suddenly felt looking at the clock on the microwave, blinking back that it was already half past eight and it took you 30 minutes to make it to campus.
Your string of curse words was what woke Seungmin. The rushed sound of the bathroom faucet turning on while you brushed your teeth was the soundtrack to his morning. He was still rubbing at his eyes, hair a sleep-turned mess on top of his head, when he watched you from the doorway. You were frantically rummaging through the dryer for a pair of jeans, only coming away with articles of Seungmin’s clothing. “What is this? Why is all my laundry also your laundry?”
“I don't know,” he yawns, face scrunching up right along the bridge of his nose, “I think it all got tossed into the dryer together because mine didn't dry right,”
You huffed, finally tugging out something that was yours to wear, “I'm going to be late,” it was said right on the edge of a whine, “stupid calendar, stupid early class, I'm never taking a course against that starts before I can think properly about school,” you didn't even care that he was right there as you pushed down your sweatpants. Working on putting one leg into your jeans as you kept complaining.
The two of you had been living together for most of your time at school, the two of you close enough now that nothing phased the other. It wasn't like changing in front of your best friend was uncommon but it still caught Seungmin off guard every time. He turned to give you some sort of privacy but the way the bathroom/laundry was set up only made it so that he turned to look directly into the mirror. And there you were with your jeans getting caught right under your ass, pushing up and only highlighting the way your panties clung to your skin.
It was momentary, so fast that you were already zipping your zipper and rushing past him to grab your bag. “I won't be back till one!” you call over your shoulder, not trusting the calendar to update him anymore.
You didn't even realize until halfway to campus when calling your partner to apologize for the delay that your calendar wasn't just messed up with the day's events but the day itself. It wouldn't be until you got home that you saw that the whole week was one day off, so when you turned around feeling slightly better after your little shock, it felt like you had a whole free day. Not even texting Seungmin about the mistake you drove to pick up coffees for the both of you, knowing he would enjoy the pick me up without question. Then you could spend the rest of the day separating your laundry so tomorrow you could wear something less rushed.
But Seungmin had the same idea, picking through the dryer trying to find anything that was his so that he could get it out of your way. That's when he finds the twin pair of panties to the ones you had on right now. He could see it play out again in his head, the way they hugged your hips, and outlined the shape of you.
He told himself his crush on you wouldn't become a big deal after you two moved in with each other. He assumed that just having you so close so often would be enough for him to grow out of it faster. He believed it because he would have had less time to daydream about how you would react to him and more time in reality where you would surely put him into his palace without question. Only it didn't seem to work out that well.
The two of you were constantly on the edge of flirting, sitting so close on the couch you were basically on top of one another, every little brush past each other like a confession. Or it was for him because his crush only got worse with the move; solidifying into something that he knew would never easily dissipate without the hottest of burns.
It wasn't rare that he let himself get this wrapped up in the idea of being with you, less so the idea of being with you physically. And now you're gone for the next few hours and he has the perfect image of you in his head.
He doesn't even hear when you get home, didn't even think to close his bedroom door before his hand was down his pants. He could picture you calling out his name, his eyes closed, head leaning back on his pillows, your name on the tip of his tongue as he moaned.
When you come in and place the coffees down you hear him call you. Your first instinct is to change the calendar until you hear him call you again. He sounds almost in pain, the desperation drawing you down the hall. “Seungmin?”
When you get to the doorway you're stopped dead in your tracks. His needy little whines echo in his room, adam's apple bobbing, every stroke of his hand on his cock pulling your eyes in. You should be ashamed for enjoying the view, should have backed away, and pretended you never came home. But with him right in front of you, naked and calling out your name it's impossible to not feel yourself get wet. It's embarrassing how easily flushed you feel, but when his hips start to move, effectively thrusting into his waiting fist, stomach flexing, you can't help but rub your thighs together.
It's the creaking of the floorboards that makes him open his eyes. His hand fell away from his straining cock, his uneven breaths trying to catch up to the beating of his heart. You're not even looking him in the eyes, you're watching the way his cock is twitching, thoroughly edged now that you've walked in, his hips still moving, wishing so badly to be thrusting into you instead.
“I'm sorry-” the both of you start at the same time, he can't even cover himself knowing a brush of fabric or his hand will make him cum instantly unless he calms down. He can't even think about how ashamed he should be when getting caught, all he can think about is those panties you're wearing under your jeans.
It's only one second later and you're tugging them down your legs, pants too tight now, the seam pressing right against your clit like it knows you want him whether he touches you or not. He's whimpering at the sight, wet patch visible enough to make his eyes roll back.
Damn the consequences of your actions you climb into bed with him.
“What- we shouldn’t- you don’t have to-” he starts but stops when he watches you take off your bra, nipples already pebbled and waiting for his touch.
“If you don’t want to have sex with me just say so,” even just hearing the words ‘sex’ from your mouth has his dick twitching again.
“I need to have sex with you,” he reaches out for you, pulling you down to straddle him, your clothed pussy pressed right against his veiny shaft, the both of you moaning out for one another. He sits up, hands sliding up your back as he looks up at you; puppy dog eyes already begging for more.
You push his hair back from his brow, threading your fingers into the strands, his hazy smile mirroring your own. “Do you usually think about me when you touch yourself or did I just catch you on a good day?”
“I'm always thinking about you,” he breathes, pulling your lips to his. The kiss turns sloppy almost as soon as it's started, your hips working against him enough to draw every little sound from him. When he starts to kiss down your neck you lift your hips enough to push your panties to the side for him.
Your hand on his cock guiding his tip to your entrance makes him curse, finally sinking into you, all your wetness making it so easy, the stretch leaving you gasping. Both of you wrapped up in each other's arms as you try to catch your breath from the new sensations. It's intoxicating to feel him this deep, your dragging hips pushing him right against your gummy walls.
His mouth peppers kisses down your chest, catching one of your nipples into his mouth, swirling his tongue, moaning when you squeeze around him. Your knees are digging into the mattress as you try to bounce on him, thighs burning. His hands slide down to cup your ass, helping you move up and down on him. His lashes flutter with each drag in and out of you, better than he could have ever imagined or replicated with his hand.
Letting go of your nipple he watches your face now adorned in blissful pleasure. He feels his orgasm building but not as fast as he wants. He falls back against the pillows, pulling you with him, one of your hands catching yourself next to his head, he holds you in place as he digs his feet into the sheets, thrusting up in this new position.
“Oh my god-” you're finding it hard to even speak, now every thrust is pressed against your g-spot, the tip of his cock knocking over and over until you're almost shaking. With your free hand, you reach down between you two, fingers circling your clit as Seungmin twists your panties into his fist trying to find as much leverage as possible to keep his fast pace.
“Look at me,” he’s begging, needing to know you're right on the cusp with him, the slapping wet sounds ringing out around you two. “Please I want to see your pretty face when you cum for me,”
The request alone has you falling over the edge, the silent open-mouthed moan caught on your lips pulling him right along with you. He's a mess of whiny cries, sloppy thrusts slowing down as he tries to push his hips as close as he can get them to yours. Not even caring about having finished inside you when he feels this good.
Your arm gives out as you bury your face into his neck, your hot breath fanning over his sweat-sheened skin. The two of you instantly break out into giggles, the absurdity of the situation only just settling in while he's still twitching inside you.
“Holy shit,” he chuckles, fingers dragging over your bare back like he can't believe you're really here in his post nut clarity.
“I know, I can't believe you’ve been just across the hall this whole time and I'm just now finding out the dick was this good,”
“If I'd known you would have helped out I would have left the door open a long time ago. But what are you even doing at home right now?”
“The calendar was all messed up, no thanks to you, you said you took care of it!”
“I did! Or I thought I did,”
you roll your eyes even if he can't see, and you leave another kiss right over his pulse, “well it doesn't matter, what does matter is that we should definitely schedule sex on the the calendar next time,”
taglist 🏷: @kissmekissykissme @seungfl0wer @lunesdesire want to be added to the taglist? check out my rules to see how to join! want to be taken off the taglist? send an ask!
There are no words in any language he speaks that could explain what he’s feeling, so instead he pulls you into a kiss, one that wipes his brain free of anything except an almost primal need, and an even more primal sense of pride that he is able to kiss you like this now. Uninhibited. Uncoordinated. Needy. Filthy. Tongues tangling until there’s spit dripping out of the corner of his mouth. The whimper you press into his mouth tells a story of a desperation he never in his wildest dreams thought you could feel about him. He could sob. Maybe is about to, when you rip yourself away, push yourself up with a hand next to his head, and then, suddenly, curl your other hand around his neck and Minho roars, stars exploding in his vision from the intensity with which his eyes roll, his body locks up.
OR
minho's obsessed with you. turns out, you're obsessed with him, too. and you match his freak better than he could've ever anticipated.
word count: 10.2k words
author's note: phew part 2!!! this got ambitious, lads!! the tenderest, and horniest tenderhorny bdsm shit you will ever read. This one’s real dirty, so please heed the warnings! and while the kink is definitely under negotiated in this fic, I tried to create a realistic portrayal of how consent can look, and how the energy can ebb and flow, how you can go in and out of a scene. be safe everyone!! but also enjoy the filth. Not enough perv!minho out there. he’s not pathetic enough, not down bad enough, in most x reader fics. I have been wanting to write him like this for a looooong time, so really, why am I surprised it got this long
warnings: they match each other’s freak, in a weird fucking way; he’s obsessed with pudge and pubic hair (like a man should be); undernegotiated kink, please don’t engage in this kind of stuff without extensive communication!; very explicit bdsm things: dom!reader, sub!minho; panty stealing, choking and breathplay, on oneself (DON'T!!!) and on someone else, painplay, ball slapping, degradation, praise, spit, dacryphilia; breeding; implied butt stuff (m receiving)
link to part 1
skzms masterlist // ko-fi
A wet dream. His best, filthiest, dirtiest, most magnificent dreams and then some, that’s what it feels like when you push him onto the bed, curl two fingers into the chain of his necklace, your necklace, and slot your lips over his in a hot, searing kiss.
It’s everything. You’re everything. Everything he has ever wanted. Needed. Desired, loved more than anything. Your lips are soft, your spit sweet, the way you move against him controlled but demanding in a way that makes him want to just open his mouth and let you have your way with him. When you nip at his bottom lip, jolts of electricity shoot between his legs and his cock is throbs. He’s so, so close despite being entirely untouched.
And God, every inch of you he can get his hands on – it’s all so fucking perfect that he struggles to make sense of it. Every new inch of you that his hands touch is so new and so perfect – he wants to try and catalogue it all, store it away in his head for a rainy day, when he touches himself, when he’s three fingers deep and sobbing into his sheets. Just in case this is a dream.
Your tongue licks over his bottom teeth and Minho moans. It’s not a dream.
You’d pushed him against the wall as soon as the door closed behind you, one hand fisted into the collar of his shirt, and his breath had caught, his whole body taut like a bowstring – but you didn’t kiss him. You were trembling, breathing heavily, mirroring the desperate shake in Minho’s impossibly tight body, but you didn’t kiss him, only let your forehead fall against his and mumbled out a we need to talk about this first before dragging him to his room.
And talk you did. Standing in front of him, flushed and gorgeous, and just a little self-conscious. That alone nearly sent Minho to his knees in front of you. You’re my best friend. I’ve wanted this for a long time. If we do this, I can’t just be your friend. I want us to be more. The words had just tumbled out of your rose petal lips as if saying them was easy, as if they weren’t words Minho had never in his wildest dreams thought he’d get to hear from you. He’d breathed out your name, taken a step closer, fingers itching to touch, to feel, to finally sink his teeth into what he never thought could be his, but you’d stopped him, a steady palm in the middle of his chest, eyes pits of a darkness so deep it made the hairs on Minho’s neck prick up. Traffic light. Red for stop, yellow for slow down or try something else, green for good. Got it? Minho, nodding blindly, excitement shivering through his veins, his cock already filling out in anticipation. You blinked at him, something even darker running through your eyes like molten glass. Don’t look at me like that. Minho, sucking in a breath. Like what? Barely audible. Breathed out a laugh that wasn’t one.
Like you want me to ruin you.
This time, Minho’s legs did buckle, stumbling backwards, until his ass hit his mattress. A desperate breath, a pleading, something in his voice he’s never heard before. You, stalking towards him, one step at a time, a look in his eyes like you were ready to tear him to pieces. His wildest, dirtiest dreams, coming true.
Ruin me, fuck, please, ruin me.
You straddled him, turning his brain into goo with your sudden proximity, rattling off a laundry list of dirty things you wanted to do to him, waiting for a nod or a shake of his head – the latter of which he had previous few to give you. Most everything you mentioned coming straight from his filthiest dreams. It was a miracle he could listen at all, your breath fanning over his face sweet like steamed red bean buns, the plush of your ass on his thighs, the heat of your body slowly settling into his until he felt like he no longer existed as himself, like he was only a vessel for you to do with as you pleased.
At the end, you only looked at him for a long moment.
We’ll talk more about this later, but were you honest with me? Are those your only hard no’s?
The words reached him through a fog, through a dense, all-consuming desire to kiss you. He nodded again, blearily, blinked up at you, met your eyes; dark, predatory, yet oddly loving. He shivered, a full-body thing that you watched impassively, your expression giving nothing away. Then you leaned in. Whispered the words that made Minho whimper pathetically before your lips met his and his entire body exploded into fireworks.
God, you’re perfect.
Minho has never believed in God, but he thinks kissing you is the closest thing he’ll ever experience to heaven.
The weight, the heat of your body – he has imagined it so many times, but it’s so much better when it’s really you. When it’s the plush of your thighs caging his hips against the mattress. The drag of your chest against his as you lick into his mouth.
Your fingers find his jaw, press into the sides until his mouth falls slack with an embarrassing sound, somewhere between a moan and a gurgle, before you lick into his mouth. The smell of you, your shampoo, your perfume, the smell he has sucked out of so many of his sweaters, is all around him, threatens to overwhelm him. He wonders if his sheets will smell like you when you’re done. He might have to sleep on the couch. He might not be able to handle it.
Your hand is still on his jaw, fingers digging into the hinge of it, when you pull back, blink your eyes open, stare at him. Pinned to the bed, under the delicious weight of your body, he lets you stare your fill.
“You never said …” you suddenly murmur, and Minho blinks. Raises his eyebrows in question. “When I said I didn’t want this to be a one-time thing. That I wanted to be more. You never said if you wanted it, too.”
Minho feels his heart plummet. Oh God, how could he not have … how could he …
He tries to say something, but because of your hand on his jaw, all he can do is gurgle. So he settles for nodding, his eyes wide, blinking rapidly.
You watch him struggle, and smile. It’s disorientingly soft for how harsh your grip on his jaw still is, nails digging into his skin and all.
“Shh, it’s okay, bunny,” you mumble, and Minho squirms. His cock throbs at the nickname. “We can talk later, I just needed to know you want me the way I want you. For good. Forever.”
Minho swears his heart gives out at the words. He strains, tries to get the words out, pleads with you with his eyes, and you seem to understand.
“Okay, good,” you whisper, and then you pucker your lips – and spit right into his mouth.
Minho’s eyes roll into the back of his head. You let go of his jaw and his mouth snaps closed immediately, swallows your honey sweet spit before the words tumble out like they were just waiting to be freed.
“Forever. Want you forever. Have wanted you. Always. I lo … I love you. I love you. Please.”
Too much? Too soon? It barely scratches the surface of how he feels for you. Those words seem paltry compared to what you do to him. But he can’t think when you’re so close, when you just kissed him for the first time, when he hasn’t even gotten to kiss you for a second time yet.
Your eyes crinkle at the edges, and you smile, so wide your cheeks bunch up and your nose scrunches adorably and Minho makes a helpless noise in the back of his throat.
You dip down, rub the tip of your nose against his, giggling when he needily tries to push up, tries to mush his lips onto yours again.
“Oh, Minho,” you sigh, and it’s better than every moan of his name he has ever picked out of your daily interactions and manipulated until they fit into his fantasies.
You wait until he meets your eyes, a little cross-eyed from how close you are, before you whisper a soft “I love you, too” and lean in.
This kiss is raw. Softer, slower, but so full of feeling – and maybe he was worried that his sentimentality ruined the moment, but that fear is assuaged by the sheer desperation with which you kiss him, the little sigh that you breathe into his mouth that makes a shiver run down his spine.
“Where are they?” you mumble into his lips without pulling back, and Minho doesn’t have to ask what you mean.
Blindly, he shoves his hand under his pillow and pulls them out. Black lace, crushed and crumpled and humiliatingly obviously spit stained. He’d sucked on the seat of them until he was choking on his saliva just this morning, his mind swimming with the knowledge that you knew, that you would come over later that day ‘to talk’ – the mind-blowing possibility that you might feel the same.
You pull back, and he watches you blink at them, the fingers of the hand resting on his chest curling into his sensitive chest, making the sensitive nerve endings there explode into an exquisite pleasure-pain.
You breathe out a curse, dip down to kiss him again, your whole chest flush with his, your weight on his chest and your lips on his making it hard to breathe, but all it does is make his cock throb harder. He might come at this rate, only from your lips on his and the fact that you’re the one robbing him off his breath instead of his own hand.
You pull back until your lips are merely brushing his, your eyes still closed, as your hand slides up the arm, to the hand that he’s clutching the panties in. You stop at the wrist, circle your fingers around it and squeeze. Minho’s breath catches in his throat.
“I came in them,” you mutter, lowly, and Minho’s sanity slips. “I humped my pillow, thinking of you.”
This can’t be real. This can’t be real. He must be dreaming. This cannot be real. He lets out a guttural, feral moan.
“I had come up with the plan then, already. I knew I was going to leave them there, hoping you would pick them up. I … I came so hard, Minho,” you shiver out the last words and Minho’s arms finally move from where they were uselessly resting against the sheets, wind around your body to pull you against him, trying to feel more of you, his hips grinding up into your hip helplessly. “I came so hard thinking of you taking them.”
Minho can’t help himself. There are no words in any language he speaks that could explain what he’s feeling, so instead he pulls you into a kiss, one that wipes his brain free of anything except an almost primal need, and an even more primal sense of pride that he is able to kiss you like this now. Uninhibited. Uncoordinated. Needy. Filthy. Tongues tangling until there’s spit dripping out of the corner of his mouth. The whimper you press into his mouth tells a story of a desperation he never in his wildest dreams thought you could feel about him.
He could sob. Maybe is about to, when you rip yourself away, push yourself up with a hand next to his head, and then, suddenly, curl your other hand around his neck and Minho roars, stars exploding in his vision from the intensity with which his eyes roll, his body locks up. He pulls your hips flush with his cock, at the same time as he presses his hips up so hard it almost hurts. He’s throbbing, one second away from coming into his pants. You tighten your fingers. Minho gurgles out another moan. This is everything he has ever wanted.
