Discover Top Posts Tagged with #minbin

1. Congrats on 700 followers! I just saw your post about it! Thats such a huge milestone!

2. Im obsessed with how you write! I just found your Daddy fic the other day and I'm obsessed!

3. I would like to participate in your follower event thing please?

Maybe with Lee Know or Changbin and the reader where the reader has been having to work over nights and they have been working long days on their comeback so they dont have a lot of time where they can be together and it gets a little angsty because theyre both (all?) Stressed because the schedules never seem to line up. I dont mind smut, but if you cant work it in, thats totally fine! And a happy ending if you can work it in?

LOVE YOUUUUUUU

Hehehe thank you 🫶🏾 !!!! I added you to the taglist so you could catch the new chapter before it got lost in the void!

I seriously thought about this all weekend. I haven’t done any fics with Lee know in years, so I knew I wanted to include him, then you said “(all?)” and well…now we have a short lil poly drabble because I wanted to be greedy. I hope it’s not too smutty xoxo

Missed Moments ft. Lee Know & Changbin

smut , angst | w.c: 4.8k

Your apartment was too quiet in that particular way that makes everything feel slightly too sharp, like even the air is listening.

You sat on the edge of the bed with your phone resting loosely in your hand, the screen long gone dim. Your thoughts kept circling the same worn path, your schedule from 11 p.m. to 7 a.m., their own schedules ending late into the night, and all the near-misses that never seemed to become anything real.

It wasn’t distance that hurt. It was overlap that refused to happen.

Tonight, you’d tried something different. You’d taken the night off, trading a rare stretch of rest you probably needed for the chance to finally see them properly. Not through half-asleep messages. Not in passing. All of you in the same moment for once.

But hours had already slipped by. You tried not to name the disappointment sitting heavy in your chest. Tried to tell yourself it was fine, that you should’ve known better than to rearrange your body’s only chance at recovery on a maybe.

Still, you stayed awake. Minutes stretched. Then longer.

The quiet deepened until it almost felt like the apartment itself had decided nothing was coming.

The lock clicked.

You lifted your head so fast it almost hurt. The door opened slowly, cautious, like whoever was coming in wasn’t sure what version of the night they were stepping into.

Minho came in first.

He stopped the moment he saw you.

Not surprised exactly, more like relieved in a way that softened his whole posture, as if he’d been carrying something heavier than he let on and had finally set it down at the sight of you. His eyes flicked over your face, lingering like he was checking you were real, that you were okay, that he hadn’t somehow missed you again.

Changbin followed right behind him, closing the door quietly. A small bag of food hung from his hand, forgotten for a second as his attention fixed on you instead. He didn’t move closer right away. Just looked at you like the room had narrowed to that exact point.

“You’re up,” Minho said softly, voice low and worn at the edges. He crossed the room after a beat, sitting beside you with a careful kind of exhaustion. His hand came up, brushing your cheek like it was instinct he didn’t think through first.

“I took the night off for you guys,” you admitted, quieter than you meant to be. “Just…hoping I’d actually spend time with both of you for once.”

Something subtle passed between them at that. Not guilt exactly. More like recognition. Like they’d both been chasing the same missing hour without knowing it.

Changbin sat close to you on the couch, tipping your chin up, and kissed you; slow, deliberate, like he was trying to translate every missed moment into something that finally stayed still.

When he pulled back, the space didn’t feel empty. "Missed you."

Minho’s fingers found yours after that, threading in without needing permission anymore, like something had finally settled enough to stop asking. “I keep thinking about how we keep doing this,” Minho said, voice rough with fatigue. “Missing each other by minutes. Hours. Like we’re always just….out of sync.”

Your throat tightened, because you’d been living inside that same frustration, “I didn’t want to miss you again tonight,” you said. “So I didn’t sleep. I thought maybe that would be enough to fix this”

Changbin's gaze softened in a way that made it feel like the words landed somewhere deeper than the room. “We’re here now,” he said quietly. “We’re not letting it slip past us again.”

Minho nodded slowly, eyes dark but steady as he looked at you. His gaze lingered on your face, as if memorizing the moment before he reached out and gently cupped your cheek. “We’re sorry we missed you,” he murmured, voice thick with fatigue but sincere. “We’ve been trying. Every night, it’s like we’re just one step behind.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, breathing in the scent of them, Minho’s warmth, Changbin's calm presence, and feeling the ache in your chest ease just a little. Maybe it was desperation, maybe hope, but right now, you didn’t care. All you cared about was this; being here, with them, finally in the same moment.

