#dom!mingi

“Mm,” he hums, rough and low, gaze still locked where it shouldn’t be. His chest moves quicker now, shoulders tensing as his fingers twitch at his sides like he’s fighting himself.

I step closer—one step, then another—until his cologne settles over me, warm and spiced, filling my lungs. My hand lifts on instinct, fingertip hooking under his chin, nudging his eyes back up. They meet mine, wide and dark, pupils blown, hunger written across the flush climbing his throat. I arch a brow, silent, daring him to answer the question I don’t speak.

“Do you want me to tell you,” I murmur, the words slipping out softer than breath, “or show you?”

His answer comes first in a curse—Korean, low and rough, dragged up from his chest. The sound vibrates through me, sharp as a spark down my spine. I don’t need translation. That word has carved its place in my memory by repetition, always spilling from him at the brink, when control threatens to shatter. It’s become my favorite tell, the clearest sign that I’ve pushed him too far.

“Show me,” he groans, the syllables thick, nearly breaking on their way out. His hands find my hips at last, fingers digging in like they’ve been aching for this excuse. The heat of his palms seeps through the thin fabric, searing, urgent. He holds me as though I’m something fragile and volatile all at once—like one wrong move could make me vanish or burn him alive.

The air around us narrows, heavy, intimate. The hum of the air conditioner fades under the uneven sync of our breathing. His gaze doesn’t falter. There’s something raw in his eyes—unguarded, unfamiliar, so uncharacteristically bare that it makes my pulse stutter.

I rise onto my toes, calves straining, reaching. My hands slip into the hair at his nape, tugging him down until his mouth crashes into mine. Soft, warm, devastating in its familiarity. Months of absence bleed out of me in that first kiss, every second apart condensed into this collision. I don’t rush it—I savor, drag it out, tasting every stolen heartbeat.

My teeth catch his lower lip, a sharp nip. He gasps, breath tearing out of him, lips parting for me. I take the opening, tongue sliding against his in a rhythm that builds slow, deliberate. My fingers brace against his shoulders, knuckles pressing hard as I balance precariously on my tiptoes. He notices, of course he does—he always does—and then I’m airborne, his hands gripping the backs of my thighs, lifting me with effortless certainty.

“Gods, don’t I love when you do that,” I breathe against his mouth, words frayed at the edges with laughter and hunger.

He answers without speaking. The wall greets my back with a chill, shocking against the heat radiating off him. My legs lock around his hips, drawing him flush, keeping him there. For one suspended heartbeat, he looks at me, truly looks, eyes gone dark and consuming. The intensity of it makes my stomach tighten, an unspoken vow in the space between us.

I kiss him harder, urgency spilling over. Our mouths move together in a feverish tangle, teeth and tongue and something that tastes like memory and want. He shifts against me, just enough for me to feel him—pressing, undeniable—yet still withholding the friction I crave. The tease carves a frustrated sound out of me, muffled against his lips.

He pulls back, just barely, forehead leaning into mine. Our breaths tangle, hot and ragged. His heart hammers, and I feel it in every place our bodies touch, every place he pins me to him.

“Show me,” he says again, the words rasping low, dangerous, carved out of fire. His eyes lock onto mine, burning with a promise I can feel in my bones.

Good thing he’s holding me, because I’m certain my knees would’ve given way at that command. My pulse thrums wild, and I press a quick kiss to his lips before setting both palms against his chest, nudging softly—a signal, not a refusal. He resists at first, grip tightening like he’s not ready to let me go, but then he lowers me, deliberate and slow, until the ground steadies under my feet.

Before he fully releases me, his mouth dips to my ear, breath warm as he murmurs, “Don’t think I won’t fuck you against the wall.”

The words lance through me, heat coiling low, sharp enough to steal the air from my lungs. When he pulls back, his eyes hold mine, unwavering, heavy with challenge. A flush blooms hot across my cheeks. Gods, let him. The very thought of it has me trembling.

“So naughty,” I whisper, teasing, though my voice betrays the way it clings to the edge of breath. I love this version of him—this shift into command, his confidence burning clean and unashamed. It lights me up, every time.

And then—just as quickly—he softens. A smile, tentative, almost shy, cuts across the sharpness, catching me off guard. There it is, the hidden seam in his armor, that fleeting glimpse of something fragile he almost never lets slip. I wonder, just for a beat, what would happen if I called him good boy. I’d wager he’d crumble for it. The thought curls at the corner of my mouth, tucked away for later.

My hands slide lower, palms gliding over the heat of his chest through the thin fabric, savoring the rise and fall beneath. They drift to his shirt, fingers seeking the first button. Most of them are already undone, leaving his chest half-exposed, the temptation impossible to ignore. I take my time. Each button slips free with a soft click, my fingertips brushing against his skin in lingering, featherlight touches that draw the smallest shiver from him. His breathing quickens, chest taut beneath my knuckles as they graze the ridges of his abdomen.

The silence folds tight around us—just the scrape of fabric, the uneven thread of our breaths. When the last button loosens, I splay my hands flat against his stomach, the heat radiating outward, grounding me. My fingers map the lines of him upward, memorizing the planes and hollows, until they reach his chest. From there, they drift to his shoulders, then down the length of his arms, tugging the shirt with them. The fabric pools on the floor, abandoned. He doesn’t look at it—he’s too busy watching me, eyes dark and sharp, hunger written in their depths.

I find his belt next, fingers tracing the cool edge of metal, anticipation crackling through me. But before I can work the buckle, his hand covers mine. Large, steady, unyielding—but not harsh. My gaze flicks upward, confusion tightening in my chest.

He leans close, breath brushing against my cheek, and his eyes pin me where I stand. They’re a paradox: all-knowing and unreadable, yet carrying flickers of something raw that vanish before I can name them. Always there, always gone, leaving me wondering if I imagined the crack in his mask at all.

A smirk curls at his lips, low and deliberate. His voice comes out rough, edged with challenge as he growls, “Not fair. Your turn.”

