hi! I’d like to say your writing is amazing! I’m almost addicted lmfao, i keep rereading your fics. Specifically your sub!skz members x dom!reader.
Could i request a sub!minho? Maybe it’s like reader’s been busy at work, and minho has been sending some intimate messages. Idk, smth with bratty-to-begging minho? Pls do ignore if u dont wanna write this ofc!
Have a good day :]
CINEMA [NSFW]
Summary: Han always calls you and Minho DINKs - double income, no kids. You beg to argue that the cats and the rest of the members (Han included) are your children at this point, but you digress. It doesn't matter either way, because you love your job, and no amount of begging from Minho can make you quit. Some…explicit messages might be enough to get you to come home early, though, and remind Minho of his place.
Warnings: sub!brat!minho, dom!reader, swearing, brat taming (reader), edging, dacryphilia, pillow humping (minho), oral (minho!receiving)
w.c.: 5.0K
– – –
First of a few requests out! I adore bratty to begging Minho, actually. One of my favorite themes with sub!Minho, so this was very fun for me to write :) Love to put a bratty boy in his place, too. This was a delight, thank you for your request!! <3
This morning had been…rough, to say the least.
It’s very rare for you and your boyfriend, Minho, to have the same days off. He’s an idol, and you’re climbing the ladder at your company, which meant long hours and overtime more often than you’d like. No amount of insistence (and harassment) from Minho could get you to quit. You know he could support you, and you know he wouldn’t mind, but you like that independence. Plus, what would you do all day, if you quit your job? You’re pretty sure you’d get pretty sick of twiddling your thumbs and cleaning all the time, and so you continue to go to work.
The two of you had spent the night together, a rare night off for him in the throes of the new comeback, but you had warned him when he came over that you had work in the morning. He had pouted dramatically, tried three separate times to turn off your alarms on your phone without you noticing, and had only given up when your exasperated sighs stopped being playful and started being real.
Of course, he had somehow immediately forgotten about this when he woke up to you shifting out of bed this morning. Your alarm wasn’t loud, but your warmth was immediately missed, and he didn’t even really let you get out of bed at all. As you got halfway to standing, he pounced, dragging you back into bed with him.
“Min, what are you-”
“Don’ go,” he murmurs, face squished right between you shoulder blades, voice muffled by your skin, “You’re warm, so you stay.”
His words are a bit slurred, morning voice like gravel in his throat, and it makes you consider actually staying for a moment. He had a full day off today (courtesy of Chan, bless him), but you had to work. You, of course, planned to request a half day and come home early, but he didn’t need to know that.
“Min.”
You wiggle in his hold, but he just pulls you in tighter, grumbling behind you. You snort, rolling your eyes.
“Min. Minnie. Minho, c’mon.”
Even in his groggy state, he’s got some muscle over you, and resisting is starting to feel futile.
“Brat.” You huff, using all of your strength to pry yourself free.
You make sure to readjust the blanket so he’s fully covered, and wow - he’s really pulling out all the stops today. He’s giving you his biggest puppy dog eyes, and very clearly faking a shiver to make you feel guilty. His bottom lip is jutted out, and he’s huffing and puffing.
“Can’t believe big bad Minho is throwing a temper tantrum,” you say, voice low and teasing, “I’ll be home before you know it, jagi.”
You reach over to ruffle his hair and you’re pretty sure if he could purr, he would’ve. He leans into your brief touch, making a discontent sound when you pull away.
“Go back to bed. I’ll be home later, okay? Text me if there’s an emergency.”
You’re not quite sure what he tries to say back, but it sounds vaguely like “fuck you” and “I love you” all at once. You can’t help the grin that overtakes your face, leaning over to press a chaste kiss to the top of his head.
“I love you, too.”
– – –
You make it maybe a couple of hours into work before your phone buzzes on your desk. You glance at it, but keep working. You’re on a roll with this report, and the sooner you’re done, the sooner you get to be home with Minho. So whoever it is will just have to wait.
