A homage to Mingyu's fangs (aka my obsession)- a drabble
gets slightly suggestive at the end btw
edit: i keep coming back here and finding more mistakes, my bad. all good now though, i think. also, i wrote this right after listening to the magnus archives so, if you happen to know what that is, i encourage you to read this in jon's voice
Ever since dating mingyu, you've started to develop a little habit.
It's harmless, though, from an outsider's perspective, it would perhaps be considered a bit odd. Freaky, even.
See, you have a bit of a hyperfixation with him. No one would blame you, of course, I mean, look at him. Who wouldn't be hyperfixated on all of that? But, there's one small thing about him, one particular thing that you've been obsessed with since even before you started dating.
His fangs.
Those two, cute little teeth with their slightly sharp, pointed ends have a chokehold on you. You don't know why. Perhaps it just makes his smile that much cuter; whenever he giggles or grins wide, those two little teeth are like extra treats, a cherry on top of his wonderful smile.
Anyway, you've developed a habit: you like pressing the pad of your thumbs onto their sharp ends.
Usually, you'd do it when you happen to be standing higher than he is—which is rare, considering he's taller than 80% of the population, including you— like if you happen to be standing on a platform, or he's sitting on a chair and you stand over him.
When you first did this—around a month after dating and you had let your intrusive thoughts win— you were met with confused participation.
Mingyu had been whining about something, pressing his face against your stomach, arms wrapping around your waist like snakes. You had been fondly exasperated and overcome with a sudden cuteness aggression that you can't help but cup his cheeks, tilt his head back and just- squish his cheeks.
But then he whined even more, revealing those cute fangs, and you simply slipped your thumbs between his teeth and pressed against them, making him unable to close his mouth properly.
His whining stopped and he only blinked up at you in confusion, eyes wide and so puppy-like that you can't help but bite your lip, or else you'd let out an inhumane squeal.
"Huh?" He mumbled, mouth still parted, arms still tight around your waist.
You pressed slightly harder, forcing him to widen his mouth even more, and you proceeded to shake his head around simply because you can't help it.
He only ever whined louder, and that's that.
So that's the start of your odd habit. Whenever Mingyu's head happens to be somewhere lower than yours, you'd cup his cheek, tilt his head back to look up at you and slip your thumbs past his lips, pressing them against his fangs.
He had grown used to it by this point, in fact, he seems to like it whenever you do this. Sometimes he'd close his teeth, nibbling at your thumbs playfully. Sometimes he'd simply stare up at you, waiting for you to release him, wide brown eyes almost sparkling. And he knows exactly what he's doing, because you had never been able stop yourself from kissing all over his face whenever he looks at you like that.
Sometimes, though, when he's feeling particularly needy, he'd stare at you through his lashes and gently press his tongue against your thumb, licking at it.
That usually leads to both of you tangled up in each other's arms. In bed. Naked.
Anyway, the fact that he likes to bite so much doesn't help your case either.
If you have a habit of grabbing his little canines— like one would when training puppies to be gentle with their teeth—then, he has a habit of biting. No, chewing, more like.
Anywhere he can reach. Your arms, your neck (his favorite spot), your stomach (second favorite), your collarbones, the soft meat of your thighs (also second favorite, jury's still out), your ears, your cheeks, even.
It's not unusual to wake up after a night of passion with bite marks littered all over your body, and mingyu takes pride in his work every single time.
He'd even take pictures sometimes. "For the memories," he'd said. Though you're pretty sure it's to add to his jerk off materials.
He'd lay you in bed, even make you pose for it. The pictures look good, you'd have to admit. There's a certain aesthetically pleasing, pinterest-like quality to the way he'd take them. More often than not, your face wouldn't even be in the shot. They would just be artistic photos of your marked neck, or the glimpse of your waistline beneath a shirt—also marked, or even a tasteful shot of your bruised thighs.
So it seems that you both have odd habits, and you're both chronic enablers for each other. A match made in heaven.
p/s: got a little sidetracked at the end ngl. but the concept of mingyu taking aesthetic, smexy pics of you hmmmm having thoughts and visions
in the meantime, check out my other works under the wormyz works tag!! (i havent made a proper masterlist yet cause im lazy :3 )
synopsis: Mingyu's been dating his company's producer for months now, and although they're happy, he realizes that something about her unlocks a part of him he didn't even know existed.
in other words: a deep dive into Mingyu's mental gymnastics as he learns that perhaps he's a switch, after all.
tags: mostly fluff, kind of kink exploration, but nothing detailed. fade to black style smut. we're currently in Mingyu's head. soft dom! reader. newly discovered sub! mingyu. mention of mingyu's ex, but don't worry, no drama here. this is soft and intimate, despite the songs. the smut really isn't detailed. I chickened out at the end, so everything else is up to your imagination.
words: 6.4k
inspo songss:
One of the Girls by The weeknd (but like, Mingyu's the one singing it to her lmao)
Worship by Ari Abdul
SLUT ME OUT by NLE Choppa
They had been dating for a few months now, though they’d known each other (read: exist in each other’s peripheries) for years already. Dating his company’s producer, Mingyu learned, comes with a bunch of added benefits that he wasn’t usually privy to. Some of those benefits include: being able to go on secret, casual dates in her studio. Being able to visit each other whenever they want, he could drop by her studio, and she could easily make her way to Seventeen’s practice rooms. Plus, all of his members know her and like her, so casual hangouts with the rest of them weren’t awkward at all (unlike some of his fleeting, failed previous relationships). In fact, Mingyu is pretty sure some of them prefer her company over his, which—rude, but relatable. He’d take her company over those twelve animals any day.
That being said, they’re happy. Thriving, one would say. Mingyu, who had been suffering from a chronic case of ‘clingy boyfriend,’ thrives under their constant, casual check-ins. She is more subtle in her affections, but Mingyu’s familiar with her particular brand of love language, and he’s far from complaining. Their sex life is great too. Although they didn’t start getting intimate until the third month of their relationship. But if you ask Mingyu, he would have been perfectly fine had she wanted to wait a little longer—he’s too far gone to complain about any lack of physical intimacy, not when she is spectacular at being vulnerable and deepening their emotional connection, which is what Mingyu usually lacks in his previous relationships.
He probably should stop comparing their relationship with his previous ones, now. But he can’t help it. She taught him a whole new way of loving, showing him that love doesn’t have to be demonstrated through grand gestures, and that he’s worth more than just his body and what he offers in a relationship. She loves him for him, and Mingyu had never had that in his life.
Now, back to what he was saying, their sex life is great. She’s still a little shy, sometimes, which Mingyu finds unbearably adorable and a turn on, and most of the time, or maybe all the time, he’s the one who takes the lead. Which he doesn’t mind. He loves giving, loves making his partners drown in pleasure until they can’t think straight. He especially loves it when she gets that faraway look in her eyes, her body pliant and melting into the mattress, and letting Mingyu have his way. He could go on all night whenever she gets like that, watching that pretty face contort into pained pleasure, fixating on the way she squirms in place, hands grasping at anything she could reach to ground herself. He loves making her relax, making her let go of that control she always subjects herself to, making her cry and moan, a creature of pleasure and lust.
He's getting distracted again.
The point is, he’s always the one taking the lead in their sex life, but lately, he’s been having thoughts.
He knows when people look at them, they’d wonder how they could even be a couple. She’s all cool nonchalance and calm eyes, but Mingyu is quite literally the opposite of that. But she grounds him in ways he never learns or knows how to. And besides, she’s not as nonchalant as she makes herself appear; if anything, she’s the one who’s more forward when it comes to showing her blatant favouritism. His members can attest to that.
For example, she had made a habit of visiting him during practice, bringing bags of takeout for all of them, a simple yet considerate gesture that never fails to make his heart clench and his eyes teary just a little. The fact that she makes the effort to get closer to his members, the people who are most precious to him, always manages to make her fall for her even more.
“Mingyu’s owner is here and she brings food!” Soonyoung loudly announces, bounding towards her and grabbing the bags from her hand before Mingyu himself could greet her.
“Please don’t call me that.” She said with a grimace, handing him a few bags but keeping one to herself, her eyes searching for his, and Mingyu is seconds away from jumping into her arms and dragging them both out of here.
Mingyu runs up to her, arms automatically coming up around her shoulders as he presses himself as close as humanely possible, resting his chin on her head as he closes his eyes and breathes her in. “My love, my baby, my saving grace. I love you and I’ve missed you. Why didn’t you come by sooner?” he pouts, nuzzling his cheeks against hers. “They were being mean to me again. You should scold them.”
She, to her credit, lets him cling as she makes her way to one of the couches, snorting at his dramatics. “Sorry, love, I ordered some pastries from that café you like, but they were taking longer than usual.” She said, patting his head and putting the bag of takeout on his lap.
Mingyu beams with the force of a thousand suns, kissing both her cheeks with the enthusiasm of a golden retriever before peering into the bag. There’s a container of rice and some kimchi stew, from the same restaurant the other boys get, but there’s a smaller, separate bag with some pudding and tart inside, his favourite. There’s even a single flower in the bag, the one he knew was taken from the vase of flowers she kept by the window in her studio.
Mingyu calmly places the bag on the floor by his feet, before turning towards her and tackling her into the couch, arms like vices around her body.
She lets out a loud cackle, a sound that Mingyu’s convinced he’ll hear once he enters heaven. And he knows he will, because he managed to make her laugh like that.
He ignores the groans from the other members; let them be, they don’t know what a healthy, loving relationship looks like.
“How come we don’t get pastries?” Seungkwan loudly claims. And she, with her arms around Mingyu’s waist and patting his back like one would to an overgrown dog, barely glances at him as she replies.
“You’re not my boyfriend.”
Mingyu’s heart roars, and he pulls back slightly to pepper kisses all over her pretty little face, heart clenching at her soft giggles. If it were up to him, he’d show her exactly what she does to him, how much he appreciates her in his life, but alas, they’re still at their workplace.
—
So anyway, their relationship is as healthy and happy as they can be, and despite their occasional misunderstandings, they’re both mature enough to settle and work through them civilly. If there’s one thing either of them shares in common, it’s that they both hate letting arguments get blown out of proportion and prefer to address them directly instead of avoiding them. Mingyu truly believes he’d found her soulmate.
Shit, he’s getting distracted again. Anyway, remember what he said about having thoughts? By thoughts, he means he wonders if, perhaps, their dynamic in bed could be explored more. Branching out, per se. Trying out new things, perchance.
Because Mingyu truly believes she has the potential to make his brain melt and, frankly speaking, dominate him in bed.
There, he said it. And he has evidence to support his claim.
Exhibit A:
This occurs often enough that Mingyu couldn’t even point out when it first happens, but he remembers when he first felt a little tingle, a little heat pooling low in his stomach when she does it.
See, Mingyu’s always been overly energetic; everyone and their mother knows this. And one of the ways he spends that energy is by going out, and she would be at the top of his list of people he invites to go out.
He had stumbled into her studio one day, fresh from practice and still running on adrenaline. He pulls her chair back from the desk, forcing her to take off her headphones to look up at him, an eyebrow raised.
She’s never annoyed with him whenever he gets like this, and his heart squeezes.
“Let’s go out.” He announces, grabbing her hands and tries to pull her up, but she only snorts.
“Later, Gyu. I have a deadline to catch up on.”
Mingyu pouts a little childishly. And sure, Mingyu gets it, knows that she has her own job and that she can’t just drop everything to spend time with him if she wants to. But both of them know that Mingyu won’t force her into anything, and that he’s being dramatic just for the sake of it, and perhaps he likes it when she indulges his antics. So what if he’s acting like a child? His girlfriend likes him to be clingy and dramatic.
“Come on,” He drags out the word, shaking her hands.
She leans back in her seat, pulling her hands out of his grasp, barely glancing at him as she pulls her chair closer to her desk. “If you're good for me and sit still for an hour, I’ll go out with you. Can you do that, Gyu?” she said.