You leaned into Minho’s palm, turning your face just enough to press a soft kiss against the center of it. His breath caught, barely audible, and his fingers slid back to cradle the side of your neck. Changbin’s hand found yours where it rested on the couch, his fingers threading through yours with deliberate care, squeezing once before relaxing again.

“I missed this,” Changbin said, voice low. “Just…being able to touch you without rushing.”

Minho’s other hand lifted, hesitant, until the backs of his knuckles grazed along your jaw. He traced the line of it slowly, eyes following the movement like he was relearning the shape of you. “We don’t have to do anything else tonight,” he murmured. “We can just stay like this. Feel each other again.”

Changbin brought your joined hands up and pressed his lips to your knuckles, lingering there. His mouth was warm, the kiss unhurried. When he lowered your hand again, he kept it cradled between both of his, thumb stroking slow circles over your skin.

You felt the couch dip again as Minho leaned in, close enough that his forehead nearly touched yours. His eyes searched your face, dark and steady, waiting. When you didn’t pull away, he closed the last inch and brushed his lips against yours; once, twice; soft, testing, giving you every chance to set the pace. Changbin stayed close, his free hand coming up to rest lightly at your waist, grounding rather than pushing.

The kiss deepened only when you leaned into it, Minho responding with a quiet sound in his throat. His lips moved with careful patience, savoring rather than claiming. Changbin’s thumb kept tracing those slow circles at your waist, his breath warm against your shoulder where he’d rested his head. Time stretched, slow and thick, filled with nothing but the sound of breathing and the occasional soft press of lips.

Minho’s lips lingered against yours, the kiss deepening only as far as you allowed, his tongue brushing lightly along your lower lip before retreating again. His hand stayed at your neck, thumb stroking the skin just below your ear in slow, soothing arcs. Changbin’s breath warmed the curve of your shoulder where he’d tucked his face leaving kisses, his fingers still laced with yours while his other hand rested at your waist, palm flat and unmoving.

You shifted, knees brushing Changbin’s thigh. Minho followed the movement, his mouth leaving yours only to press a trail of soft kisses along your jaw. Each one landed with care, his lips barely parting, breath fanning warm across your skin. Changbin lifted his head then, eyes half-lidded as he watched Minho’s mouth move. When Minho paused at the corner of your lips, Changbin leaned in and kissed the same spot from the other side, their mouths meeting yours together in a gentle, shared press.

Hands moved with quiet purpose. Changbin’s fingers slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, fingertips tracing the dip of your lower back without pushing higher. Minho’s palm slid down from your neck to rest over your collarbone, feeling the steady beat of your heart beneath his touch. Neither of them rushed, they simply stayed close, bodies warm and solid, breathing the same air.

The three of you stayed like that, trading soft kisses and even softer touches. Minho’s mouth found the shell of your ear, pressing there before drifting back to your lips. Changbin’s hand at your back traced idle patterns, occasionally dipping just beneath the waistband of your shorts only to retreat again. Every movement felt deliberate, like they were relearning the shape of you after too many nights apart.

Minho pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark but calm. “Tell us what you need,” he said quietly. Changbin’s fingers tightened around yours in silent agreement, waiting for your answer while his thumb continued its slow circles at your waist.

Minho waited, his eyes never leaving yours, the question hanging soft between you. Changbin’s thumb kept tracing slow circles at your waist, his other hand still threaded with yours, giving a gentle squeeze as if to remind you they were both right here.

You leaned forward, closing the small space, and Minho met you halfway. The next kiss landed deeper, his lips parting to let your tongue slide against his. He tasted warm, familiar, the kind of slow that made your chest ache. Changbin shifted closer on the couch, his chest brushing your side as he watched, breath catching when your free hand reached back to find his thigh.

Minho’s fingers slipped lower, tracing the line of your collarbone before dipping beneath your shirt. His palm flattened over your stomach, skin to skin, moving in lazy strokes that never pushed higher. Changbin’s mouth found the side of your neck, lips parting to press open kisses there, each one unhurried, his teeth grazing lightly before he soothed the spot with his tongue.