“I want you so bad. My filthy, pervy, best friend.”
His vision speckles, his heart thumps in his chest. His breath comes out in short bursts.
“Don’t you think I saw you staring? Don’t you think …”
You let go of his neck and oxygen rushes into Minho’s lungs so fast he has to screw his eyes shut so he doesn’t pass out. You lift yourself off him, and he nearly sobs at the loss of warmth. He doesn’t need to look down to know there’s a wet spot on his sweats. He hears you laugh, hears the note of condescension in it, and his cock twitches in his pants. Clearly, you see because you laugh again. He’s so overwhelmed, he throws his arm over his face and whimpers pathetically.
“Do you think I’m stupid?” you snarl, and Minho shivers with something that is almost fear, but he doesn’t dare remove his arm from his face. “Do you think I can’t see it …,” you trail off dangerously.
And then, so quick he can’t even wrap his head around it, mean little fingers curl into the waistband of his sweats and his boxers and rip both down his legs in one fell swoop. Minho gasps, arm flying off his face and back flying off the bed, his hard, aching cock slapping heavily against his abdomen. When his eyes fall on you, you’re staring straight at it.
“Do you think I can’t see your cock bulging in your pants when you get hard?”
You meet his eyes and Minho blinks, nods, then shakes his head. He doesn’t have the wherewithal to figure out if that was really a question, if you wanted an answer, what answer you wanted.
You smile at him, almost eerily, before you drop your eyes back down to his cock and go back to staring.
“So big,” you hum, and Minho shivers. His cock twitches. “So pretty, too. I wonder if you even know what to do with it.”
Minho’s nails dig into the sheets so hard he wonders if they will tear. He needs you to touch him. He needs it more than he needs air. But you won’t, you just keep staring.
“P-please,” he croaks out, and your head snaps up to him, eyes filled with faux surprise.
“Please what, you nasty little thing? Aren’t you literally currently getting off on me staring at that useless dick of yours?”
Minho whimpers, and he swears he feels tears prick at his eyes. He swallows them down.
“T-touch …,” he chokes on a whimper.
You breathe out a laugh, and Minho thinks he might actually cry.
“Not so fast. Need to see what I’m dealing with here, first. On your hands and knees, now.”
Minho’s body computes the order before his brain does, already scrambling up before his thoughts catch up. When they do, he hesitates. Looks from you to the bed, and back. You seem to understand. You smile.
“Such a good boy,” you purr, and he sinks his nails into his thighs. “Face towards the pillows.”
Oh, God.. He’s imagined this. So many times.
He turns, plants his shaking hands on the mattress. He’s naked from the waist down, except for his socks. He’s still wearing his t-shirt. And the necklace, of course. His ass is still planted on his heels, too shy to lift it, though he knows you want him to. Can feel it. But a part of him wants you to ask.
He’s shaking.
You tsk behind him.
“Come on, bunny. You know what I want. Get your pretty little ass up. Show me.”
Minho does as he’s told. Puts more weight on his trembling arms. Props himself up.
The cool air against his ass, against his hole, is maddening. He wonders if you like what you see. Wonders when he last shaved. It's not like he's getting any. The last time he tried sleeping with someone, he couldn't even get it up. Came in three minutes when he got home and touched himself to the thought of you, though.
He follows blindly when he feels your fingers guiding his legs closer together, barely registers the brush of your touch against his cock before it’s gone again, his balls tucked behind his legs, his shaft resting along the backs of his thighs. He’s so exposed.
You hum appreciatively. One warm palm finds his ass cheek, caresses, kneads the flesh, the other smoothes over his calf, up and up over his thighs, until it’s resting on his hips. It feels like you touch him like that for forever, and he gets so lost in the sensations that he almost screams when a dry finger brushes against his hole.
You shush him soothingly and somehow, it does calm him. His breath is already coming in erratic bursts. He feels his cock twitch against his thighs. You probably see it. You probably see everything. The thought makes a few droplets of precum dribble from his tip. He’s mortified. It only makes him harder.
“Do you like your little hole played with, bunny?” you ask, sweetly, and he doesn’t even pretend to hesitate. He nods frantically. You hum like you’re stowing away the knowledge for another day.
“We’ll try that another time, won’t we? Because only good bunnies get their hole played with. And you’ve been bad, haven’t you?”
The line should be cringey, but your voice is so soft, almost dreamy, and it works. He shakes his head. Then nods. Then stops in despair.
You laugh. He blushes crimson, knows you can see it on the tips of his ears.
You don’t respond, instead you’re quiet and then-
Minho screams when your palm makes sharp contact with his balls. The pain zaps through his oversensitive body and then settles deep in his abdomen, where it turns into liquid hot arousal. His arms give out and he faceplants into his pillows.
“Been staring at me for so long. Staring at me and then getting hard. With that big cock of yours bulging through your pants.”
You slap his balls again and this time he expects it, doesn’t scream, only yelps, screw his fingers into the sheets. Another dribble of precum drips from his tip. It hits his calves. God, he has never been this wet before.
“How long have you been touching yourself to the thought of me?”
Minho barely computes the question. His whole body is trembling, waiting for the next slap, his mind bleary and foggy.
Your palm comes down on his thigh, then his ass, and then his balls, one after another, so fast he barely has time to catch his breath. This time, he moans.
“Answer me, Minho.”
The arousal in his guts pulls tighter at the way you say his name.
Stern, a little mean. Dimly, he realises he will come soon.
You say his name again, warningly, and he blinks the fog from his eyes enough to answer.
“Always,” he gasps out, screw his eyes shut in humiliation, “since we met. Always thought you were the most beautiful person I’ve ever met. Couldn’t stop thinking about you …”
He cuts himself off with a high, keening moan, when he feels soft fingers run over his balls, massage the soft skin. You’re touching him. You’re touching him.
“Go on,” you mutter, and he does. He would do anything you ask.
“Couldn’t … couldn’t stop thinking about you. W-wanted you, yes, to touch you but also … so much … ah … more. I always loved you, I promise, I promise.”
He nearly sobs. It feels insane to finally say all of this out loud. To say it to you.
You hum, a soft, appreciative thing. It makes his heart do somersaults in his chest.
“And you didn’t think to tell me?”
The slap catches him off guard this time, and he yelps, his back arching, the arousal pulling hotter.
“‘M so-sorry …” he howls, “I didn’t think … never thought you … you could want me like that … you were too … perfect …”
“So instead you touched your cock to fantasies of me spanking you? Being mean to you?”
Minho nods, and the next spank sends a full-body spasm through him. There’s a violent heat, building in the very core of his body, and his legs start trembling.
“Stupid boy,” you mutter, and the softness in your voice, laced in with the annoyance, the humiliation pulsing behind his eyes, and the next slap, hitting him just right–
Dull pleasure explodes through his body, and he comes with a tiny, choked up moan, back arching, chest and face pressed into his sheets, his cock spurting his load down the back of his thighs, hot and sticky.
The orgasm is astringent, thin and sharp, like the pain still lingering from your slap, and he sobs into the quiet of the room. You’re frozen behind him, probably in shock. Staring at the mess he made of himself. He fists his hand into the pillow next to his head. Tries to hold on. Feels himself start to spiral.
Suddenly, you get up, your weight lifting off the mattress, the sound of your socked feet leaving the room, and his usual post orgasm shame slams into him like a freight train. He doesn’t even move, stays with his face buried in the drool-stained pillow, his ass in the air, cum drying on the back of his thighs. The pillow feels like it’s getting wetter, and it’s only then that he realises that he’s crying. Not a full on sob, but a steady sniffle, dripping into the cotton until he can feel it wet his skin.
He doesn’t hear you come back into the room, nearly jumps out of his skin when he feels a warm, wet washcloth run over the backs of his thighs. The touch is barely there, almost utilitarian, if it wasn’t for the gentleness with which you touch him, hold him in place, caress over the skin. It’s so soothing. When you ghost the towel over the sensitive underside of his cock, he sniffles into the pillows. You make a soft sound under your breath, and the next thing he knows, he’s slowly being guided onto his side by your gentle hands.
He doesn’t even try to hide his tears, couldn’t if he tried, his arms aching too much to move them to hide his face. But he doesn’t avert his eyes from the ceiling, tries his best to ignore your stares burning into him. He can’t face it yet, whatever it is you feel.
Only when he feels you slowly unfurl his legs, helping him straighten them out, knead them between your warm palms, does he look down. You look like an angel. So pretty. So gentle. Tears blur his vision. He doesn’t want to have fucked it all up. He can’t live if you don’t love him any more now.
When his body is stretched out, resting clean and comfortable again his sheets, you lie down next to him. Place your gorgeous head on his pillows, fold your palm underneath your cheek, reach out the other to card through his sweaty hair. Minho thinks he can feel the touch in his entire body.
For a long moment, it’s quiet. You’re looking at him. He’s staring at you. He tries not to blink. He doesn’t want to miss a single moment. A small smile steals its way onto your lips, and he feels tears gathering in his eyes again. God, he’s so fucked up over you.
Before he can cry again, you gently scoot closer to him, your gaze dipping down to his lips, your nails dragging over his scalp soothingly.
“Shh, it’s okay. You’re okay. I’m here. Did so well, for me, my sweet boy …”
Your voice sounds far away, but your words make the dread melt from Minho’s bones so fast it makes him dizzy. Replaces it with a quiet, helpless kind of love. He can feel your breath on his lips. He closes his eyes. When you kiss him, he kisses back.
It’s only a closed-mouth kiss that you press to his lips, then another, and another. Soft. Almost chaste. Until Minho presses forward, makes one linger. Gently, still fragile, scared, he parts his lips, runs his tongue over the seam of your lips, greedily swallows the little sigh you make in the back of your throat. You open your mouth to him, slide your hand into the hair at the back of his head, and he presses closer, licks into your mouth. Tentatively, he places a hand on your waist. Holds his breath. Waits for your hum of approval, you arching into his touch, before he finally lets his hand explore the body that’s been haunting his every waking hour for the last years.
The dip of your waist is sweet. It fits perfectly under the curve of his arm when he winds it around you, pulls you against his chest until he can feel all of you against him, your belly softly rising and falling against his, your tits squished into his chest, thighs pressing together, before one slings over his. He can feel the strap of your bra under your shirt. He curls his fingers into it for just a second, entertains the thought of ripping it off you. Of the punishment you might dole out. It makes his cock twitch. He’s sure you can feel it, but you seem distracted enough, your fingernails dragging down his bicep, slipping down to his waist, to snuggle even closer, press your body into his like you want to make a home in it. He wishes you would. Carve out his chest and crawl in. Make yourself a home in his bones. He’d keep you safe.
Slowly, slow enough for you to be able to protest, should you not want it, he drags his palm down the dip and curve of your back, until his fingertips start gliding over the thick, mouthwatering swell of your ass. His pinky snags on the pocket of your jeans when he slides down to cup your cheek. Then he squeezes.
Dumbly, he watches, feels, as you gasp into his mouth, your hips twitch forward into his body your hand tightens on him, tries to drag him closer, though your bodies are already pressed so close he loses track of where he ends and you begin. When he kneads your ass again, you rock your hips forward again, and he slips his thigh in between your legs almost instinctively. Your legs clamp around it and with the next squeeze of your ass, you gently moan into his mouth, suck his bottom lip between your teeth and grind against his thigh. He can feel the heat of you through your jeans.
Minho’s cock is already hardening; so fast, and so soon after coming, that it aches. But your body underneath his hands, so beautifully responsive, so clearly enjoying him touching you–
His hand wanders, slides down the expanse of your thigh, down the outside, then back up, sweeping over the top, his thumb dragging over the inside seam of your jeans, until his fingertips find your waistband.
When he pulls himself away from you, he’s breathing heavily. There’s a string of spit that hovers in the air for a solid second, before it breaks, wets your bottom lip. He leans in, licks it clean, presses a chaste, almost reverential kiss to your lips. Much as he wants to let it linger, he doesn’t. He pulls back until he can look at you again and finds you already staring at him. Doe-eyed, yet wild. He has to swallow a growl, like a feral fucking animal. His fingertips trace the waistband of your jeans, knuckles brushing against the impossibly soft, sweetly pudgy skin underneath your belly button, until he reaches his goal. He taps his fingers against the metal button, looks at you with a question in his eyes. You nod.
Your breath puffs against his face in shallow bursts as he pops the button, his mind playing a highlight reel of all the time he’s imagined his as he slides down the zipper. He doesn’t even bother pulling your jeans down, only leans back enough so he has enough space to shove his hand down your pants. It feels a little dirty this way. Like you could be anywhere. In the car. In a restaurant bathroom.
His fingers brush past coarse, trimmed hair and God, he loves that you haven’t shaved it all off. He wants to bury his nose in it, wants to breathe you in until he never forgets your scent. The cotton of your panties is sticky against his knuckles when his fingertips make contact with the hot, slick heat of you. You gasp, and his cock twitches, and he can’t help the wanton groan that tears past his lips.
With the awkward angle, he can really only dip his fingertips in, and it’s not enough, not even remotely, so much so that he feels greedy, feels maybe more courageous than he should. He kisses you harder, pushes you backwards with every greedy press of his lips, until you’re lying back against the pillows and your legs fall open, and he can shove his hand further down your pants and finally–
Your body arches into his, your fingers fist the material of his shirt, when he sinks his fingers into your slick properly. A wet finger finds the button of your clit and his mind shuts down, the only thing he can think of is you. Your heat, your body, your pleasure. He would die in service of it if he could.
His cock is half hard and aching, where it’s lying against his thighs, and he hisses when the sensitive skin of it brushes against the harsh material of your jeans in the most delicious way. He sinks his ring finger into your heat and one of your hands wraps around his chin, forces him to look at you.
The insistent strength of your grips makes fuzziness bloom in his consciousness again already.
“You sure you’re good for another round?” you whisper.
It’s a silly question. As if Minho could rest, knowing he hadn’t pleasured you yet. As if he could rest without knowing what your orgasm tastes like.
Blearily, he nods, grinds his hard cock against your jeans again. He hopes he stains them. If it were up to him, you’d leave his apartment tomorrow with his cum stained all over your clothes. Make sure everyone out there knows you’re his.
“Soft or rough?” you offer, and he nearly melts. You’re so sweet. But you don’t know how insatiable he is for you. How sweet the the roughness feels to him.
He twirls his finger, rubs it against the silky walls of your pussy. The feeling of it sucking him in makes his eyelids flutter and his train of thought fizzles out.
“Rough,” he manages to choke out, his free hand curling around your wrist, dragging your hand up to his throat until you get the memo, but you stop there suddenly. Stare down, like you just realised something.
“The necklace,” you murmur, and he swallows thickly. He’s scared that you smell it on him, the desperation. That it’s somehow written on his face, branded into his skin, how often he has choked himself with it as he was spilling over his fist.
“Did you know …” you murmur, as you reach out, play with the metal. Your fingers are so close to his throat, he barely dares to breathe. His blood thrums in anticipation.
Then your fingers tighten, and you pull and suddenly, there’s metal wound tightly around his throat and the thin little stick end of the closer peeks out of your closed fist.
“It’s a slip chain,” you whisper, eyes trained on Minho’s face.
It feels so good like this. Tighter, a more even pressure. Oh, he had no idea it could feel this good. Stars dance in Minho’s vision and his hips rut forward, his cock grinding and drooling heavily against your jeans. Finally. Claim. Mark. His brain no longer feels like his own.
“I barely dared think about it when I bought it. But I couldn’t help myself …”
His vision goes spotty, and he doesn’t know whether it’s from the lack of oxygen or the fact that all this time, he had worn the necklace, had worn his devotion to you wrapped around his neck like a dog and now … you tell him you thought about it, too.
All too soon, he thinks, you let go and the oxygen rushing back into his lungs makes Minho nearly collapse into your chest. He moans hoarsely and you hum in response.
“But it’s dangerous. You have to promise me you won’t use it like that when you’re alone.”
Minho blinks. Your tone has changed. He’s trying to figure it out, but his brain isn’t … doesn’t …
Slowly, you pull his hand from your pants and he frowns. Did he do something wrong? He doesn’t think he did, but … you don’t want him to touch you any more?
“Promise me, baby,” you repeat, and he just blinks at you. You seem to finally realise when your face softens, your hand comes up to cup his cheek. He nuzzles into it instinctively, his eyes slip shut. You swipe a thumb over his bottom lip, and his mouth falls open instinctively. Your breath hitches.
“Are you worried because you like playing with the necklace? Hm, bunny?”
Minho nods. Without opening his eyes, he nuzzles closer into your palm. Your attention on him is so addicting. Your thumb finds his bottom lip again, pushes in until it’s resting against his tongue. He wraps his lips around it. Sucks, just a little. You curse under your breath.
“God, you’ll be the death of me. Don’t worry, bunny, we can still play with it,” you purr, and Minho’s brain goes to static, “I’ll choke you as much as my dirty little bunny wants, but alone is too dangerous. Bunny could get too into it. Hurt himself.”
He feels himself nodding. He guesses it makes sense.
You pull your thumb from his mouth, shush him gently when he whines at the loss of its weight on his tongue. But all complaints die in his throat when he realises what you’re doing.Calmly, you shove
down your jeans, exposing your panties. They’re not black, like the ones he stole, but grey this time, but they have the same lace detailing around the waistband. His mouth goes dry when you pull them off your legs nonchalantly, dark where they were sticking to your slick cunt. He can’t see your pussy from here, only the tantalising V of it, your sweet belly and the little curl of pubic hair on your mound, but he feels like he can smell it. His brain zones in on it like he’s a hunter, and it’s his prey. He needs to … he needs to touch … he needs …
“Promise me, and you can touch,” you say, gently, but firmly, and he blinks back at you. His tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth and the words barely want to come out.
“I … I promise.”
You raise an eyebrow.
“Promise what?”
Your hand winds into his hair and the touch shudders through his entire body. His eyes flutter shut, and he grinds his cock forward, mewls when he finds your skin instead of jeans now.
“Minho …”
He sucks in a breath. Wills his brain to focus for one more second.
“I … I promise I won’t play with the n-necklace w-without you …”
You hum, press a soft kiss to his lips, and he nearly tumbles into you when he tries to chase your lips.
“Good boy,” you hum, and Minho preens.
The hand in his hair holds tighter, starts pushing him away from you, and he blinks his eyes open in confusion, before he realises where you’re guiding him.
He lets himself be pushed down, between your legs. His mind swimming when you part your legs for him, expose where you’re wet and needy and so pretty , without shame, and the trust you put in him isn’t lost on him, not even in this state.
Your little clit, pink and sweet and swollen, peeks out from underneath its hood, wedged between the lips of your cunt, and he reaches out before he can stop himself. Brings a thumb there. Drags the silky pudge of it aside so he can see more. Spit pools in his mouth.
