𐙚 “Discipline Me Properly” - Song Hangyeom 𐙚
Kinktober Day 9
wc: 2.7k
Genre: Smut MDNI 18+
Warnings: Explicit sexual content, Impact play (face, thigh, and pussy slapping), Brat taming, Rough sex, Soft dom/sub dynamic, Mild praise/degradation, Mild Cockwarming, Slight overstimulation
You don’t even remember how it started.
One minute, you were grinding against him, mouth on his, tugging at his hair just to hear that growl you like—the one that sounds like he’s holding back from pinning you to the bed. The next, you were already there—on your back, legs open, breath caught somewhere in your throat as Hangyeom fucked you deep enough to bruise.
Everything’s hot.
Fast.
Close.
Sheets pushed down, your thighs slick and trembling, his hands planted firm on either side of your hips as he drives into you over and over—hard, controlled, but with that edge like he’s one wrong breath away from snapping.
You feel powerful like this. Wrecked, but still mouthy.
“You’re gonna have to do better than that,” you pant, voice breathless but bratty, sharp enough to cut.
He stills.
Just for a second.
And then he slaps you.
Not hard enough to hurt. Not even long enough to register right away.
But sharp. Quick. His palm cracks against your cheek with a sound that freezes the air around it.
Your mouth opens.
But no words come out.
His eyes go wide, panicked, like the movement wasn’t premeditated—like his body moved faster than his brain. You’re both frozen. Heat blossoms along your cheek, not from pain, but from something you can’t name fast enough.
He stutters. “Fuck—I didn’t mean—”
You shake your head once, barely.
“I—shit, I didn’t even think, I just—”
But you don’t stop.
You grab his wrist and drag him back down into you, not saying a word. Not even looking at him fully.
It wasn’t planned. But it happened.
The rhythm picks back up—frantic, a little messy now. His fingers curl tighter into your skin, his mouth moves against yours, desperate to distract, to erase the moment or make up for it somehow.
Neither of you say anything about it. Not then.
But it lingers.
Even after he finishes. Even after you’re clean and dressed and curled against him with his hand resting over your stomach like always.
Even after you fall asleep.
The sting fades before morning.
But the memory doesn’t.
You try to tell yourself it wasn’t that serious. That it was nothing. That you’ve been through rougher, wilder, messier. And yet—your cheek still tingles every time you think about it.
Not because you’re angry.
But because you liked it.
You liked it.
Not the slap itself, not in isolation, but what it meant. What it did to you. That sudden shift from bratty to breathless. The heat that surged through you like a second heartbeat. The way Hangyeom’s eyes darkened before his panic kicked in. The way your whole body reacted like it had been waiting for something like that.
It doesn’t come up for a few days.
Not because you forget—it’s impossible to forget—but because you’re waiting for the right moment. Something about it feels too sharp for casual teasing, too loaded for a passing joke. And honestly… you kind of like that.
Letting it sit there between you, unspoken but buzzing.
You’re on the couch when it finally happens. Lazy afternoon light drifting in through the windows, Hangyeom’s arm thrown over the backrest while he flips through something on his phone. You’re curled against him with a blanket over your legs, mind somewhere else entirely.
He’s warm. Relaxed. One of his fingers draws idle circles on the curve of your thigh.
You don’t look at him when you say it.
“So… you slapped me the other night.”
The finger freezes.
You smirk just a little. “Mid-sex. You remember?”
Hangyeom stiffens like you electrocuted him. “Shit. Yeah. I do. I—fuck, I’ve been meaning to bring it up.”
Your brows lift, playful. “Oh?”
“I didn’t mean to.” His voice drops, serious now. “It just happened. You said that thing and I was so in it, and I wasn’t thinking—”
“I know.”
He stares at you.
“I’m not mad,” you add gently. “I’m just… bringing it up.”
Hangyeom shifts, turning toward you slightly. His expression is searching now, cautious. “You sure? ‘Cause I felt like an asshole the second I did it.”
You lean your head against the cushion and hum. “You looked like one too.”
He groans, dragging a hand down his face. “I knew it—”
“But.”
He pauses.
You look up at him, calm and collected. “I liked it.”
Silence.
The kind of silence that makes the air go still.
Hangyeom blinks. “You… liked it?”
You nod once, slowly. “Not just the slap. The whole moment. The heat of it. The way it surprised me.”
His jaw tightens like he’s trying to control a whole storm of reactions. “So when you pulled me back down—”
“I wanted more,” you say simply. “I didn’t want to stop.”
He exhales a breath that sounds almost like relief—but it’s laced with something darker, deeper.
“That why you’ve been looking at me funny all week?”
You shrug, barely hiding your smile. “Maybe.”