My pulse skitters wild, and for a heartbeat I almost protest—desperate to get my hands back on him, to reclaim that heat. But the way he’s watching me stops me cold. His gaze holds me like I’m the only thing tethering him to this world, and the thought is dangerous, one I don’t dare linger on. Still, it coils through me, sharp and heady, until my fingers tremble against the buttons of my shirt.

I keep my eyes locked on his as I work them loose, one by one, the current between us sparking hotter with every inch of skin revealed. When I reach my cleavage, his restraint falters. His gaze drops, landing on the slip of light-grey lace peeking through. His jaw tightens; his tongue drags slow across his lower lip. Gods, that mouth. The memory of it floods me, unbidden, leaving my body flushed and aching.

The fabric slips free from my waistband with a soft hiss, the shirt falling away, discarded. Cool air brushes over goosebumps, but his stare scorches hotter than flame. I see it—the twitch in his hands, the shallow rise and fall of his chest—as he fights to keep still. His eyes roam, unhurried, lingering in ways that set my skin ablaze.

“So beautiful,” he breathes, so soft it almost sounds like confession. The words hang fragile in the air, reverent, unpolished. They hit me in the chest, warm and sharp, the kind of truth that only Mingi could make me believe.

A smile tugs at my lips, of its own accord, and I let myself linger in it—the way he’s looking at me, as if nothing else exists. Just him, just me, just this.

My hands move next to the button of my pants, steady this time. A flick, a zip, fabric sliding down my hips to pool at my ankles. I step free, deliberate, letting him take in the set I’d chosen this morning without a second thought. Judging by the raw hunger carved into his features now, it was a choice well made. His eyes darken, his jaw tight, and the weight of his stare feels like a touch.

I step closer, closing the gap almost entirely but leaving the barest sliver of space—enough to tease, to make him ache. My chin tilts, eyes finding his. “Your turn,” I say, throwing his words back with a smirk.

He drags in a breath, chest rising hard, like he’s trying to anchor himself. Ever the gentleman—until he isn’t. That’s what unravels me most: the duality, the push and pull between restraint and the raw feral edge beneath it.

His fingers twitch at his belt, but I catch him with a quiet hum. “Mm-mm.” My head tilts, a small shake. His gaze jerks back to mine, a silent question in his eyes.

“That’s my job, remember?” My tone is playful, but firm.

He surrenders instantly, hands lifting, a laugh slipping from his mouth—low, breathless, almost boyish. It bubbles something lighter in me too, a brief pocket of giddy warmth that only sharpens the tension simmering between us.

And then, just as my hands reach for his belt, his palms find me—gripping my ass with both hands, firm, claiming. The crack of his hand against me comes next, sharp and sudden, the sound echoing in the quiet. I freeze, heat flaring through me, biting my lip to hold back the moan threatening to spill.

“I thought you were going to undress me?” he teases, voice roughened but threaded with play. His hand drifts upward from my ass, tracing heat into my spine until it settles at my nape. His fingers curl, tilting my head back, and then his mouth is on mine again. This kiss isn’t neat, isn’t careful—it’s messy, devouring, thick with hunger he barely manages to contain.

I let my hands wander, pressing against the hardness straining through his clothes. His breath stutters, a low grunt vibrating between us, and his hips surge into my palm.

I break the kiss on a gasp, air tearing through me as my fingers make quick work of his belt, his button, his zipper. No patience left. Denim slides down over his hips, pooling heavy at his ankles, and I murmur for him to step out. He does, slow, deliberate, and suddenly he’s standing there in nothing but the thin barrier of his underwear, chest rising and falling like he’s been running.

“I want you,” I tell him, steady despite the pounding in my chest.

“Where?” he asks, eyes serious even as his tone toys.

“Everywhere.”

His laugh rumbles deep, warm, and I know he understands. He could claim me in every place, every way, and I’d still be begging for more. His eyes darken at my boldness, hands biting into my hips the way they always do when my words edge too close to indecent. Proof enough he likes it.

“I’ll need you to be more specific,” he says, voice lower now, a promise in its gravel.

“I want to taste you.” The confession slips out like prayer, eyes locked on his. The air hums between us, our bodies nearly touching, his warmth bleeding into me.

“You do?” he teases, his hands restless, roaming the curve of my waist, the dip of my spine, never quite still.

“Mm-hm.” My palms explore him in turn, mapping every plane, every line of muscle. “I want to fall to my knees, tease you with my tongue until you can’t take it anymore—until you lose control, until you push my head down and—”

“Fuck.” The word rips out of him, too loud, voice catching as he clings to me. His breathing frays, rough and uneven, and the way his hands clutch at me is almost desperate.

“Can I?” I tilt my head, feigning innocence though the curve of my mouth betrays me.

“Please,” he breathes, and the softness of it—the plea—melts me from the inside out.

I hook my thumbs under the waistband of his underwear, tug, but his hands clamp over mine. My eyes snap up. His stare pins me in place, dark and searing, something unspoken flickering deep within it.

“But only if you keep looking at me with those eyes,” he murmurs, voice thick with command, with want.

The floor bites into them, sharp and grounding, but I barely register it when my eyes catch on his hand—gripping himself, thumb dragging lazily across the slick tip. Heat coils low in my stomach at the sight. Then his fingers find my chin, tugging until my gaze lifts back to his. With that same hand, his thumb drags across my lower lip, feather-light, electrifying.

“I’m all yours,” he whispers, raw and unsteady. “Use me however you want.”

Then his hands fall away, and I take him in mine—heat branding my palm. My lips close around his tip, a soft seal, before I draw back to tease him with a slow, deliberate lick along the length of him. His breath hitches, a hiss breaking free when my tongue flicks the tender underside.

I pull back, lips circling his tip again, eyes locked on his. Innocence feigned, lashes low. His jaw tightens, cords standing out in his neck as he strains for control.

I drag it out, lips and tongue working him in shallow, frustrating motions. His hand slips into my hair, fingers threading through, but he doesn’t push. Not yet. I steady myself with one hand braced on his hip, the other teasing along his length, before I lick my way back up, swirling my tongue over the tip until a groan breaks from him.