One must understand that Mingyu is just a man and one with a high libido at that, and his lizard of a brain is good at twisting things out of context. The way she said it, so casually, her tone soft but demanding, as if she expects him to do just that—and he would—stirs something in him.
He spent that hour sitting on the couch behind her, staring at the back of her head, gnawing at his lips as his lizard mind replays her words over and over, but in a completely different context.
He wonders if she can be that demanding in bed. Ordering him to stay still as she takes her pleasure, uncaring of his needs as she uses his body however she wants. Would she be rough with it? Mean? Condescending? He shivers at the thought. Imagine if she ties him up and rides him, over and over until she’s sated, pushing him into overstimulation and forcing him to just take whatever she gives him, oh lord have mercy.
Exhibit B:
They were in her studio again, sitting on the couch with her legs on either side of his hips as she straddled his lap. Their lips locked into a deep, bordering on filthy kiss. Mingyu had one of his hands under her hoodie, running over the soft skin of her back while his other hand squeezed her thigh. She’d grown bolder when it came to making out with him, hand tangled in his hair and tugging slightly, just the way he likes it, while she drags the nails of her other hand on the back of his neck, sending shivers down his spine as he moans into the kiss.
She hums against his lips, biting on his bottom lip as she presses closer. Mingyu was seconds away from grinding up against her when they were rudely interrupted by the sound of her ringtone. She pulls away, albeit reluctantly, a string of spit connecting their lips that sends him into overdrive. He tries to chase after her, to stop her from pulling away, to capture her lips again, and they can forget about their duties and get lost in each other. He was half hard and nearly shaking with need, a simple make-out session, and he’s already wrecked.
But then she did something that changed the trajectory of his damn life and unlocked parts of him he didn’t even know existed.
She clicked her tongue and rested a hand on his throat, not choking him or anything, but holding him in place as she fishes for her phone in her pocket. Mingyu went still like a kitten with its scruffs held. His pupils are dilated, his lips swollen, and her long fingers pressing against his pulse only heightened his need. He lets out a soft whine just before she could answer, his hands tightening on her waist and eyes pleading silently.
She met his eyes with a stern stare, tightening her hand slightly. “Be good.”
Mingyu damn near went insane. He released a shuddering breath and rested his forehead against her shoulder, seeking comfort in her scent, but that only adds to the fire in his gut. He listened as she talked to the asshole on the other side, the familiar, soft rasp in her voice a balm to his bubbling need. She had dragged her hand from his throat to the back of his head, scratching his nape with her blunt nails, pulling him closer. And it’s such a tender gesture, making him feel like an utter degenerate with the images that run through his mind.
Her, riding him with a hand on his throat. Her, choking him as she works him to orgasm with her hand. Her denying him his release as she cuts off his breath. The thought alone almost made him cum.
And when the call ended, all Mingyu could do was pull her down into him, catching her lips and pouring his desperation into it, to which she responded with a breathless chuckle and went easily as he pushed her into the couch, hovering over her.
Exhibit C:
These are an amalgamation —big word there, Mingyu—of instances when they happen to be intimate, which are unfortunately rare these days as Mingyu is preparing for a comeback.
She was feeling particularly horny that night, pushing him into the bed as she crawls all over him, causing his breath to shudder in his chest as he rested his hands on her thighs. Her dark hair forms curtains on either side of their face, her cat-like eyes low and heated. “Wanna ride you, Gyu.” She murmurs, a soft whine in her voice, which Mingyu responds to with a low groan. She’d grown bolder, and he doesn’t think he can survive it.
And ride him she did, sending him shaking as he lay there and lets her have her way, until she eventually grows tired and Mingyu flips them, taking over with renewed strength, eager to show her exactly how much he loves her taking over.
Or that one time when Mingyu felt needy and dragged her into a janitor’s closet at their company, and she strokes him into completion, murmuring soft praises that sent shivers down his spine and were somehow more effective than the soft grasp of her fingers around his length.
Or how she’d recently made a habit of guiding his hands right where she wanted them—on her soft breasts, against the soft curve of her ass, against the heat between her legs. Each time, she does it without thinking, a silent demand that she simply expected him to follow, and Mingyu is more than happy to cater to her wishes; he could devote his entire life to it — to making her feel good, to servicing her however she wants him to.
—
That being said, he has no idea how to broach this topic with her. They’ve had mature, healthy conversations before, but never really about their sex life. She’s always been reserved, and though she opens up to him significantly over the course of their relationship, sex and intimacy are still something she doesn’t address head-on (apart from that first time when she tells him she’s ready to take it to the next step, of which he wasted no time pouncing on her).
—
They couldn’t spend as much time together these days. He’s too busy with his group’s comeback, and she’s preoccupied with producing for one of the younger groups. But they made a point to drop by once in a while, checking in whenever they can. It’s a good thing that she knows exactly how busy he can be, and he knows how she gets when she’s locked in on producing.
But thankfully, Comeback is approaching its end, and Mingyu will have a few days' break before he’s thrown into his solo schedules. They had their last music show performance today, and Mingyu is more than ready to drive over to her place instead of his shared apartment with Wonwoo and spend his night there, surrounded by her scent.
He had just walked off stage, glistening with sweat and fumbling with his in-ear, when a voice called out to him.
He turns and flashes a soft smile, greeting Yerin with a friendly hug.
Yerin and he had a history. They were in a relationship a couple of years ago, though it only lasted for two months. It was a mutual breakup, one that they both saw coming. Their personalities and values simply don’t match, and although they enjoy each other in bed, they barely go on dates or spend time together. If you ask him, he’d say that their relationship is more akin to fuck buddies than being an actual couple. Still, there’s no bad blood between them, and they greeted each other warmly whenever they crossed paths. Besides, she’s already secretly engaged with someone.
“Mingyu, it’s been a while!” she screeches excitedly, and he chuckles, nodding his head.
They had a brief conversation, catching up with each other, before Mingyu caught sight of his beloved girlfriend waiting at the end of the hallway. He lights up almost immediately, excusing himself and giving her another brief hug before bounding up to the love of his life, lips stretched in a bright grin. “Baby! What are you doing here? I thought you were still at the company?” he pulls her in, squeezing her soft frame against his chest. “I was just planning to go to yours and cook something up before you come home. Do you need something here? Looking for someone?”
He asked, too excited at seeing her after what felt like years —they had seen each other just yesterday, albeit briefly — that he didn’t notice her sunken mood.
She pats his back, her voice low. “Yeah, no. I wanted to pick you up. I already ordered something. Come home with me?” She looks up at him, her eyes soft, though there’s something dark in them that Mingyu hadn’t noticed before. He hesitates, wonders if he should ask, but quickly pushes the thought aside. If she wants to tell him, she will, of her own accord.
He nods. “Okay. Wait for me, I’m gonna tell my manager.”
“No need.” She cuts him abruptly, eyes somewhere behind him as she grabs his hand. “I already told him earlier. We can just go now.” She said, slipping her other hand around his neck and squeezing slightly. Mingyu shivers; it felt a lot like a warning, but her sharp eyes are directed elsewhere.
He subtly turns his head, catching sight of Yerin talking to Seungkwan.
Oh shit, right. His ex.
Mingyu had told her all about his past relationships early on when they got together. He doesn’t want any misunderstanding, especially not when he’s constantly in the public eye, and one wrong rumour could put a rift between them, though he doubts she’ll be insecure and immature enough to let a small gossip get to her. Still, he had wanted to come clean, especially about Yerin, whom he likes to put as a special case, because she’s the only ex he stayed friends with.
But she’s always so sure of herself, so independent and mature and understanding that he finds it hard to believe that she’d be…what? Jealous?
He hates how the thought sends an excited thrill down his spine.
He ruminates on this thought as she drives them back to her place. Her apartment is nowhere near as luxurious as his, but it’s definitely on the expensive end, successful producer that she is. She’s quiet throughout the ride, and she’s quiet as they eat dinner and get ready for bed.
Mingyu waits until they’re both doused in the darkness of her room, silver moonlight filtering through the curtains acting as their only source of light. He turns to her, who’s facing away from him.
“Baby,” he calls out softly, scooting closer until his bare chest is pressed against her back. He waits for her, reading her signals, and when she shows no signs of pushing him away, he carefully wraps an arm around her waist from behind. “You’ve been quiet. Wanna tell me what’s wrong?”
She was silent for a few moments, her body tense, before she let out a slow, careful breath. “It’s stupid. I’m sorry, love. I’ll feel better in the morning.”
Mingyu frowns, gently guiding her to turn around, tutting softly. “It’s not stupid if it’s eating you away like this. Come on, tell me, please?”
She looks at him, the city lights from the windows reflecting in her irises as she cups his cheek. Mingyu leans into the touch, something deep inside him —the part that worries he might have upset her — relaxing slightly.
“I was jealous.” She said, point-blank. “I saw you with your ex, and I just let my thoughts run away, I guess. I know you don’t have feelings for her anymore, it’s just,” she paused, eyes staring somewhere over his shoulder, avoiding his gaze. Mingyu waits for her to collect her thoughts, waits for her to let it all out as his hand rubs her shoulder in a soothing rhythm. “Just, the knowledge that you’ve been together, that she’d seen parts of you that I wish only I could see, the fact that you’ve been intimate, it-”
She lets out a shaky sigh, something dark in her voice that made him tense, “It pisses me off.”
The silence that followed is heavy, thick with tension. He can feel her eyes on him, gauging his reaction, and he doesn’t know what to tell her other than he’s inexplicably turned on right now.
Mingyu takes a few moments to restart his brain, swallowing thickly as he squeezes her shoulder. “First of all, I’ve never had any feelings for her. What we had was purely physical. And I don’t even see her that way anymore, the only person I have my eyes on is you. You don’t have to doubt that.” His tone is gentle, eyes searching for hers.
“I don’t doubt it, I just,” she trails off, staring at his chest. She sighs and leans closer, pressing their fronts together. “You’re right, I shouldn’t be jealous. You’re all mine right now, and that’s all that matters, huh?” she said, almost teasingly.
But oh god, he’d be lying if he said he doesn’t find the slight possessiveness in her words incredibly hot.
She’s still talking, arm draped over his waist, trailing her fingers idly on the lower part of his back, sending goosebumps up his skin. “Sorry for worrying you. And don’t worry, I’m not gonna go all toxic and ban you from being friends with her or anything.”
“Why not?” he asked before he could stop himself. She looks up at him, incredulous.
“Huh?”
Too late now, Mingyu had let that thought poison his brain, and the only cure is if she fucks his brains out like he had been wanting her to —ages ago.
He pushes her onto her back, pressing her down with his weight. “I wouldn’t mind if you were a little possessive.” He murmurs, nose pressed against hers.
“What are you talking about, Gyu?”
Mingyu swallows, trailing his nose down her cheek, breathing in her scent as he nuzzles beneath her jaw. “You could be a little toxic. Could mark me up and let everyone know that I’m yours.”
She frowns softly, clearly not knowing where he’s going with this, but curious, nonetheless.
He takes that as his cue.
“You could always control me a little, I’d let you, you know.” He whispers against her neck, his heart beating out of his chest. Her pulse flutters, and he can feel it beneath his lips, emboldening him.
“She may have already seen my body, had sex with me, but you know what any of my previous partners never experienced?” he paused, pulling away. Her eyes are dark, and despite the dim lighting, he can see the familiar desire swirling there, sending shivers down his spine. “They’d never seen me submit. Never had control in their hands, never taken the lead.” He breathes shakily, lips inches from her.
“What do you really want, Mingyu?” Her voice is still just as soft as he knows it to be, but there’s a new edge to it, a slight rasp, a demand.
“Take control.” He murmurs, barely biting back a whine. “You took care of me so well outside of the bedroom, I know you could take care of me here, too. I want you to. Need you to.”
She was quiet, thinking over his words. Her hands had come up over his shoulders, and she had shifted slightly, allowing him to settle between her legs as she lightly ran a hand through his hair. “As in, you want me on top?” she asked tentatively.