When the top of your foot makes sharp contact with his balls, it makes his whole body jump – and he drools a little bit. You laugh. Almost a little mean, yet nowhere near mean enough. He wonders if he will get to tell you to be meaner. He wonders if you’ll want to be.
Nonetheless, he flushes red hot, wipes the drool off his chin with the back of his hand.
“I don’t need to even tell you what you did wrong, hm?” you mutter, disappointment laced into your voice. He shakes his head, swallows thickly. Mumbles an apology. You hum, then your eyes harden.
“Shirt off,” you order, and he rips it off his body so fast he nearly falls over. When his eyes focus back on you, you’re staring at him. Eyes roaming over his shoulders, his chest, the hint of abs on his stomach.
Minho takes a deep breath. Steels himself for what he’s about to ask.
“You, too …? P-please …?”
He blinks his eyes at you innocently. You stare at him, and sit up, and pull your top over your head.
And as much as Minho tries, he can’t stop his eyes from straying, gluing themselves to every newly exposed inch of skin. How your tits strain against your bra, how the straps dig into your shoulders. The goosebumps that litter your skin when you reach behind yourself, undo the clasp. He nearly drools again when your tits tumble free. They’re as perfect as the rest of you. The perfect size, jiggling prettily, when you lie back down. He watches as your big, soft nipples slowly pebble in the cool air. Notices little streaks of stretch marks around the side of them. He wants to trace them with his tongue, wants to suck your tits into his mouth and feel your fingers tug at his hair and–
“Bunny, you were about to do something, weren’t you?”
Minho blinks back into focus when he realises he’s just been sitting between your legs, staring at your tits for an embarrassingly long time. But the fuzziness in his brain prevents him from feeling any real shame. And so does the soft condescension in your voice.
“Oh, goodness,” you coo, and it’s so sickly sweet it makes Minho’s attention snap back to you, “already so stupid, and we’re not even doing anything yet.”
His eyebrows draw together. He wants to say something, but his brain won’t work the way it should. Instead of thoughts it’s just static.
You sigh, shake your head.
Static. Sadness.
“We’ll have to see if you can even manage to make me feel good,” you sigh, and Minho vaguely shakes his head, clumsily reaches out, digs his fingers into the soft skin of your calves. He wants to lie down, already, wants to eat you out for as long as it takes, as long as it takes for you to shake through an orgasm. He’ll learn. He’ll be patient. He’s not too proud. Your pussy on his face would be a privilege. He’d do anything for you. Anything.
“Aw, sweet thing,” you hum, and he realises he just said all of that out loud. His mind spins. His cock throbs.
“Well, if all else fails, at least you have that big, gorgeous cock of yours,” you hum, and the object of your appreciating twitches needily between his legs. He’d always hoped you’d love his cock. Big, girthy, but not too much. Sensitive. Hard. Leaking. He hasn’t had many partners, but they’d all loved his cock.
“Bunny …” you call, and he realises he zoned out again. “Why don’t you finally put your mouth to good use, hm? Before you get distracted again. Maybe that’ll keep you busy enough.”
And despite how badly he wants it, he freezes. Stuck staring at you with a wish lodged in his throat that he can’t find the words for.
“What is it, baby? What’s your colour?” you ask, and this time, it’s free of any condescension. You’re really checking in on him he realises. It’s okay. You want him to feel good. He’s safe.
“G-green,” he mumbles, swallows, “c-can I have a k-kiss?”
Your eyes turn impossibly softer, and without a second’s hesitation you sit up, grab him by the wrist, gently pull him closer until he can lean in and press his lips to yours. It doesn’t last for more than a few seconds, but he leans into it with everything he has, drinks up every ounce of love you offer him until he feels drunk, until the static in his head turns warm, like a million bees buzzing around the sweetest honey. It makes him dizzy, floaty, barely aware of his body lowering itself onto the bed, his hands wrapping around your thighs, your waist, his mouth opening and his tongue lolling out, laving over your most intimate place. The staticky mess in his head goes quiet only long enough for him to hear his own debauched moan he laves into your folds..
Tart and sweet like raspberry syrup. Addicting like it’s laced with something. The smell of you, the smell he’s been chasing in the cotton of your underwear for the last week, only tarter, sweeter, muskier. Real. He wants to fucking drown in it.
Your folds are slick and slippery under his tongue, only aided by the drool that slips out his mouth, his tastebuds going haywire. When he laves over your hole, there’s a whole new world of flavour. Something hotter. Sweeter. Creamier.
He chases it, laves at your hole until your legs start closing around his head, before he finally licks into it, past the soft muscles, fucks his tongue into the impossibly small, burning hot space of it, and all the finds is more of the taste he can’t get enough of. It’s even purer there. He laves over your walls, revels how they flutter around him, clench when he’s especially deep. He sucks against your skin, moans as drool and slick slide down his chin.
His mind is completely gone, and when you gently tug at his hair, pull him from your hole and up to your clit, he dutifully starts licking there, too. Licks over your clit, circles it with his tongue, flicks it until your hips start twitching, jerking so hard he can barely keep his mouth on you, so hard he has to dig his hands into you more firmly, and it helps. It also makes your pussy quiver, and as if on cue, he slides down to your hole again and oh, you’re only getting sweeter.
He licks at you again, and again, presses over your clit, then slides down, laps at your hole that’s still, somehow, getting more delicious, cream and peaches and musk–
Distantly, he hears you moan, hears you whimper his name. Not bunny, or baby, his name. It shakes him out of his stupor.
Almost drunkenly, he pulls away. Feels a drop of your slick, of his spit, slide down his chin. The hand in his hair slips down to rest on his cheek. He blinks up at you and oh. He’d never thought you’d look like this.
Your head is thrown back and you’re flushed, from the apples of your cheeks, down your neck, your chest heaving with heavy breaths, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on your body like a thousand diamonds. Your thighs, trembling next to his head, your belly twitching sporadically. He shudders out a breath and you look down at him, make eye contact with him over the swells of your body, and he wishes he could paint so he could immortalize this view. Your makeup is smudged, a strand of your hair is plastered to your forehead. You look absolutely debauched. Fucked out. Perfect. You’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Oh god, he wants to make you come.
He would've dived back in right then and there if it hadn’t been for your hand sliding back into his hair, fingers tightening in the strands, tugging him to stay upright.
Oh. Right. He was meant to listen. To learn. Instead, he got so lost in it … Are you mad at him now?
“Stop eating me out like you’ve done this before,” you growl, and Minho’s poor, fuzzy brain ties itself into a knot of confusion. “You’re making me fucking jealous. Don’t make me think of you with someone else.”
Oh. He almost laughs.
He almost laughs because … how could you think there could be anyone else? Since the day he met you, he knew this was it for him. It was you, or no one. Anyone he may have had before is only a distant memory, mediocre pleasure, bodies he doesn’t remember, tastes that never did more than mildly gross him out. Right here, between your legs? With the way you look at him, touch him, talk to him, he feels like a virgin all over again. He wants to relearn pleasure. Wants to map it out on your body for the rest of his life. And maybe the next one, too.
Your brows furrow, face scrunching up in annoyance, and he feels giddy. You’re jealous. Jealous of him. Of him.
With a rough little shove, that embarrassingly makes Minho moan very loudly, you push him back, until he’s sitting back onto his haunches. Then you turn around, reach back for his hand and tug him closer.
“Fuck me,” you order, and Minho nearly chokes on his breath.
“F-from behind?” he squeaks out, his brain threatening to melt out of his ears at the mere suggestion.
You nod, shuffle back until you’re right in front of him, stick your ass up and let your upper body fall into the sheets. Presenting your ass, your little hole, your sopping wet pussy to him on a silver platter. When he doesn’t do anything, you wiggle your hips impatiently. Enticingly. As if the view of your naked back, the slope of your waist, the little jiggle of your ass wasn’t enough to drive Minho insane.
He might not survive this.
“Fucking fuck me like you’ve never touched anyone else before,” you hiss, reach out for one of Minho’s pillows, shove it underneath your face, “and make it hard. I wanna feel your cock every time I sit down for at least the next three days.”
Minho reels. You’re filthy. You’re perfect. His hands find your waist, dig into the soft skin, into the soft lines of your stretch marks. He hopes you let him learn them by heart one day. Maybe if you’re still here tomorrow, when the morning sun streams in through his windows. He’d like to kiss you then, all over your body. Explore every inch of it. Worship it like you deserve.
Because he feels almost out of his mind right now. Brain still fuzzy, overwhelmed with the knowledge that you’re here, naked, and jealous. He can hardly remember how to have sex at all. How to make his limbs go through the motions. How to keep enough control of his body to not come immediately when his cock is inside of you. He has soiled innumerable, uncountable sets of bedsheets and pillowcases just imagining this. And now you’re here, naked, jealous of whoever came before you.
“Come on, bunny, or have you really forgotten how to use that big cock of yours?”
Minho breathes out. Tries to shake enough of the fuzziness out of his head to be able to do this. He wants to do this right. Needs to do it right.
With shaky hands, he reaches between you, takes a hold of his cock, hisses at the contact because God, he’s so turned on it actually hurts. He doesn’t know how he will hold out, but he grits his teeth – he will have to. He wants to fuck you with his cock that you called beautiful, and he wants to feel you come around him, and then he wants to breed you f-full …
Nope, he can’t go there right now. He really can’t. He won’t make it.
He lines himself up with your hole, watches entranced as your folds part around him, your slick coats his tip – and then he pushes in.
The head of his cock pops in and Minho … loses it.
He curses until he bottoms out. Loud. Way too loud for a Thursday at 7pm in his busy apartment building. He doesn’t give a fuck. Your naked body is in his hands. Your slick, wet hole is sucking him. Taking all of him. His head nudges at your cervix. It’s a perfect fit. It’s a perfect fit. He almost starts crying.
But before he can, you swivel your hips forward, and then backwards again, fuck yourself back on his cock so perfectly, he nearly doubles over. Nothing has ever felt like this before.
“God, you do feel good,” you moan into his pillow, and Minho just whimpers helplessly. “Such a pretty cock. All for me.”
Without allowing him a second to catch his breath, you do it again, pull back almost all the way before you press his cock back into your pussy, then, again, and again, the slide of it getting easier with every swivel of your hips.
You fuck yourself back hard, slam your ass into his pelvis and the head of his cock brushes your cervix, and he throws his head back, his hands that were previously hanging helplessly by his side, scramble to find your waist. He digs his fingers into your skin, tries to ground himself.
With his cock buried all the way inside of you, you start grinding your hips in slow, torturous circles, and Minho’s cock twitches violently, deep inside of you. You laugh, breathlessly.
“Are you gonna do something, bunny?” you ask, the condescension still clearly audible, even through the veil of arousal. “Come on, I know you wanna. Filthy boy. Come on, hump me, like the horny dog you are.”
Minho nearly blacks out. The embarrassment settles deep into his guts, burns brightly, making his balls tighten already.
“W-wanna … so bad …”
You coo, clench your walls around him tightly, and he keens, nearly doubles over and crashes into you.
“Then go for it,” you coo, “come on, bunny, with a cock that big I’m sure I’ll still feel something at least.”
He feels like the luckiest man alive. Like he’s nothing but a feral, horny dog that you’re tugging into place so he can hump you. He’s the luckiest man alive because you let him and you like it.
He tightens his grip on your waist, sinks one of his hands into the plush of your ass, pulls back, and then fucks into you at the same time as he pulls you back onto his cock, and it’s the best thing he has ever felt in his entire life.
“Yeah,” you breathe, “do it again. Just like that.”
And he does. Every thrust punctuated with a helpless moan, he starts fucking into you, slowly, savouring every drag, until your pussy gives way for him so easily, the drag against your walls gets so wet and easy, that he speeds up. One hand screwed into your ass, using the thickness of it to pull you against his cock, he starts slamming into you in earnest.
He’s moaning. Wantonly. Loudly. Dimly, he realises that you are, too. Just as loud. Your hand fisted into the sheets so hard your knuckles are turning white.
He lets his body take over. Rolls his hips, grinds against you harder with every thrust. His knee slips slightly to the side on the sheets, and it angles his hips differently, and you moan loudly into the sheets, your pussy gushing wet and hot around him. He drills into the spot again and again, rolls his hips, rubs the sensitive underside of his cock against your walls until he thinks he might pass out, the pleasure rocking through him threatening to consume him.
When you swirl your hips to meet him, his hips stutter. But you do it again, drag over his cock with a practised swivel of your hips.
Practised. With someone else.
Suddenly, the tables have turned. Now he’s the one consumed by a murderous jealous rage.
He doesn’t know if you feel it in the air, if something changes in the way he moves, but suddenly, you’re moving, pushing yourself up on your shaky arms, reaching a hand behind you, reaching out to him, and he doesn’t hesitate to lace his fingers with you. Pull you up. The changed angle makes you gasp, your fingernails digging into the back of his hand.
“Fuck,” he gasps out, his hips faltering, settling into a slower, more controlled pace, “baby. Baby. Y/Nie …”
He’s babbling, but he can’t stop himself.
“I love you. I love you so fucking much. Please, don’t … don’t fuck anyone else ever again. Want you to be yours. Want to be your only one. Please. Please.”
His voice is high and thin. He’s babbling and pleading, and you whimper, and then you grind backwards, grind his cock inside of you deeply, and he feels the shudder that goes through you shiver through the walls of your cunt. He’s connected to the deepest part of you and the knowledge alone makes him dizzy. Blindly, he falls forward, plants one palm into the bed in front of you. Your soft back catches him. His face lands in your hair. He breathes you in like a starved man. You’re here. You’re his.
“F-fuck, bunny,” you gasp out, and it’s so close to Minho’s face that he can feel your voice rumble through your body. It’s unreal.
With one hand resting on your belly, resisting the urge to worship every inch of it with his fingers, he cautiously pulls back, just a little bit, and then sinks his cock back into you. The twin moans you let out, bounce off the white walls of his room.
“I love you, too, bunny, you’re the only one,” you gasp out between the little moans punched out of you with every rut of Minho’s cock inside of you, “never felt … never felt like this, bunny. Baby. Minho.”
His name again. Minho feels faint. His lips find the skin of your shoulder, brushes against every inch of it he can reach. Tongue, teeth, lips. Licking up the saltiness of your sweat, the heady musk of your body.
He feels drunk when he starts to set a cautious rhythm. Pulls back as far as he can, without having to unglue himself from your back, because he thinks he might die if he does.
Your pussy feels hot. Swollen. Wet. Abused. It throbs around him. He wishes he could stay buried inside you for the rest of his life.
Both your bodies move with every thrust of his hips, and his slow pace picks up again soon because it’s addicting, hearing the noises punched out of you, feeling every single tremor of pleasure shiver through your skin. His free hand finds your tits, wraps around one of them, thumb and pointer finger finding your nipples. Soft. Soft soft soft like everything about you. He pinches meanly and you gasp quietly. Not so sensitive there, he notes, carefully, in the compendium of you that he will fill out for the rest of his life.
With one particularly deep thrust, your pussy squelches around him, and he realises just how wet you are around him.
“G-gonna cum,” you mumble.
You wrap your fingers around his wrist, bring his hand up to your mouth and suck two of his fingers into your hot, wet mouth. Minho groans, fucks forward so hard he nearly sends you toppling over. You’re not phased, only lick around his digits until they’re soaked, and then, with an unrelenting confidence, drag them down, down, down, between your legs and oh of course.
The angle of his arm makes his body press closer to you, and he could cry for joy. Every deep thrust of his hips makes your sweaty bodies slide together. Minho laves over a bruise in the crook of you that he barely remembers sucking into your skin, and rubs his fingers over your clit and your response is immediate.
Your head falls back, comes to rest against his shoulder. He rubs deeper, harder, fingers brushing against where his cock is pounding into you with every swipe, trying desperately to not lose his head, trying to take in every single second of this.
Your body leaning back into him more, relying on him to hold you; your walls tightening, fluttering, squeezing him so hard he can barely feel his toes, so close is he to coming.
The beautiful tightening of your body culminates, and before he knows it you’re shaking apart in his arms. Trembling. Letting out a long, desperate moan, fucking your hips back against his cock, holding his hand between your legs, wringing every single drop of your pleasure out of his willing body.
Before you’re even done, he sinks his teeth into your shoulder, and he comes, too, pleasure throbbing through his veins, pounding through his head so hard he fears he may black out. Still rubbing your clit he bullies his cock as deep as he can, and then fucks in even closer, no doubt bruisingly punching against your cervix, but you don’t seem to care. You moan. Sob. Take every single drop of his seed, milk it out of his cock and into your greedy body.
You freeze there, for a second, breathing heavily, aftershocks racking through your body, through your pussy, still locked around him. Minho’s brain feels like it’s floating somewhere far above him. Blearily, he realises that he’s still blindly suckling on the skin of your shoulder, and he lets go of it with a pop. There’s a bright purple bruise where his mouth was. It makes a familiar flicker of shame lick up in his guts.
But before he can panic, you sigh contentedly, take his hand, slowly manoeuvre the both of you onto the bed without Minho’s cock even slipping out of you. Some feral part of him purrs in satisfaction. Wants to plug you up and keep you full of him all day, every day.
You come to rest in his arms, the little spoon to his big spoon, warm, pliant, slightly sticky, pulling him closer until he’s plastered against your back again, wrapped around him tightly, like you don’t want to let him go either. When you still try to pull him closer, he can’t help the soft giggle that escapes him. You smile. His heart skips a beat at the sight.
Lazily you squeeze his hand, pull it up until you can press a soft kiss to the back of his it. You hold it there, nuzzling your face into his skin, nudging your thumb with his nose. His heart threatens to beat out of his chest. You let the fingertips of your free hand softly over his arm.
“Did so well for me, baby,” you mumble, sleepily, “so well. Love you so much. Let’s rest for a moment and then shower, okay?”
The words make something in Minho’s chest bloom. The flicker of shame and anxiety is smothered by sheer light and warmth, and he realises now, what he was missing all this time.
He mumbles your name into your hair. You hum.
“Stay?”
You giggle, gently tug his arm tighter around you until he nearly topples over you, his sensitive, softening cock shifting inside of you.
With your eyes closed, and a giant smile on your face you bring his hand back to your lips, press a kiss the back of it again, before you start peppering kisses all over his hand, his wrist, anywhere you can reach. You tip your head back, wait until he presses a softm dazed kiss into your hair, before you blink open your eyes. Smile at him.
“You’re not getting rid of me anymore.”
Minho smiles. Then he leans in and kisses you. Cups your face, runs a hand over your sweaty hair, breathes a million I love yous into your lips until you’re giggling again. In the morning, he’ll find the real words. All the scattered remnants of his burning, desperate love for you, scattered through his battered, bruised, body, and he will tell you, for real. He will tell you just how and and just how much he loves you.
But not now. Now he’ll kiss you, again and again and again, just because he can, until you call him bunny again, just to make him pliant enough to let you shoo him in the shower.