The sound spurs me on, but so does the restraint trembling in his grip. He’s close to breaking—I can hear it in the sharp exhales, the ragged grunts, the hiss between his teeth.

And then it happens. Our eyes meet as I lap up the first bead of arousal at his tip. Something in him snaps. His grip tightens in my hair, sharp, and I brace myself—thrilled—for the roughness I know is coming.

“Fuck.” The word breaks out of him in a low, guttural sound, his voice ragged as his hand presses at the back of my head, urging me down until I take more of him than I’m ready for. My throat tightens, the sudden depth making me gag around him, but he holds me there—just for a beat too long—before easing up. I fall back, gasping, air rushing in with a wet choke. My lips feel swollen, slick with spit, my chin damp. His eyes flicker, heat still burning through the haze, but his tone softens. “You okay?” The question is always there, a quiet check beneath the hunger.

I nod, breath shaky, offering him a small, crooked smile. His shoulders ease the tiniest bit. “Good.” His hand slips back into my hair, the weight of his palm warm against my scalp, guiding me again.

This time, there’s no restraint. His grip tightens, urging me to take him deeper, faster, and I let my jaw slacken, my throat open, sinking into the rhythm of it. His taste sits heavy on my tongue, salty and sharp, and the sound of his breathing grows uneven—low hisses, broken groans that tumble out before he can bite them back. My eyes flutter closed, lost in the cadence, until his hand tugs at my hair again.

“Look at me.” The command is quiet, but edged, and I obey, forcing my lashes apart. His gaze catches mine, dark and unrelenting. A shiver crawls down my spine. “Pretty,” he murmurs, his voice thick, “so fucking pretty with my cock in your mouth.”

I push myself further this time, gagging deliberately, the mess of it—wet and raw—making my mascara run. He loves that, and truth be told, so do I. My fingers curl around the base of him, stroking in sync with the bob of my head, and the tension in his thighs tightens like a drawn bow.

“Shit—do that again and I’m gone,” he groans, jaw clenching. His warning is rough, strained, but I don’t slow. I want the unraveling, want the edge of control snapping in my hands. When I pull off with a wet pop, my lips glistening, I’m breathless but grinning.

“I know,” I tease, dragging my tongue in one long line up his length.

His chest heaves, words cracking through his teeth. “Thought you wanted me to fuck you?”

“Oh, I do.” My lips graze him again as I speak, heat curling in every syllable. “But first I want you to finish in my mouth.”

“진짜… 미치겠다1.” The Korean slips out, low and guttural, his voice dripping with disbelief. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he mutters, half curse, half confession.

I wink up at him. “Then let me.”

When I take him in again, I set the rhythm myself, my hand and mouth working together, his groans painting the air in ragged strokes. Twice he pushes me deeper, forcing me to open for him, and I welcome it, relaxing into the burn. The sounds he makes now—softer, almost unwilling—are the ones I crave most, the ones that prove I’m stripping him bare.

“I’m close,” he grits out, every muscle in his body strung tight.

A few more strokes and he breaks, his arm shooting out to brace against the wall as his head tips back, a guttural groan ripping free. Heat spills across my tongue in thick waves, and I take it all, swallowing him down, keeping my lips sealed around him until the trembling in his body eases, until the tension drains from his frame and leaves him slack against the wall.

He exhales sharply, a shudder running through him, the aftershocks leaving him loose and heavy. His eyes half-close, voice wrecked and drowsy. “God… that was—fuck. You’re unbelievable.”

I swipe the corner of my mouth with my thumb, meeting his gaze as I smile. “I know.”

He helps me up with a gentleness that feels almost out of place after the rough edge of moments before, his hands steadying me as if I might falter. Then his mouth finds mine again, deep and unyielding, lips soft but demanding. Heat pools low in my stomach at the certainty in that kiss. Without a word, he guides me toward the bed, his palm firm at the small of my back, the possessive weight of it making my skin prickle.

“Sit.” The command comes low, unshakable.

“Yes, sir,” I mock under my breath, but my body obeys, sinking onto the edge of the king-sized mattress. His knee brushes mine, nudging once, twice, until I open for him, leaning back on my elbows, already undone by the smallest touches.

His gaze drags over me, dark and deliberate. “You put this on for me?” His head tips, a flick toward the lace I’d chosen—cement gray, the shade I know he can’t resist.

I swallow hard, my throat dry under the weight of his eyes. “Maybe,” I murmur, aiming for playful, though my voice betrays me. He raises a brow, the look that always strips me bare faster than his hands ever could.

“I know you like gray…” The confession slips out, softer than intended, and my cheeks burn.

“That’s what I thought.” His smirk sharpens, eyes glinting with hunger.

“Did it work?” The whisper barely makes it past my lips.

“Oh, I’ll show you how well it worked.” His tone curls with promise, and the ache between my thighs flares hotter.

I’m unraveling before he even touches me, anticipation pulling me apart one thread at a time. My chest rises too quickly, my pulse trips, and all he’s done is look.

He braces himself above me, left arm steadying his weight, right hand brushing my cheek before sliding into my hair. His kiss lands slower this time, deliberate, lips moving against mine with an almost cruel patience. He knows exactly how a kiss like this wrecks me—the slow build, the wet insistence, the pull of time stretching thin. My breath stutters as his palm cups the back of my head, tilting me to deepen it. I cave completely, arms curling around his neck, pulling him down until we’re flush.

“Come up here with me,” I breathe against his lips, voice trembling, need spilling out unchecked.

I crawl backward, dragging him with me to the center of the bed. His mouth doesn’t let up, trailing down my jaw, teasing my ear. The soft scrape of his teeth on my lobe pulls a moan from me before I can bite it back. His smile ghosts against my skin, satisfied, smug.

“I love that sound,” he murmurs, warm breath spilling hot into the shell of my ear.

My fingers tangle in his hair, urging him closer as his lips descend—down the slope of my neck, to the place where shoulder meets throat, the spot he knows makes me shiver. His right hand drifts, slow and deliberate, from my hip to the curve just above my waist. His thumb skims so close to my breast that it’s agony, the kind of teasing touch that makes my whole body strain toward him. His mouth follows a mirrored path lower, tongue and lips leaving fire in their wake. He halts just shy of the swell of my chest, lips hovering, denying me.