…Is what you would have said, if it didn’t buzz not once, not twice, but three more times in the next ten minutes. You stop typing, grabbing at the cursed thing to make it shut up. When you see who it is, you realize you really should’ve known it would be him, especially after the attitude he gave you this morning.
You consider muting your phone now, but you do feel a bit bad shutting him out. What if it was actually an emergency, and he needed you? Well. The chances were very, very slim, but you leave your phone on vibrate, anyways. You suppose your surprise early return later will make up for the few more hours he’ll have to live without you.
You make it a couple more hours before your phone is buzzing again, just as insistent as before. You’ve got maybe three more things to finish up at this point, and your boss approved your half day, so you’re set to be home in maybe an hour or two. And of course, Minho’s sixth sense is probably tingling, and he can somehow sense that you’re getting antsy here, ready to be done and be home with him. You swear he can read your mind sometimes - he claims you’re just “easy to read”, but when you’re all the way at work (or when he’s across the globe) he always somehow knows exactly what’s plaguing your thoughts.
So you flip your phone open, expecting another bratty text about how you’re being so cruel by leaving him home all alone and oh. You’re greeted with something far, far better. Or worse, in terms of getting your work done.
The first image is just a tease, him with his shirt rolled up past his chest and his sleep pants pulled low. There’s the hint of his happy trail peeking out, and he’s got one hand under the waistband, pressed to his cock. He’s splayed across the bed still - your bed - and the smirk he’s giving the camera lets you know that he knows exactly what he’s doing.
The second photo is just as teasing. He’s in his boxers now, sleep pants tossed somewhere out of frame, same hand cupping his erection through the flimsy fabric. It’s stretched tight around his cock, and there’s a little wet patch where he’s clearly leaking. He has the pointer and ring fingers of his free hand in his mouth, tongue teasingly peeking out between the two. His eyes are lidded now, and the light flush to his ears gives away just how aroused he is.
Your fingers itch to type out a response, to remind him that you’ll be home later and that he should be good, but you freeze when you realize that’s exactly what he wants you to do. He wants you to be mad, to throw a fit that he’s touching himself without you. Texting back will only add fuel to the fire. So instead, you don’t even deign him with a response. You simply go back to work, leaving him on read, because all attention is good attention for a brat like him. There’s nothing worse to him when he’s like this than being ignored.
You make it maybe 30 minutes before he’s texting again, this time a series of images. You don’t even look this time. You’ve barely got anything left to do on this report, and your brat of a boyfriend isn’t going to distract you. You know when you show up early today, early afternoon rather than your usual 6 o’clock, he’s going to think he’s won. You press your thighs together at the thought of what you’re going to do to him when you do get home.
Just as you’re packing up, maybe 20 minutes after his last text, your phone buzzes one final time. You can’t help but check, even though you know you shouldn’t.
A video? Now? If you actually had to work, it wouldn’t make sense for him to be sending a video. You can check a text, but when would you have time to watch a video? Checking the clock, you realize that right now would normally be right when your lunch break was starting. Ah. As always, Minho is steps ahead of you, it seems.
You’ve never made the walk to your car faster, almost a jog from how fast you’re walking. You pass one of your coworkers, who gives you an odd look, but right now, you couldn’t care less. Not when there’s a Minho at home, waiting to be put in his place like he deserves.
You slide into the driver’s seat of your car and pull up the texts you’ve missed so far. Photos of Minho getting himself off in various positions on your bed have you clenching involuntarily, but it’s the video that peaks your interest the most. The preview is a blur, so there’s no hint as to what he’s doing. You click the volume up, looking out the window to make sure the parking garage is still empty around you.
It starts with Minho fumbling with the camera, struggling to prop it up against the headboard. When he does come into the frame for a moment, you see that he’s fully nude now, cock coated in what seems to be a mix of his precum and lube. The phone falls again, and he whines, the sound high and drawn out. Shit, he doesn’t usually start whimpering like that until his third orgasm. You wonder briefly how many times he’s made himself cum.
“C-can’t-fuck! Can’t get this god damn phone to stay up,” he pants out as he comes back into frame, phone seemingly finally steady, “But I knew-hngh-you’d want to see me, right? You want to see me make a mess all over your bed?”