He likes being your bunny.
link back to part 1
skzms masterlist // ko-fi
🔖 general taglist: follow and turn on notifications for my library account: @skzms-library
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In his dirtiest, deepest fantasies, you know exactly what he wants. You run your pretty fingers along his jaw, down his throat, letting your nails drag over his skin dangerously. You stare at him like you’re ready to devour him whole, and then you wrap your hand around his throat and squeeze until his vision fuzzes out at the edges. You force him onto the bed, rip his clothes off until he’s bared to you in all his desperation, maybe make him get on all fours, push his face into the sheets as you inspect his hole. And, God, he begs, begs until his throat is raw, promises you anything for just one touch.
OR
perv!bsf!minho finds your panties. temptation is too strong.
word count: 4k words
author's note: the second part of this is basically almost done and will be dropping in the next couple of days, but I needed to separate them for pacing reasons. the second part is ... long. for reasons that will become apparent at the end of this.
also this is pretty filthy, so heed warnings!
warnings: this a perv!skz thing so Minho’s being weird and pushing boundaries, please don’t see this as a model of healthy behaviour; mention of food and being full in a sexy way because this may be perv!Minho but he’s still Minho; panty stealing; masturbation; male squirting; choking and breathplay by himself (DON'T!!!); fantasizing about degradation, praise, more choking, painplay; dacryphilia; one mention of breeding; implied butt stuff (m receiving)
link to part 2
skzms masterlist // ko-fi
Ten seconds. Ten seconds is all it took.
One, you disappearing into the bathroom to find your bracelet.
Two, Minho scuffing his foot into the plush carpet next to your bed and spotting something peeking out from under the bed frame.
Three, a single shift of his weight from one foot to the other, to see what it was.
Four, a realisation that made his mouth go dry and his heart skip a beat.
Five, six, seven, his body moving before his brain could stop him.
Eight, nine, clammy hands shoving the material into the pocket of his jeans, next to his traitorous cock that was already filling out.
Ten, you walking out of your bathroom, pretty and glowing like the main character in a movie as you slot your earring into place, shirt riding up enough to expose a sliver of soft waist, jeans digging into the pudge of your stomach in a way that makes Minho’s stomach lurch with need.
A few steps of your pretty socked feet on the hardwood, a smile up at him, looking at him through your lashes, offering him your wrist, your bracelet dangling between your fingers. Minho is glad he manages to hold your gaze, glad his fingers aren’t shaking, and his body doesn’t betray him when your chest keeps rising and falling, tits so close to his fingers that he could brush against them if he straightened them out. He takes a deep breath, is overwhelmed with the smell of you, your shampoo, your perfume. His cock is half hard, his guts pulsing with the same gut-wrenching desire you pull out of him all the time without even trying, only this time it’s made more deliciously maddening by the knowledge of what he’s hiding in his pocket.
Your panties. Black, simple, only a little lacy around the edges, crushed up in a ball in the left pocket of his blue jeans, burning a hole into his skin, a hole into his conscience, where guilt and unbearable desire swear to rob him off his sanity, as he struggles to be even half coherent as he flips the meat on the grill at your favourite KBBQ place.
Of course, he grills it for you. He would worship the ground you walk on, if he could – but you don’t know that, so he settles for grilling your meat and watching you eat well, preening at the happy, satiated grin on your face when you’re done, resisting the urge to reach across the table to wipe a smear of grease off the corner of your mouth or let his hand drag over your full, undoubtedly warm, soft belly to slip between your legs and caress a full-body orgasm out of your warm, –
He has to shake himself out of it, has to will his cock back to the half chub he’s been sporting all day that has only been controlled by his willpower and his willpower alone, has to force himself to put one foot in front of the other when the food and the two shots of soju have mellowed you into a clingy, sleepy version of you that holds on to his bicep as you walk, head resting against his shoulder in a way that he knows will leave the smell of your hair ingrained there for exactly two hours, long enough for two orgasms, rubbed out of his cock, burning with guilt and shame and so much desire it makes his world feels like it tilts on its axis and makes him sob into his pillow when the high fades …
He almost forgets about the panties, mind entirely elsewhere on the cold walk from your place to his after dropping you off, thinking about you, yes, but also Doongie’s birthday, as he toes off his shoes in the hallway, drops his coat on the hook, wonders whether cats feel their own age at all and if they know why humans give them presents and the good wet food once a year …
Until he stands in the middle of his bedroom, reaches into his pockets for his phone, his wallet, his keys, ready to peel off his pants and shove the shoulder of his sweater under his nose and finally take care of his half hard, aching cock when he reaches into his pocket and his fingertips meet cotton.
His hands are shaking when he pulls them out of his pocket, and it only takes him one look before he flings them onto his bed and takes a shaky few steps back, his heart thundering in his chest.
They’re not washed. They’re worn.
They’re worn
His cock pulses between his legs, his stomach coiling with so much desire it nearly makes him double over. He digs his fingers into the wood of the dresser behind him.
Somewhere deep within him, his conscience rebels, strikes the alarm. Tells him that he shouldn’t do this, that he should know that once he gets a taste of this, he won’t be able to go back. That he’s fucked in the head and that he knows it, that he’ll be digging through your dirty clothes hamper before the next week is up to get more, more, more, because he’ll wrap them around his cock and smear his release all over the residue of your pussy, and he’ll never be able to forget the taste of it once he has it on his tongue.
He wars with himself like that for what feels like hours, until the sun has sunk way past the horizon, shrouding his room in darkness until the offending material is nothing but a dark shadow on his bedsheets. Standing at the other end of his room, as far away from his bed as possible, gnawing at his bottom lip, but he knows he’s delaying the inevitable.
He knows his fate was sealed the moment he reached under the bed and stuffed the panties in his pocket.
His legs don’t feel like his own when he slowly walks over, sinks onto his bed. Blindly, he feels around for the thing that has been tormenting him. When his fingers find lace, he crushes the panties into his hand with an iron grip. His legs part slightly. His chest feels tight. Arousal makes his brain feel foggy, until everything fades, except the one thing that’s always there, in every waking thought — you.
In his more tame fantasies, he takes what he can get. He imagines kissing you, maybe, if he lets himself go where he shouldn’t, he imagines you kissing him. Shoving your pretty pink tongue that he’s only ever gotten greedy glimpses of when you were eating or taking a sip from your coffee, right into his mouth. He’d probably drool all over himself, but you’d like it. You’d climb into his lap and his hands would be shaking once he finally got to touch you. But touch you, he would. He would commit every inch of you to memory. He would push his fingers into you, rub an orgasm out of you, suck your juices off his fingers and not wash his hands just so he could rub them against his nose for the next 24 hours while he jerked his cock raw.
But here, in the darkness of his room, with the black lace of your panties crushed between his fingers, he lets himself venture where he doesn’t often let himself go, where it’s too dangerous. Because if he let himself believe that you could give him what he really wants, his hopes would get too strong to contend with reality, threatening to distort it and warp it until the tenuous grasp he has on his sanity, on his sick and twisted and unrequited love for you, slipped right through his fingers.
Because in his dirtiest, deepest fantasies, you know exactly what he wants. You run your pretty fingers along his jaw, down his throat, letting your nails drag over his skin dangerously. You stare at him like you’re ready to devour him whole, and then you wrap your hand around his throat and squeeze until his vision fuzzes out at the edges. You force him onto the bed, rip his clothes off until he’s bared to you in all his desperation, maybe make him get on all fours, push his face into the sheets as you inspect his hole. And, God, he begs, begs until his throat is raw, promises you anything for just one touch.
He likes to imagine, how you’d render every gram of muscle he’s worked so hard on in the gym useless. How you’d make him feel like he’s nothing. Smaller than small. Just a vehicle for your pleasure. Maybe you’d condescend to calling him pretty. Run your sweet, deadly fingers over the arch of his nose, stare down at his lips without touching until he’s shivering. Reduce him to tears with just one look of those eyes he has the privilege of being seen by, without ever truly being seen. He doesn’t want you to just see him. He wants you to see everything, wants to be bared to your intelligent eyes — he wants you to see him for what he is. Pathetic. Dirty. Perverted.
Wrong.
And he wants you to punish him for it.
He doesn’t know when he raised his hand, when he brought the balled up underwear in his hand to his face, but the first whiff of it is life-changing, earth-shattering, makes his world turn upside down and his eyes roll into back of his head, his back hitting the sheets as he shoves it against his nose so hard it almost hurts and inhales again.
It’s sweet. Tangy. A little sour, maybe, because you were probably wearing them all day. Maybe some sweat mixed in with the sweet slick from your pussy. The thought alone makes Minho’s hips jump off the bed pathetically, chasing the pressure of his own hand. He often wonders what your pussy looks like. He only saw the outline of it once, when you were wearing leggings, thoughtlessly leaning over the side of the sofa to grab your phone before you were heading out. Your ass, round and perfect, then, leading down, a little V. Two lips, and a little space in between, where the head of his cock could fit so prettily. He jacked off so often to the thought of filling that little space with his cum that his dick was chafed raw, and he could barely meet your eyes. But no matter what he imagines it to look like, he knows it wouldn’t matter to him – it would be as gorgeous as you are, no doubt, wet and glistening and hot, and he’d worship it, if he was just given the chance.
He takes a ragged breath, chest rising in barely controllable tremors, and lets go of the panties, lets them drop on the pillow next to his bed, in favour of torturously slowly trailing his free hand over his clothed chest – the depraved, limitless part of himself already slipping into a place where he can imagine it’s your hand instead of his – until his fingers find the cool metal of the necklace around his neck.
You gave him this necklace, almost a year ago now, for his birthday. It’s a simple thing, a sturdy, a thick chain, shining, real silver, long enough to rest just between his collarbones, a decorative closure, a little thin stick that is threaded through a ring to hold it in place. And Minho knows that’s all it is – a present, a thing you picked out because you thought it would go well with his oversized shirts and thick hoodies, short enough to not get in the way too much when dancing, not expensive enough to be too precious to wear.
But to Minho, it’s so much more. To Minho, the necklace isn’t as much of a necklace. It’s a collar. He wears it not for a fashion statement, but out of a devotion to you that only he knows about. He wears it every day, barely takes it off, his skin itching when he has to, at airport security, a hysterical kind of calm settling back into his bones when it’s back around his neck. He touches it when he sees your name light up his phone screen, or when he thinks of you while he’s out with his friends. But most often, he pulls at it when he’s right here, on his bed, one hand wrapped around his cock, tugging until the metal cuts into the back of his neck and he can feel his devotion to you with every sting of pain.
The necklace snags against his skin and the pain singes a path through his body, a light tremor that runs from the tips of his toes all the way to the crown of his head, makes his cock pulse with the neglect.
He’s been hard for so long that his cock hurts, where it’s confined in his jeans, and he feels his control slipping so fast it’s almost scary. His hand trails an absentminded path down his stomach, until his fingertips graze the bulge in his jeans, thick and hot, just how you’d like it, and the thought of you, makes him burn. You wouldn’t want him to give in so quickly. You’d make him wait.
He squeezes his cock so hard it hurts – his back arching, cock spurting more precum into his boxers, a sob tearing out his throat.
Oh, Minho.
Your voice, molten caramel crawling up his chest, coiling around the skin of his throat, a moan around a piece of meat becoming something entirely else here in the safety of his room. He digs his nails into the jean material of his bulge. Chokes out a ragged breath.
A soft giggle. Nobody does it like you. You’ve ruined me for everyone else.
He whimpers, blindly, desperately fumbles around his pillows until he finds the delicate material of your underwear again. He crushes them against his face and takes a greedy inhale, and the battle with his self-control is lost. His back arches off the bed again, his hand grinds down on his cock and the friction kicks him into motion.
He shoves his clothes off frantically, sits up only enough to rip his shirt and hoodie over his head at the same time, before flopping back down into the pillows. He drags a heavy, burning hand down until he can pop the button of his tight, tight, way too tight jeans, shucks them down, off, kicks them off the bed and then he’s finally naked.
He falls back. He’s exposed, body twitching and hot, every nerve ending on fire, just lying there on his bed, in the dark. The room is quiet except for his heaving chest. On the street, a car is passing. Minho shivers, whimpers into the darkness. He aches.
The cool air of the room makes goosebumps break out all over his body, but he doesn’t move to cover himself up. He lets them make another full-body tremor rack through him. His cock is heavy and hot and wet against his lower stomach, and he parts is legs, exposes himself further to the emptiness of his room, imagines it’s you he’s exposing himself to.
He shoves your underwear back to his nose and smoothes his hand down over his chest, first his palm, then the tip of his finger brushing over his sensitive nipple. The moan he lets out is dampened by the cotton, but the room is dead silent, and it slices through the darkness. It’s so loud, so needy, entirely humiliating. It’s perfect. He moans again.
His chest is sensitive, always has been. He came just from playing with it, once, cock entirely untouched, only his fingers brushing over his nipples until he nearly screamed with sensitivity. He wonders if you’d like it, that he’s sensitive. If you’d touch him there softly, brushing your fingers over him until he goes insane with pleasure. Or if you’d be mean, if you’d pinch them and twist them, laugh at him when he cries. His hand drags down his belly when he imagines your lips around his nipple, calling him your sweet, sensitive boy.
His hand curls around his cock when the you in his head bites his nipple and laughs at him. The pleasure of his hand finally curling around himself rockets pleasure through him and his cock spurts so much precum he thinks for a second that he already came – though when he pumps himself once, the hot, heavy weight of arousal in his guts tells him he hasn’t.
Already made such a mess, you purr, what are we going to do with such a needy little boy?
Minho sniffles into the silence of the room. And he is a mess already, his stomach covered in rapidly, uncomfortably cooling precum, the hand on his cock sliding with how wet it already is. It’s humiliating. He wishes you could see. Fuck, he wishes you were here.
What is heartache but a different kind of pain. He somehow manages to rip his hand from his cock, fisting it into the sheets, relishing in the way his whole body shakes, his knees knock together, try to create friction, and he howls into the room.
It’s like you’re a spectre. He can almost feel the weight of your body when he imagines you crawling over him, straddling his waist, can imagine it’s the plush of your ass when he pushes his cock up from his abdomen with his hands.Blindly, he scrambles for one of his
pillows, let’s go off the panties, only for long enough to fold the pillow in half and wrap it around his cock. The softness, the coolness of the material, they’re a relief on his burning, aching skin. He can’t help but think that this is what it would be like to touch you. Cool fingers, soothing the way his body burns. A salve on the open wound that is his desire for you.
A first tear rolls down his cheek, and he grinds his hips up and oh god he isn’t gonna last, he isn’t gonna last at all.
The wetness seeps into the pillows, and it’s slightly uncomfortable, only makes him sob with how much better he knows you’d feel. You, sitting on his cock, pussy snugly wrapped around him. He imagines the lips of them, rubbing against his shaft with every lift of your hips. The button of your clit, wet, glistening, red, little, and needy for his touch. The cream of you coating his cock. Spit pools in his mouth.
He grips the pillow in one hand, brings the other back to his face so he can shove your underwear against his nose, and lets go.
It’s pathetic, so fucking pathetic, the way he starts humping the pillow, the way his back arches and his mattress squeaks with every thrust into the softness that doesn’t quite squeeze him the way he wants to be squeezed, sucked into your warm body, milked until he’s breeding you full of his cum.
He half screams, half sobs, his release so close he can almost taste it, when his heel slips on his sheets, makes his cock slip out of the pillow and his hips lose their rhythm. It’s devastating. His body screams for more, for friction, heat, a hole to sink his cock into. He inhales, feels the tart sweetness of your scent cover his tastebuds and somehow, he manages to flip himself over. The pillow is still below his hips, but the fold of it is long forgotten, his cock now just trapped between it and his abdomen.
He falls forward onto his elbow, black lace still clutched against his face, and he grinds his cock down hard.
The friction is so good, so much better than on his back, and he loses the last dregs of his dignity/ With his face buried in your underwear, his back hunched, he allows his hips to do what they need to, to chase the friction, no matter how fast and hard and uncoordinated, desperate whimpers torn from his lips with every drag of cotton against the sensitive head of his cock.
There are no scenarios playing in his head, any more, no words he wishes you were saying, only the heavy, unignorable sense, the presence of you that haunts him day and night, and the brutal, cold hard truth of him, in his dark room, furiously humping his pillow with your dirty underwear pressed to his nose, every inhale a desperate gasp, every exhale a pathetic moan.
His arm gives out, and he falls forwards into the sheets, panting desperately, his face buried in your panties, his free hand snaking between his legs, wrapping around his cock in a tight fist, the other reaching behind his head, taking a hold of the necklace and pulling, until he can feel it constrict his airways.
He comes two seconds later. With his face buried in your panties, his hand still wrapped around the necklace, his lungs fighting for air, every shaky inhale sending more of your smell through his system, he crashes over the edge with such an intensity that his vision whites out for a second. Distantly, he hears himself scream into his sheets, toes curling, body locking up as he spills, hot and wet, all over his hand, his pillow, his abdomen. And he keeps cumming, his cock spurting wetness all over himself until he seriously wonders if he’s peeing himself, and also if he’s about to pass out, until he realises he’s still holding the necklace in a vice grip. He lets go.
He rears up, gasps for air, gulps it down, his hand helplessly falling into the sheets, his sensitive cock still dripping, every brush of it against the pillow underneath him making little jolts run through his body.
And it takes him a good few minutes to come down, his consciousness floating somewhere five feet above his head. His lucidity comes back to him slowly, but still too painfully fast.
The first thing that becomes awfully clear is his posture. His body, hunched over the pillow that’s still bunched between his thighs, absolutely drenched in his cum. His chest, still heaving slightly, pressed into the sheets.
Then, he realises his face is still smushed into your panties. They’re right underneath his face, on his pillow.
Oh, and he’s drooling. Fuck.
He tries to get himself upright, but his arm nearly gives out, then his leg does, and he tumbles onto his side, cursing in pain when he tries to straighten his leg and a dull ache shoots through his body. He reaches down, past his wet, sticky abdomen, tries to massage feeling back into his calves, and he waits. He waits patiently for what he knows is the next step of the all too familiar process of coming down from one of his manic jerk-off sessions. The shame.
But before it can kick in, his phone rings. But it’s not his normal ringtone. No, it’s the one he set for you. You’re calling. The thought hits him like it’s the bell, and he’s pavlov’s dog.
He scrambles out of bed, his legs still aching and half asleep, and he almost faceplants straight into the floor, catches himself, and crawls over to where his phone is vibrating in the pockets of his jeans.
He rips it out of his pocket, hits accept, and lets himself thunk back onto the floor with a groan.
There’s silence on the other side of the phone. But he can hear you breathing. Steadily, in, out, in, out.
He’s cold. Shivering. The comedown is hitting him.
Finally, you speak.