“Need something?” The question drips with amusement, his thumb pressing the barest fraction higher.

“Mingi…” My voice cracks, a plea more than a name.

“Use your words, pet.” His lips brush the edge of my collarbone, taunting.

“Touch me,” I whisper, fingers tightening in his hair like the words alone might not be enough.

He lifts his head, eyes catching mine, a spark of amusement dancing in the dark. “Am I not?”

The bastard.

“You know what I mean.” My frustration breaks through, but it only feeds his grin.

“Hmm. Do I?” His smirk widens, cruel in its patience.

“Just—” I arch into him, every nerve lit. “Get these clothes off me and make me come.”

“Oh, but I love it when you squirm under my touch,” he murmurs, his voice threaded with mischief. If this is his revenge for every time I’ve teased him before, then I’m ruined, because he hasn’t even touched me where I need it and I’m already on the verge of begging.

“I swear to god, if you don’t touch me right now, I—”

The rest of my threat vanishes in a broken gasp as heat floods me—his mouth closing over my breast, tongue pressing wet through lace, sucking until my back arches clean off the bed. The sound that escapes me is unguarded, loud enough to echo in the stillness of the room.

“Always so responsive,” he praises against my skin, his tone heavy with satisfaction.

A deft flick of his fingers at my back, and the clasp of my bra comes undone. I help him shrug it off, neither of us caring where it lands. His mouth returns instantly, lips trailing back to my nipple, teeth catching, tongue circling while his hand palms my other breast. My thighs clench involuntarily, heat dampening the lace between them. My hips lift, chasing friction that isn’t there, desperate.

His low chuckle vibrates against me, and when his lips finally leave my swollen skin, the loss stings almost as much as the cool air. He gives one last sharp nip before lifting his head, and I barely have time to reach for him before both my wrists are pinned above me, trapped easily in one of his hands. The mattress dips beneath the force, my breath hitching at the sudden display of dominance.

His free hand trails lower, brushing my nipple with the pad of his thumb as it descends, teasing, until it ghosts along the waistband of my panties. He pauses, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, his eyes locked on mine.

“Keep your hands here,” he orders softly, authority curling in his tone.

I nod, unable to form words, pressing my wrists together to keep them obediently where he’s placed them.

His fingers toy with the waistband, skimming lower, over fabric already damp. The slightest brush of his thumb has me gasping, my chest rising and falling too quickly. His gaze never leaves my face, cataloguing every twitch, every tremble.

“Already wet for me,” he says quietly, almost to himself, but his smirk betrays his satisfaction. His thumb presses lightly, circling, not enough, never enough. My body jerks, instinct trying to pull my hands free to clutch at him, but his hold is steady.

“What did I say?” His head tilts, the warning in his voice smooth but undeniable. “Hands. Up.”

The restraint, paired with his maddeningly slow touch, has me trembling, slick pooling between my thighs. He leans down, his breath hot against my ear.

“So. fucking. eager.”

The words land like sparks, my hips arching sharply into his hand. His thumb finally presses harder, circling with intent, and I’m already unraveling, tension coiling tight in my belly. Just as the wave starts to crest, he stops.

I whimper at the sudden loss, frustration pouring out of me, but before I can beg, his mouth is everywhere else—soft, teasing kisses scattered down my jaw, across my throat, between my breasts. He knows my body too well, how to ease me down, how to keep me spinning on the edge without letting me fall.

By the time his hand returns, slipping beneath the lace to touch bare skin, I’m shaking. The pads of his fingers drag through my slick folds, and the sound I make borders on a sob.

“God, you’re dripping for me,” he mutters, pride darkening his voice. His thumb finds my clit, pressing just right this time, while two fingers tease at my entrance.

“Mingi…” It comes out broken, half plea, half warning.

“Such a pretty thing, falling apart for me.”

He sinks them in slowly—agonizingly so—stretching me inch by inch until my hips rise in protest. His thumb never stops circling, light, insistent, keeping me tethered to the edge.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he groans, watching me with hunger. “Can you take it?”

I can’t answer. My head tips back, eyes squeezed shut, every muscle pulling tight with the building pressure. Release feels seconds away—until he pulls out suddenly, leaving me empty, aching, desperate.

I writhe, but his grip holds me firm, my wrists still pinned.

“You’ve been such a good girl,” he croons, sliding his fingers back in with more force this time, his thumb pressing harder on my clit. The rhythm is sharper, urgent, and I can feel myself shattering apart with every thrust. My body trembles, a sound caught between a sob and a moan tearing from me.

Before the climax can take me, he withdraws again, mouth trailing lower, lower, planting wet kisses down my stomach. His hands peel the lace away, slipping it down my legs and discarding it carelessly.

I tremble beneath him as his breath ghosts over my bare skin, the heat of it searing against the cool air. He hovers there, so close I can feel the promise of what’s coming, the anticipation so sharp it’s unbearable.

His eyes never leave mine as he lowers himself between my thighs, mouth brushing soft, teasing kisses against sensitive skin before finally giving in. The first long, deliberate lick up my center knocks the breath out of me. After the ache of denial, the wet heat of his tongue is unbearable in its intensity, sharp and dizzying. My fingers find his hair without thinking, tangling, tugging, as my hips jerk toward him on instinct.

The noise that tears out of me is raw, unfiltered, my back arching as he devours me. His mouth works with obscene precision, tongue circling, pressing, teasing in a rhythm that borders on cruel in how good it feels. And then—because of course he knows exactly how far to push me—his fingers slide back inside, stretching me again, curling just right.

The pressure that’s been building all along detonates. Release crashes over me so hard I can’t think, can’t breathe. My body trembles under him, every muscle pulling tight then unraveling at once, and still he doesn’t stop until I’m wrecked completely, limp against the sheets.