Mingyu purses his lips. “Well, yeah, but not necessarily. I mean, you could, but-” he trails off, searching for words.
“Words, baby.” She whispers encouragingly.
He snaps his eyes up at her, lights up slightly. “That. Do that, whatever that is. Tell me what to do, tell me what you need, and where to put my hands. Tell me to do whatever, and I’ll do it.”
She blinks and lets out a breathless chuckle. But her voice lowered slightly when she asked. “You want me to dominate you in bed?”
Mingyu’s cheeks colour, and he buries his face in her chest, whining softly. “Yeah.”
The silence is heavy, thick with unsaid words. Mingyu still hasn’t lifted his head off her chest, content to breathe her in as she thinks over his words. She’s still playing with his hair, so he allows himself to relax. Technically, he knows she won’t do something as ridiculous as running away screaming or anything, but it’s a relief to know that she’s okay with him voicing his needs.
“I’ve thought about it.” She murmurs, and Mingyu lifts his head abruptly, eyes wide.
She’s staring up at the ceiling, her voice faraway as if she’s lost in thought. “There are times when you would look at me, like, like I’m your god or something.” She chuckles to herself.
“It’s overwhelming in the best way. And the way you just- go with my whims, no question whatsoever,” she paused, dragging her gaze back to his. His breath hitches, gritting his teeth at the darkness swirling there.
“Did you know,” she mutters, dragging her hand down to his cheek, pressing her thumb against his bottom lip. Mingyu chokes back a whine. “-what it does to a person, having all that power in their hands?”
Mingyu forgets how to breathe, his lips parting under the soft pressure, and his hips bucked reflexively when she slips her thumb past his teeth.
Her eyes darken, and her own breath hitches, her composure slipping from his reaction. “You’ve always been so good for me,” she slips her thumb deeper, pressing down on his tongue, and Mingyu’s eyes nearly rolled to the back of his head. “I guess I should reward you, hm? Would you want that?”
Fuck.
Mingyu doesn’t even know that he’s capable of making such a pathetic sound, but he did, and he’s already panting, mouth parted from her thumb, so hard that he’s aching.
She swallows thickly, and it’s clear that she’s just affected as he is, which only serves to drive him crazier.
She takes a moment to take him in —the way he’s breathing heavily, the way his eyes are wide and glassy, his strong body limp on top of hers. Then, as if suddenly emboldened, she slowly nudges him onto his back, barely putting any strength into it, and he goes easily with arms around her waist and pulling her on top.
“Thank you for telling me, baby.” She whispers, leaning over him, and Mingyu nearly cries.
She lies on top of him, legs on either side of his hips, chest pressed against his, and for a moment, Mingyu wonders if she’ll just stop this here and cuddle him to sleep instead.
He wouldn’t mind, but his dick is about to burst right now.
She giggles suddenly, breath warm against his neck. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”
Mingyu softens visibly at that —not in his pants, but his eyes are less ‘fuck me, mommy’ and more grounded now — wrapping his arms around her waist, burying his nose in her hair.
“Sorry, it’s a lot, huh? We don’t have to do this right away.” He said softly, patting her head. “We can just go to sleep, if you want.”
She shakes her head, pulling away, hands propped on his bare chest as she looks down at him. There’s a soft flush on her cheeks. “I want this too. I told you, I’ve thought about this, too. You’re not the only one suddenly questioning their kinks.”
He chuckles breathlessly, nodding. “Okay. But if you want to tap out, just say the word.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that supposed to be my line?”
He rolls his eyes. “A dom can still get overwhelmed, you know?”
She giggles, and once again, Mingyu’s reminded of how far gone he is for this woman.
Mingyu waits for her to collect her thoughts, and he reminds himself not to get too into it just yet, not when they’re still learning. She might actually run away screaming if he suddenly gets on his knees and begs her to use his face or something like that.
“You’ll tell me if you don’t like something?” She asked, soft, tentative, her hand cupping his cheek.
Mingyu leans into her touch, nuzzling into her palm and kissing it, his eyes dark as they meet hers. “I will. I trust you.”
She shudders at that, chewing on her lower lip as she nods, determined. “Okay.”
And it’s endearing, how she’s so determined to do this for them, make it good for him. He couldn’t ruminate on that thought for long, though, because her hands are slowly travelling down his bare chest, exploratory. They’d had sex multiple times before; her hands had travelled down his body in the same way more than once, but it feels different now. Different, because her eyes are soft but dark as they follow her hands, as she traces his skin. Different because he’s slowly letting himself sink into that space, melting into the mattress, lying himself down at her altar.
She slowly leans down, pressing their lips together as she shifts her hips lower, sitting right on top of him. His hips jerked involuntarily, hissing under his breath as his hands gripped her hips. She hums lowly, grabbing his wrists as she whispers against his mouth. “Can you keep your hands above your head?”
Fuck.
Mingyu nods, slowly rising his arms above his head, right hand gripping his left wrist, muscles straining, veins bulging beneath his skin.
She pulls back slightly, lips parted as she takes him in. “No wonder you always told me to do that,” she mumbles almost to herself, “Look at you.”
Mingyu lets out a quiet groan, throwing his head back in frustration, nails digging into his forearm. “Baby, please. You’re killing me here.”
She giggles, leaving open-mouthed kisses down his neck. “Shh, you can’t rush art,” she murmurs teasingly. “Let me take my time.”
And take her time she did. She touches him everywhere except for where he needs it most. Running her lips all over his chest and torso, sucking on his nipples —which, wow, he didn’t even know they were that sensitive — and sucking marks into his tanned skin. She murmurs soft praises in between, sinking him deeper into that space of mind where everything feels floaty and good.
“You’ve always looked so good, Gyu.”
“Doing so well for me.”
“Always made me feel so good. I should return the favour, right?”
“Look so pretty with my marks.”
Each murmured praise is another thread of his control being cut. He stares up at the ceiling, eyes hazy, chest heaving, and fingers digging into the sheets as he fights to keep himself still.
Then, finally, she moves lower, sitting on his thighs. She peers up at him, tapping his stomach to get his attention.
Mingyu drags his gaze from the ceiling to her, lips swollen from how hard he’d been biting on them. “Is this okay?” she asked, tilting her head.
And really, she has no business looking all cute while ruining him. He nods and swallows when she raises an eyebrow. “Yeah. All good.” His voice cracks slightly, but she doesn’t comment on it as she nods.
She tugs at the waistband of his sweatpants, chewing on her lip nervously. “Can I?”
She could do anything she wanted, and he would’ve let her. But he doesn’t tell her that, of course. “Yeah. Go ahead.”
It takes some manoeuvring, but she eventually manages to pull off his pants and briefs in one go, both of them chuckling under their breaths when his feet get stuck for a moment.
When he’s fully naked, his erection exposed to the cold air of the room, the mood shifts again. She crawls over his legs, settling on his thighs as she licks her lips. Mingyu keeps his arms above his head, but the intensity in her eyes makes him feel strangely self-conscious. Funny, seeing as he’s an idol. He should be used to attention now, but hers is different. He feels laid bare, flayed open under the burn of a thousand suns.
He turns his head to the side, hiding his face in the crook of his arm, ears burning.
She lets out a small sound. “Why are you looking away?”
He grits his teeth, chuckling slightly, though he doesn’t open his eyes. “Just a moment.”
“Okay.” She replies softly, and Mingyu allows himself to take comfort in that.
But Mingyu should’ve known her sudden compliance meant no good. The thing about her is that, although she’s soft with him —only him, he thought smugly — she has a bit of a mean streak. It’s not obvious if you don’t pay attention, but she likes to get under people’s skin, teasing and poking to get a reaction out of them. Much like Jeonghan. And seeing as Mingyu is a chronic drama queen, she takes particular pleasure in teasing him.
Like she does now, using his momentary distraction to abruptly wrap her hand around his length, giving him a firm stroke that causes his back to arch, letting out a surprised moan as he opens his eyes.
“Fuck-” he gasped, eyes wide as he stared at her.
The look in her eyes sends shivers down his spine — it’s downright sinister, the way she grins in satisfaction at his reaction before mumbling a half assed apology. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to surprise you.”
Mingyu bites back his groan, glaring down at her, to which she only raises an eyebrow. “Should I stop?”
That made Mingyu panic, and he immediately shook his head, whining when her grip loosened around him. “No- fuck. No, don’t stop.” He mutters in one breath, nails digging into his palms where he held them above his head.
She hums, leaning down, one arm pressed beside his head, supporting her weight, while the other continues its languid, slow stroke down his length. Mingyu moans, closing his eyes as his muscles strain, finally getting the friction he needed, but it wasn’t enough. He responds immediately when he feels her familiar lips against his, tilting his head slightly as he parts his lips, groaning low in his throat as she licks into his mouth.
Her pace is steady and mind-numbingly slow, but he’s just grateful she even touches him, so he doesn’t complain. She’s still tentative, unsure, checking in occasionally, to which he could barely answer, too drunk on the slowly building heat in his stomach. She had taken the time to leave marks on his thighs, too, biting down in the meat and humming when his hips jerked in response. It seems she had taken his earlier request about marking him up seriously, because now she made it her mission to mark every inch of him, biting and sucking all while her hand moves torturously slow.
At some point, the pleasure feels too much and too little, and Mingyu lets out a long, drawn-out groan of frustration. She stops immediately, perking up from between his thighs worriedly. “Gyu? You okay?”
Mingyu groans again, staring down at her. “Baby, I love you, and this feels good, but please hurry. I can’t take it anymore.” He mutters urgently, sweat dripping down his temples. “Are you doing it on purpose? Teasing me? Do you want me to beg?” he huffs.
She only chuckles, pulling herself up as she smiles almost sheepishly. “Sorry, I thought I should take it slow.” Then she paused, tilting her head, a dark interest in her eyes, “Will you, though? Will you beg if I tell you to?”
Mingyu swallows thickly, chest heaving, and licks his lips. “Please.” He murmurs, breathless. “Just do something. Please, baby.”
Her eyes darkened with renewed interest, and what follows is a blur of heat and her maddening praises. The more reactive Mingyu is, the more he moans, gasps, and whimpers, the bolder she gets. It’s like their roles are completely reversed. Now, she’s the one who gives, and gives and gives until he can’t physically take anymore. Until his thighs shake, his body slick with sweat, until a trail of drool slips down his chin and his eyes water from overstimulation.
She seems to like that too —when he grew mindless with pleasure, when he had to grip onto the sheets to hold himself back from either bucking up into her, or pulling away. She keeps checking in, but sometimes it feels less because she actually cares, but more because she likes hearing him whine for her not to stop.
When they finish in a tangle of limbs and sweat, all Mingyu could do is slump against her, boneless as he nuzzles into her chest, as she holds him close and whispers praises and sweet nothings into his ear. They catch their breaths, and when silence settles between them, when Mingyu’s chest no longer heaves like he’s dying, and she stops checking over him worriedly, she asks.
“Was that okay?”
Mingyu chuckles, burying his face into the crook of her neck, pulling her close with his arms around her waist. “That was perfect.”
---
check out my other works under the wormyz works tag !!
tags: smooching. suggestive. no smut but you can guess where it's going. jihoon gets turned on cause the reader wears his cologne. reader's gender is unspecified but they're wearing a skirt. for access :)
-
The room is dark except for the dark blue glow of LED lights and his dim monitor. You've forgotten why you're even here in the first place. Was it to bring him a late dinner? Or was it to drag him out of his chair and take him home once and for all? Nevertheless, the opposite happens. Because now you're straddling his lap, hands buried in his short hair as his tongue invades your mouth, licking at every crevice.
Your soft moans are the only sounds in the room, you could never stay quiet for long, not even for a simple make out session. And he loves it.
Jihoon has one hand buried in your hair, tugging on it enough that it sends a pleasant sting down your scalp, guiding your head exactly as he wants it. His other hand is slipping under your skirt, long, graceful fingers leaving a trail of heat up your thigh.