“Something of mine has gone missing …”
The tone of your voice, the quiet, knowing rasp, makes Minho gasp out a desperate moan, so loud there’s no doubt in his mind that you heard. The knowledge makes his oversensitive body tremor.
“And if you’re a good boy and tell me where it’s gone, I won’t have to punish you.”
link to part 2
skzms masterlist // ko-fi
🔖 general taglist: follow and turn on notifications for my library account: @skzms-library
🔞 I monitor ages over there, just like I used to do with my taglist. I will block minors and ageless blogs, and you'll have to message me again to get unblocked. so just have your age in your bio before you follow!
Sooooo me and @palindrome969 have been obsessed with mean dom Seungmin for a while and also I'm obsessed with vampires so this happened. Also heavily inspired by the song Going Dumb. Pali wrote a fic with this theme of Seungmin too, go read it here!!! It's really hot!
Summary: You've been hooking up with vampire Seungmin for far too long... but you always keep coming back.
Taglist (Comment on a post/send an ask if you'd like to be added): @weirdowithaphone, @caught-in-the-afterglow, @palindrome969, @skzstan12345, @katsukis1wife,
You can feel when Seungmin’s fangs pop as you kiss him, a slight shift in his upper lip as the secondary teeth slide into place.
It’s a rare signal from the vampire. He’s usually one to string you along, to fuck you, use you, then leave before you’re awake. Seungmin’s a player, and you should probably stop responding so enthusiastically to his short, uninterested texts which usually consist of a time, a location, and nothing more.
But a vampire’s fangs only appear when they’re really hungry or turned on. Sex is the optimal time for a feeding. The saliva of a vampire increases a human’s sensitivity—and some say submission—and a freshly fed vampire has more strength, speed, and stamina.
You pull away. “Your fangs…”
Seungmin rolls his eyes. “It’s rude to comment on someone’s fangs.”
“But…”
Seungmin gives you a look before shutting you up with another kiss, more venomous than before. Your eyes flutter shut as his fangs brush against your teeth, and you moan.
“Keep that up and I’m gonna bite you.” He murmurs.
Your eyes open. “What?”
“I said—” He presses another harsh kiss to your lips. “I said I’m gonna bite you.”
Your pulse leaps. Seungmin laughs. “Someone’s excited.” He must be pretty horny to be paying such close attention to your blood pressure. “Does that turn you on? The thought of being a toy to be used by me in so many ways?”
“Yes,” You confess in a whimper. “Yes, Seungmin.”
“I won’t suck you dry.” He whispers. “I’ll just take a sip or two. It’ll make you feel so good when you’re coming on my cock… c’mon, baby, show me that pretty neck of yours.”
You know it’s a bad idea to let a vampire you regularly hook up with—any vampire, really—feed from you, but you’re just as turned on by the idea as Seungmin is. Still, you resist. “Fuck me first.”
“Excuse me?” Seungmin looks at you.
“Fuck me first… please.” You add at the end.
“Oh, baby.” Seungmin pushes you down into the hotel mattress. “I’ll fuck you when I want to… but take off those panties.”
You obey, keeping eye contact with him as you slide them off: one leg, then the other. You swallow, squirming slightly under him.
He wastes no time in pushing a thigh between your legs. You can’t help but grind against it, knowing you’re most likely making a mess on his dark pant leg but not even caring.
It’s as if he’s read your mind as he clicks his tongue—and maybe he has. “Making such a mess on my pants. Maybe I’ll punish you for that. Take your blood, then fuck you real good, make you forget your own name, every name but my own.”
Seungmin’s really good at dirty talk, and you push harder against his leg. He gives a low laugh as he moves it back, and you whine.
“Be a good little slut and tilt your head for me.”
You shake your head, your stomach full of butterflies. You like being a brat, but you know Seungmin’s punishment will be brutal, although you’re looking forward to that, too.
“Alright. You want me to fuck you, first? I’ll fuck you first.” He unzips his pants, slipping them off in a smooth motion. “I’ll fuck you till you can barely speak, and then I’ll feed, make you real brainless, and then then I’ll fuck you some more.”
You moan in agreement at this plan. You know Seungmin’s big, but he doesn’t bother to prepare you before he lines himself up with your hole, which you know is part of the punishment. His tip sinks inside you, and you moan deeper, the penetration blissful.
“Yeah, you like that?” He mumbles, adjusting himself before pushing all the way inside you in a sharp thrust. Your hips stutter up, and you cry out in pain-pleasure at his length.
As he begins to rock back and forth, though, the pain fully becomes pleasure. You can feel your eyes sliding shut, and Seungmin grabs your throat, squeezing just tightly enough that you can feel your heartbeat against his palm.
“Fuck, baby, you feel so good, such a good little hole for me.” His voice is low as his thrusts get faster and faster. “So tight, you’re so desperate for me, aren’t you?”
You nod, feeling his hand around your throat. It moves up, cupping the side of your face before tilting it to one side. “I’m gonna feed from you now.”
You don’t have it in you to resist any longer, and you willingly move with him. His lips find where your neck joins your shoulder, and he sucks a deep hickey into the skin before gently scraping it with his fangs. “You’re gonna taste so good.”
He bites, and you moan loudly at the pain, twitching around his cock. He doesn’t say anything as he pulls away and begins to suck, and your eyes roll back as it turns to pleasure. His tongue laps at your neck, and he groans as he continues to feed.
Finally, he pulls back, and it takes a moment, but you can feel your body almost alight as it grows more sensitive with the effects of his saliva. He licks the wound a few times, but you can feel a couple of trickles making their way down your neck. He pulls up the white blanket to dab at his mouth, staining it red, and you know the sheets below you will be stained, too. You idly wonder if the hotel will charge extra for that—if they’ll charge Seungmin extra for that—before the thoughts leave your head as Seungmin begins to move inside you again.
His hips snap back and forth, and your moan this time is broken. Seungmin’s made good on his promise; your mind blanks out, overwhelmed with pleasure. His hand comes down to your clit, and he begins to gently circle it. You clench around him, and he makes a strangled sort of sound. He begins to talk.
“Such a good little hole, taking me so well. So well behaved now that you’ve got a big cock inside you. You’re so easy to satisfy.”
You react to his words, your back arching.
“Yeah, such a slut. Such a little whore for me, so willing to let me bite you and fuck you. Maybe I’ll get you a pretty collar, mark you as my property, my little fucktoy to feed from and play with whenever I want.”
That sounds pretty good to you, some part of your fucked-out brain noting that it’s his first time indicating he wants anything long-term with you. You whine in agreement.
“You like that idea? Being my pet? My little fucktoy? You already are, baby.” His thrusts become more irregular, more desperate, and you can tell he’s approaching his climax. “I’m gonna keep you fucked dumb whenever I want.” His voice is breathier. “I’m gonna cum in you, baby.”
You pant and heave under him, unable to do anything but feel. You cum at the same time as he hilts himself inside you, and you can feel his seed filling you up as you ride out your orgasm.
You both pause for a moment, your breath syncing up, and Seungmin brushes a kiss against your temple.
He’s not even stopped for a minute before he begins to fuck you again.
summary: on Halloween night, you and your friends gather for a classic spirit summoning, eager to make the most of this tradition, unaware that you will be the one to face the consequences…
author’s note: this is actually the first ever thing I wrote here, but I forgot about it but now it’s finally seeing the light of the day
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The blanket around you did nothing for the coldness that seeped into your skin. Your teeth are still chattering, lips dry and nose runny. You should’ve known better, all of you. Your muscles are straining with every small move you make to get yourself a little more comfortable on the hard floor. Your eyes go over the room, finding only disappointment. The costumes, makeup and left over mess reminded everyone of how horrible the party was. You remember how excited you and your friends were. You all spend so much time getting ready, almost freezing to death while walking to the so called party. You looked forward to it so much and maybe you did have way too high of expectations. Everything was awful and mostly — it lacked the Halloween spirit.
Your attention goes back to the television, just as the lead character is being chased by the killer. Her screams pierce your ears, while you take a small sip of the wine in your hands. You and your friends decided to just rather go home and have a small party of your own. The disappointment was so great that none of you had an appetite for searching for another party. However the costume still wrapped around your body was telling you something different. Just watching horror movies and sitting in a costume didn’t fill the need of thrill you so needed.
Soft footsteps are heard, making you all turn, some in fright, thinking that something evil is coming right towards you all, but is just your friend Katherine. The soft light, illuminates her figure clad in dark, long dress, her nails glimmering as she lifts up something to show you. Firstly you only see what seems like a plate, but as another one of your friends goes to switch on a lamp beside you, all of you immediately realize what she was holding.
“Look what I got!” Her voice is chippery, but it holds a small mocking at the end. A series of groans and small sounds echo around you, while your eyes are still on the Ouija board in her hands. Your eyes go quickly over the letters and the planchette. Even with alcohol in your system, you are getting a really weird feeling from the piece of wood. It makes the hair at the back of your head stand up, shivers going down your spine. You are definitely not alone, because your friend Jade is almost trembling from even the thought of using such thing. Your hand falls on top of her messy hair to soothen her, but your eyes are still on the witch who rolls her eyes at her other friend’s noises. “Oh, common, it’s mandatory.”
The girl next to you shakes her head immediately, hand pointing to the board, making the others for a second silent. “You know what happens after using that thing, right?” You have to agree a little with her weariness. You have ever actually thought about talking to the death. Nothing made you believe something evil existed, but also you were not a sceptic. just nothing made you believe there was something more so far. Jade was scared of everything, so your friends didn’t take her warning so seriously and you have to huff softly at that.
“Well, yeah—“ Katherine shrugs, looking down at the Ouija board. “But also no, because I’ve never tried it.”
You watch her as she sits down on the floor before you, your other two friends circling around her to look closely at the wooden tablet. You too can’t help, but tilt your head at it. There were few scratches, dark smudges, but maybe it was that design. “Where did you get this?” You wonder, because you don’t think she has these kinds of things just laying around in her apartment.
She looks up at you, dark eyes peeking out from behind her neon yellow contact lenses. “The thrift store.” Some of you have to laugh shortly at her dry response, some too occupied by the board laying before you all.
“Are there at least instructions?” Wonders out loud your friend Hannah who sits across from you in her scary clown costume.
“Who needs them?”
It has to be the alcohol or maybe you were already getting tired, but as the television is shut off, lights switched off, you have this weird feeling on the back of your head. You scratch at the burning spot, distracting yourself for just a second by liting up some few candles. The flame gives you the small amount of warmth you so desperately need. You can still feel the coldness licking at your skin, but there was also this awful heat gathering in your chest. Were you nervous? Scared? A frown is plastered on your face, eyes never leaving the Ouija board, like the planchette would move at any second.
This uneasy feeling is not shared however, but still your friends seem to get a little quieter. All of you sit on the floor, the only light being the few lit candles around you and the Moon peeking behind the curtains. Was it the thought of doing something you shouldn’t that was scaring you? You refuse to believe that something in the shadows was peaking at you. The paranoia was eating you alive. Your frozen finger digs into your skin, pulse jumping rapidly and you have to remind yourself that it is all just in your head. None of you were touching it so far, however the sight of those scratches, dips and cravings on the board seem to pierce your soul.
You blink rapidly, smudging your makeup, because you have to sigh in exhaustion. You can’t remember the last time you were so paranoid and — scared. Maybe it is only because you have never tried it, but looking at your other friends they didn’t seem too into it. They still chatted between each other shortly, swallowing down the cheep wine. You look down into your own cup, swirling the liquid around as you can’t find the appetite to take a sip right now.
You are startled a little when someone claps their hands together, making your attention move to Katherine who rubs her palms together. “Are we going to do this?” Your eyes flicker to your scared friend, a little tipsier than before, so you are not too surprised by seeing her just nod in agreement. You do not protest either, putting down your cup next to you and outstretching your hands to the planchette that sits in the middle of the floor.
The silence is heavy, completely aware of the darkness wrapping around you, piercing your back. You try to ignore it as best as you can, shaking your head at yourself, pressing your finger lightly on the planchette. Nothing is heard for a second, all of you looking at each other briefly, before Amanda speaks up. “Is anybody here?” She calls out and her voice seem to echo around you almost.
Silence again, but you can’t help, but look around. Though you have to sigh a little when the same question is repeated. “It doesn’t work like that.” You say, cutting through the quiet.
Everyone turns to look at you and your friend can’t help, but raise a challenging eyebrow. “Okay, you try then.” Says Hannah.
You clear your throat a little, swallowing the invisible lump in your throat. The way you are becoming nervous is making you anxious. The blanket around you slips from your shoulders, the cold immediately kissing you. It felt like there was no layer left between you and the darkness. When you straighten your back, shuffling a little closer to the board, your fingers start to tremble. The small frown of confusion by your body reacting like this is visible, but you try to keep it together. Licking your lips, your eyes go around the room, before plastering your eyes back down. “We welcome everyone who wants to join us and if anyone is here, we would like you to make a sign.” You take a deep breaths between each word, not knowing exactly what is suitable to say in this kind of situation.
Your voice seems almost loud in the quiet room, but everyone seems to listen carefully to you. You do too, a little too hard, because the only thing you can hear for a while is your blood rushing in your ears. Your eyes are wide open, searching in the dark behind your friends. You don’t even know for what you are searching, but you feel like the answer is close. You have never talk to the dead, but you can’t say that people who do this are exaggerating. The waiting for something to happen is frightening and you think you have never been so on high alert over something that wasn’t even there.
“Could you maybe knock on something?” Asks Jade, her voice quiet, but in the room even a pin drooping could be heard.
“Or make that candle blow out?”
Questions fly across the room, though nothing happens for a moment. All of you look at each side of the room, your eyes however fall into the hallway where you were sitting next to. Nothing is seen, only those specks of light made by your eyes. However you swear you feel warmth coming from the end of the hallway. It was almost suffocating in a way, already thinking it’s just you, but then something does happen and you feel it yourself as very one else in the room.
“It’s moving….” Exclaims Amanda in shock, staring down at the planchette. Your own breath gets stuck in your throat, because you swear you feel the planchette vibrating under your fingers. Your eyes immediately trail over to your friends in disbelief. It moves subtly in short stops and you have to shake your head at it.
“Who is moving it?”
“It’s not me! You’re doing it!”
The voices of your friends fall to deaf ears. You don’t want to believe it, but looking at the frightened faces of your friends, you can tell that their reactions are completely genuine. Nervous feeling creeps up on you, watching the planchette travel over the board, before it stops at a corner. “Yes?” You say softy the word and you swallow roughly, eyes trailing over the room. You don’t want to believe it, but you are now left with no choice. “Is it yes that someone is here with us?” You ask again, listening carefully.
For a moment you only hear your friends’ whimpers of fear and your own heart in your ears, but then a small tap is heard behind you. Your head whips around quickly, your own gasp matching with the others as you stare with wide eyes at the window behind you. Only the Moon and swinging trees can be seen, nothing other than that. You turn back around to look at your friends, but your eyes fall onto something different.
The candles around you seem to rise, flame flickering and bending like something is blowing at them. Your own face of your fear, makes them look into the direction and few hushed curses are being shared across the room. “Holy shit–“ Says Hannah.
“Maybe you left the window open?”
“You know damn well that I didn’t, Jade”
You are not following their conversation again, lost in thought or to be honest you can’t even think straight right at this moment. Your face scrunches up, shivers going down your spine. You eyes widened again, freezing in your spot. The side of your body burns, it left like something was poking you, telling you to turn around. You can’t move however for a second, from the corner of your eye watching your friends panic over the planchette moving again, but you are not even touching it anymore. The thing that frightens the most is the feeling of someone’s eyes staring at your back.
Your head turns slowly around, body screaming at you not to, but something is controlling you, pushing you to look back into the hallway. The hot air rushes to your face and it wasn’t from the candles. When you finally turn to glance into the darkness, your blurry eyes from not blinking at all don’t see anything for a moment, but soon from the darkness appears a sphere, then it forms and forms till it turns into a silhouette of a person.
You gasp, breath getting stuck in your chest. It is eery, horrifying sight and even if you finally blink rapidly, like it was just your own eyes playing tricks on you, it only seems to get closer. It reaches for you and you want to pull back, but can’t. You watch the mass of darkness become fuller slowly, before you see pair of red beaming eyes forming out of it. You lips fall apart, a loud scream at the back of your tongue, but before it can fall out of you, the candles that you just now realized became even higher dim back down by blink of an eye.
The sound of the board being thrown across the room, makes you snap out of the trance, scrambling away, just like your friends. You are breathing hard, head turning to look at others who only have their eyes on the board in the corner of the room. And you at the moment realize in your frightened state that you have been the only one who saw the truth.
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With every step, with every breath you took, your head would turn around. Paranoia seemed to follow you the moment you left your friend’s apartment and you hoped that was the only thing truly following you. You lived quite far, too late to catch the last bus, leaving you to walk your way home. However you were at least walking through the city and maybe you were just imagining the burning eyes at the back of your head. And if you weren’t, a look from a stranger couldn’t make you feel like this. Someone — something was sizing you up, following you, perfectly mimicking your movements like your own shadow and just as you though you caught it, turning around swiftly — nothing, only a crowd of people who didn’t even acknowledge your presence.
You didn’t either, there seem to be invisible to you and the thing following you that couldn’t be seen either however, had a strong sense of presence. Was there really safety in numbers? After a while, every little noise made you jump, laughter and occasional screams of terror when the unreal monsters jumped at someone, made your head spin. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe, like you already you have already considered, it was only in your head. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to try and talk to the dead and on this night specifically as everyone around you made your delusions even stronger.
You couldn’t breathe. Every time your feet moved faster, it seemed to be even closer to you. So close you that you could feel it reaching the back of your neck or was it just the wind? Your eyes trailed over the people. No one was looking at you, everyone minded their own, drinking the night away and crowding the small square. What if you and your friends decided to go here instead and not the party? What if you wouldn’t play with the board?
Your stroll slowed down to a full stop. It felt like whatever that was following you disappeared, but also at the same time seemed even closer to you. Just out of sight. You didn’t want to search for it, but something was telling you to do so. You stopped at the middle of the crowd, eyes almost like being pulled by a magnet stopping on a one specific place. The people walked through your line of vision before it become clear to you why you were so drawn to that spot.
There — right there, under the roof of a stand stood what it looked like a man by his slightly broad shoulders and short hair, but by the shadow which the roof casted on him, you couldn’t even get a glimpse of his face. However that wasn’t necessary. The way he stood…from his whole body radiated this menacing, evil aura that made your whole body freeze. Your breath was taken away from you, eyes wide, staring at the unknown figure. The same, almost even more intense wave of fear washed over you, it felt the same when you looked down the dark hallway. He didn’t feel like a real person, he felt like something way more than that. Something dark and hungry and it was staring right back at you. You didn’t see his eyes, but you just know. This couldn’t be real…
This couldn’t be real. Things like this don’t exist and if they did you feel like they would be more documented. You weren’t a true believer nor a sceptic, but you really didn’t feel like wanting to know the truth right now. He, it didn’t move and even by blinking, it didn’t vanish like you wished it would. It was probably just a person, a person with a really scary costume.