I barely register the shift of weight until he’s beside me again, one arm winding tight around my waist. His lips find my temple, my cheek, the corner of my mouth. I turn into him, brushing my lips against his in a slow, tentative kiss. The taste of myself lingers, but it doesn’t matter. His presence is grounding, anchoring me after the storm he just dragged me through.

“괜찮아2?” His whisper is hoarse, tender. I know the word—gwaenchana. Are you okay? The way he says it, breathless and low, tugs something deep in my chest. His thumb grazes my cheekbone, featherlight, like he’s afraid I’ll break.

“Yes.”

“You’re sure?” His eyes search mine, sharp edge stripped away, leaving only warmth.

“Yes,” I say again, a shaky laugh catching at the end. “I’m fine.”

Relief softens his shoulders. He pulls me tighter, my ear pressed to his chest where his heartbeat still races. Wrapped in his heat, I feel small, contained, but safe. My body hums with satisfaction, every limb heavy, but the hard line of him still pressing into my thigh is impossible to ignore. He’s gentler now, but not spent—not really.

My hand drifts down, fingertips skating over his damp skin, tracing the sharp dip of his waist before settling on the jut of his hipbone. I stroke it slowly, committing every curve to memory.

“Mingi?”

“Mm?” His voice vibrates against me, lazy, content.

“I still want you.”

That snaps him back. His head lifts, eyes locking onto mine with a hunger that flares instantly to life.

“Aren’t you exhausted?” His voice scrapes low, already betraying him.

“A little.” I grin faintly, fingers sliding lower until I find him, hot and heavy in my palm. The soft stroke I give him is enough to draw a hiss from between his teeth, his hips twitching into my hand.

“You’re going to kill me,” he groans, dropping his forehead to mine.

“You already said that,” I whisper, smiling against his lips. His answering grin is crooked, but the look in his eyes—raw, unguarded—steals my breath.

“You still don’t know what you do to me,” he mutters, his voice dipping into that dangerous register that coils low in my stomach.

“Then show me,” I challenge, echoing him from earlier.

In a blink, I’m on my back again, wrists pinned above my head, his weight caging me in. My chest rises too quickly, nipples grazing him with every shaky breath, friction maddening in its subtlety.

“You’d do anything just to feel me, wouldn’t you?” His tone is all command now, sharp enough to make my body obey before I can even think.

“No matter what you say,” I deadpan, arching a brow, “I’m not calling you Captain Big D.”

The laugh that bursts out of him is startled, bright, cracking through the heavy air. I can’t help but laugh too, our voices tangling. For a moment he looks at me like I’m the only thing tethering him to the earth.

His grip loosens. Fingers slip down to lace with mine instead, warm and steady. The laughter fades, leaving only a quiet pulse between us. He squeezes my hand once, his thumb brushing slow circles over my skin.

“You’re impossible,” he murmurs, but it’s soft, fond.

“I’m yours.” The words slip out before I can stop them. Too raw, too real. My pulse stumbles. I scramble to lighten it, to take the weight back. “At least for tonight.”

Mingi’s fingers flex around mine, subtle but enough to steal the air from my lungs. He doesn’t answer right away. His expression is shadowed, unreadable, before something in his gaze softens, the tension giving just slightly. “근데 넌3…” he breathes, so quiet I almost think I imagined it, the words fraying into silence like he left them unfinished on purpose. His exhale ghosts across my cheek, warm, fleeting. Then his eyes pin me in place. “Yeah, you are.”

The space between us grows dense, thick with the kind of charge that says everything words can’t. His thumbs stroke absently over my skin, back and forth, a tender rhythm that feels almost too intimate—more binding than the weight of his body pressing me into the mattress.

“Tonight,” he murmurs, his lips grazing my ear, “I’m going to make sure you don’t forget who you belong to.”

The promise makes me shiver. His hand slips from mine, fingers ghosting upward to brush a strand of hair behind my ear, then lingering at my jaw. He tilts my chin, his gaze falling to my mouth. The smallest arch of my body meets his touch before I even realize it.

“Mingi…” I start, but the word dies on a sigh when his thumb traces my lower lip. His eyes are dark, steady, carrying something I can’t decipher, something that makes my chest tight. For a moment the world narrows to just this—his heat, his eyes, the promise in the silence between us.

And then his mouth claims mine, slow but deep, tongues tangling with a hunger I can feel in my bones. My hand cups his face, pulling him closer, needing him nearer. Our bodies align, hips slotting together, and I take my chance to roll against him in a teasing, deliberate grind. His restraint is palpable; every muscle taut, his body still while I move against him shamelessly. The effort it costs him is written in the harsh rise and fall of his chest, in the way his fingers dig into mine as if I’m the only thing tethering him to control.

I trail my mouth from his lips to his jaw, down the column of his neck, tasting salt and spice from the sweat and cologne clinging to his skin. “Please,” I breathe into the hollow of his throat, teeth grazing bone. His groan vibrates through me, low and wrecking.

For a beat, his eyes close, his jaw tight, as if he’s bracing against more than just desire. I see the weight pressing down on him—the work, the contracts, the fear of one wrong move undoing everything. But then his gaze snaps open, darker now, hunger spilling through, and I know the fight is already lost.

“We should…” His voice cracks, dissolving into a hiss when I rock harder against him. He’s straining, every inch of him pressed hot and unrelenting against me.

“Whatever it takes. Please, fuck me, Mingi.” The plea scrapes raw from my throat, shaky, desperate.

He braces above me, muscles shifting under sweat-slicked skin. “Just the tip?”

My laugh is ragged, trembling. “You think you can stop there?”

His answering chuckle is low, nearly a growl. “I don’t know if I can,” he admits, voice shredded by want. “But I need to feel you. Just once. Nothing between us.”

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” I whisper, fingers tracing his jaw, finding the stutter of his pulse. “What if you lose?”

“Then I lose,” he says simply, eyes burning into me as his last bit of resolve breaks.

And then I feel him—thick heat sliding in, just a few inches, stretching me deliciously. A moan rips out of me, helpless, my grip on his hand tightening as my body arches. It’s too much and not enough all at once.