You turned your head, catching Changbin’s mouth next. The kiss was firmer, his hand sliding up your back to pull you closer while Minho’s lips moved to your shoulder, sucking a faint mark just below the collar. Changbin’s tongue met yours, slow and wet, a quiet sound slipping from his throat when your fingers tightened on his leg.

Changbin’s hand slid lower, fingers brushing you through your shorts. He didn't apply pressure, just left his hand against you. Minho lifted his head, lips shiny, and leaned in to kiss you again, not forgetting to kiss Changbin as he pulls him away.

Changbin’s fingers hooked into the waistband of your shorts. Not pulling. Just resting there, the weight of his hand a question he didn’t need to speak aloud. Minho’s mouth was still on yours, softer now, his lips barely brushing as he pulled back just far enough to watch your face. “You said you stayed up for us,” Minho murmured, his thumb stroking the hollow of your throat. “So let us stay up for you.”

Changbin’s laugh was low, more breath than sound, pressed into the curve of your shoulder. “That means no sleeping.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” you said.

Minho’s eyes flickered with something dark and pleased. He shifted on the couch, knees bracketing your thigh, and his hand slid from your throat down to your chest, palm flat over your sternum like he was measuring the pace of your heartbeat. “Good.”

Changbin tugged. Just an inch. The waistband of your shorts slipped lower, exposing the jut of your hip. His mouth followed the fabric, lips parting against the newly bare skin, and the wet heat of his tongue made your breath catch in your throat.

“There it is,” Minho said, watching. “That sound.”

You turned your head, wanting to kiss him again, but he leaned back. Not far. Just enough that your lips met air instead of his mouth. His smile was slow, deliberate. “Not yet.”

“Minho—”

“I want to hear it again.” His hand slid down, fingertips tracing the inside of your wrist, feather-light. “Changbin.”

Changbin’s mouth paused against your hip. He lifted his head, eyes heavy-lidded, lips slick. “Hm?”

“Slower.”

Changbin’s gaze flicked to you, something knowing in it, and then he lowered his head again. This time his mouth barely grazed your skin. A whisper of contact. His tongue traced the line of your hip bone with agonizing patience, and the sound that escaped you was half-frustration, half-relief.

Minho’s fingers tightened on your wrist. “Like that.”

You let your head fall back against the couch cushions. The ceiling swam above you, dim and unremarkable, but you weren’t seeing it. Every nerve had narrowed to the slow, wet path Changbin’s mouth was drawing along your stomach. He kissed just below your navel. Then lower. Then he stopped.

“You’re killing me,” you breathed.

“We’re just getting started,” Changbin said, and his voice had gone rough at the edges, the calm cracking just slightly. His hand was still hooked in your shorts, knuckles brushing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, but he didn’t move them any further. He waited.

Minho’s thumb traced your lower lip. “You feel that?” he asked quietly. “That ache?”

Your hips shifted, seeking pressure that wasn’t there. Changbin’s hand stayed exactly where it was, unmoving, and the absence of friction was its own kind of torture.

“Yes.”

“Good.” Minho leaned in, mouth brushing the shell of your ear. “Now hold it.”

He kissed the corner of your jaw, once, then pulled back. His hands left your skin entirely. The sudden absence of heat made you shiver, and you opened your eyes to find both of them watching you with expressions that were identical in their restraint.

“Your turn,” Minho said. “Touch him.”

You turned toward Changbin, who hadn’t moved from his spot against your hip. His breath was warm, uneven, and when your hand found the back of his neck, he made a sound low in his throat.

“Just like this?” you asked, fingers threading into his hair.

Minho’s voice came from somewhere to your left, calm and unhurried. “Like you have all night.”

You pulled Changbin up, slow, drawing him toward you until his mouth hovered just above yours. He didn’t close the gap. His eyes searched yours, dark and patient, waiting for you to decide how this went. The restraint in him was a visible thing, tension coiling in his shoulders, his jaw.

You kissed him softly. Once.

He exhaled through his nose, eyes fluttering shut.

Then you pulled back.

Changbin’s eyes opened, and the look in them sent heat pooling low in your stomach. Frustration. Want. The kind of hunger that came from being denied something he’d been waiting weeks to have.

“Now you’re getting it,” Minho murmured. His hand found your knee, palm warm, thumb stroking a slow circle over the cap. He didn’t move higher. Didn’t need to. The promise of his touch was enough.