There he is, in all his glory, and you realize that he’s got your pillow pressed between his legs, cock leaking hot and heavy onto it. His hips are grinding down into it like he can’t help it, and when his tip catches the pillowcase, his eyes roll into the back of his head, an obscene sound falling out of his mouth. It’s pornographic, watching him hump your pillow like a dog, eyes glossy and face flushed red.
“Respond, damn it!” He whines, eyes teary and hips grinding down even harder.
“Don’t you want me? You should just-ha-quit that stupid job ‘nd come home ‘nd-ahn! C-come home ‘n fuck me-fuck me!”
His hands reach down to grip at the pillow, pulling it up to give himself even more friction. He really looks pathetic now, back arching and wanton moans echoing throughout the room. His cock is so red it looks like it hurts, but he doesn’t stop. It almost seems like he can’t stop, even as a tear rolls down his cheek.
“D-do you want me to beg? Fine,” he snarls, still trying to sound in control, “I can beg. Come home, jagi. I need you, need you so fucking-hngh-shoooo fucking bad, need you. Your hands, your touch, your mouth - need it on me now.”
There’s a pause, as his hips cant, twitching uncontrollably. The pace is uneven now, and you can tell he’s nearing his edge from how tight he’s gripping the pillow, chest glistening with sweat now.
He wails as he comes undone, voice bouncing off the walls as he sprays white all over your pillow, grip on the pillow slipping as he collapses forward. He barely catches himself, and his forehead still ends up pressed into the sheets in front of him, giving you a perfect view of his back arching, muscles rippling as he comes.
“Please, please, please.”
It’s so quiet you almost don’t catch it, but it’s there - he’s saying “please” like a prayer, breathy and fucked out. It’s so out of character that you fumble to rewind the video, to make sure you’re not hearing things. Sure enough, he’s actually begging, real pleas falling out of his mouth as he comes down from his high. You watch the video through - watch him tremble through the aftershock, watch his glassy eyes come up to look right into the camera, watch his hand reach out to press the stop button. The final seconds are a blur, but you hear the way he lets out a quiet, wet “fuck”, a little laugh escaping him like he can’t believe he just did that. That’s how the video ends, and it leaves you reeling.
The drive home is the longest it’s ever been. Every red light is out to get you, and every time someone takes just too long at a stop sign you might squeeze the steering wheel so hard it comes off. All you can see and hear right now is Minho in that god forsaken video, body arching and bending for you.
When you finally, finally pull into your complex’s parking garage, you’re overjoyed. You didn’t respond to him - didn’t have to, you know he has your location. You know he watched you speed home at a record (probably illegal) pace, and you hope he’s ready for you when you get in there. You’re certain that he’s going to be back on his bratty behavior by the time you’re back, the rush of his high having settled into embarrassment and shame. You can’t wait to break him all over again.
The apartment is silent when you slip in, making sure to drop your keys into the bowl by the door high enough up that the sound echoes. There’s shuffling down the hall where your bedroom is, but that’s all you hear.
You don’t say a word as you stalk towards the bedroom, padding softly down the hallway. The door is creaked open just barely, casting a thin line of light across the hall. As you move, you watch a shadow cut through the line, then total silence, minus your own breathing and the sound of your socked feet against the floor.
You peek through the slit of the door, and the sight takes your breath away.
Minho’s sitting on the edge of the bed, angled away from you. From where you are, you can see how he has one hand around his cock, lazily pumping it. Your desecrated pillow is still right in the middle of the bed, and his head falls back as his fingers squeeze just a little bit at the tip of his cock. His eyes are pressed shut, and his whole face scrunches with pleasure.
You stay and watch for a little longer, bottom lip caught between your teeth as he pleasures himself. He seems lost in it, body giving in to his base instincts as he chases pleasure.
Just as he’s about to reach another peak right in front of you he stops himself before you can bust in and stop him yourself. He hisses, body bending in on itself as his hips buck uselessly into the air, seeking pleasure.