“Look at me.” His command is rough, gravelly. I force my eyes open, meet his gaze as he pushes deeper, another inch, until I’m gasping, head tipping back—

His hand seizes my jaw, guiding me back to him. “I said, look at me.”

And then, with one hard thrust, he’s buried to the hilt. Our voices break together, the sound raw and unrestrained. The fullness steals every coherent thought from me. He might have ruined me for good.

“God, you’re perfect,” he groans against my ear, hot breath skimming my skin. “So wet, so tight. You feel—fuck—so good.”

His mouth crashes to mine, the kiss brutal and desperate, swallowing the cry that tears free when he drags almost all the way out. My thighs clamp around his hips, nails biting into his shoulder, anything to hold him there. The slow push back in is torture, exquisite, unbearable.

For one sharp second, I think he’ll pull away completely, grab a condom, reclaim the control he’s always careful to keep. But he doesn’t. He sinks back into me again, slow, savoring the way I open for him, my whimpers swallowed into his mouth.

“Faster,” I beg, voice fractured.

“Shh.” His thumb brushes my lower lip, silencing me with maddening gentleness. His other hand knots tighter with mine, thumb stroking across my knuckles in a rhythm that feels both grounding and unrelenting. “I want to remember this,” he rasps. “Every second.” His mouth quirks into a smirk I feel more than see. “And I love watching you blush when you think you can’t take anymore.”

Heat blooms under my skin, racing up my chest, staining my face. His gaze pins me—dark, unyielding, stripping me bare yet making me feel wholly seen.

“But you can.” The words are a growl in my ear, a vow as much as a command.

His pace is agonizingly slow, every deliberate thrust measured, dragging me higher while denying me the fall. The air thickens with heat and sweat, our breath jagged, the slick sound of our bodies filling the room. Sheets twist beneath me, damp and tangled, as I brace my heels into the mattress, desperate for relief.

My fingers, still tangled with his, clench reflexively before I finally wrench my hand free. The sudden absence of his grip makes me feel weightless, unmoored for a breath, before instinct takes over. One hand flutters up to his shoulder, anchoring me. The other winds around his neck, threading into the damp strands of hair at his nape, pulling him closer until his weight is crushing me in the best way.

When our mouths meet again, it isn’t gentle—it’s ravenous, consuming, like we’re tearing at the last threads of restraint keeping him tethered. His groan vibrates against my lips, low and raw, as if letting go is the only option left.

He kisses me like he’s starving, swallowing every whimper, every broken sound that spills from my throat. My hips roll against his in the rhythm I know unravels him, and the groan that rips from his chest vibrates through me, raw and unfiltered. But it isn’t enough. Hunger claws deeper, sharper. I brace a hand on his shoulder, stretching my other arm toward the headboard, fingers scrambling for purchase as I try to force the pace faster, harder, desperate to catch the edge just out of reach.

He curses into my mouth, guttural and frayed, then relents—hips snapping forward so hard it knocks the air out of me. Each thrust sends sparks racing up my spine, dizzying, relentless.

“Didn’t you promise to ruin me against the wall?” I pant, barely audible over the slap of skin.

His laugh is dark, edged with danger. “Is that what you want?”

“Yes,” I moan, tilting my hips to take him deeper. His breath hitches, and I revel in it.

“Ask nicely.” The command is velvet-wrapped steel, his voice laced with smug heat.

“Make me,” I grin, dragging my nails across his shoulder.

His retaliation is swift—teeth sinking into the swell of my breast until pain flares, sharp and bright, then melts into a throbbing ache that coils low in my belly. I arch into him, throat bared in challenge, pulse hammering against the spot his lips hover.

“That’s all you’ve got?” I taunt, my laugh breaking on a breath.

His reply is a raw curse in Korean, ripped from his chest. It’s the sound he makes when patience snaps, when strength outweighs control. A sound that coils deep inside me, almost a plea.

Then he’s gone—pulling out so abruptly my body clenches around nothing. His palm pins my hips to the mattress, denying me the friction I crave.

“Since you’re so amused,” he murmurs, voice deceptively calm, “we’ll stay like this until you remember how to ask.”

The laugh dies in my throat, morphing into a whimper. “Wait—”

His fingers skim my clit, featherlight, cruel, gone before the touch becomes anything real.

“Ask,” he growls, the word rough and low, no room for disobedience.

Need swallows pride in a single beat. “Fine,” I snarl, voice fraying. “I’ll ask however you want—” His knuckles graze me again and my hips jerk. “—if you stop being a prick and move.”

I collapse back into the mattress, goosebumps prickling as the cool air meets sweat. His gaze burns, unrelenting, one brow lifted in silent expectation.

“Fuck me against the wall,” I breathe, nails biting his shoulders. “Please. Just like you promised.” A pause, then softer, feigned innocence: “Sir.”

The title slips out in a whisper, but the effect is instant. His eyes flash—just a flicker, just enough—but the smirk that curves his mouth is sharp enough to cut.

“See?” His breath scorches my ear. “Not so hard, was it?”

In one smooth motion, he lifts me, my legs locking around his waist as he carries me the few steps. Cold plaster bites into my back, a brutal contrast to the furnace of his body. His grip is bruising, possessive, as he aligns himself, pausing only to watch me squirm.

“Now,” he murmurs, his forehead pressed to mine, voice rough with restraint, “let’s see if that pretty mouth can stay quiet.”

He thrusts in hard, no preamble, his hand clamping my thigh like he’s branding me into memory. No slow build—just raw, pounding rhythm, each snap of his hips rattling me against the wall until there’s no space for breath, no room for thought.

Pinned, helpless, I moan into his mouth, ragged air mingling between us. His teeth catch my lower lip, biting until I gasp. Heat flares sharp and sweet. I reach down, circling my clit in frantic counterpoint, the double edge blurring everything into sensation—his pace, my fingers, the sheer filth of being held up by his strength alone.

“That’s it,” he croons, voice rough silk, eyes darting down to where I touch myself. “Take it.”

“You’re so perfect for me,” I breathe, voice soft and broken around the pleasure.