You murmured his name, breathless already, and he hums in response, trailing his lips down your neck, pulling your sweater down to suck a mark on your collarbone.
How did you even get here? You don't know. You had asked him to show you the new song he's working on, and he had happily pulled you into his lap and carefully put the headphones on you. You listen, back against his broad chest, idly playing with his fingers as he rests his chin on your shoulder, his eyes half lidded as he watches your reaction.
You weren't wearing anything special, had only put the barest amount of make up on your face, if there's anything that might get him worked up so suddenly—in the studio at that, which is something that almost never happens because he's a professional—you wouldn't know it.
"Ji, why..?" You trail off once you've successfully pulled his face from your neck, your chest heaving as you look down at him.
"You're wearing my cologne," he murmurs, licking his lips, staring up at you like he's barely holding himself back.
And oh, now you remember. You had left in a rush and decided to put his cologne on because your perfume had run out. You didn't think much of it. Didn't even know he could be so affected by it.
Your face burns hotter, and you bite your lip, nuzzling under his jaw. "You like it that much?" you murmured, your voice a soft husk.
His hand tightens on your thigh, his throat bobbing as he swallows. Your heart feels as if it's beating out of your chest, a thrill spreading down your spine at the effect you have on him. Jihoon, who's always so composed and never looked flustered, is now looking at you like he doesn't quite know what to do with himself. With you.
"I like it," you added after a moment, wet lips pressed against his neck as you whispered the words into his skin. "I like smelling like you," you whispered. "I like feeling you close."
You wanted to say more, wanted to push and push and see where it takes him. But it turns out, it doesn't take that much to make him succumb to his need for you.
He lets out a strangled groan and grabs your thighs, so tight you're sure it'll leave marks. He lifts you up as he stands, walking both of you down the short distance to the sofa pushed against the back wall.
Jihoon is gentle as he lays you down, but not so much as he pushes your thighs open, causing your skirt to ride up, exposing your panties. "I'll keep you close," he all but growls, fingers digging into your inner thighs as he lowers his head. "All night."
It sounded like a threat.
-----
Anyway, that's a first for me.
My bias may be mingyu but let's be honest, is there a single carat out there who DOESN'T want a hot make out sesh with jihoon in his studio? Exactly.
wrote this at 3 am in one sitting, so excuse the cringe smut. i think I'm bad at writing it, but alas, I persist.
synopsis: Being in the idol industry for five years, Mingyu is starting to lose his sense of self and individuality. He seeks comfort in an old bar in a secluded part of Seoul, only to find more than he could ever hope for.
or: A conversation with an oddly wise bartender leads to spending the night in her bed, chasing comfort in unfamiliar arms.
Explicit themes! MDNI
tags: emotional exploration. identity crisis. sex as distraction. hooking up. smut. oral (m & f receiving), mentioned unprotected penetration (do NOT do this). lowkey angst because he's going through shit. reader is female and a bartender. reader has a mole on her cheek, similar to his. set around five years after Seventeen's debut. Mingyu's pov. no use of y/n. open-ended. mentions of alcohol. smoking. The smut comes later cause I'm more into writing the emotional stuff tbh. spoiler! they don't end up tgt.
words: 3.9k
Why is it, that we sometimes find more comfort from a stranger than the ones we hold close to us? Perhaps the lack of connection itself is a comfort. No tethers or expectations means we can be whoever we want, and we won't have to see that version of ourselves anymore, once it's all said and done.
There is a silent understanding among idols; once you sign the contract, you might as well have sold your soul to the devil.
It’s a morbid sort of cognizance that lives in the back of their minds, their fates interwoven by being cogs in the machine, willingly, placing their bodies at the feet of the higher-ups to do as they please, all in the name of relevance and love of the stage.
Trainees come and go, but those who stayed, Mingyu had always thought of them—and himself too, he admits— as broken. They all are, in some way.
Everyone joined for varying reasons at first: some love the stage, some love the music, and most simply wanted to try, but no one with a sane mind would willingly go through what they had gone through. No one with some sense of self-preservation would have stayed that long, enduring things no normal people have withstood.
Mingyu is in no way claiming that they had it so much harder than others who pursued other careers—god knows that they had so much more going on for them—but one must understand that being an idol comes with a unique set of challenges.
The diets, the micromanagement, the obsession with beauty and perfection, and the loss of one's own individuality as time went on. To be an idol is to willingly let yourself be a doll, saying the perfect words, being an ideal human being; each and every one of them, given characters that are distinct enough to satisfy the palates of their fans.
What kind of partner would you like? Do you like the black cat ones, who would glare but reluctantly hold your hand? Or perhaps you’re interested in the puppy-like ones, with their metaphorical wagging tails and sunny disposition? May I interest you in the soft, perfect gentleman ones, who would surely appeal to your mother?
Every single one of them is a doll to sell with a description on the label, each distinct and different, but they share one quality: the lack of depth.
Seventeen made a pact among themselves, at the beginning of it all, that no matter what box the company wanted to shove them in, they would make sure to crawl out of it the moment the cameras turned, that they won’t lose themselves, that they will be who they are, if not to the world, then at least to each other.
It has been almost five years since their debut, and Mingyu is losing himself.
He doesn’t notice it at first—when has this life that he loved so much started to chip away at the fabric of himself?—but by the time he notices, he can’t even tell the difference between Kim Mingyu from Seventeen, or Mingyu, just Mingyu.
He had always been a positive person, and he had always loved the attention that came with being an idol. Meeting a thousand different kinds of people, each with their own story to tell, and becoming a beacon of light to millions. And he had all but given up on living to the company’s standards, especially since he’s lucky enough that his fans seem to adore his innate clumsiness and inability to be nonchalant. He’s lucky.
So when did he start to forget himself?
Perhaps it’s the rumination of this thought that led him to where he is, to a rundown bar in the less populated part of Seoul, where celebrities rarely frequent, and people minded their own business.
Because what better way to contemplate your life than to find a dark corner of some unknown bar and drink your thoughts away? Because an unfamiliar place gives your mind something else to focus on, alcohol distorts your brain just enough, and thinking too much right now might unveil uncomfortable truths about yourself, truths that you may have already been aware of, but refuse to acknowledge.
The point is, he needed a distraction. And he curses his high alcohol tolerance now more than ever.
“Penny for your thoughts?” a female voice cuts through his mental conversation with himself. Mingyu looks up.
It’s the bartender who had been serving him for the past hour. She was casual, greeting him earlier with a knowing tilt of her head and a lazy, “How’s it going?”, but seemed to understand that he wanted to be left alone and did just that, moving to the other patrons the moment she served him his drink. But the others—of whom she made light conversation with, adding to the background noise and blending with the music playing from the speakers—had left, and Mingyu is the only one sitting on the stools by the bar.
Mingyu is wearing a beanie that covers his eyebrows and a mask pulled over his chin. If she recognizes him, she made no indication to confirm it.
He decides that just for tonight, he’s going to not worry about his image. Whatever happens tomorrow is for future him to deal with.
He shrugs. “Just, life.” He said, and internally cringes at his own answer.
But she hums in understanding, deft hands wiping whiskey glasses and barely glancing at him. Somehow, the lack of eye contact, the way her body is turned away from him, and the fact that she’s multitasking manage to make his shoulders relax, making his tongue loose.
“Heard that a lot lately,” she said, neatly arranging the dry glasses. “It’s almost winter; something about the cold must’ve made people more honest with themselves.”
Mingyu rests his chin on his hand, his other hand swirling his drink around. His eyes are trained on the side of her face. She looks to be the same age as him, if a little tired. There’s a small mole on her cheek, almost similar to where his is, and she has cheap-looking silver earrings on with multiple silver necklaces around her neck. Standard white button-up shirt, black apron, black gloves. The black, stretchy latex made her fingers look long, elegant. Mingyu feels oddly jealous.
She’s pretty. In that understated, quiet way that doesn’t beg for attention. Like streaks of sunlight parsing through leaves, only visible to those who bothered to look up.
“How so?” he asked, mostly to direct the conversation away from himself.
She shrugs, fluttering around the small space behind the bar. “It’s a melancholic season, no? The cold made people bundle up, made them stay inside. It made them quieter. And when you’re quiet, you’re bound to have a conversation with yourself.”
Mingyu can’t help but smile at that, can’t help but agree. “Are you always this philosophical?”
“You seem to be in a philosophical mood. I’m just matching your vibe.” She retorted without pause. Mingyu snorts, but does not attempt to deny her.
Mingyu traces his finger in the condensation on the side of his glass, his eyes trailing the drops of water. “Do you think you know who you are, truly?” he asked, and almost immediately regretted it. She was right. He must be in a philosophical mood tonight.
She didn’t make fun of him for the stupid question, though; in fact, she paused from preparing a drink, humming as she stared off into the distance. “Not really, no.”
Mingyu looks up at that. He expected the answer to be more confident, something like: Of course I do. No one knows me better than myself.
She continued. “Does anyone ever?”
Mingyu wants to answer, wants to argue that the only one who truly knows you is yourself.
But he can’t bring himself to say it. Because that would be hypocritical.
She finally turns to him, and though Mingyu doesn’t believe in something as childish as love at first sight, he thinks it must be similar to this.
Her eyes reflected the warm lights placed around the bar, entire constellations packed in two pools of black. He can almost see himself there.
“I think no one actually truly knows who they are, and the reason we live is to figure that out. Though we may never find the answer.”
Mingyu thinks that’s a depressing belief. To live in question, to constantly contemplate. But he didn’t say it. Instead, he asked again. “How come?”
She tilts her head. And it’s interesting, watching her parse through her thoughts. Her face barely changes in the course of their conversation, but her body does the talking. Her fingers fidget with the glasses whenever she’s thinking; they pause when she’s chasing a thought, then continue their work in confidence once she finds the answer.
“I read somewhere that humans are much like jewels.” She started, deep in thought. “The people we meet in our lives direct the light of their existence to different parts of ourselves. Sometimes, we only ever find out certain parts of ourselves after we’ve experienced something. Sometimes, we would go through something with someone and think: I would never react like this again. Only to experience something similar with someone else and react in an entirely different way, completely out of the norm.” She paused, sniffling a little.
“You know what I mean?”
Mingyu thinks he does. And he thinks he’s finding comfort in it.
“You mean, we discover different versions of ourselves with different people?” he tilts his head, lips twitching when she snaps her fingers at him.
“Exactly.” She turns to her drinks. “And it doesn’t necessarily mean that the previous version of you is any less real, or the version of you with different people is fake. Humans are never that simple. We aren’t one-dimensional beings.”
Mingyu nods in understanding, staring at his abandoned drink. “So when someone says that they’re losing themselves?”
She snaps her gloves off. “Well, isn’t that wonderful?” she glances at him with a smile. “That just means they’re free to become whoever they want.”
One topic led to another. Sometimes their conversation breaks off because she needs to serve other people, sometimes Mingyu had to snap his mask on when he notices someone staring too much. She orbited his side of the bar, but never strayed too close unless she was handing him a new drink. She never asks who he is. He never asks for her name.
It’s 3 in the morning when her shift ends. Mingyu wordlessly follows, with her invitation, as she disappears to the back of the bar, watching silently as she gathers her things and slips to the back door.
She places her bag in the back of a rundown car, but makes no move to climb in. Instead, she walks to the front and leans against the hood, shifting to the side to give him room, and pulls out a pack of cigarettes.
She handed him one and flicked on the lighter between them, motioning Mingyu to lean down to light his cigarette.
The fire burns between them, amber and golden across their skin. Mingyu’s eyes are half lidded as they stare into hers, and when she looks up, there’s a silent agreement there, a secret in the haze of smoke and flying embers.
Perhaps Mingyu’s not the only one who needed an escape tonight. Perhaps here, with a stranger, he can reinvent himself.
There’s a sliver of space between their arms as they lean against the hood of her car, smoking in silence. That space burns the longer they stay, and when their cigarette butts fall to the ground, Mingyu moves.