“Fuck, not yet.” He mutters to himself, eyebrows furrowed.
“Not without-”
“Without me?” you call, pressing into the room.
His head snaps up, caught in the act, and you watch as his face tries to fall back into the confident facade he usually wears.
“You’re here,” he says, voice wobbly, “Just in time.”
His hand goes to reach for his twitching cock again, but you’re faster, smacking his hand away and squeezing right at the base of his cock yourself. A choked sound claws its way out of his throat before he can stop it, and his ears turn bright red.
“Now you’re trying to be good, huh? Waiting for me to come like you didn’t mess my pillow up earlier.”
Your hand is coated in a sticky mix of his come, precum, and lube, and you start to slowly jerk him off while you talk to him, revelling in the way he tries to glare at you through his bangs. His body betrays just how good this feels, so you let him pretend to be mad for a little longer.
“Dirty boy,” you say with a tsk, “Dirty, dirty boy. What do dirty boys get, I wonder?”
“Whatever they want,” he says through clenched teeth, fire in his eyes and venom in his mouth, “Got you to come-hah-home, didn’t I?”
“Well someone had to remind you of your place,” you responded, picking up the pace of your hand, “Or else you’d keep being a desperate little brat. Can’t have that, can we?”
He opens his mouth to retort, and as he does, you spit down, letting the glob dangle from your mouth until it lands square on his tip. He squeaks, eyes glossy and entranced, watching as it slowly lands on his cock. Your thumb swipes up to add it to the obscene mix of liquids you’re using as lube, and he groans, low and in his chest. You just grin at him, raising an eyebrow in a challenge. He glares, but keeps his mouth shut, lips pressed in a thin line.
You stroke him like this until you feel him getting close, and just as his eyelids start to flutter and his hips start to lift up off the bed, you let go. You use his chest to wipe the mess off your fingers, leaving a slick trail across it, and step back. He whines like he can’t help himself, and you just laugh, the kind of laugh that tells him he’s in for a long night.
After aaaaall that, you really thought I would give you what you want? Stupid boy.” You flick his forehead, moving to shift your own clothes off.
“‘m not stupid,” he says, though the way his cock dribbles more precum at your tone is very telling, “I don’t need you to give me anything. I can take what I want.”
He reaches for your now naked form, and you press the palms of your hands to his chest, shoving him back on the bed. He lands with an oomph, hands scrambling to help stabilize himself, but you don’t let him, sliding to straddle his thighs with practice ease. Before another quip can fall out of his mouth, you surge forward, capturing his lips in a kiss. The kiss is anything but nice, both of you clashing for dominance over the other. His fingers come to tangle in the hairs at the back of your neck, tugging you impossibly closer. You moan into his mouth and he grins into the kiss, like he’s somehow won. His cocky behavior doesn’t last long, not when one of your hands trails up to hold his neck, fingers encasing it like you own him (because you do). You don’t squeeze, but you don’t need to - his breath hitches, and the hand in your hair falls to your shoulders, gripping there for dear life. It’s the gentle kind of dominance that has his mind reeling, the kind that makes his whole body give in, even when his mind isn’t ready to.
When you pull away, he whimpers, a little trill in the back of his throat, and it has him flushing, eyes avoiding your knowing gaze. His hands fall from your shoulders, balling into fists at his side so he doesn’t lash out at you for making him bend so easily.
“It’s so fun when you fight, darling, but it’s even better when you give in,” you say, hand on his throat squeezing ever so slightly, “Don’t you think?”
“As if I’d ever give in to y-ohhh!”
Your hips slide forward just enough to grind your arousal against his, deep and needy. You only circle your hips once, enough to cut off his backtalk, and then settle down, weight now pressing right where he needs you the most.
His hands come to grasp at the fat of your hips, hips bucking and hands pressing you down to give himself more friction where he needs it. He moans dramatically as he does, head falling back, eyes peeking out from under heavy eyelids to catch your reaction. You let him keep playing his little game, amused at his bratty antics, and he takes advantage of your willingness. Soon, he’s panting beneath you, dirty talking you like he was the one in charge (funny, considering the fact that he was the one flushed and desperate below you).