He falters—just a beat, a stutter in his rhythm—but it’s enough. His next thrust is harder, rougher, his control fracturing. “You don’t get to—” The warning shreds into a ragged groan.

I smirk, lips brushing the shell of his ear as I clench down around him. “You like that? Being my good boy?”

He breaks. A growl claws free, low and feral. His hips stutter, shudder. He won’t admit it, but his body betrays him.

In the next breath, he tears me off the wall, strides us to the bed, and drops me onto the mattress. Towering over me, chest heaving, eyes gone wild. “On all fours. Now.”

Drunk on power, I laugh, but obey—arching my back, palms sinking into the sheets, daring him.

The mattress dips behind me. His hand clamps my hip, guiding himself to my entrance before sliding in, deep and merciless. He doesn’t ease, doesn’t slow—just pounds into me, fingers digging bruises into my skin.

The sharp sting of his palm cracks across my ass before I even register his hand leaving my hip. The shock jolts through me, flaring hot and bright, then melting into aching pleasure. “More,” I gasp, shameless, trembling.

“You’re a naughty little thing,” he growls, lips grazing my ear. Then he pulls back and strikes again, harder, the sound echoing, the sting delicious.

I whimper and push back against him, his rhythm faltering, unraveling. Too close, too fast. I clench down, deliberate, ruthless.

“씨발4!” The curse I’ve come to love so much tears from his throat, raw and guttural, followed by a broken groan. “나 진짜 미쳤나 봐5.” His voice cracks at the edges, as if he’s trying to convince himself—like even he can’t believe how undone he is beneath my hands.

His arm snakes tight around my waist, dragging me upright until my back meets the furnace of his chest. Sweat clings where our skin touches, his heartbeat pounding frantic against my spine. One hand trails up slowly, deliberately, until it settles at my throat—firm, steady, just enough pressure to make my pulse stutter under his palm. The other slips lower, fingers finding me with unerring precision, circling my clit even as his hips drive deeper, harder. Every movement blurs control and surrender, unraveling us both in ways words can’t.

“Mingi,” his name slips from me like a prayer, unguarded.

He freezes for half a heartbeat, then exhales jaggedly, lips brushing my ear. “Say it again.”

The crack in his voice splinters me. I whisper it again, softer, and his breath shudders out like I’ve wrecked him. His forehead drops to my shoulder, his hand trembling faintly against my throat. The teasing is gone. What’s left is raw, stripped bare.

“Come for me,” he pleads, voice breaking. And the sound of it—desperate, needing—tips me straight over.

Pleasure detonates, wave after wave tearing through me, my body clamping down around him. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow—just chases me through it until he breaks too, groaning my name like it’s the only word he knows.

We collapse into the silence after, tangled, breath ragged. The hum of the AC fills the space between our heartbeats. My head falls back against his shoulder, his forehead pressed to my temple.

When he finally pulls free, the loss is immediate, sharp.

“Don’t move,” he murmurs, kissing the crown of my head, his voice wrecked. “Stay right here.”

I hear the water running in the bathroom, but he’s back quickly, a damp towel in hand. He parts my thighs with a gentleness that makes my throat tighten, wiping me clean with slow, careful strokes—a tenderness that feels almost jarring after the chaos of before. When he’s done, he tosses the towel aside and sinks onto the mattress, pulling me with him until my spine meets the solid warmth of his chest. His arm drapes over my waist, heavy, possessive, anchoring.

He doesn’t cage me—he gathers me. His arms circle tighter, not with force, but with an aching kind of need, like the inches between us had become unbearable. His heartbeat thrums against my back, too fast to belong to sleep, too uneven to be calm, and yet his breath at my neck is steady, practiced. As if he’s holding himself together piece by piece.

“Sleep,” he whispers, soft as a prayer, fragile as a confession.

I know this version of Mingi—the one whose hands command thousands with a flick of his wrist, but tremble when they skim my waist in the dark. The one who kisses me like hunger but holds me like I’m the only thing that could keep him standing.

His palm drifts upward, spreading over my ribs, his fingers wide and reverent where they rest above my heart. Not claiming, but searching. Like he could steal a fragment of my rhythm to slow his own.

And it strikes me—maybe his dominance isn’t just control. Maybe it’s survival. Maybe it’s the only way he knows how to keep from unraveling.

His lips brush my shoulder, feather-light, so faint I could pretend it was an accident. But then he buries his face into the crook of my neck, inhaling sharply, and I feel the way his body curls around mine—not to restrain, but to root himself.

Stay, his body pleads. Don’t go.

My chest tightens. Whatever just happened between us feels like a shift—something breaking open, or maybe falling perfectly into place.

So I close my eyes. And I let him hold me. Let the dark blur the line between what is real and what I ache for.

━━━━━━━ ⟡ ━━━━━━━

Korean Translations:

1"진짜… 미치겠다" —> "Jinjja… michigetda" – "Fuck, I’m going crazy"

2"괜찮아?" —> "Gwaenchana?" – "You okay?"

3"근데 넌... —> Geunde neon..." –  "But you are..."

4”씨발!” —> “Ssibal!” – “Fuck!”

Mingi was so much bigger than you and you loved it. When you first told him you wanted him to throw you around and treat you like a ragdoll, he took it as a challenge. He helped you discover your size kink.

"Yeah, baby," He whispers in your ear, one hand on the back of your head and the other on your lower back, helping you as you bounced up and down on his lap. "Take it all in." His breath is warm, and his voice sends shivers down your spine.

You try to speak, but nothing comes out. The only noise that comes out are incoherent words. He notices you struggling to form a thought and grabs a handful of your hair, tilting your head back and exposing your neck. His teeth graze the sensitive skin, making you gasp. The hand on your lower back presses you closer.

He pulls your head down, pressing his forehead against yours. "Come on, baby. Ride me like you mean it." He says, almost growling. His voice is low and gruff, a stark contrast to the gentle caress of his breath on your neck. You nod, your eyes fluttering closed as you try to focus on the task at hand. Your breaths come in quick pants, matching the rhythm of your movements.