Closer, burning that space between them. He pressed his front against hers, slipping a leg between hers, his hands on either side of her hips.
She sighs like she’s letting go, and he lets out a breath he’d been holding for who knows how long.
When he leans down and presses their foreheads together, she closes her eyes.
“Is this okay?” he whispers, breath a mix of cigarette and whiskey. She nodded, her hands running up his arms and shoulders, before wrapping around his neck.
“Yeah.” She opens her eyes, pools of liquid black staring into his own; he could drown in them, he thinks.
The kiss they shared wasn’t intense, nor was it as heavy as the conversation that led them here. Instead, it’s the lightest he’d ever felt in months.
They giggle in the space between one kiss and the next. Her lips are soft and warm, bitter with cigarettes and sugary sweet; an intoxicating substance all on its own.
Mingyu trails his lips down her cheek, pressing against that mole, down to her soft jaw, and against her rapid pulse. She smells sweeter here, a mixture of sweat and something vaguely fruity. He listens to the shift of her breath, to the way she inhales sharply. The lower he goes, the tighter her arms wrap around him, one hand tugging at his hair.
He can’t help himself, and he doesn’t know what drives him either. But she smells so good, and she’s soft and warm against him; he kisses down the middle of her throat all the way to the space between her collarbones, and then he starts to lick all the way back up to the back of her ear, tasting sweat and skin, tasting her. She lets out a soft sound at this, a mix of a sigh and a moan. Mingyu wants to bottle it up and replay it over and over again. He may not know who he is, but he knows, in this moment, that he can be good for her. That he can make her feel good, make her melt against him. A puddle of pleasure.
He can just be a nameless stranger who makes a pretty bartender feel good. Just tonight.
Just once.
“Mine?” she asked, and Mingyu nodded, barely listening, too busy sucking marks into her pretty skin. She lets out a breathless giggle, tugging at his hair to pry him off her, and Mingyu lets out a whine at that.
“Come on. My bed’s more comfortable.”
Mingyu doesn’t need more convincing after that.
—
Mingyu was 20 when he lost his virginity. He had snuck into one of the empty rooms at a music show with a girl, and was all too eager to finally experience what he—at the time— thought was the mark of adulthood.
Sex, he then learns, is as fun as it is boring. That had been a period in his life where it’s all he does. No relationships, no connections. That phase lasted for a good year before he finally realized that no amount of sex can replace his innate need for intimacy. True intimacy. The kind where you look at someone and know what they’re thinking about, the kind with lingering touches and playful teasing. He swore off hook-ups then, started to really focus on building himself.
But as he lays her in her bed, lips connected with hers and hands slowly undoing the buttons of her shirt, he thinks perhaps this is the closest to that intimacy he craved.
She melts into the sheets as he presses down, as he pushes her shirt halfway over her shoulders and trails his lips over the exposed skin. She has more moles here, a small one on her arm, one on her collarbone, one on the soft meat of her breast. He kisses them all.
Mingyu takes his time. Taking off her clothes until she’s left in just her panties, tracing her skin with his fingers, his lips, his tongue. She’s pliant beneath him, skin as smooth as flower petals and blooming with red everywhere he sucks.
“You’re beautiful.” He says, and he means it. Here, bathed in the moonlight, bare and open for him, he thought it was the closest experience he’ll ever get to worshipping a goddess.
He sucks on one of her nipples, humming softly when her back arches, pushing into his mouth. His eyes are dark as he watches her, as he drowns himself in her pleasure.
“Come here,” she pleaded after a while, tugging at his hair until their lips are a hairsbreadth apart and wastes no time connecting them, legs wrapping around his waist and grinding up against him. Mingyu lets out a low grunt, sighing against her mouth, and wraps his hands around her hips, keeping her in place.
“Patience, baby.” He whispers and smirks when she all but whines. “Let me take my time.” He murmurs, kissing down her neck, in the valley between her breasts, down her navel, until his face is right in front of her core.
There’s a damp patch on the center of her panties that begs for his attention, and he leans down, open-mouthed, tasting her over the thin fabric. She arches her back then, thighs closing around his head, and he hums, enjoying the pressure, the way it drowns out the world.
His eyes are dark as he licks and sucks her over her panties, hungry for her sweet nectar. When she lets out a whine, a soft, frustrated plea, he groans.
“Not enough?” he asks, taunting, chuckling when she all but glared at him.
He decides to peel her panties off, then, licking his lips at her exposed cunt. Mingyu lay on his stomach between her legs, strong hands pulling her close until she’s right in front of him, legs thrown over his broad shoulders.
Mingyu can count on one hand how many times he’d eaten a girl out. And he doesn’t know if he’s particularly skilled, but he does know that he needs to taste her, needs to make her come on his tongue.
And she did. Twice. Mingyu loses himself in it, throws everything he has, doing it more for himself than for her. Each gasp, each tug of his hair, and each jerk of her hips is rewarded with a harder suck, a broad lick, a firmer nudge of his nose against her clit. She tastes heavenly, sounds like an angel, too, gasping out her needs without shame.
Mingyu groans loudly, sounding unlike himself, as he presses one large hand in the middle of her stomach to keep her hips down, keeping her right where he wants her as she comes on his tongue for the second time, thighs closing in on either side of his head.
He wants her to do it again. Needs it, but stops when he hears her soft whimper, feels the way her thighs shake around his head, and the weak tug on his hair.
He pulls away, chest heaving, half his face soaked in saliva and her essence, and his back dripping with sweat. Mingyu leans over her, eyes roaming over her form, one hand lightly massaging her thigh while the other pushes her hair off her face.
“Okay?” he murmurs, concern mixing with pride. She looks debauched—sweat dripping down her temple, her eyes glassy, and her lips swollen from biting on them in her pleasure. She nodded, albeit weakly, arms wrapping around his shoulders to pull him down on top of her, as if she needed his weight to calm her down.
“Just a moment.” She said, breathless, nuzzling into the side of his head as he drops almost all of his weight on her, kissing her cheek and neck.
“Lean against the headboard,” she says after a moment of catching her breath, nails lightly dragging down his back. Mingyu shivers and nods, pressing a chaste kiss on her lips before moving up the bed, taking the rest of his clothes off in the process.
She crawls between his legs, limbs shifting like a cat as she settles there, licking her lips before wrapping her hand around his cock.
Mingyu lets out a low hiss, hands fisting the sheets. He had been so focused on her that he barely paid any mind to his own painfully hard cock. Now that she had her long fingers around him, stroking slowly, he might just come.
Much less when she leans down, eyes trained on his, a hint of mischief in them as she gives a small kitten lick on his tip. Mingyu lets out a groan, throwing his head back as he closes his eyes, the muscles in his abdomen clenching as he focuses on not coming right then and there.
She doesn’t take her time the way he did, licking up and down his length before swallowing him as much as she could, choking around him, but refuses to pull away. Mingyu’s head bangs against the headboard as he lets out a strained whimper, gritting his teeth.
“Fuck- slow down.” He stutters, chuckling breathlessly when she only seems to take it as a challenge. She wraps her hand around what’s left of him before bobbing her head up and down, tongue tracing the vein under his cock.
Mingyu writhes in place, so wound up that the slightest tightening of her hot, wet mouth threatens to throw him over the edge. He grips onto her hair, needing something to anchor him as he presses his other hand over his own mouth, muffling the frankly embarrassing sounds leaving his mouth.
Just as he’s about to beg her to slow down again, or he might come, she stops.
She pulls off him with a wet pop, climbing over his lap with her hands on his shoulders, her voice slightly raspy as she speaks. “You’re sensitive.” She said, not a question.
“I’ve been edging myself for the past thirty minutes.” He growls playfully, hands easily finding her waist and pulling her close, burying his face in the crook of her neck as she laughs.
They leaned against each other for a moment—Mingyu with his face pressed against her neck, and she with her arms around his, holding him close. It should be weird. They don’t even know each other’s names, but they hold each other as if they’re lovers.
But it’s not, not really. Mingyu knows that she’s working hard to afford her tuition, and that she’s starting to question her own choices, and she knows that he’s starting to lose himself and his passions. In a way, they know more about each other than their own closest friends.
She moves, guiding his cock with one hand, sinking on him torturously slowly. Mingyu’s hands tightened around her, his breath catching in his throat as she sat down, taking all of him in.
Her velvety walls are impossibly hot, and so goddamn tight around him, it almost hurts. The sounds she lets out as she takes him aren’t helping his rapidly fraying control either. Soft little gasps and high-pitched moans, right beside his ear as their bodies connected in the most intimate of ways.
“Fuck.” He whimpers, dropping his forehead on her shoulder as he works to stay still, to let her adjust, even though the way her walls clenches and unclenches around him drives him near insane.
“Yeah.” She hums, sounding almost giddy, hugging him close as she moves her hips.
Mingyu went to the bar in the dead of the night with the hopes of drinking his thoughts away, and in a way, he had done that. Drowning out his thoughts with the sound of her moans, keeping himself busy by making her feel good, losing himself in the heat between their tangled bodies.
They lay in each other’s arms in the aftermath, the sun had come up an hour ago. Her head is on his arm, and he has his other arm thrown over her waist. Before she’d fallen asleep, barely fifteen minutes ago, she had whispered to his chest. She told him that she hopes he finds himself again.
And she told him that she hopes they never see each other again.
---
was that abrupt? sorry, i wrote this cause I couldn't sleep lol
check out my other works under the wormyz works tag !!
found this on my laptop. written last year. Initially written with OC's, but honestly, I had Mingyu in mind the whole time
synopsis: When circumstance pushes two lovers apart, what will it take for them to get together again? Perhaps the distance is necessary, perhaps not. But one thing is for sure, both of them cursed the universe for it.
Or: Mingyu and Y/n were high school sweethearts, until life happened. Now, 9 years later, are they willing to reconcile a fraying bond?
tags: basketball player! Mingyu, doctor! y/n. liberal uses of "y/n." light angst with comfort. bittersweet. kind of open ending, but also not. cringe, surface-level metaphors. exes (by circumstance) to lovers. lmk if I missed anything, please, I'm new to this.
words: 4k
“When I saw you, I fell in love, and you smiled because you knew.” — William Shakespeare
“Once high school ends, do you think we’ll still be together?”
Y/n is halfway through packing her bags for the 5-hour trip it’ll take to go back to her hometown, phone clutched between her ear and shoulder as she reassures her friend that, yes, she is coming and no, she won’t stay the night there. One of her high school classmates is getting married, and they had been close enough for him to invite her to his wedding, hence the trip.
She had learned early on that promises are empty words meant to reassure a burdened heart and fleeting connections are intended to be only that, fleeting. So, when the invitation came in her mail, she was pleasantly surprised. She barely remembers his face anymore; his name, etched on the letter, only evokes a long-lost memory of sitting beside each other in Math, copying off each other’s answers. They had been good friends, though they lacked any emotional connection, which, she thinks, is why they hadn’t contacted each other at all after they graduated. Fast friendship forged by circumstance is what they were. And now, 9 years later, he’s married to his college girlfriend.
“Excuse me?” 16-year-old y/n raised an eyebrow at the boy in front of her, her lunch promptly forgotten.
“I mean, who does homework in the middle of watching basketball?”
She frowned, not quite understanding what the boy was referencing at all.
“Last Thursday, we had a basketball match, and I saw you in the crowd, scribbling away. Is it that important that you couldn’t have finished it any other time?”
Y/n chewed on the soft skin inside of her cheek, now knowing exactly what he was talking about and feeling mildly chastised. It’s not her fault that homework was due the next morning and the game was the night before, and she simply could not miss it, what with it being a big game for their school and her friends adamant on dragging her ass there if she refused.
She didn’t bother explaining herself, though, staring at the boy whom she now recognized as one of the players.
“What’s it to you?”
“Nothing,” he said, an easy grin stretched on his lips. “Just wondering if you enjoyed the game is all.”