His hand slides further up your thigh now, less playful, more deliberate.
“And if I said I’ve been thinking about it too?” he murmurs.
“Then I’d say you should do it again.”
That definitely gets a reaction. His eyes flash, mouth twitching like he can’t decide between smirking or groaning.
“You’re serious?”
You tilt your head. “If I said the wrong thing… would you?”
He leans in, voice lower now. “You want me to slap you again just because you’re a little mouthy?”
“I want you to mean it,” you whisper. “Like you did that night.”
He swears under his breath, his hand gripping your thigh tighter.
You can feel the air shift between you, the teasing fading into something slower, hungrier.
“Would you let me take my time with it?” he asks, brushing a kiss against your shoulder. “Not just slap you—handle you?”
You nod.
“I want you to,” you say.
And that’s when he moves—pulling you gently into his lap, his mouth grazes your ear, and his hands slip lower—gripping your waist, pulling you tighter into his lap until you feel him hard beneath you. The air shifts, thick with something heavier than teasing. You tilt your head slightly, lips brushing his jaw, your voice soft but testing:
“What if I said the wrong thing right now?”
Hangyeom’s breath hitches. His grip tightens. His eyes flick down to your mouth like he’s thinking about kissing you—or owning you.
“You wanna find out?”
“I think you want me to.”
He exhales through his nose, sharp, amused. “You’re such a little brat sometimes.”
You smile. “And?”
Slap.
It’s not soft. Not a test. His palm cracks across your cheek quick and clean, and your head turns just slightly with the contact. You gasp—shocked, not from pain, but from how right it feels. Your body pulses immediately, thighs clenching over him.
His hands are back on you in a second—one gripping your jaw to tilt your face toward him, the other splayed wide on your lower back.
“Tell me you liked that.”
You nod. “I liked it.”
“Then we’re done playing cute.”
He grabs the back of your thighs, hoisting you up, carrying you toward the bedroom without waiting for another word. His mouth is on your throat as he moves, teeth grazing skin, and you cling to his shoulders, breathless.
By the time your back hits the mattress, your whole body’s buzzing.
Hangyeom doesn’t rush.
He peels off your clothes slowly, watching you squirm with anticipation. Your top first, tossed to the floor. Then your shorts, panties—everything. He doesn’t even kiss you yet. Just steps back, staring at your bare form sprawled across the sheets.
“You look good like this,” he says, voice low. “All soft and sweet after mouthing off.”
You raise your brows, cocky. “Maybe I’m just trying to provoke you again.”
His head tilts. “Maybe you need to be reminded who you’re dealing with.”
You smile. “Then come remind me.”
He climbs over you, palms pressed into the mattress on either side of your shoulders, gaze locked on your face.
“Tell me how far I can take it.”
“As far as you want.”
His lips brush yours.
“Use your words.”
“Yes,” you whisper. “You can slap me. You can mark me. I want it.”
He grins against your mouth. “That’s all I needed to hear.”
The kiss that follows is rough—tongue, teeth, control. He devours your mouth like he’s claiming it. One hand tangles in your hair, the other trails down your chest, over your stomach, until his fingers slip between your legs.
You’re already soaked.
“Fucking hell,” he breathes. “Look at you.”
You whimper when he starts circling your clit with two fingers—slow, steady, no mercy. Your back arches, thighs shaking.
Then—slap.
Your cheek again. The opposite side this time. The rhythm doesn’t break.
Your head turns, a moan leaving your lips like it’s been forced out.
“Good girl,” he growls. “You want more?”
“Yes,” you gasp.
He moves lower. His tongue replaces his fingers, licking you open until you’re a mess under his mouth. And right as your legs start to tremble, as your moans get louder—
Slap.
Across your thigh this time. Then again, the other side.
You cry out, the heat of his palm making your whole body jolt.
“Keep those legs open.”
You try.
You really try.
But you’re falling apart already.
He pulls back, licking his lips, dragging himself up your body until his cock nudges your entrance.
“You think you can handle this?”
“I want all of it.”
Hangyeom pushes in slow, stretching you, groaning against your neck as your walls clench tight around him.
“Fuck—you’re tight.”
He starts to move—deep, slow thrusts that fill you completely. His hand wraps around your throat, firm but not tight, holding you in place as he fucks you like he owns every part of you.
Then he slaps you again.
Your cheek.
Then your thigh.
Then your cheek again, just hard enough to sting.
And you melt for it.
You moan louder with every hit, every pump of his hips. Your body’s flushed, your eyes glassy, your lips parted as your mind starts to float from how good it feels.
You’re cockdrunk, shameless, breathless.
“You’re being so good for me now,” he pants. “All it took was a little discipline.”