You turned your attention back to Changbin, who was still hovering inches from your mouth, breathing like he’d run a mile. You traced the line of his jaw with your fingertips. Let your thumb brush the corner of his lips. Watched the way his throat moved when he swallowed.

“You’re beautiful like this,” you said.

A muscle in his jaw jumped. “Like what?”

“Like you’re barely holding on.”

His laugh was strangled. “You have no idea.”

“Show her,” Minho said.

Changbin’s hand moved from your hip to your thigh, palm sliding up with excruciating slowness. Higher. His thumb traced the crease where your leg met your hip, and your whole body tightened in response, muscles clenching, breath stuttering.

He stopped.

Dropped his hand back to the couch.

The whimper that escaped you was not dignified. Minho made a sound of quiet satisfaction.

“That’s the point,” he said, answering the sound you hadn’t meant to make. “Feeling it build. Letting it sit there.” His hand left your knee, and then his fingers were under your chin, tilting your face toward his. “How long has it been since someone took their time with you?”

Your throat tightened. “A while.”

“Then we have catching up to do.” He kissed you, and this one was deeper than before, tongue sliding against yours with a slowness that felt intentional. Measured. When he pulled back, your lips chased his, and he smiled against your mouth. “Not yet.”

Changbin’s hands found your waist. He turned you gently, guiding until your back was pressed against Minho’s chest, his arms coming around to hold you in place. Minho’s lips found the curve of your neck, and Changbin settled between your thighs, still fully clothed, the friction of fabric against your bare skin making you gasp.

“Every time you get close,” Changbin said, voice low, “we’re going to stop.”

“Every time,” Minho agreed against your ear, his breath warm. “Until you can’t take it anymore.”

Changbin’s fingers traced the edge of your shorts again. “And then we’ll stop again.”

You stared at him. “That’s cruel.”

“That’s the idea.” His smile was small, almost apologetic, but his eyes were dark with intent. “You rearranged your whole schedule for us. The least we can do is make it worth your while.”

Minho’s arms tightened around your waist. His chest was solid against your back, his heartbeat a steady rhythm you could feel through your skin. “You said you’ve been missing us,” he murmured. “So now we’re going to make sure you feel every single second.”

Changbin leaned forward, mouth brushing the inside of your thigh. His lips parted, tongue tracing a slow line upward, and your hips bucked before you could stop them. Minho’s arms held you steady, kept you from chasing the sensation, and Changbin lifted his head before his mouth reached anywhere you desperately wanted it.

“See?” Changbin said, breath fanning across wet skin. “We’re paying attention now.”

Your hands found Minho’s thighs, fingers digging in as you tried to ground yourself. The ceiling above you blurred. The only thing in focus was the slow, deliberate torture of Changbin’s mouth tracing patterns on your skin, never quite where you needed him, and Minho’s lips at your ear, murmuring things you could barely process through the haze of want.

“You’re doing so well,” Minho said quietly. “Just a little longer.”

“How much longer?” It came out breathless, desperate.

Changbin looked up at you, eyes glittering in the dim light of the apartment. Minho’s laugh was a soft exhale against your neck.

“We haven’t even gotten started,” Minho said.

Changbin’s mouth moved with devastating patience. Each kiss landed softer than the last, his lips barely grazing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, then retreating just as the warmth began to bloom.

Your fingers twisted in the fabric of Minho’s pants, knuckles pressing hard against his thighs as your hips tried to lift, to chase, to find friction that wasn’t there.

Minho’s arms tightened around your waist.

“Easy,” he murmured against your ear. His voice was steady. Unrushed. The calm center of a storm you were drowning in. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Neither am I,” Changbin said from between your legs, and the vibration of his words against your skin made your stomach clench. He looked up at you through heavy-lidded eyes, lips slick and parted, and the sight alone sent a fresh wave of heat rolling through your body.

Minho’s hands shifted. One palm flattened over your stomach, holding you still, while the other slid higher. His fingers traced the underside of your breast, feather-light, circling once before his thumb brushed over your nipple.

Your back arched. A sound escaped you, half-gasp, half-moan.

“There,” Minho said, and you could hear the smile in his voice. “That’s better.”

He did it again. Slower. His thumb dragged across the peak, back and forth, while his other hand pressed you firmly against his chest. The dual sensation of being held immobile and touched with agonizing precision made your vision swim.