She barely arrives on time, parking her car and briefly touching up her makeup before climbing out. The wedding hall stood before her, elegant and old as ever, bringing memories of attending her relatives’ weddings and sneaking off to the forest behind it with her cousins, dipping their toes in the shallow lake nearby.
The lake is completely covered in moss now, becoming more of a swamp as time passes.
Stepping inside, she’s immediately met with familiar and unfamiliar faces. She can recognize some of them, at least: Hani from English, Soonyoung, who made it his lifestyle to arrive late to classes, and Yuri and her twin, Yuna, whom y/n and everyone else in the school had trouble telling apart.
“Yuri, hey! How have you been?” She hugs her, grinning widely despite herself.
“Close enough. Yuri is doing well.” She points to her twin, something akin to fond exhaustion in her eyes as she points at herself. “Yuna, here, is also doing well. Thank you for asking.”
Oops.
“Some things never change.” Y/n continues smoothly, squeezing Yuna’s hand in a silent apology.
She squeezes back. “They really don’t.”
They find a seat at the tables, surrounded by yet more familiar faces. They fall into conversation, catching up with each other’s lives and going on the usual spiel of ‘you hadn’t changed at all!’. It’s awkward, and it’s nice. Like wearing an old t-shirt that no longer fits you but is still comfortable.
Y/n was in the library, arranging books, when a voice interrupted her calm focus. “Word has it that the library is haunted.”
“It is.”
There was a tense silence that dragged on a moment too long. Y/n glanced away from the books she was arranging to see him looking around, eyes wary and chewing on his bottom lip, looking for all the world like he regretted ever bringing it up.
Y/n has always wondered what would happen if someone were to speak. If, right now, as the usual silence settles across the hall, what would happen if someone broke it? It would be dramatic, surely. A spectacle.
The wedding continues smoothly, though, and Y/n finds herself in limbo. She is probably dissociating, sending her congratulations, and eating and conversing somewhat dazedly. There is something here within the muted white walls of this hall that tugs at her chest. Her eyes drifted around, oddly wary, searching for a particular set of eyes that haunted her dreams even after all these years.
She dances, takes pictures, and plastered on a smile that felt more and more foreign on her face as the hours went by. It goes on for the next thirty minutes, and it wasn’t until she caught the familiar sight of one of his friends that she snapped out of it.
“He isn’t here. Had some trouble on the road and got stuck.” Seungcheol said with a shrug, his words followed by the murmurs of others, though she didn’t pay attention to them.
The knowledge had somehow unclogged the weight in her throat and replaced another right in her chest. It settles there, and she barely remembers what she replied to the guy, faced with a pitied smile that felt more condescending in her mind’s eye than comforting.
They must’ve known.
Knew that she was a creature of the past, moving forward in life, constantly glancing back at the rearview mirror, hands ready to turn the wheels back.
High school ends, and so does the great, world-shattering romance of Y/n’s love life.
Well, not quite.
They kept talking, at first. Phones exist, and they use them as much as they can, living worlds away from each other. She got a scholarship abroad, and he continued training at the national sports college in the big city. Free time is far and few in between, but for the first two years, they make do with what they have.
The thing about life, though, is that it has a way of pulling you away from people without you realizing it.
Calls went from as frequent as every day, to a few times a month, to once every few months. Their text log is shorter as days pass, and before they know it, radio silence. This is also, perhaps, contributed to by the fact that her phone was stolen, because y/n’s life is apparently written by a middle-aged woman who couldn’t find a better way to move the plot. She lost all their numbers, all the texts, and the means to contact her friends back at home.
Somewhere around April in the third year of their so-called long-distance relationship, he posted a picture of a girl at a coffee shop.
She got the message loud and clear.
It was for the best. That is what she kept telling herself. Their relationship had always felt like cruising on a broken ship, anyway, bound to sink and drown them both. It’s good that they broke it off, at least that is what she assumes if the silence were anything to go by.
So she drowns herself in school, pushing herself forward and barely stopping to breathe or look back. It was for the best. They were both busy and were better off with someone within the same field of study, someone more tangible than a picture on the phone.
y/n has always had a bad habit of refusing what’s good for her, though.
“Aren’t you glad you dated me?” he said one evening, as they walked out of their favorite coffee shop a few towns over because he swears on his life that their tiramisu was to die for. y/n had always had a sweet tooth, which is why she dated him.
“You had me at the Aladdin reference.” She said, arm looped around his, staring off to the sidewalk. She can feel him jostling her as he snaps his fingers, pointing at her as if he’d rediscovered the meaning of life.
Being with him is, to put it simply, easy. You ask any student who was in that school, and they’d say that they were a match made in heaven. They'd say that the moment those two meet eyes, you could almost hear the wedding bells in the distance.
Call it opposite attracts, soulmates, kindred spirits, perfect match, and whatever synonyms the poets made to call lovers. Y/n would simply say that they were somewhat meant to be. Perhaps not meant to last long, but in that moment, in the tangled wires of adolescence and finding their true selves, they found each other. Here’s what the poets would tell you if you asked them to describe their relationship: If y/n were the moon, he was the sun. If y/n was the sun, he was the sunflower. If y/n is overwhelmed and needs a hand to hold, he’d offer his. If he is too tired to even smile, she’d carve a smile on her face for them both. They weren’t half of each other; rather, they were whole on their own but made perfect when together.
And isn’t that damning? It had been so easy, being with him, meeting each other halfway, and urging the other to be better. Their souls had been so perfectly entangled that when ripped apart, y/n lost half of hers. Like ripping off a band-aid and finding your skin coming off with it, sticking to the adhesive. The wound is open and bleeding, and, unfortunately for y/n, she learned all the ways to stitch a physical wound but has no idea how to close an emotional one.
Y/n handed her present to the newly married couple before bidding her goodbye with a promise of inviting them to her wedding, whenever that may be.
She drove off in a daze, passing familiar roads that caused heat to build up behind her eyes. Her plans of not staying the night here still stand; somehow, some part of her refuses to stay in this damned town any longer. She didn’t have bad memories here, quite the opposite, the memories here are good, too good that she feared if she stayed any longer, she’d never leave.
She refused to glance at the rearview mirror.
The clock on the dashboard reads 3:12 am when she arrives at a motel two towns over, bleary-eyed, blinking through the low lighting of the lobby. She had her overnight bag over one shoulder, stumbling into her room and passing out on the strange-smelling bed.
They were sitting on the rooftop of their school building, minutes away from sunset— gold casting over their skin, and the wind carrying their words away in its path. Y/n dangled her legs off the edge of the roof; his legs were folded, because despite his height and bright disposition, he’s a scaredy-cat.
“Make plans. You have your whole life figured out and know exactly what you want to do. Meanwhile, here I am, still stuck in the same place.”
Y/n stared at his side profile, still laden with youth but burdened with a weight too heavy for his age. “There is no need to rush; you have your whole life ahead of you to figure it out.” She paused, frowning. “But that isn’t what you’re worried about, is it? You’re never one to rush.”
He smiled sadly, the smile that did not crease the edges of his eyes, the one that meant he didn’t mean it. “Mom doesn’t like the idea of me continuing basketball.”
“I wasn’t aware that your life is lived by your mom. Oh my god, am I actually talking to Mrs. Kim?” y/n gasped, widening her eyes comically.
He giggled—a high-pitched, tinkling sound that never fails to remind her of a fox’s bark—pushing at her shoulder. “Shut up.”
She snorted, grabbing the hand before he could pull it away, entwining their fingers. “You do what feels right for you, what makes you happy, and what you believe you can do, not someone else. Never live by someone else’s words; you’ll never be satisfied if you do.”
He sighs, the sound so soft she could barely hear it. “I want basketball. I want to play for our country.”
“Then do basketball. Represent the country.”
“And if I fail?”
“That’s easy. You either do it again and again, or find something else. No such thing as starting things a little late, you only find something when you need it, when it’s best for you. If you happen to suddenly want to take up culinary in your 30s, no one’s stopping you.”
He scrunches his nose; the gesture strangely reminds her of a bunny. Perhaps she should stop comparing him to animals. “Why culinary?”
“Figured you’d want to polish those horrendous cooking skills by then.”
Y/n wakes up feeling like death had visited her in her sleep and leaves with a friendly reminder. There’s an odd taste like a corpse in her mouth, and the sun is blaring through the open blinds right into her crusty eyes. She went through her morning routine while affectionately cursing herself, changing into loose pants and a shirt before packing everything, ready for the rest of the two-hour trip to her apartment.
After breakfast, that is.
The roads here are familiar, even though she had never lived here, but she had frequented these streets enough. Had she not been so tired last night, she wouldn’t have decided to crash nearby.
She wonders, sometimes, if there will ever come a time when she visits the places of her past, and that familiar ache won’t hurt her as much as it does now.
The grey sidewalks, the bushes of daylilies by the roadside, and that broken street sign that, after all these years, is yet to be fixed. There are echoes here, as she walks by the side of the road, passing by strangers who barely spare her a glance. Echoes of sugar high laughter and stolen kisses, of overpriced desserts and a golden, wolfish grin.
Nostalgia is as bittersweet as it is excruciating,
Stopping in front of the café, it is as if she’s thrown back, nine years ago, when life had seemed so hopeful, and the most stressful thing for her is finishing that essay that is due tomorrow. The pale, dusty yellow sign on the door and the old rickety tables outside are as familiar as the bed in her childhood home.
There’s that tug again in her chest as if warning her of something. Is this the impending doom everyone kept talking about? She’s not ready to die yet, good lord.
She sat at a table by the large window, nursing a cup of mediocre coffee—familiar, aching, and bitter— as she waited for her breakfast to arrive when:
“Y/n.”
Cue the dramatic music.
--
Life moves too fast sometimes; it has a way of pushing people out of your life, and it likes to throw shit at you, knowing that you do not have the emotional or mental capacity to deal with them.
Y/n is not angry or anything.
But it is a close thing.
She was halfway through her coffee, barely feeling her soul re-entering her body, when a voice called her name. A voice. The voice.
Oh.
He looks the same. She compares it to the mental picture that she had hung up in the back of her mind and deduces that, other than losing the baby fat, he looks more or less the same. Sounded the same, too. That same raspy cadence, that same lisp. Slightly more tanned. Longer hair. Sharper jaw. More built. Taller, somehow.
Y/n was frozen in place, staring as he peered down at her, recognition and disbelief evident in his eyes. “It is you.” He whispered to himself, plopping down on the seat in front of her without invitation, heavy as if his legs had given up on him.
He’s always been that way, pushing his way in and out of her life all without her consent. The audacity.
“Mingyu.”
A smile. A hint of sharp canines behind chapped, pale rose lips, “That’s me.”
They stared at each other for a frankly ridiculous amount of time, taking each other in, barely flinching even as the waiter curiously put her pancakes on the table.
“I’m sor— “
“What are yo— “
He gestured for her to go first, ever the gentleman. She swallowed thickly, heart in her throat, hands shaking. “What are you doing here?”
“My car broke down on my way to the wedding yesterday, and I couldn’t find a taxi, so I just stayed the night here instead. You?”
Had they booked the same motel?
“I’m on my way home. Stopped to rest.”
“Ah.”
It’s awkward, and it’s agonizing and terrible, and y/n is pretty sure she had stopped breathing ten minutes ago.
Because here is the irrevocable truth: she had never been the best at moving on. She can keep pushing forward, she can convince herself to never look back, but in between the hustle and the despairing loudness of life, in the welcoming darkness of her own room, and in the tranquility of the night, she keeps looking back.
She will always be a creature of the past.
He is the biggest part of her past.
There has been an open wound in her heart since high school ended; it continued to bleed as she went through college. She always wondered when she’d die of blood loss. Now, with him in front of her, no longer on the other side of the world but just across the table, she thinks, the wound hurts more than ever.
“I’m sorry.” He said, breaking the tense silence.
Speak now or forever hold your peace.
“For?”
“Not contacting. Not reaching out.”
“That’s neither of our fault. It’s just how life is.” Who was the girl you posted all those years ago? Have you been well? Does your heart bleed too?