A gasp leaves you as suddenly someone elbows you. You turn to the person, catching there sneer and you realize that maybe standing in the middle of the street wasn’t a good idea. You looked stupid, but that was the least of your worries as you glance back at the man, only him being nowhere to be found. Were you just imagining things at this point? Maybe your fear was only playing with you. You ignore the weird occurrence as best as you could, deciding to continue heading back home. Your apartment was just few blocks away and at the thought of finally being inside your safe space makes you pick your pace.
The feeling of being followed doesn’t leave you however, but you keep your head high in a mock confidence, showing whatever this thing was that you are brave. You really weren’t much of an actress, because as soon as you reach the entrance door to your building, you rush to unlocked it, slipping in quickly, like the thing would just squeeze right through you. The doors slam shut loudly and you hope that none of the other residents won’t come to scold you. The more you walk your way up the stairs to your apartment, the more you don’t acknowledge the creepy feeling that someone is watching you.
Your apartment door shines brightly at you and you out of breath fumble with your keys. The satisfying click and smell of your home made you sight out in relief. You were so happy to be finally inside, greeting your cat who waited for you just as you opened the door. Your hands smoothen down her fluffy hair, sighing at her calming purring. Everything that happened flew over your head as you finally started to feel at ease. Like you thought — it was just your imagination, nothing more…
You weren’t one for drinking till you passed out, but you find yourself stumbling just a little as you pull off your shoes, already ruined just by a one night of walking. Making your way into your kitchen, you go to give some food to your fluffball who meowed at your every move and that sound really ease your racing heart.
Putting down the bowl on the floor, you watch your cat eating away for a second. You are lost in thought, though nothing specific was running through your head, just blankly staring into space. But just as you move to make your way to your bedroom, you saw something shift from the corner of your eye. Looking up, you however find nothing, but the dark corner of your unlight living room and at that your patience runs low. For yourself, because you can’t believe that you are making yourself see things in your own home where you are supposed to feel the safest.
You flip the light switch next to you, illuminating the room in subtle orange hue, your eyes still unmoving from the spot and still nothing was there. A sigh leaves you, but you refuse to say it was out of relief. At that you went to take your upper layer off, also fixing yourself something knowing that if you won’t eat or drink something, it will kill you in the morning.
You are exhausted, a heavy weight on top of your shoulders telling you to just lay down. In some way however you are still on high alert, maybe the aftermath of your own self scaring you. You thought about showering, but to be honest you didn’t have the energy to do all of your routine at this hour and also there is nothing for you to wash off.
You stumble again, but now over the bottom of your dress, catching yourself just in time with your hand on the doorway to your bedroom. The sheer, soft fabric is thrown on your bed, ignoring the mess all over the room. The corset around you didn’t suffocate you and you wonder what exactly is it that is making you lose your breath. Your hands fumble over your back, fingers just at the lacing of your top, but just before you can pull at it, you hear a noise.
It was loud and it momentarily makes you look back into the direction of your living room. You sigh shortly after, shaking your head at your own delusions. It was just your cat probably. However when you again go to pull at the string of your corset, you hear a meow right beside you, before you see your cat jumping into your field of vision on your bed. You freeze slightly, hands stilling. It is an old building, it makes noises all the time — it was nothing. You try to gaslight yourself by thinking it didn’t even happened, but then there’s even a louder bang! coming from behind you.
Your head whips around wildly, hair falling into your wide eyes that stare into your dark hallway. You feel your heart pounding against your chest and in your state of shock you are not quick enough to stop your cat from running to the direction of the noise. Your hands outstretch before you, in hushed whisper pleading your cat to come back, but her fuffy, long tail is soon gone from your vision. You hate the lump forming in your throat and the way your bottom lip quivers. That noise almost again makes you wonder if you imagine it, but then you hear it again, now in series of three bangs that echoed in your apartment. It sounded like knocking, mocking you to let whoever — whatever it was in, but what if it was already here with you? It sounded like the noises were meant for you to come in, get closer.
The noises weren’t the only thing making you frighten, it was also the way the air around you seems to drop in temperature. You immediately shiver, goosebumps appearing all over your body. But there was this odd warmness, starting right at the entrance of your open bedroom door. It was so appealing…
You finally take a step closer to the hallway when you hear another loud noise. The sudden realization that your cat might be in danger makes you take few steps further even with the fear you held in yourself. You hate her for it, but you are now only scared for her. You quickly look around your room for any kind of weapon, but you find nothing, realizing that your pepper spray was in your purse that you left on your kitchen counter. You just have to be brave…That’s what you try to tell yourself, while slowly making your way out of the room.
The darkness seemed deeper that when you went in your bedroom. It is intoxicating, heavy, it pierces your skin and stings at your eyes. Your lungs scream for air as you try not to breath at all, scared to even make a sound. Your light costume leaves you in very vulnerable state and it makes you wrap your arms around your stomach that grumbles uncomfortably. What if the thing you thought followed you was a man and he somehow got into your apartment? You don’t know if a man is better than an entity, but it certainly would make you feel less crazy. You hope that the knocking was mistaken, that it was only someone at your door. You have to tell yourself that there’s no way for someone to break in, because you locked the door immediately when you came in. However something at the back of your mind is telling you that you have the right to be frightened.
And you were to death, when you stop at the corner, living room just right behind a wall. Your eyes didn’t get use to the darknesss and looking at the threshold leading to your living room, you realized you weren’t going after light. You were only going down the path that seeped warmness, blazing hot, coming right from your living room. There was no light, the one you switched on was left that way, but now there’s not a single flicker of it peeking out. You listen carefully, for your cat or your intruder, but the sound of your heart makes your ears ring, so you had nothing, but your sight right now.
Your hand almost tears the fabric of your skirt as you lean forward a little, squinting into the room. A whiff of the same feeling washes over you again, making you pull yourself back with a choked sigh. It is the same one — like the one you felt while looking into the hallway, like the one when you saw the silhouette of the man and the same one that has been following you. Your eyes become blurry with tears, panicking, mind racing. You have no clue what to do. You have no weapon, your phone is in your kitchen and your keys…right beside the door to your apartment.
It is a bad idea, but if you would run through the living room quickly enough, you can get out. There’s still a chance that the intruder had your keys, so you ask yourself — are you willing to take the chances? Of getting caught by this…thing. You don’t want to leave your cat alone or worse with it, but if you would just make it next door to your neighbor, you can safe her and yourself. Your hand tightens around your skirt, picking it up and sprinting out of your hiding spot, but as soon as you do — you see him.
You choke, the sound bumbling in your throat, your eye staring straight at the silhouette in the corner of your room. Even in the dark, you can see it. The mass of darkness coming from him alone and the hot air suffocates you, just by looking into his direction. Tears stream down your face as you turn back to the direction of the door and back at the man, but then you hear a soft purring sound. Your cat is rubbing herself against the man’s feet and even if you are thankful nothing happened to her, you are terrified from seeing her so close to that man. Her white fur is bright and you almost come rushing to her, but as your eyes go back to the door, you run to that direction instead.
Your hand outstretches, reaches for the doorknob, even if you can see the keys glimmering before your teary eyes there was no salvation for you. You are turned around, roughly pushed to the door and a whimper of pain leaves you as your back meets the wood. Your mouth opens, ready to scream, but like he knew, his hand falls over your lips, silencing your cry for help.
Your teary eyes stare at the faceless person, eyes streaming down your face and pooling at his hand. You are held against the door, but not with his body, it was like your whole body had frozen over. You want to scream in fear, instincts telling you to just run, but you can’t move an inch. Though your body trembles, eyes searching, trying to get a view of this man. He didn’t feel real, his skin is hot, breath fanning over your face. You are starting to sweat from all the different temperatures, sobbing in fear as you hear his lips fall apart.
“Don’t scream.”
His voice is low, quiet yet strong. You don’t want to fulfill his demand, but the tone of voice — it echoed in your mind, repeating and repeating. His hand falls from your lips and you take in deep breaths, choking. You can’t even muster to scream, you can’t and you don’t want to, because he maybe will hurt you. “Please, don’t hurt me — don’t kill me.” You are shuttering over your words, choking again in your tears.
You can see him tilt his head at your pleas, standing right before your shaking body so casually it made you sick. He didn’t even try to do something to you yet and that definitely heightens the terror in you. You sob, crying and you gasping at the sound of him sushing you. You back pressed harder against the door, finally finding enough strength to move just a little away from him, when he leans just a little closer to you. “Where’s the fun in that?” He whispers to you, teasing you almost, amused tone in his voice. You look at him slightly confused, eyes blurry, still not knowing what this man looks like. You don’t feel at ease at his tone nor his words of small assurance. It is like he could see you, because you can hear the click of his shoes, stepping a little away from you. “I thought you wanted me to make myself known?”
You are left even more confused, before it quickly comes clear to you. You can’t — you won’t believe it. Those words pierce you painfully and with seeing him this much away from you, makes you immediately think of the silhouette you have seen following. This man could be just a man, but his words…back at the small seance you spoke them. A sharp intake is heard, shaking your head at the thought of this man being something more. The thought crossed your mind, but you actually never would think that it might be the truth. If it is — if this man is something from the other realm, haunting you, making you tremble in fear that it probably thrives in…you can’t – “No…” Your disagreement is quiet, heart beating wildly in horror as you look over the mass of darkness around him, evil. “This is some sick joke — you are just playing with me. Who’s behind his?” Your words are not making sense anymore to you, too many thoughts of how it could be possible leaves you thinking that it might be just a stupid prank, but no human could make you this sort of fear.
The man sneers, hissing like a snake at your words. It sounded like you just insulted him, gasping loudly when he makes a one big step closer to you and you swear your noses almost bump together. “Do you think your friends can do this?” He says, raising his hand, putting it right before your eyes. Your wide eyes stare at his hand forming into fist and by the act you see the light in your kitchen flickering with every subtle move of his. You look at him, finally seeing in the small flickers of light his face. You didn’t know what to expect, maybe a gross man or the devil himself with horns and a face of death, but you are certainly left speechless.
His dark, brown hair is slightly in his eyes. They shine, deep red at the corners that flicker with the light. Long and sculpted nose leads you to trail your eyes over his high cheekbones to his cupids bow and then his bitten, plump lips. This wasn’t a face of evil, he looked like an angel, no face that should make you feel terrified, but you can see it in his eyes. Sinister, holding evil as well as wisdom that you could never imagine or reach. Even in this small moment you had enough time to look him over, but as his hand closes into tight fist, the sound of the lightbulb shattering makes you fall back into the stage of horror. You can hear your cat running away from the scene and your tears recur, because you finally start to believe. “Do you think your friends could ever make you feel so frightened?” You shake your head, head spinning at what just happened.
He turned on the light with just his hand in the air, with just putting his hand into a fist he crushed it and you don’t want to know what else he can do. “I don’t understand…w-who are you?” You are hyperventilating, praying that is just your imagination again, but you can’t close your eyes and let him vanish from your sight. You need to see him.
“The better question is… what am I?” You are again shaking your head and it’s like he can see your thoughts, because he is making you say out loud what you have been thinking all along. You don’t seem him, but his lips lift up slightly for a moment at his own memory. “When you were playing with that Ouija board, do you know, that you opened the gates for anyone to go through?” A cry leaves you, just as the light in the corner of the room is light up with a flick of his finger. Your eyes stare into his amused ones and somehow you wished you didn’t have to see him. “You didn’t even closed it...”
Realization strikes you, your trembling stopping when you thought of your friends. What if they are also in danger just because of you? You would definitely wouldn’t be able to live with that guilt. ‘What am I?’ His words are the one thing on your mind right now. How much is he dangerous? He doesn’t even blink, doesn’t even breathe it seems, your eyes staring blankly at his face. “Oh, my—“ You can’t even finish the word as his hand quickly by a blink of an eye wraps around your throat.
You feel him squeeze his fingers in a warning, not quite choking you, but it still makes you gasp for air. “Don’t say his name, he can’t help you. You did this to yourself—“
“Are you the devil?” You wonder out loud and his whole demeanor changes, laughing drily at your question.
“I preciete the compliment, but no.” Your eyebrows furrowed at his weird behavior. You still fear him, but he doesn’t seem like he wants to hurt you at all. Maybe he already has you right where he wants, under him with his hand on your throat, playing with your life.
He maybe might not be the devil himself, but he still had those rings of fire around his irises. He is evil, you know it and evil always wants something. Like he said, you have done this to yourself and you have to pay. You know he won’t let you go, he didn’t stop following you from the apartment and even if you know who or maybe what he looks like, it doesn’t calm you down. You still know so little and you wish you didn’t have to know further. You are completely at his mercy and you are pulled back into the present when his hand tightens again, pulse jumping against his fingers.
“Just take what you want—“
He tsked at you, he now being the one shaking his head and you can’t move away from him or even fight against his strong hold as he makes you lean closer to his face. “Be careful with your words.” His upper teeth are revealed with how much he is sneering and it makes you look down at his mouth. His upper front teeth are bigger slightly, but they weren’t the thing that makes your heart skip a beat — his canine teeth were sharp as a razor and you wonder if his sneering is prediction of him maybe biting you, eating at your flesh. “I’m not the type of evil you’re imaging right now…” His voice is a little softer than before and you wonder if he can read your mind.
Then what is he? “T-then what are you?” You ask him, genuinely curious about his answer.
He lowers his head, your breathing stilling, leaving you speechless as he comes close enough to you that your lips are almost touching. “Do you want me to tell you, or do you want to find out yourself, like the big girl you are?” His breath words bounce off your parted lips, taking in his raw scent.
Heat pools over you, watching him pull away from you just to look back at your face. His words sounded suggestive and you hope your own mind isn’t messing with you. “You won’t hurt me?” Was he just playing with you all along? Just taking in the pleasure of seeing you scared?
“Not if you don’t want me to…I still have to take something.” His dark eyes fall over your body and you want nothing more than to cover yourself, because you realize at the moment how much your costume is provocative.
“Why? I didn’t ask for you — this.”
He tilts his head again, his eyes not holding amusement and you can feel the air thickening around you. “Did you now? Or were your drunk thoughts just speaking for you?” You breathe out, embarrassment making your skin hot at touch and you know he can feel it under his hand.
You are not sure if you wished for it, but it quickly reaches the surface. Your darkest desire of being taken over, filled with heat and pleasure…”Are you—“ You don’t even have to say it as he releases his hold on your throat, just to press his thumb on your bottom lip.
His touch is electrifying, addictive almost and your whole mind and body swirls for a moment. “A demon, that’s all what you need to know.” You almost nod your head in agreement, letting him trail his thumb across your lips, dangerously close to slipping in your warm mouth. You are puzzled by your own behavior, but you can’t fight it. The urge of him just coming a little closer to you, so you can feel more of him is strong. He can see it on your face and then there’s the subtle smile on his lips again, pouting and nodding at how much your body stops to shake. It certainly had an effect on him as wel, but the look on your tear stained face makes the hunger in him even bigger. “Or I could visit one of your friends…” He teases, though also too occupied by the feeling of his skin on yours.
“Just take me.”
You try to justify yourself, that you are doing this for them, but both of you know you want it — need it more. The fear is at the back of your head, forgotten almost replaced by the fuzzy feeling your mind is in. “Careful what you say.” He warns you again, maybe not to provoke him into doing something you didn’t want, but it flies over your head rather quickly.
His touch leaves you, but you don’t search for it as you are again left in small confusion. You know that you somehow wish for something specific, but you never thought it would come in this way. It makes you feel dirty, used already, but also it makes your nerve endings tingle. Desire for pleasure is normal for humans and you wonder how much he has seen them before. “Why me?” You ask him, surely you can’t be the only one on this night wishing.
“You intrigued me — your soul.” He says and his words hit you deeper than they should. “Calling for something to fill this hole in your chest. I can see into places that people so desperately try to keep hidden…tell me, are you hiding something Y/N?” You are taken back by the sound of your name, but you are aware that he must know you better than you know yourself.
“No…”
“Really…interesting.” The soft light creates shadows across his chiseled face, when he leans over you. “The moment I appeared…you didn’t seem so scared anymore. Does this idea of being used by a blood thirsty demon excites you?”
“No…”
The smile is tugging at your heart, a little eery in some way. “Then why can I smell your arousal from here?” You swallow roughly and you soon realize how much you have been pressing your thighs together. You can feel your slick coating your inner thighs, but the embarrassment doesn’t even reach you, because he looks like he drinks it all up. “I’m a demon of pleasure and desire, there’s no need to feel even an ounce of shame…” He is now reassuring you and his soothing voice is so different from the one you heard moments ago.
“But you’re a demon.” You state the now obvious and the statement should make you laugh in disbelief, but it only strikes you with a feeling you definitely feel shame about.
You feel the heat of his skin way before you feel the subtle touch of his hand on your exposed thigh. Goosebumps spread all over your body, swallowing your gasp at how pleasurable just this felt. “And a man still…” His fingers trail over the outer part of your thigh and your leg does jump away a little, but he was too addictive. “Doesn’t this idea of someone inhumanly powerful taking over your body and soul not excite you?” His voice is hushed and it feels so sweet in your ears.
You shake your head, though not doing anything to move away from him. “I won’t let you take my soul.” You can’t let him take the thing that makes you who you are.
“Maybe not…” Your eyes blink at him, head rolling back against the door as he straightens his back to tower over you. “But your body will be mine—“
You have now words, not even a sound leaves you, because you are left paralyzed when his hand squeezes roughly at the soft skin of thigh. Your wide eyes are staring into his, taken back by the bold move. He doesn’t have to hear any permission to touch you, it was all written right in front of him — all over you face, body and even your soul that you seem to be very sure that it will never be his. He has to wonder himself about how much this might be true, because you are responding to his touch like you have never been touched before. Just by his hand, playing with the string of your garter belt that held your white stockings leaves you gasping.
You are in trouble, you know, because you shouldn’t feel this much pleasure from the touch of a demon. However you already feel your body succumbing to him, just like he wanted. His hand travels under the thin layer of your skirt, dipping right into the mess you made of yourself. A sound leaves you unknowingly, head empty as he moves your thighs apart. The skin of your inner thighs is raw from how much you have been pressing your legs together, but you find yourself not caring anymore. With every breath you take, his hand trails higher and he bites his lip at how hot you feel against him.
His eyes travel across your face. Your eyes are barely open and he thinks he has never seen someone so away from their own mind by his moves. And obsessive, disgusting feeling washes over him, watching you sigh out in bliss as the tips of his fingers finally press over your covered clit. Your back arches a little, breasts pushing against your tight corset and he marvels over your barely covered body. “Who are you?” He asks you. You are dirty, thinking that wearing something like this in public is proper. His nature rages at the thought of anyone else seeing you like this.