“Yeeaah, jus’ like that, jagi,” he slurs, pleasure clouding his brain, “Makin’ me feel sho good, keep doin’ that, feels goooood, jagi. So-hah-perfect. P-perfect for me.”
When he starts babbling again, clammy hands slipping in their grip on your hips, you pull away again. He tries harder this time to stop you, hands pawing at your sides and trying to drag you back down, but he’s so overtaken by his own arousal that he’s not strong enough to fight your will. You move to sit next to him, propping yourself up against the headboard, right around where he placed his phone when he sent you that obscene video.
“I really liked the show you put on for me earlier, you know…” you start, trailing off.
“Y-yeah, it was. Hah, it was quite the show, wasn’t it?” He’s got his cocky grin plastered back on his face, but it’s faltering now, unfocused eyes giving him away.
“Mhm. So much so that I want an encore.”
“An…encore?” He sounds surprised, controlled tone slipping for a moment.
“Yeah, an encore,” you say, motioning to the pillow in front of you, “You’re wet enough, aren’t you, jagi? Can you be good, give me another show?”
He looks like he’s thinking about fighting you about this, but admitting that he was too impatient and needed your touch on him now would be giving in to your whims, too. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place, and the glint in your eyes told him that you knew exactly what you were doing. The look in your eyes screamed “checkmate”, and he gritted his teeth, clearly unhappy with the predicament you’ve put him in.
But if he had to give in, he would give in to the lesser of two evils. Humping a pillow in front of you was pathetic, demeaning even, but it was better than admitting to you that he wanted your touch, wanted you to do what you wanted to him. Humping the pillow gave him more control, so he settles his face into a smirk, mouth opening before he can think about it too much.
“Fine, I can give you an encore,” he says, shaky limbs moving to straddle the pillow again, “Keep your eyes on me, okay? I run this show.”
“Mhm, sure you do, jagi.” You say, eyes lidded and mouth curled into a teasing simper, but you let him do his thing.
His hands run down his body sensually and slow, starting at his shoulders and trailing down to his thighs. He makes sure to exaggerate every sound he makes, letting out a particularly loud gasp when his finger catches his nipple on its path down his body. He revels in the way your body stiffens a bit, unable to resist reacting to his little sounds.
His hands drift even lower, to the pillow, and shift it so it sits just right below him, red cock already drooling on the pillowcase. He tries to start slow, but you’ve been keeping him on the edge for so long he just can’t help but grind down fast and deep, eyes fluttering shut when the friction starts to be juuust right. The exaggerated moans become real moans as his head falls forward, mouth forming an ‘o’ when his shaky legs can’t hold him anymore and he’s forced to grind his hips in circles for friction.
You’re not even sure he’s aware of the tears as they start to stream down his cheeks, broken sobs falling out of his mouth when it’s just not enough, not like this. He’s too weak now to buck the way he needs, and the friction is so very close to feeling good, so close that it almost hurts. He wants to topple over the edge, prove that he’s the one who’s getting what he wants right now, but it’s like his body betrays him. He can’t seem to come like this, body suspended right on that edge but never tipping over. His body falls forward now, tummy pressing flat into the pillow, and he truly starts humping it like a desperate dog.
Whines of your name and “please” tumble out of his mouth, but you don’t help him. Not yet. This is his true punishment for his bratty behavior, because you’re giving him the attention he craved, sure, but not what he actually needs.
Arousal pools in your belly, and you only last a few long minutes before you crack, shifting from your position against the headboard. He looks up, eyes glassy, and you bring your hand to cradle his face, angling him so that he’s looking up at you. Even now, his hips don’t stop, despite it being increasingly clear that he can’t come like this.
“Ready to be good for me now?”
It’s a simple question, but when he goes to answer it, you shove a few of your fingers into his open mouth, chuckling as he chokes around them a bit. He tries to talk through your fingers, but it all comes out muffled and garbled, making frustrated tears peel down his face. You can see what he needs in his eyes, but you want him to say it, so you pull your fingers out of his mouth long enough for him to respond.