He smiled again, soft, almost nervous. “Glad to know you haven’t changed.”
Y/n wanted to scream.
“Are you finally a doctor?”
She nods, gripping the empty—when had she gulped it down? — cup of coffee as if her life depended on it. “I am. Currently working at a hospital in Seoul.”
“Knew you’d make it.” He said, pride evident in his voice, and there’s a glint in his eyes, glazed over like a layer of glass right above his pupils.
“And your basketball?”
“Working to be on the national team, there’ll be tryouts in a couple of months. If I make it there, then-“
“You’ll be playing for our country. The way you’ve always wanted to.”
His smile falters, clenching his jaw and glancing down at his own hands. “You remember?”
I remember everything.
Y/n stays silent; a plate of untouched pancakes lay on the table. She stares at the liquid gold honey dripping on its side, a thousand unsaid words hanging in the air.
“You helped me, you know.” She looks up, frowning. “Somewhere around my third year of training, I dropped out to take up business like my mom wanted me to. That was the biggest mistake and the hardest two years of my life, especially without you.”
Stop it. Blood bubbles up her throat, seeping from her pores. She looks down at her hands to find them clean.
“I got back in, of course. You were right when you said I couldn’t leave basketball, no matter how hard I tried. I kept coming back. So, I redo all my training. And now the coach wanted me to try for the nationals. It was hard, but your words are there to keep me company.” He said, gentle, reminiscing. Like a silent confession wrapped
“Good for you.” She said. I’m proud of you. I’m so happy for you. Please leave. I knew you’d do a great job. Please come back to me. Does your heart bleed?
Another bout of silence.
She had been lost in thought, trying to push at the bleeding wound and make sure the blood didn’t overflow out of her mouth. She hadn’t noticed his eyes, glazed over and slowly losing their light, the way he’s tapping his feet in anticipation of something, anything, from her.
She looks even more beautiful now, he thought, a lump in his throat.
This is the closure, isn’t it? The band-aid for her bleeding heart. He’ll tell her that he’s glad he met her, that he wishes the best for her, and they’ll part ways. Strangers again.
She’ll save him the trouble.
“Well, goodbye.” She stands, flashing a smile that she knows doesn’t reach her eyes.
“I wish you the best.” She was about to turn away, about to storm off and cry her heart out to the skies when he called out for her.
There was something in his eyes, something in the way he was on the edge of his seat. Had she spared more than a fleeting glance at him, she’d know what he meant when he said, “Aren’t you supposed to be the brave one?”
She doesn’t know what he meant, doesn’t know why he sounded so distraught. She could barely hear him over the rush of blood in her ears. She left.
Storming down the street, every second of the encounter played in her mind like a broken record. She slammed the door of her car, leaning her head on the steering wheel.
“Knew you’d make it.”
Fidgeting hands, Mingyu only ever fidgets when he’s nervous, or when he has something to say but doesn’t know how to say it.
“You helped me, you know.”
His eyes were glazed over. Why were they? Was he about to cry?
“It was hard, but your words are there to keep me company.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be the brave one?”
Mingyu had always had a problem with voicing his wants. He has this innate need to please people, to put others before him, to let others decide for him.
“Aren’t you supposed to be the brave one?”
“Aren’t you supposed to be the brave one?”
Motherfucker.
Y/n abruptly climbed out of her car, shaking and furious as she stormed from the motel parking lot to the café.
He’s on the other side of the road, looking around frantically. Searching.
Searching for her.
Speak now or forever hold your peace.
Their eyes met. They’ve always been good at meeting each other halfway, don’t they?
-fin-
I'm only 21, and it already feels like the years are slipping away too fast
--
check out my other works under the wormyz works tag !!
have always loved smaus so i thought i should dabble it in lololol. forgive me for the slightly wonky formatting and questionable quality
Summary: in which a slightly tipsy mingyu stumbled upon a really pretty girl, and couldn't find it in himself to say no. wonwoo needs a break. so does the other members. their makeup artists needs a raise and a 1 month vacation.
(ignore the time btw)
-........................-
i had fun making this fs. though i do feel like it's a horrible attempt at being humorous. let me know if you want pt. 2 tho!! oh and any feedback or tips for the formatting would be much appreciated ;)
in the meantime, check out my other works under the wormyz works tag!! (i havent made a proper masterlist yet cause im lazy :3 )
This is the first time I'm doing this. also this isn't even a writing blog i just made this for shits and giggles.
Anyway.
Words: 1.6k
Tags: Uhh idk tbh. this doesn't have a plot. i wrote it for the vibes and vibes only. but mingyu's gorgeous tanned skin is heavily featured (as in, it's the main topic). Trainee! Mingyu. Cool and smart™! yn.
•----•
Growing up, mingyu is used to the onslaught of compliments on his looks. He's tall, he's handsome, he's charming—in a goofy, good natured way. It's what got him cast in the first place—his appearance, which undeniably stood out amongst other 14 year olds at his school, was what caught the attention of the PLEDIS staff.
But the human mind works in odd ways, and so, even as he's casted based solely off his looks, even with the compliments, he still manages to find the flaws in his shell—too tall, too gangly, too skinny, his shoulders too narrow and, the most damning of all, his skin tone too dark. Other things he could change, but no amount of harmful skin bleaching can strip away the dark tint of his skin, no amount of light foundation or filters can cover the biggest flaw of them all.
And now that he's a trainee, it's brought up more often than not. There's talk on bleaching his skin, grumbles from makeup noonas on the right shade of foundation —too light and he'll just look sickly grey. School is another problem. Becoming a trainee while still in school comes with a whole new set of challenges— and no, it's not just the hours of training mixed into his schedule, it's also the scrutiny, the inevitable teasing (read: light bullying born from jealousy), and the questioning.
Mingyu had heard it all:
"Aren't you a little too dark to be an idol?"
"Are they gonna put you on skin bleach? Tell me what brand they use please!"
"You should've been working on a farm rather than being an idol."
He powers through it all. Back then, he used to think they were just jealous. That they're picking on the most insignificant thing to hide their own insecurities. But when you're surrounded by so much negativity, you're bound to get infected. Especially if you're as young and impressionable as he is.
So he becomes aware of it. Every time he walks in the hallways, every time the camera points at him, he subtly tries to move beneath the light to appear lighter, he'd stray away from the members with the lightest skin tone so the contrast wouldn't be obvious.
All it took, though, was one odd exchange to change his mind.
He was 17, two years and a few months into being a trainee, he'd gotten used to the comments by now, used to sweep it under a rug and laugh it off.
One evening, Mingyu was on his way to the library when his friends approached him, jabbing and teasing as usual, trying to coax him out of studying and join them for soccer instead. He's almost tempted to do just that, until:
"Oh come on. All that time under the sun won't darken your skin. It's already dark enough as is, you wouldn't even notice the difference!"
Mingyu laughs along even as his stomach drops—as it usually would — and waves them off, muttering half-assed excuses about needing to do well on the exam, even though he'd already studied the materials. There's no harm in reviewing it again.
His friends booed and walked away, leaving him alone to his thoughts as he pushed the door to their school library open. It's late in the afternoon and classes are already over, so the library is almost deserted, just the way he likes it.
Mingyu had been on his way to one of the seats at the back when a voice broke him out of his thoughts.
"They're kind of pathetic, aren't they?"
Turning around, he's met with the sight of a girl his age, glancing at him like they're sharing an inside joke. Mingyu was tempted to ask if she was talking to him when she continued.
"The whole thing about," she makes a vague gesture with her free hand, her other holding onto the strap of her bag, there's an expression on her face that looks an awful lot like disgust. "Your skin. It's pathetic."
It's then that it finally clicks, who she is. They've been in the same middle school, used to be in a lot of classes together too until they entered high school and mingyu could no longer keep up with his grades as much. He remembers her. They weren't close at all but she's always been somewhere in his vicinity ever since he was 12.
She's a quiet girl, keeps to herself and her friend group but that's not to say that she's shy or timid. No, in fact, mingyu always thinks she's simply far too cool—perhaps the right word is mature—to mix with most of the lot in their school. As silly as that sounds. She's smart—much like the rest of her clique, always in the top ten or fifteen in their grade— and mysterious. The stereotypical cool, quiet girl that sits at the back of the class and that most guys have a crush on but refuse to admit it. And pretty, too. In an effortless, natural kind of way.
They've talked a couple of times. Trivial stuff like homework and classes. Mingyu used to ask for her help a lot in English and she often asked for his help for their cleaning duties. It's best to say that they're acquaintances.
Anyway, what did she say?
"Oh that? No, they were just joking. You know how it is," Mingyu chuckles, even as it grates at his throat like shards of glass. Waving it off as usual.
She raised an eyebrow, the dark pits of her warm brown eyes digging into his soul. "You don't look like you found it funny."
She stated it like it's a fact. And maybe it is, but Mingyu doesn't have the mental capacity to acknowledge it, so he's about to wave it off again when she continues.
"You know, there's a word for it." She said, walking in the direction of the nearest shelf, looking through the stacked books without looking back—as if expecting him to follow. Mingyu has no choice but to do just that.
"What?"
"There's a word for it in English. 'Sun kissed'." She said in perfect English. And mingyu is suddenly reminded of his old admiration towards her. she's always been good at languages, Japanese, Korean, but most of all, English. He doesn't know how she does it, how her tongue rolled off the words like it's her native language, how she knows just the right things to say.
He's reminded of the times when their teacher would ask them to do presentations in English, and how she would strut to the front of the class with an almost bored expression, but then flashes a smile and starts to talk. Her voice always changes a little whenever she talks in English. It becomes deeper, accommodating the syllables and pronunciation, and she speaks with an air of confidence. Like she knows she's right and you have no choice but to believe her.
It's not at all like the overenthusiastic, performative and loud way most other overachiever students would present. Her words are calm, almost casual, like she's inviting you in a conversation, but every single information is important, every single sentence is significant. Mingyu had always liked the way she talks, ever since he first heard it. No nonsense, straightforward, honest, but not rude. But he likes it most when she talks in English.
She continues. "It literally means to be kissed by the sun. English authors use it all the time to describe tanned skin like yours. There are others too, 'Golden', 'Honey skin'. My favorite is 'sun kissed' though, I think it's fitting." Then, with a small wave—not a smile, she rarely smiles, but there's something like soft affection in her eyes before she turns away. "Anyway, I've gotta go. See you around, Mingyu."
Mingyu doesn't see her around after that. He got swept up with training and classes, and then suddenly he's graduating, and then the debut. It takes him a while to realize that the comments don't bother him as much anymore, not when in the back of his mind, a warm voice would play like a broken record: "My favorite is 'sun kissed' though, I think it's fitting."
•----•
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idek if people will see this. this is a very rough draft with lots of mistakes, but please understand that I wrote this while I was heavily ovulating.
so ummm this is an older!wonwoo fanfic draft. lmk (if anyone sees this, that is) if yall want me to continue.
PS: it's not a smut (yet ;))) ) BUT only because it wasn't finished. this is more of a build up.
words: 2.8k
Perhaps this wasn’t a very good idea. You thought to yourself, sitting in the passenger seat of a stranger’s car, the blinding city lights adding to your growing regret.
It had been a normal Friday night. As normal as it can be with you being a student struggling to make ends meet and having just finished another grueling quiz with one of your strict professors. You had been on the verge of a breakdown, thinking that you had flunked that quiz with the lack of preparation (not for lack of trying, but you had had to increase your hours at the café to make the rent). Upon seeing the pieces of your soul leaving your body, your friend slash roommate suggested going for a night out.
It was simple enough. Sure, you're not the kind of girl who goes out on Friday nights for drinks, but you do appreciate a night of bad decisions now and then.
Except your subconscious seems adamant about taking it to the next level.
Hookups and one-night stands had never really appealed to you. You’ve always thought it was stupid to follow a stranger to their home just to get yourself off. In your opinion, it’s simply not worth the risk. That being said, as a highly cynical person who has no interest in romance whatsoever (at least not now when you’re balls deep in your degree), you have never had a boyfriend. You’ve never even had a proper first kiss.