You are slightly puzzled by his question, because the feeling of his hand right between your thighs is already too much for you to handle. “Christine…from Phantom of the Opera.” You response, eyes blinking open at him, just as he starts to form circles over your twitching clit.
“Adorable.”
Sharp moan flies out of your mouth, when he suddenly pulls the material of your underwear to the side. The air kisses your cunt, but it soon is warmed up by his fingers again. You are horrified of yourself right now. Why are you enjoying this? You have to remind yourself who and what is touching you, but you think nothing ever felt better. You have never made yourself and definitely not anyone else almost fall apart just by running your fingers through your folds. He is looking at you so intensely, you want to quiver. “Already this wet?” You can’t feel any shame in you and it is definite that he is making you feel like that. Should you be thankful? He is giving you sheer pleasure, circling your clit directly, after pushing the hood away from it. “Just like that, huh?” You don’t have any response for him, only whimpers of euphoria. “How long has it been?”
Your head rolls back, gasping at his touch. He knew your body better than you. Rubbing just at the perfect pace to make you crazy, pressing hard enough for your hips to buckle. Saliva gathers in your mouth, listening to the noises of your dripping center. You are so lost already that the only thing that makes you wake up is when his movements come to a stop. “What?” You say more because you didn’t want him to stop, looking back at him with big eyes and you realize he just asked you a question.
He leans closer to you, head falling on top of your shoulder so his lips are right beside your ear. He doesn’t really like to repeat himself, but being so responsive to him, he will let you do it once. “How long has it been since someone touched you?” With his question, his fingers travel down, right to your hole.
His breaths hit the sensitive skin of your neck and you have to swallow back a moan when his pointer finger just barely dips inside of you. “Long.” You confess in a whisper.
He smacks his lips, pressing them against your neck so you feel every word that comes from his mouth. “You poor thing, such a pity, but don’t worry—“ He is looking at you again, hand leaving you, making you whine a little and he can’t help but smirk a little. “I will make you feel things you have never felt before.”
With his promise, his hands find the back of your thighs, before he lifts you off your feet. You yelp from how smoothly he does it, pulling you up into his arms and you have no choice, but to wrap your legs around his waist. You are shocked by his strength, not used to being picked up so easily, staring at him with wide eyes. He doesn’t look away from you, even if he walks with you to your couch, not even when he lays you down on it. You feel special in this moment, drowning in the thought of him wanting you, but still his nature is not forgotten. He is made like this, he lives from the pleasure of the other.
Your head falls on the armrest, looking up at him looming over your body. He is already consuming you with his eyes alone and it feels delicious, but it sends a small sense of danger. His eyes flash red under the soft light, body clad in dark clothing perfectly contrasting with yours. Your hands are still in the air, fingers just barely grazing over his broad shoulder, but he soon leans closer to you, letting you hug him again. You feel small, vulnerable and weak, but you don’t want him to know he was right about you liking this. But, oh, trust me that he knows…
His hands grip the fabric of the couch, coming closer to you, placing his lower body right between your parted legs. Your hands seem to push him away from how bashful you have become and he surprises by not entirely rushing you. His head falls next to your neck again, slowly trailing his lips over the skin. Your breathing is formed into short gasps at his wet, soft kisses, eyes falling shut for a moment to savor the feeling. He can smell your perfume, sweat and even blood and it makes him groan quietly, kisses turning rougher, just to get closer to you. “Is this it? Is this all that you want?” You say, shivering still from his own sound.
His lips still for a second, but he doesn’t move away. “Is this what you want?” He now asks you.
You know, you don’t have to think much about your answer, but you still pause for a second. Your fingers twitch on his shoulders, legs closing around his and is it even necessary to give him an answer? The only thing you do is pull is head back down your neck, rolling your head back to give him more room, you are too embarrassed to say it out loud. He lets you, he is letting you have your way a little too much he thinks, but he can’t refuse the offer of your delicious neck.
His tongue licks a long stripe up your pulse, making you moan loudly when he starts to suck all over your neck. His bunny teeth nip lightly at your skin, fighting the argue to just bite down. He feels your nails digging into him, while he moans with you, enjoying just the taste of your skin like this. However the strong scent of your arousal is playing with his head, growling at the thought of eating your cunt. He can picture your face of ecstasy and shock all together. He would suck you all up, fuck you with his tongue and you coating his face in your pleasure.
You are shaking at how rough he nibs and sucks at your neck, the small fear of his sharp teeth piercing your quickly forming into pleasure. But before you can feel it, he releases himself from your neck to slide all the way down on the ground to kneel before you. His sharp movements always leave you in disbelief, your senses not quick enough to keep up with him. You pull yourself up to your elbows, watching him put his hands on your thighs, making your skirt pool at your waist.
Your legs are already trembling, knowing your pussy is left uncovered by his touches, but his attention is still fully on you. “White looks good on you, you almost make me feel bad that I will ruin it—“ The ‘you’ is silent, but the smirk is just a small reminder of what he is capable of.
When his eyes fall down to your cunt, he can’t help, but groan. He maybe is the one living of pleasure of the other, but what he is about to do to you is mostly for him. He doesn’t waste any time, he is inpatient and you as well as he can see from your fluttering hole. He doesn’t trail kisses over your thighs, nothing soft, nothing that you don’t want and when he pulls on your underwear, tearing the fabric he is sure that this is what you really want. It stings a little, the fabric snapping against you, before it is thrown away. His head fall between your legs so quickly your hips jump, clit hitting his nose and hard. Though even if you wanted to apologize, he didn’t seem to mind it at all, only letting his mouth fall open to suck at your folds.
“Oh…” Comes out of you, hand flying over your mouth from the feeling of his blazing, hot tongue running all over you. He spits and drools, saliva mixing with your slick and pooling right under your ass. Your hips keep jumping from the sheer and sharp pleasure. Your clit burns as it is caught between his lips. You are shocked by how quickly you feel yourself on the edge.
His head tilts back, releasing your bundle of nerves with a pop to run his tongue over your labia. Your clit twitches in need, mewing, just as he opens his eyes to stare right back at you. You can’t look away from him, from his red irises, his mouth wide open to catch every drop you give him. The pleasure and pain from his grip on your thighs forms into something else — something you haven’t felt before. You didn’t even know that just by someone going over your lips with their tongue felt so good. You swear you have never been this sensitive and he looks like that he knows exactly how to push you. He doesn’t need any guiding, nothing — he is a true man.
You can’t stop your sounds, the pleasure so good, you think you need to run away from it just to catch your breath. He doesn’t let you, his one hand pressing down against your lower stomach, preventing you from trashing around as his other goes to your hole. When his two fingers breaches you, a silent scream leaves you, your own hand flying to his to stop him, but you are already falling apart. Heat, waves of nonstop pleasure wash over you and your ears ring. Your mouth becomes dry, whimpers turning into cries, because you are sure you are going mad. You didn’t want it to end so soon, you wanted him to stop, to feel more.
Your whole body shakes wildly, the skin of your thighs jiggling around his head. You try to catch your breath while your orgasm is still washing over you, siting up to grasp at his hand. Your mouth is open, eyes now filled with tears, pleading and he watches you in your full glory. “I’m not stopping.” He says, words you so desperately needed to hear vibrating against you, fingers scissoring in you.
You immediately fall back down in relief and you can feel his crazed smile against you. The orgasm is none stopping. You don’t know if it’s because he isn’t stopping or if it was just him, but it is a out of body experience. Your hands press against your eyes, moaning wildly as his fingers pick up speed, tongue not stopping to move your clit up and down. He suck just perfectly, curl his fingers just right and doesn’t stop to take a breath nor to change position — he knows what he is doing. You push your legs up to your chest slightly, wrapping them around his head and the sight is to die for.
His eyebrows are furrowed, hand on your stomach searching for yours to put it in his hair. You instantly run your fingers through his soft hair, before tugging roughly and the deep growl that seems to make the whole room shake, sends you over the edge again. It is stronger, more burning and even painful and he eat it right up. You go silent again, eyes rolling into the back of your head and you pull his head with you also. You do hear him release himself from your messy, puffy cunt, just to watch you fall apart again. You don’t need him to help you ride out your orgasm, it was too good to not let it take over your whole being again.
The taste of you is on his tastebuds, licking at his lips hungrily, before crawling over your body. Your skin is hotter, almost like his and his cock pushes painfully against his pants at your drunk state. You looked beautiful…he needs to have you now. His hand moves your hair away from your sweaty face, making you finally open your blurry eyes. “Kiss me.” You say, hands pulling at the hairs on the back of his neck.
You haven’t seen much emotion on his face before, but this felt unnatural. It was just a split second, but you saw it — disappointment. “I can’t.” He says, shaking his head. His eyes held longing, but he makes you forget about this whole moment by kissing you on your collarbone.
You sigh, pressing your chest closer to him, just as he begins to trail down the valley of your breasts. “Can I at least have your name?” His lips wrap around the soft skin of your breast, sucking it in his mouth.
You hiss, pushing at his head. He sucked a little too hard, maybe telling you something by his action, but before you can question it he glances at you back again. “Minho.” He tells you his name, looking into your eyes as you repeat it softly back. You stare at each other for a moment, you moving around a little and just by it you graze over his bulge. Your leg stops in middle of his legs, gaze still unmoving, even if you press your thigh against him. It makes him hiss and you gasp a the sheer size of it. You can see your own desire reflecting in his eyes and he just couldn’t wait anymore.
His hands fly over to his belt, watching you watching his hands as he works to unbuckle his pants. You are holding your breath as he stands up to push down his pants. Your legs immediately press back together as you finally see him. Your lips parted, drooling almost at the size of his cock. Thick, long, veiny, a little curved just to hit those spots deep inside of you with an angry red mushroom tip covered in cum. You are breathing heavier from just the thought of him splitting you open and ruining you for everyone after him.
Minho is breathing through his nose to take in the smell of your emotions, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt and when you sit up, pulling down your skirt, he marvels over the sight of your body covered just in corset and stockings. You looked heavenly funnily enough. When he pushes his shirt from his shoulders you sigh at his muscular body — he was simply perfect. “Turn around.” He demands, voice so low you almost do a double take and when you don’t do immediately as he says, he just does it for you.
He moves you down the couch, turning your body around so your face is pressed into the cushion. Your ass raises in instinct and it grates you a smack across your right cheek. You cry into the couch, the soft skin rippling under his eyes. Then it’s his cock, slapping against you, before laying it flat between your asscheeks. “Fuck, look at that, I’m gonna split this little pussy apart.” You moan back at him, already hazy from just him humping against you teasingly. “Think you can handle it? Oh, you will, all of it—“ He is basically talking to himself right now, already drunk on you.
You are a little concerned, you have never taken something so big, but the thought of him not fucking you dumb is making you whimper like a bitch in heat. You don’t even recognize yourself. You press your ass back at him and Minho only slaps you again, but he finally at that guides his cock to your entrance. The sight of his precum mixing with yours is sending him over the edge, not believing that you are letting him fuck you raw, even if he sees it in the back of your mind. It makes him pull your head back roughly, wanting to watch you crumble on his cock.
You watch him from the corner of your eye, seeing the wild look in his eyes, pretty lips forming into ‘O’ as he finally pushes his tip inside of you. Just that is already too much, but you subconsciously push your hips back at him, swallowing another inch. He lets you adjust, because the way he will fuck you — you will need it. With only hallway through you already feel full to the brim, him already pressing against your cervix, but he is determined to fit all in. He knows you can do it and just after few moments, your ass is finally perfectly flush with his pubic bone.
Your walls suck him right in, wet, warm and soft. He wonders if he is the one being enchanted right now. His hand trails over the string of your garter belt again, loving the way it digs into your ass from how much you arch for him. Minho leans over you again, making him press into you even deeper and he sharply exhale at his tip basically breaks your cervix. “Feel that?” His hand falls down to press at the bulge on your lower tummy. “I’m in your fucking stomach that’s how fucking deep I am—“
“M-Minho—“ He enjoys his name falling from your mouth so much that he accidentally pushes a little too hard against your stomach. To his surprise you only moan louder, hips pushing against him. An open wide smile stretches across his face, watching you move your ass against him.
Your movements are put into stop rather quickly as he pulls out, before pushing into you again with a deep, long thrust. Your mouth is wide open, drooling on the couch already. You feel an abnormal tingling sensation, with his every move of his and with everything that happened that led to this moment it felt worth it. Your pussy molds into a form of his cock, making him smoothly pick up his pace. His one leg on the couch and the other on the ground gives him leverage and with the first sharp thrust of his, you both moan, the sound perfectly mixing with the wet slaps of your skins.
It’s not soft or loving, it’s hard. cock pushing with every move even deeper into you if it’s possible. You are too far gone to do anything other than to take him, your own hand pressing against the bulge in your stomach. It’s sickening how much you enjoy feeling his cock run into you under your hand. Minho has to hiss with every trust in your swollen cunt, hands pinching at your ass and pulling at the strings digging into you. “So g-good— ah!” Your face buries back into the couch, when he snaps at the string, skin burning.
Minho is literally going mad, thrust so harsh, that the couch rocks a little under you both. You can’t believe how much you enjoy feeling pain mixed with pleasure just like he enjoys doing it. The sight of your ass bouncing, hands tearing the material under you and mostly your sounds — he knows that he has to have you someday again. His hand pulls at your hair again, not even missing a beat as he pulls you to his chest. You can’t hold yourself on your own and he helps you rather kindly, with his hand on your neck again, but now he is not being gentle. “Fucking look at you—“ He laughs at your fucked out face staring up at him and he knows he is not looking any better. “Ever thought you would enjoy a demon cock this much?” You choke around the hand on your throat, legs shaking under you. He needs to see more of you, all of you. So he quickly pull out of you, not missing a beat and turning you around to lay you on your back again. You can’t even grumble, because he is inside you back again and the view you have is better than you could’ve asked for.
You don’t say anything, when he rips through the front of your corset, tits spilling out and bouncing immediately with his none stop movements. He spits down right at your nipple, making you gasp at how sensitive it is, feeling his thumb smear the liquid all over you, marking you. Your own hands dig into his hard chest, droopy eyes catching his, before he goes down to your neck, now biting roughly. It makes you arch your back, his sharp teeth piercing you and it doesn’t even hurt half as much as you thought it would.
Moaning, Minho licks at the small drops of blood, eyes rolling back into his head at your sweet taste. Everything about you was so fucking sweet, he can’t believe his own luck right now. Your nipples catch on his, letting you hug him close to you and with the trembling in your legs, he knows you are nearing your orgasm again. “I-I am close—“ You can’t even voice out your words with his rapid moves, feeling yourself drip down on the couch. Your clit rubs deliciously over his pubic bone and with you walls spasming you can feel him twitching inside of you, knowing that he’s getting close too. You just need so desperately something to get you over the edge, something that would make this experience even better and soon those words are spilling out of you. “P-please….kiss me.” You whimper in his ear.
Minho pulls away from your neck, seeing small smear of your blood on those plump lips. “I-I can’t.” He repeats the same words to you and you can’t help, but cry.
“Why?”
“It will tie us together, a kiss will ties us together and you will have to be mine forever.”
He is loosing himself, never he had thought about kissing someone, but yours lips — so perfectly bitten and definitely sweet as every part of you are calling his name. You hear his words, you realize what he is saying, but why would any of you want to end this so soon?
“I want it, I truly want it, Minho—“ Your hands press against each side of his flushed face, his eyes wide, going between your eyes and lips, before he finally leans in.
The whole room around you seems to be set on fire around you, tongues tangling around each other. You taste yourself on his lips and mostly him. You are moaning into him, biting down on his lip, like he did to your neck and he groans lowly when your own teeth breach his skin, mixing your blood now with his. “I’m yours—“ You mumble between kisses, just as you fall apart on him, squeezing him. Minho can’t help, but smile into the kiss, hips stilling as his cock swells, twitching inside of you. He fills with his warm cum, not stopping at kissing you. He will be here every day and every night like this for you and for himself, for eternity, because he found something more pleasure than anything else he ever knew.
this is part of my kinktober masterlist. you can find my regular masterlist here (tho it will not be updated until the end of kinktober) ♡
smut below the cut, minors dni.
☔︎
Minho’s hands are all over your skin - touching, brushing, groping, scraping, squeezing your body in whatever way he pleases, as he leaves hungry kisses on your neck and collarbone. At the same time, he slides his hard dick between your wet folds, tip repeatedly brushing against your clit, making you whimper every single time, muffling the sounds that escape your lips with the back of your hand as his movements practically drive you crazy.
“You’re so wet, baby. So, so wet. I could slip right in.”, he chuckles, collecting some of your arousal with the pad of his fingers, pleased with what he finds between your legs - a literal mess.
You want him to. You want him to just stop teasing you and fucking put it in instead. You want to feel him, feel the velvety tip of his cock part your slit and finally enter you, you want him to sink in your body, you want him to lose his mind as he thrusts his hard cock back and forth inside of you, you want him to unravel under your touch just like you’re doing right now under his.
“Please do.”, you grab him by the wrist, hissing when his dick brushes against your clit once more - you’re already so close to cumming, but you want to feel him properly first.
“You want me to?” Minho asks you, dark brown, boba eyes staring into yours. You nod slowly, and you feel him move one hand to wrap his slender fingers around his velvety cock, ready to align it to your entrance - the very tip now kissing your wet slit, ready to welcome him inside.
He notices you tensing up a bit, your body stiff under his. With his other hand he caresses your cheek, before smiling warmly at you. “I’m right here, you’re safe with me.”, he whispers on your lips. “I’m gonna take care of you.”
And before he can place his lips on top of yours or push his cock inside, you wake up.
You blink a couple of times, sight still a bit blurred, as you sit up on… Minho’s couch? How come you’re on… oh. Now you remember - you’re at Minho’s place. Fuck, there’s no way you just had a wet dream about your best friend while being asleep on said best friend’s couch - is there? Your heart is still hammering in your chest and you can’t stop repeating the scene in your dreams over and over in your head. What does this even mean? Never in your eleven years of friendship with Minho you had a wet dream about him - except maybe one time, but you were drunk and particularly horny so it doesn’t really count.
“Ah, I see you woke up.”, a voice behind you startles you, making your body jolt up. You turn around only to find Minho with two mugs in his hands, the hot steam fogging his glasses a bit. “I’m sorry I startled you. Here, I made tea.”
He places the mug on the small table besides the couch - you smile when you recognize the mug. It’s actually his favorite mug - with cat faces printed all over it, but he knows you love it, so he doesn’t mind you borrowing it whenever you hang out at his place.
“Thank you.”, you smile at him.
“Did you have a bad dream?” Minho asks as he sits down on the chair next to his couch.
“What?”
“You were squirming a lot while sleeping, I assumed you were having a nightmare or something.”, he shrugs, taking a sip of tea.