“Yes, yes, ‘m ready, ‘m ready for you!”
“Hmm, I don’t know…” you begin, hand not slick with his spit coming to tap at your chin, “I haven’t heard an apology yet for your bratty behavior earlier.”
“‘m sorry!” he wails, hips twitching and shaking as his pace becomes reckless and uneven, “‘m so-hic-sorry, jagi, ‘m sorry! Sorry for being a brat, I’ll be good now. Be soooo fuckin’ good for you, so good!”
“My perfect boy,” you coo, reaching to flip him on his back, “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
He shakes his head a violent no as you reposition yourself so that your mouth is just a breath away from his cock. Only when he chokes out a frantic “please” do you give in and take him down your throat, humming around his length when he lets out a scream at the warm, wet heat of your mouth. It’s everything he’s been missing and too much, all at once.
He’s not even sure what he’s babbling anymore, and you’re not quite sure either. It’s all nonsense with the occasional cry of your name mixed in, teeth gnawing so hard at his bottom lip that it bleeds a little.
And when he starts begging? Well, you’re not even sure what he’s begging for anymore, to stop or to cum. It’s so pathetic that it has you taking him even deeper, one hand coming to fondle his balls.
You pull off only for a moment, but it’s enough for his hands to find your hair and try and push you back down, more tears bubbling up.
“Come whenever.”
It’s the only warning he gets before you’re diving back down, and he can’t help himself. His hands don’t leave your hair, but they’re not forcing you down or guiding your pace. They just grip tight into your hair, like he’s trying to ground himself so he doesn’t cum too last.
But he’s unbearably close, babbles and cries changing into uncontrollable gasps and wails of your name. He’s writhing underneath you, and you’re forced to bring your hands up to his hips to pin him down to the bed. He tries to thrash under your hold, but it’s no use - he can’t escape the encompassing pleasure of your mouth. You left him nowhere to run or hide.
“Come, ohmygod, gonna-fuck fuck fuck! Coming coming. ‘m coming!”
He twitches in your grasp, and his release floods your mouth, salty and thick. His mouth falls open into a silent scream, the only sounds managing to slip through choked down or unable to come out. You keep your mouth on his until you can tell the overstimulation is starting to hurt, his hands shakily trying to pull you off his softening cock.
You do so with a pop, making a show out of swallowing all of his come. He laughs like you’re unbelievable, arm coming to cover his face. He’s flushed all the way down the chest, splotches of red even stretching down his tummy a bit. He has the decency to look embarrassed now, after he’s already come down your throat. You laugh, reaching to pull the arm off his face.
He’s pouting, bottom lip caught between his teeth again as he looks anywhere but your face.
“Jagi. Minho.”
No response. His arms come to cross across his chest, and you roll your eyes fondly.
“Lee Minho. C’mon. Look at me. Please?”
The “please” gets him to spare you the tiniest of glances, but it’s all you get. You sigh, moving to get off the bed.
“C’mon, jagi. Shower with me. Pretty please? The shower feels better with you in it…”
He groans, dragging his hands down his face, but he rolls off the bed, landing on the floor with a thunk. You snort this time, amused at his antics, but not amused by the idea of his sticky cock staining your nice carpet.
“Lee Minho get your sorry ass up. I want to shower, and I know you do too.”
“Hnnnngh…”
You sigh, coming to lay down next to him on the floor.
“Fine. We can just both lay here forever.”
He rolls over into your arms, grumbling, but settles into your heat anyways. So now you’re two grown adults, lying on your bedroom floor, sticky and smelling of sweat and sex.
And damn it, was there no place you’d rather be.
“Love you, jagi.” You murmur.
“Love you too.” He mumbles.
And if you fall asleep right there on the floor, well, no one’s there to judge you for it. You’ll regret it in the morning, but for now, it’s just the two of you, in the warm glow of the lamplight, lying on the floor like idiots.
But you’re idiots in love, so who’s to care.
I hope your enjoyed! Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated ♡