“More,” you beg. “Please.”
He obliges.
The next slap lands between your legs—light, teasing, but filthy. Your entire body jerks.
“Fuck—Hangyeom—”
“You gonna come just from that?” he taunts. “From me slapping your pretty pussy?”
“Yes—yes, I’m close—”
He grabs your hips and fucks into you harder. The bed creaks. Your moans grow ragged. He spanks your inner thigh again—then your cheek—alternating in rhythm with each thrust until you can’t even speak anymore.
“Look at you,” he growls. “Blushing all over. Wetting the sheets. You love when I do this to you, don’t you?”
You nod, crying out. “I love it—”
“Then come for me. Come with my handprint on your skin.”
You shatter.
Your orgasm rips through you, violent and overwhelming. Your back arches off the mattress, fingers gripping the sheets, mouth falling open in a scream you can’t contain. Your legs quake, your body convulses, your mind goes blank—
And you feel it.
Another slap.
One more.
Right on the same cheek.
You come again. Harder.
Hangyeom watches you unravel, his eyes blown wide, his thrusts stuttering.
“Fuck—fuck, you’re perfect—”
He slams into you one final time and groans, long and low, as he comes inside you, hips pulsing against yours, arms shaking from the force of it.
You both collapse, tangled and gasping.
He doesn’t pull out.
Doesn’t move far.
Just hovers over you, pressing slow, panting kisses to your chest, your throat, your cheek—right where he slapped you.
“Still okay?” he asks softly, fingers brushing your hair back.
You nod, dazed. “So okay.”
He kisses you again. “You were amazing.”
“So were you.”
He pulls the blanket up over both of you, still inside you, still close, holding your face in his hands like you’re the most delicate thing he’s ever touched.
The room is quiet except for the sound of your breathing—deep, uneven, syncing up little by little as the heat fades into something softer.
Hangyeom’s weight is still half on top of you, his hand cradling your face, thumb stroking the skin he slapped like he’s trying to soothe away something that isn’t even there anymore.
“You’re okay?” he murmurs again, voice rough, lower than usual.
You nod, eyes fluttering open just enough to look at him.
“I’m perfect.”
He exhales slowly like he’s been holding it in, and presses a kiss to your cheek—that cheek. Gentle. Slow. The kind of kiss that tells you he’s still thinking about every second that led up to now.
You blink up at him, cheeks warm in a completely different way now. “You didn’t hold back.”
He smiles against your skin. “You told me not to.”
“Still.”
His nose brushes yours. “You took it so well, baby. I could’ve kept going.”
“Next time,” you whisper, and he lets out a soft laugh.
You stay tangled like that for a while. His arm stays around your waist, the other cupping your face with a kind of reverence that makes your heart squeeze. His fingertips trail lightly along your cheekbone, your jaw, the hollow of your throat—like he’s making sure you’re still real.
You hum as his thumb passes over the side of your mouth. “You like seeing it, don’t you?”
He nods. “Your skin all flushed? My handprint on your thigh? Yeah. I like seeing what I did to you.”
You shift closer, burying your face in his neck.
He wraps you up tighter.
The blanket’s pulled over both of you now, and the bed smells like sweat, sex, and him. One of your thighs is still sore from where he held you down. Your lips are puffy from how hard he kissed you. Your voice is half-gone from the things he made you say.
And you feel good.
Not just wrecked. Not just used.
Held.
His voice is softer now, barely there. “You trust me with that?”
You nod into his chest. “Yeah.”
He kisses your forehead. “You’re safe with me. Always.”
You smile.
It’s quiet again for a while, just his fingers tracing lazy patterns over your back. You press your cheek into his collarbone, still warm from the heat between you.
“I don’t think I’ve ever felt like that before,” you admit.
“Like what?”
You hesitate. “Like it wasn’t just sex. Like it was something deeper. Something… bigger.”
His arms tighten.
“That’s what it was for me too,” he says. “It wasn’t just about slapping you, or taking control. It was about you letting me.”
You look up, and he meets your gaze with something raw and open.
“You didn’t flinch,” he adds. “You didn’t stop me. You took it—and you wanted it—and you trusted me the whole way through. That…” He trails off, voice thick. “That meant more than I thought it would.”
You lean up and kiss him, slow and sweet.
“I’m yours,” you whisper against his mouth.
His hand cups your cheek again—no slap this time. Just warmth.
“And I’m yours,” he says.
Eventually, you both start to drift—legs tangled, breath slowing, skin still humming from every touch. And before sleep pulls you under, Hangyeom presses one last kiss to your cheek.
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Taglist: @17ha @moonstruckbae @galaxy4489 @notinthemoodbeach @voucearse @lze325 @kinichportablecharger