Your eyes widen, and you can feel your cheeks turn red because no, you weren’t having a nightmare. In fact, it was far from it. You were actually having a sex dream about your best friend, the same best friend who is in the same room as you.
“Oh, right. Yeah, a nightmare.”, you lie, shrugging as you bring the cup of tea to your lips.
“Was it scary?” Minho asks.
“Very.”, you answer with a chuckle.
He doesn’t have to know the truth - plus it was scary. Dreaming of sleeping with your best friend? Terrifying. Not because he’s unattractive or anything, quite the opposite actually. However, you don’t need to overthink this - it was just a dream. People dream of weird things all the time, it’s not uncanny. It doesn’t mean you’re in love with Minho or anything.
“Was I in the dream?”
You nearly choke on your tea. “What?”, you cough.
“I heard you whispering my name while you were sleeping.” Minho states matter-of-factly, not particularly bothered.
Great. First you dream of your best friend naked, about to make love to y- have sex with you, and then you apparently whisper his name in your sleep. Was there anything else embarrassing you’d done when unconscious that you’re unaware of?
“Oh, yeah, you…” Were naked on top of me and about to put your dick in my pussy. “You slayed the dragon. Of my nightmare.”, you come up with a lie, and pray to God it sounds convincing.
“I knew I’d make a hell of a knight.”, he chuckles. “Was my armor shiny?”
You automatically think back of how there was literally no armor, but then again - you can’t really say anything.
“Very.”, you cut it short. “Now help me with this stupid project.”, you try to change the subject, and it works, because Minho instantly nods and connects his computer to the ac to help you with the brief report you have to submit to your boss.
You’ve been working at your report for less than ten minutes when a sudden lightning makes your body jolt, followed by a loud thunder, which inevitably results in a power failure, and you and Minho are left in the darkness of his living room - even the computer shut down since its battery is completely dead when not connected to the ac. As you predicted, it’s just the beginning of a violent thunderstorm.
“Minho, Minho!”, you squeak, and even though you seem calm and composed, he knows deep inside you’re panicking because you’re scared of thunderstorms, a fear you have since you were a child.
“I’m here.”, you feel him getting closer, and you immediately clutch his arm, during your face in his chest as he runs his hand up and down your spine to soothe you. “It’s okay, y/n, everything’s fine.”, he tries to reassure you. “Will you be fine alone for just a couple of seconds?”, he asks you.
You shake your head, gripping on his shirt tight. “No, don’t leave, please.”, you beg.
He places a soft kiss on top of your head, his hand still rubbing gentle shapes on your back and shoulders. “Hey, it’s fine. I’ll just go see if I have any candles I can lit. It’s pitch black in here.”, he explains.
“Fine.”, you give in, loosening the grip on his shirt. “But please be quick.”
Minho comes back in the living room less than a couple of minutes later, and you can’t really see him, but he has three or four candles in his hands - his phone in his mouth with the torch on to make sure he doesn’t accidentally stumble. He places them on the small table, then retrieves a pack of matches from the pocket of his sweats, and proceeds to light them one by one. Once he’s done, the room is not pitch dark anymore - the faint light the candles provide is enough to at least allow you to see each other.
“Done.”, he announces, blowing on the match to extinguish the flame, proud with himself. “Now stay here while I try to figure out how to get the power back on.”, he tells you.
Minho is back five minutes later, soaking wet, damp hair stuck on his forehead - but the dark room is the evidence that he did not manage to get the power back. He shakes his head and sighs in defeat as he removes his drenched and muddy shoes.
“I don’t think the power’s going to be back soon.”, he mutters, and he’s about to say something else when another thunder, much louder than the previous ones, makes the both of you jump - and your body starts shaking.
“Minho!”, you call his name, and he immediately rushes to your side, sensing the panic in your voice.
As soon as he’s by your side, you clutch his shirt, burying your face in his chest. He tries to protest at first, muttering something along the line of “My shirt is drenched, you’ll get wet.”, but you don’t care. You just need him close.
“Shit, y/n, you’re shaking like a leaf.” Minho comments, placing one hand on the back of your head, his damp fingers caressing your hair as you’re pressed against his the crook of his neck. “There’s nothing to be scared of, y/n. I’m right here, you’re safe.”, he whispers, one hand on your back.
Maybe it’s what he says - the exact words he’d uttered in your dreams, when he was about to push his cock inside of you, maybe it’s how he says it - whispering the words in your ear, voice low as it vibrates in his chest, sending a shiver down your spine; or maybe it’s where he says it - in his poorly lightened living room, which makes it ten times more romantic. You don’t know what it is, but you can’t help but feel a knot in your stomach as you feel your arousal begin to pool in your underwear as your heartbeat picks up its pace. You’re sure Minho didn’t say those words in hopes to turn you on - but he did anyways, albeit accidentally.
Something changed in the way you’re gripping on his shirt - Minho can feel it, and he can also feel the way you’re desperately trying to squeeze your leg and rub yourself in order to find some relief without being too obvious about it but of course, mission failed, because Minho notices. He notices and he can’t pretend he doesn’t feel the familiar warmth building up in his stomach as he swallows the lump in his throat, because he can feel his cock getting harder in the confines of his sweats. The way he’s softly breathing in your ear sends a shiver down your spine, goosebumps all over your skin.
Minho’s hand, which was previously on the back of your head gently stroking your hair, moves to your shoulders first, then on your arm - bare since you’re wearing a short sleeved shirt -, brushing the skin softly with the back of his knuckles all the way to your wrist. Meanwhile, he moves his head so that his sharp nose is now brushing against your ear, so close to your jawline and neck - which does not help at all with the pool of wetness in your underwear. In fact, it makes the situation even worse, to the point that you can feel your panties are entirely soaked. He intertwines his fingers with yours - delicately, discreetly, and when he feels you squeezing his hand back, he takes it as a sign to continue.
The tip of his nose brushes on your exposed neck, which makes you almost whimper - you have to suppress it by biting your lower lip, and Minho wishes you didn’t. When he brushes his lips against the vein on your neck, tho, there’s no way you can stop a choked moan from escaping your throat - closing your eyes in anticipation, impatient to feel his lips on you. When he does place his lips on you - it feels magical. He kisses and licks and bites the skin of your neck, and then right below your jawline, and then on the back of your ear, making you shiver and kick your head back.
That’s when you meet his eyes for the first time - and you see something new in his, something you’ve never seen before, something you can’t comprehend right now. And you don’t know it, but that’s exactly what Minho’s thinking right now as he looks you in the eyes, blown pupils, you’re looking at him through your eyelashes - he’s looked you in the eyes a million times before, but they never were like they are right now. Not once. Moreover, you look flustered, he notices - cheeks puffy and red. You bite your lower lip, and it’s almost imperceptible, especially in the barely lightened room, but Minho notices it. He notices it, and takes it as an invitation to link your lips - fingers still intertwined with yours while his other hand rests on your lower back. When he leans in, you don’t move, you don’t pull away or anything - in fact, you stay right there and lean in as well, closing your eyes as your heart hammers in your chest.
Minho’s lips feel even better on yours, they’re soft and, surprisingly, not dry at all - when you brush your tongue on his lower lip, you can’t help but notice how he tastes of green tea, a reminiscence of the hot beverage he’d prepared for you both. It doesn’t take long before the kiss turns into an heated make-out session, and at some point Minho moves his hand from your back to the back of your head, which allows him to crash his lips on yours even harder.
It doesn’t look like a first kiss at all, and, truth be told, it doesn’t feel like one either. It feels almost natural - as if you and him have been doing this for forever, at least a million times before, which is something that can’t be further from the truth.
You only pull away from each other when Minho feels you tugging at his damp shirt, a clear signal you want it off. With one last peck on your lips, he lets go of your hand and removes his shirt - pulling it by the collar and throwing it somewhere in his living room. Then, his lips are back on yours, and it’s his hands that are tugging at your shirt now, as he helps you take it off, leaving you in your bra in front of him. It’s not even one of your sexiest bras, it’s one you use regularly, and it’s pretty worn out, but Minho doesn’t seem to care.
You’re now lying on the couch, your bodies pressed together - your bra is the only thing that’s in the way of feeling your bare chests. Minho’s breath hitches in his throat when you hook your thumbs on the waistband of his sweats and gently start to pull them down his legs - he didn’t think you’d be going that far tonight. He kneels between your legs, not even thinking about stop kissing you, and pulls his sweats down the curve of his ass and slides them down his thighs, freeing his cock, which slaps on his abdomen. It’s long and hard, slightly curved - and it looks absolutely delicious.
You prop yourself on your elbows when Minho tugs at your jeans - undoing the button and unzipping them incredibly fast despite his shaking hands, and you lift your ass to facilitate him as he slides them off your thighs. They end up on the floor, next to his, together with your underwear. It’s pointless to keep your bra on given the fact you’re both naked from the waist down, so you quickly unclasp it and let it fall on the floor as well.
It should feel at least a little weird, right? Your best friend practically staring at your chest, your eyes on his cock, however it doesn’t. It feels natural. He positions himself between your legs once again, body lying flat on yours as he rests on his elbows so that he doesn’t crush you. Then, he latches his lips and tongue to one of your nipples, taking it into his warm and wet mouth - you let out a choked moan, kicking your head back as you entangle your fingers in his dark hair. With the fingers of his hand, he plays with your other nipple, lightly squeezing it between the pads of his thumb and index, as his teeth gently scrape the other one.
All your life you thought Minho was an ass man and here he is - proving you wrong, sucking on your tits as if it’s his last meal.
He spends a good five minutes there - licking, lapping, sucking on your nipples, before you gently tug at his hair, so he snaps his head up in your direction, and instantly knows what you want, what you need. He reads it in your eyes, in your swollen lips, in your flustered cheeks, in the way you open your legs a little wider. He simply nods, then smile sheepishly at you as he wraps his slender fingers around his length, finally aligning its tip to your entrance, coating it in your arousal.
You can’t help but think of the dream you had earlier, and you also can’t help but certify that this feels a thousand times better.
The choked sound that escapes his throat once he pushes the tip of his cock inside your walls is a blessing to your ears, and the way he closes his eyes shut and kicks his head back, mouth agape, is absolutely ethereal. He pushes the rest of his length inside of you slowly, careful not to hurt you - he won’t, you’re insanely wet, there’s no way he could hurt you. Plus, the stretch is insanely good, and you can’t help but notice that he feels perfect inside of you - he fills you up just right.
Once he’s fully set inside of you, he takes a couple of seconds to look at you in search for any sign of discomfort or uncertainty, but then you cup his face in your palms and crash your lips onto his. He smiles into the kiss, and slowly starts to thrust inside of you, savoring the way your tight walls squeeze him each time he pushes back inside, deeper and deeper. He rocks his hips at a steady pace, back and forth, and latches his mouth to your neck, sucking and licking the flesh as he grabs one boob in his palm; he won’t stop touching you - hands all over your body, on your boobs, on your hips, on your thighs, then he rests them by each side of your face as he caresses your cheeks with his thumbs, still thrusting inside of you at a steady rhythm.
Minho makes love to you. It’s not sex, it can’t be - it’s too intimate and heartfelt to be just casual sex.
He makes love to you tight there, on his couch in the middle of his poorly lighted living room, where the only thing that can be heard apart from the heavy rain are the sounds of your moans and whimpers, your heavy breaths as well as the squelching sound that accompanies Minho’s thrusts. He makes love to you just like you make love to him - intensely, clutching his shoulders as you come, unexpectedly and with a shaky whimper of his name.
“Minho…”, you pant, kicking your head back and shutting your eyes closed as your toes curl while you release around him, squeezing his length incredibly tight. So tight it only takes him a couple more thrusts to find his own release, pulling out of you just in time to shoot his semen on your stomach with a deep grunt, before collapsing on top of you, resting his head on your breasts as you both try to catch your regular breathings.
You lie there for a while, your fingers entangled in Minho’s hair as he occasionally places soft kisses on the skin of your collarbone and breasts. Neither of you speaks, words are unnecessary right now - besides, you spoke a lot minutes before, just not using words. You let your hearts talk, communicate your feelings, beating fast in your chests.
Then, all of a sudden, the power is back on - and you can’t help but think the blackout might’ve been some twist of fate to help you realize that maybe all you wanted all along was right by your side, in the form of brown boba eyes and a cat-like smile.
SUMMARY: minho loves you: to him, it’s as clear as water. Its only after he finds out that you’re starting to doubt it—he needs you to know just how much.
REQUESTED! here by an anonnie. I hope you like it, pookie, ‘cause I had fun doing this! <3
CW: slight hurt/comfort if you squint, but it’s just fluffy fluffy lino being really down bad and not knowing how to grasp it tbh which just gives me my serotonin dosis for the rest of the month lol
WC: 1.2k
A/N: also omfg kats posting two requests on the same day? that’s right baby, look at me go! 🤩🤩🤩
[🔅★🌼★🔅]
Minho was not the type to show his affection.
He comes off more like a shy kitten that slowly gets used to you, your sweet smell and how soft your touch feels, and then slowly opens up.
“But, uh… can I be real with you for a sec?”
It’s a feminine voice with a strong accent. He can hear it comming from your room, and the slight glitchiness of it makes it obvious that it’s a phone call set on speaker.
“Sure.” He can almost see you shrug, but he just closes the main door as soft as he can, pleading for the cats to stay silent for a little bit longer.
Minho can’t exactly place together why he’s overhearing your phone call. He knows who you’re calling, he can recognize Chan’s sister by her tone. But still, he keeps quiet, gently placing his bag down and silently taking his shoes off.
“I just— and don’t get me wrong, but, your boyfriend kinda seems… bored of you.”
What? Minho has to hold back a scoff, remaining as still as a statue next to the front door. He’s waiting for you to deny it.
“You think so?”
And then, he frowns, because you didn’t. Instead, your tone sounded hesitant. Dubious.
As if you weren’t sure if Minho loved you.
“You say he keeps cancelling your plans together. He has stopped making time for you. Like, girl, you can’t remember when was the last time he told you he loved you.”
Hannah pauses, and that only makes it worse, because it lets every word sink in.
“I uh, well. I ain’t gonna say that he should throw flowers at you every single second, but, uh, you know.”
He can only hear you groan loudly, almost picturing that cute motion you usually did when he meaningly teased you, taking your hair and covering your face with it.
“Can’t say anything for sure with him,” Hannah adds. “But, just by what you’re saying…”
Minho’s heart clenches tightly in his chest. He doesn’t want to keep hearing this... this nonsense. God, he loves you. And you… can’t see it? Frowning, he starts walking to your room, but his movements end in a halt, his hand just above the doorknob, threatening to grasp it and fully open the door.
“Girl, it’s gotta be late down there. Sorry this whole call was about me.” Your chuckle comes off slightly dry. “I’ll talk to you later, ‘kay? Go get some good sleep.” Your tone just screams how bad you’re feeling, and it just makes his chest swell with guilt that slowly creeps up his body.
Maybe he had been taking you for granted?
He opens the door as soon as you press the red button, sighing loudly after ending the call. When you see him, you jump in your place, startled by his presence, and you stand up awkwardly.
“Minho!” You say in a squirm. He can’t help but cringe slightly.
“No.” His tone sounds childish, like a petty toddler who didn’t want to eat the carrots in their lunch.
You frown slowly, the slightly wary grimace melting on your face, allowing a soft confusion to step in.
“No what?” You mutter.
He walks to you slowly, and grabs your hand, taking it to his chest, pressing it flat against his clothed skin, over his heart. You can feel his heartbeat, a not-too-slow rhythm: thump, thump, thump.
“Call me by a pet name. Any pet name.” He says, his tone equally firm and soft. “Call me by a pet name and say you love me.”
He’s serious, but god, so fucking nervous. His brain is slowly melting away because he’s so bad with words and he isn’t sure any action could be enough. He’s already blushing.
“I, huh… I love you, jagi.” You mumble, still confused.
And even if you don’t say it as fondly as always, or if your smile isn’t beaming like how it usually did, you can feel his heartbeat quickening.
“You can feel it, right?” His eyes are soft and worried.
Oh, God. You just know you’ve gotta be pouting. It’s hard to react with words, and the only thing you can fathom doing is linking your arms behind his nape and sinking your face on the crook of his neck.
“Min, I’m so sorry.”
“N-no, kitten.” He mumbles, hugging you tightly too. “I am the one who’s sorry.”
He breathes in, drowning in your soft fragrance. Home. It’s you, it’s warm, and he loves it.
He loves you.
So, he says it. He has to say it. He can’t not say it.
“I love you.”
And it feels so good to let it out that he chuckles. He has to say it again. “I love you.” And again. “God, I love you.” Just once more. “I love you so much.” He’s giggling like a fool, but he’s a fool in love, and that makes him blush even more. “I can’t not love you. Not loving you would turn everyday into Mondays. Like, I can get it tattoed if you want me to. I just. I love you so much that ‘I love you’ can’t even—.”
You move from his shoulder, now facing him, and you cradle his face, pulling him in a kiss that’s so sweet that threatens to give both of you type 1 diabetes.
“Y-you’re crying.” Minho mumbles, softly brushing the stray tears away with his thumb.
“It’s your fault, silly.” You sniff, giggling too. “How can you say stuff like that?”
Your heart is beating like crazy, the butterflies in your stomach are multiplying by seconds and in your cheeks glistens a bright and deep shade of pink.
You want to say it too. But in his own way.
So, you take his hand and settle it on your chest. Right above your heart.
It’s a rapid thump thump thump that Minho feels right away. He can’t help but smile widely.
“I super-mega-love you.” He teases, picking you up in between his arms.
You’re laughing, squirming in his hold.
“Lee Minho! Put me down!”
But he just grips your body tighter to his, and walking as if you weighted nothing, heading towards your bed, plopping you down there.
“Good girl.” He snickers, and you blush even further. Minho takes your chin tenderly and pecks your lips. For a moment, certain kind of idea flashes through his head, but he just kissed you again, following his previous thought.
He opens your closet with a toothy grin, and halfly eyes the window before picking up a random shirt, a grey hoodie that used to be his, a dark skirt and your thigh-high socks, going as far as to the suspenders for you.
He then turns to face you, his eyes glowing. He can’t wait to see you all dolled up. Minho feels like a teenager, and he loves it.
“You have twenty minutes.”
You blink at him, and you can’t help but smile, confused.
“I’m taking your cute ass to a date.”
It may not be an instant fix to the struggles to your relationship, but as you two walk down the beach, looking for colourful rocks that match each other’s eye colour, you know that he’s worth fighting for.
Regarding Minho, he happily hums to himself, eyes glued to your figure as you cackle and run in the beach, as you look behind you and giggle at the prints your boots leave in the humid sand.
He smiles, running towards you, tackling you and holding you in his arms.
He’s not letting go anytime soon.
~Kats, who always struggles to choose a picture for the fics because istg lino looks good in every single moment!!
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