Changbin hadn’t moved from his spot, his breath warm and damp against the crease of your thigh, and the anticipation was its own kind of pressure, building and building with nowhere to go.

“Minho.” His name came out strangled.

“Tell me what you want.”

You swallowed. Your throat clicked dry. “Your hands. Keep them there.”

“Good.” His thumb circled again, and this time his forefinger joined it, rolling gently. “Changbin. You can keep going now.”

Changbin didn’t need to be told twice. His mouth found your inner thigh again, tongue tracing a slow line upward that made your muscles quiver. Higher this time. Closer. His hands gripped your hips, thumbs digging into the soft flesh just hard enough to anchor you.

Then his tongue flattened against you through the thin fabric of your shorts.

The noise you made was nothing you recognized. Your head fell back against Minho’s shoulder, mouth open, eyes screwed shut. Changbin’s tongue pressed again, tracing the shape of you through cotton that was already damp from want, and Minho’s fingers kept their steady rhythm on your breast.

“She’s so wet,” Changbin said, voice muffled, and the casual observation made heat flood your cheeks. “I can feel it through the fabric.”

Minho hummed against your neck. “I know. I can feel her shaking.” His hand left your breast, sliding down your stomach with deliberate slowness until his fingertips rested at the waistband of your shorts. “Should we take these off?”

“Please.” It came out broken and fragmented.

Changbin lifted his head. His lips were shiny, parted, his jaw tense with the effort of restraint. “Not yet.” He met your eyes, and there was something almost tender in his expression, undercut by the dark heat of his gaze. “I want to make this last.”

Minho’s fingers dipped beneath your waistband. Just an inch. Just enough that you could feel the warmth of his hand against your lower belly. “He’s right. You waited hours for us. The least we can do is take our time.”

Your laugh was half-sob. “You keep saying that.”

“Because it’s true.” Minho’s teeth grazed your earlobe. “Now stop talking. Focus on how you feel, kitten.”

Changbin’s mouth returned to you. This time he didn’t tease. His tongue pressed flat against the damp cotton, tracing the shape of your clit through the fabric with a precision that made your hips jerk. Minho’s arm locked across your stomach, holding you in place, and his other hand slid fully beneath your shorts.

His fingers found your clit immediately, no hesitation, like he’d mapped your body long before tonight. He circled once, twice, feather-light, and the combined sensation of his fingers and Changbin’s tongue, separated by nothing but the wet cotton, made something tighten low in your belly.

“Oh!” The word slipped out before you could stop it.

“Good?” Minho asked, lips brushing your temple.

You couldn’t form words. Your hands found Changbin’s hair, fingers threading through the dark strands and gripping, not pulling, just holding. He made a sound against you, something between a groan and a sigh, and the vibration traveled through the fabric, through your clit, through every nerve ending that had been left wanting for weeks.

Minho’s finger traced slow circles. Counter-clockwise. Then clockwise. Then he pressed, just slightly, and your vision whited out for half a second.

“Look at you,” Minho murmured. “So responsive. How long has it been since we’ve touched you like this?”

“Weeks.” The word was barely audible.

Changbin lifted his head, mouth slick, eyes dark. “Weeks?” He looked at Minho over the curve of your hip. “We’ve been neglecting her.”

“We have.” Minho’s finger stilled. He withdrew his hand from your shorts, and the loss of contact made you whimper. “We should make up for it.”

Changbin sat up, and the shift of his weight on the couch brought him closer, his chest brushing your knees. He looked at you with those heavy-lidded eyes, jaw tense, and then his hands found the waistband of your shorts.

“Lift your hips.”

You obeyed without thinking. The fabric slid down your thighs, over your knees, dropped to the floor. Changbin’s gaze followed the motion, and when his eyes returned to the newly exposed skin between your legs, the sound he made was almost reverent.

Minho’s hands found your breasts again. Both of them this time, palms cupping the weight, thumbs stroking slow circles over your nipples. He rolled them gently, pinched just hard enough to make you gasp, then soothed the sting with the flat of his palm.

“You’re beautiful,” he said against your ear. “Both of you. Like this.”

Changbin lowered himself back down. His shoulders settled between your thighs, his breath warm against your bare skin now, nothing between his mouth and your body except air and want. He didn’t move right away. Just looked. Let you feel the anticipation, the ache, the maddening emptiness where his mouth should be.