So of course, as your slightly tipsy self somehow managed to catch the eye of a handsome stranger, you flirted, thinking, it wouldn’t be so bad to have my back blown right now.
And now you’re in his (very fancy, very nice looking) car, heading to his place. You glanced through the corner of your eyes, absentmindedly chewing on your lips as you traced the lines of his side profile.
Jeon Wonwoo. 28 (six years older than you), works at a tech company, calm and put together, mature, and so incredibly, annoyingly handsome.
When your friend pointed out that he had been staring at you from across the club, you hadn’t believed her, only to be pleasantly surprised as he confirmed that yes, he’d been watching you, and yes, he was interested. You had approached him first with very low expectations, thinking he looked cute wearing glasses to the club, and you had expected him to be the nerdy, shy type. And while you are correct on the nerdy part, he is in no way shy. You lead the conversation with subtle flirting, and he matches your energy calmly, a small smile on his handsome face.
You bite your lip harder as you remember the way your tipsy self had practically thrown yourself at him. Something about his calm demeanor, the way he is so quietly dominant, had snapped something in you. You were talking one moment, and the next you were all up in his space, doe-eyed as you whispered a small “Take me home?”
It seemed like such a good idea back then, especially with the way his sharp eyes darkened, visibly holding himself back before he trails the tips of his fingers down the sides of your throat, goosebumps erupting all over your body at the simple touch.
He agreed, and now you’re sobering up at a rapid speed as he drives to his place, his other hand resting close to your thigh but not quite touching.
The walk from the underground parking lot up to his apartment is a bit of a blur to you, but the moment he opened the door, you couldn’t quite hold back your gasp.
His place isn’t spectacularly big by any means, but it is sleek and modern—with high-end pieces of furniture tastefully decorating every inch of the place, all color-coded in white, black, and dark greys. But what caught your eye was the floor-to-ceiling window(wall?) on one side of his living room, giving you a full view of the city and night sky. You walk towards it like you had been hypnotized, mouth agape as you practically press your face on the window, eyes wide as you take in the view.
“What the fuck?” Alright, perhaps there was a lack of decorum there, what with it being the first words you said to him since you entered his car. But really, no one can blame you. The place screams luxury in a very subtle way and it has you wondering back to his words earlier.
“What tech company did you work at? And what position exactly?” you can’t help but ask, turning to look at him. He’s walking towards you, a glass of water in his hand as he smiles sheepishly. “I don’t think it’s worth mentioning.”
You narrowed your eyes, leaning back against the window with your arms crossed. He reads your body language and snorts, handing you the glass as he explains himself.
“I’m just one of their senior software engineers, nothing too special.”
You glare at him, one side of your mouth curled as you ready to rebut his claim only for him to raise his eyebrow. “Not a word.”
Huffing, you dropped the subject and glanced at the glass of water in your hand skeptically, handing it back over to him. “You drink it first,”
He did, maintaining eye contact the whole time before passing it to you. “There, I didn’t drug it.”
Convinced, you nodded in satisfaction and turned your back to him, eyeing the view and taking your time as your hand shook slightly, the gravity of the situation weighing down on you with every sip.
It was quiet for a moment, almost serene. You can feel his eyes burning on your back and fight the urge to squirm in place. You had been lost in thought, wondering if this is a good idea when you are interrupted by the feeling of his body heat enveloping you from behind as he stands close, but not touching. You clenched your teeth, breath going unsteady as he leaned down, his hot breath brushing your sensitive ears.
“You’re nervous.” He whispered, his voice low and knowing.
Your response is denial. “No, I'm not. What makes you think that?” You chuckled nervously, acutely aware of how decidedly uncalm you sounded.
He chuckled, and the deep, sexy rumble sends a shiver up your spine, making your grip around the glass in your hand tighten. “Alright.”
You know for a fact that he didn’t believe you, but before you could defend your honor, you feel him slowly turning you around to face him, his grip on your waist gentle but firm.
You couldn’t quite meet his eyes, opting to stare at the glass as if it’s the most interesting thing in the world. He patiently calls your name, bringing one hand to grab your chin, gently forcing you to look up to meet his eyes. Why is he so tall?
Wonwoo called your name again, bringing you out of your thoughts and causing your heart to skip slightly because of the way he said it. Ugh.
You meet his eyes, chewing on your lip again.
“You do know we don’t have to do anything, right? We can stop and I can send you back to your place if you’re comfortable with that. But if you’re not, I can order you a cab. It’s not that late yet.” His voice is deep and velvety, caressing your eardrums in a way that could put you to sleep. You almost wanted to suggest he start an ASMR channel, but cross that thought out as you focus on the conversation. He’s being so gentle and patient, his gaze firm and sincere. He didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, and it shows.
Oddly enough, you’re suddenly reminded of all your friends’ nightmare stories about hooking up. How some of them would be coaxed to it even though they changed their mind, or how some of the men they meet were rough and impatient, and only cared for their satisfaction. You scanned the man in front of you, his slightly long bangs gently falling over his glasses, the soft grip of his hands on your waist. Wonwoo had been nothing but a gentleman, and he was so unlike any other man your age, that you can’t help but feel your doubt depleting.
And something tells you that he knows how to make a woman feel good.
You fidgeted with the glass in your hands (why are you still holding it anyway?), feeling like you should clarify something to him.
“I’m a virgin.” Well, that’s one way to go about it. Good job.
He blinks rapidly, and the action is so cute you almost smile before he tilts his head at you.
“If you think I’d mind, you’d be wrong. But I’m more concerned about you. Do you mind? I’m a stranger, after all.” He had moved his hands up to your shoulders, and despite the layer of leather jacket you had on, the heat from them still seeped into your skin, calming you down as he rubbed your arms.
“I don’t mind it, I think,” you said after a moment of contemplation, only to have him narrow his eyes at you.
“You think? Sweetheart, I’m not going to do anything unless I’m 100 percent sure you want it.”
Ignoring the flutter in your chest at the pet name, you grinned sheepishly. “I mean, it won’t be…as fun for you if I have no experience, right? Don’t get me wrong, I’m not like, some innocent blushing virgin or anything. I know stuff, in theory, that is. But I’ve never done it. And I know you’re a stranger but that doesn’t bother me, oddly enough. I don’t care much anyway, I mean virginity is really just a social construct made by men who-“
Wonwoo cuts you off with a small chuckle, his lips pursed in a cute little smile as he eyes you amusedly. “Alright, sweetheart. Let me confirm something, yeah?” You nodded, eyes trained on his smile as if in a trance.
“You’re okay with me taking your virginity?” Nod.
“We can stop whenever you want. And you will tell me if I do anything that makes you uncomfortable, understand?” Nod.
“Don’t worry about me. I like making my partner feel good so don’t even think, for once, that you’re obligated to return the favor. I want to pleasure you, understand?” Good lord. You nod again with a gulp.
You clenched your thighs together, his words evoking something in you that makes you feel depraved. And then he had to go and-
“Words, sweetheart.”
“Yes, sir.” You hastily answered after hearing his stern tone, only to widen your eyes as you registered what you said. You look up at him and in your attempt to save yourself, you bring a hand in a mock salute. “I meant- like- yessir, y’know? Like- aye aye captain- “Please stop talking.
His eyes are dark and knowing, clenching his jaw as he leans down. “You can call me that if that’s what you want.”
Fuck-
There’s suddenly a loud crash, prompting both of you to jump in place. You looked down in mortification, somehow, in your horny, flustered state, you had managed to drop the glass he handed to you earlier. You gasped, quickly leaning down to pick up the glass shards as you rambled your apologies, feeling tears of humiliation pricked your eyes.
Before you could even touch the glass, you felt his fingers wrapped around your wrist, pulling you up and wrapping an arm around your waist. Wonwoo throws you over his shoulder, causing you to yelp in surprise.
“Wonwoo, what- “
“You’ll hurt yourself.” It is all he said as he carefully maneuvered through the glass shards, settling you down on the couch. You could barely get a word in before he kneeled in front of you, checking your feet for any cuts.
“Wonwoo, I’m so sor- “
Once again, he cuts you off with a single look, something almost fond in his eyes as he looks up at you. (Your current position didn’t go unnoticed. You’re currently trying very hard not to have thoughts.)
“You know, when you approached me earlier, you struck me as this, sharp-tongued, confident woman who knows what she wants. Maybe a bit of a brat too.” He tilts his head teasingly, his thumb gently caressing your ankle as he continues, “You still are. But now you’re also very cute, adorable really.”
You feel your cheeks heat up at his words, and you cross your arms in petulant, glaring down at him. “Don’t tease me. And I’ll have you know that I’m a grown woman who knows how to take care of herself and- “
“I didn’t say you aren’t,” He mutters, leaving a small peck on your knee before standing up, and heading to the kitchen to grab whatever he needs to clean up the mess on the floor.
Meanwhile, for you, the simple peck had left you speechless, staring at the spot where he kneeled with your mouth agape, one hand rubbing at your knee as if you could still feel his lips there. He had done it so casually that the heat that had been steadily building since earlier doubled in intensity. However, you’re broken out of your thoughts when the sound of the vacuum fills the room. You look over to see him cleaning the last of the glass particles. There must be something wrong with you, because the sight of him, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, carefully vacuuming with one hand only makes you hotter.
Alright, you’ve had enough of this.
You sit up, hesitating only for a second before you call out his name. He looks up, raising an eyebrow in question as he turns off the vacuum.
“Hurry, please.” The insinuation in your voice didn’t go unnoticed, and Wonwoo chuckled as he put the vacuum away, but you know your words had an effect on him simply from the way his shoulders had gone tense.
In seconds, he’s kneeling in front of you again, his dark eyes tracing over your features. “One last chance to back out,”
Fuck no.
You grabbed him by his collar, haphazardly smashing your lips against his in place of an answer.
The kiss was admittedly clumsy. You tried to lead it, to show him how much you really want this, but your teeth hit his, and you accidentally bite down on his lower lip too hard.
He let out a small grunt, pulling away, and chuckles breathlessly.
“Slow down,” he murmurs, pushing you to lie on the couch as he climbs in, hovering over you on his knees. He took off his glasses and threw them somewhere on the coffee table before gently grabbing your chin. “Never had your first kiss either?” he asked, though he looked like he already knew the answer.
Your cheeks redden, and you shake your head a little.
He nodded. “Guess I’ll have to teach you everything, then.” He hums, leaning down and claiming your lips again.
He keeps it languid, guiding your head with a hand on your jaw, his thumb caressing your cheek. The gentle touches and the torturously slow drag of his lips against yours only seem to add to the fire within you, and you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as you part your lips again, this time letting his tongue slip inside your mouth.
You let out a small moan, unguarded and completely on accident, but he seems to take that as the green light to go further, or perhaps there’s finally a crack in his control.
He deepens the kiss, licking into your mouth so feverishly that you could barely keep up. Your chest heaves and you’re quickly losing control over your movements, feeling tipsy again as if you’d taken another shot.
Wonwoo doesn’t seem to particularly mind your lack of control; if anything, he approves of it. He hums lowly, as if trying to comfort you, slowing his pace, but you can’t help but think it’s condescending in the best way. His free hand travelled down your front, stopping at your left knee-which was lifted slightly- and slowly parts it to the side, slipping his legs between yours.
You gasps as his weight presses down on you, hips against yours and you can’t help but grind against him out of pure instinct.
He pulls away and tuts, pressing your hips down with a firm touch. “None of that.” He whispers, trailing his lips down your jaw and neck, causing you to tilt your head to give him access. You whine when he kept his hand firmly in place, and shiver as he pressed down harder, pulling away to give you a look that would’ve made your knees buckle if you were standing.
----------anddd i chickened out at the end lol
edit: ykw now that im reading this again, this is ass. it has potential, sure, but it's ultimately ass 💀 sorry yall had to read all that
check out my other works under the wormyz works tag !!