“Changbin.” His name was a plea.

His eyes flicked up to yours. “Yeah?”

“Stop making me wait.”

His smile was slow. Knowing. “You waited weeks. What’s a few more seconds?”

Minho pinched your nipples again, harder this time, and the sharp spike of sensation made your hips buck. Changbin’s hands pressed them back down, pinning you to the couch, and then his mouth descended.

His tongue traced a long, slow line from your entrance to your clit, and the wet heat of it made your whole body shudder. Minho’s arms tightened around you, holding you steady, his fingers still working your nipples in that perfect rhythm; pressure and release, pressure and release; while Changbin’s mouth settled over your clit.

He sucked gently. Once. Twice.

Your hands flew to his hair, gripping hard enough to pull, and he groaned against you. The vibration rippled through your center, and you felt yourself clench around nothing, aching for more, for him, for anything.

“There.” Minho’s voice had gone rougher, the calm cracking just slightly. “Right there. Don’t stop, baby.”

Changbin’s tongue circled your clit. Slow at first, then faster, matching the rhythm Minho’s thumbs were tracing on your nipples. The synchronization was deliberate, had to be, and the dual sensation built something in your core that felt like a wave gathering height before the break.

Your breathing went ragged. Your thighs trembled against Changbin’s shoulders. The coil in your belly wound tighter, tighter, every nerve in your body narrowing to the heat of Changbin’s mouth and the steady pressure of Minho’s hands.

“I’m—” The word caught in your throat.

Changbin stopped.

He lifted his mouth from your clit, and the sudden absence of heat was so jarring that you nearly cried out. Your hips bucked, seeking, and his hands held you down with gentle firmness.

“Not yet,” Minho said, and his voice was steady again, the calm reasserting itself. “You remember what we said.”

“Every time.” Changbin’s voice was wrecked, his lips glistening, his eyes dark with want that mirrored your own. He was breathing hard, and the sight of him; composed Changbin, patient Changbin; looking just as wrecked as you felt made something twist in your chest.

Minho’s hands left your breasts. One slid down your stomach, past your navel, and came to rest just above where you wanted him most. His fingers traced the crease of your thigh, feather-light, and your hips twitched toward his hand without permission.

“Look at her,” Minho said quietly. “She’s aching.”

“I can see.” Changbin pressed a gentle kiss to your hip, and the softness of it contrasted so sharply with the heat still pulsing between your legs that you didn’t know whether to laugh or sob. “Do you want more?”

“Yes.” The word was immediate.

“Then ask.” Minho’s finger drew a slow circle on your inner thigh, never quite touching where you needed him. “Ask nicely.”

You swallowed. Your throat was dry, your voice wrecked, but the words came anyway. “Please. I want your mouth again. Both of you. Please don’t stop this time.”

Changbin looked at Minho over the plane of your stomach. Some silent communication passed between them, something you couldn’t read, and then Changbin lowered his head with a soft exhale, his mouth finding your clit again without preamble.

Minho’s hand slid beneath you. His finger parted your folds, finding your entrance but not pressing in, just resting there, a promise of pressure you weren’t allowed to have yet. His other hand returned to your breast, thumb circling your nipple in time with Changbin’s tongue.

“Good girl,” Minho murmured. “Now let go. Just for a moment. Then we stop again.”

You wanted to protest. Wanted to tell them it was too much, too slow, too deliberate. But Changbin’s tongue was tracing patterns on your clit that made thinking impossible, and Minho’s finger pressed just barely, just the tip, and the combination was enough to send you spiraling toward the edge.

Your thighs clamped around Changbin’s head. Your back arched, pressing into Minho’s chest. The sound that came from your throat was something between a moan and a sob, and you could feel the climax building, building—Changbin stopped.

Minho’s hand withdrew.

The stillness crashed over you like cold water. Your hips bucked against nothing, your clit throbbing, your whole body trembling with the ache of denial. A whimper slipped out, embarrassing and desperate, and Minho pressed a kiss to your temple.

“Breathe,” he said softly. “We’re not done yet.”

Changbin rested his cheek against your thigh, his breath coming in uneven pants. His eyes were closed, his jaw tight, the muscles in his shoulders corded with restraint. When he spoke, his voice was barely audible.

“How much longer?”

Minho’s laugh was quiet. “We haven't even gotten started.”

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