"S-Sssso good," you slur, your walls fluttering around his cock. "T-T-Too big—" Your words break into a moan as he hits a spot deep within you, a spot that sends sparks flying across your vision. You let out a noise that almost sounded like a squeak, clenching around him again.

"What? You said you could take it, baby," he teases, his grip on your hair tightening slightly, his eyes gleaming with a mix of pleasure and challenge. His hips thrust upward, meeting your descending motion with a smack, pushing you onto his thickness. You moan, feeling the pressure build at the base of your spine.

"Take it. Take all of me. Ride me like the whore you are, princess." He basically growls and you mewl in response, a sound so unlike you but fitting perfectly in this moment of carnality. His words are harsh but they only serve to excite you further, pushing you to move faster and take him deeper. Your breasts bounce with each thrust and he reaches up to squeeze them, his fingers rolling your nipples into tight peaks that only make you wetter.

"I-I'm gonna cum," You whisper. It felt like his cock was tearing you apart, yet you craved more. Your thighs tightened around his waist, urging him deeper. His fingers dug into your flesh, leaving bruises on your breasts, but you didn't care. The pain only added to the pleasure.

"Cum." He commanded. "Cum around this cock, baby. Be a good girl,"

"S-Say it again-" You gasp. "C-Call me that-" Hiccup. "Again-!" You beg. His eyes flash with something primal, a smirk playing on his lips as he repeats.

His eyes cut sharper at you and the seven boys, shooting his drink down, the brown liquor giving him courage. Peeling himself off the bar counter top he makes his way towards you and the members. His long stride, the way his shoes click against the floor, he was on a mission. Your eyes flutter from laughing, you can make out almost every sound that’s happening in the room. Yet there is one sound in particular that catches your ears. The high pitch clicks of Mingis shoes. He makes his way towards the members and you, only to shoot you that fake smile he does, the cool air from him passing by breezes by you and the members. It feels like the world stills anytime he passes by, the draft leaves the lingering smell of his cologne. Your body riddles with goosebumps. You watch as his broad back makes it farther and farther away.

Stretching your neck to see where he’s going, the boys seem to be background noise at this rate. Almost like static, Mingi had you hooked on him like a drug. You were like a moth to the flame, the persona he puts on even for the members has everyone fooled. It even fooled you, which is how you fell into his trap. They say the devil was once the most beautifulest angel, and Mingis beauty did nothing but blind you.

Your body moves on auto pilot, not even bothering to tell the boys that you were going to go find Mingi. Your body just sways to where you can smell the faint scent of him. Bringing you into a dark hall, the air is so still it almost feels unreal. Your body litters with nerves, rubbing your upper arm, you whisper out Mingis name, sounding like a true stray sheep, calling for its shepherd. He can see you from a dimly lit hallway, you look lost, you look astray. You look tempting, yet while his cock hardens with want, his blood pressure rises because you were also the same person laughing way too hard at his members.

“You lost?” His raspy voice speaks up, echoing down the long and poorly light hallway. Your body does such a noticeable jump, he can’t help but smile, while his cock twitches slightly at the sight. Your head turns from side to side trying to figure out where his voice came from. You can hear the vibrations of his deep tone still ringing in your ears. Letting out a small whimper you call out for Mingi once more.

He starts laughing slowly, the sound just bouncing around the walls of the bare space. You look straight ahead, catching a glimpse of his teeth, his smile so big and teeth so bright, with the way the lights are dim he looks like a threat, almost like this isn’t the Mingi you know.

“Come over here.”

Thoughtlessly following his command, your legs move on autopilot. Your brain already feels like mush, his voice bouncing around in your ears, mixing with the scent of him. He’s addicting. He's propped up against a wall, looking down at you, while your eyes stare up at him like he’s got every answer in the world for you. His cool hand comes to brush your cheek bone, coming down to brush against your bottom lip, pulling it down with his thumb before his hand travels down to your throat, yanking your body closer to his, he’s got you almost completely off of the floor, your noses are brushing. You let out a small squeak at the sudden intrusion. His large hand is crushing your windpipe, even though you can barely make out his features you know there is a fire brewing behind his eyes.

“They must’ve been real fucking comedians to make you laugh as much as you did tonight.” He grits out, while he wasn’t physically spitting on you, it felt like he was spitting heat onto your skin. Letting out a choked out noise, he feels his cock twitch, trying his best not to let his eyes roll back with pleasure at the way your poor helpless face contorts in front of him. Your hand comes up to try and pry him off, yet he squeezes tighter. Tears streaming down your face, your nails dig into him.

Letting you go, your body slumps to the floor, your knees hitting the ground first, your hands grip the material of his pants. Your hand lightly brushes over his hard on. You are in a kneeling position, tears stream down your face. You plead with Mingi through choked sobs..

“Min-Mingi it wasn’t like th-that I sw-swear.” Throat raw with emotion and lack of oxygen from him choking you. There you went, his little helpless sheep. Letting out a tsk, Mingi, brushes his thumb across the top of your forehead.

“I treat you well don’t I? And this is how you treat me…”

The disappointment in his voice wraps around your heart and tugs on the strings of it. Your face deepening in a frown, the tears that were wetting his pants were no longer from the pain of him choking you, it was from the pain you caused him, the disappointment that you shed upon him. Your hands grip his pants in desperation. When you feel something cool brush against the temple of your head, your eyes slowly trailing up his chest. The cool steel is settled right against your temple, not daring to make a move. His mouth widens into that horrific smile. The smile that captures people, that smile that lures people in.

“Do I have to drill into your skull who you belong to? Who owns you?” He says, voice sweet as sugar. Your eyes widen even further, your cunt slickens, you're so far gone on this man you can’t help but contort yourself into what he wants. Your eyes shine, mouth opening and closing no sound coming out but a helpless whimper. The sound of that is enough to make his head roll back, palming your head with his other hand, shoving your face against his twitching cock, the small wet stain of pre cum mixing with your tears brushes against your face.

You nuzzle your face against him, making his cock twitch even harder at the new feeling. His mouth drops open, a quiet groan leaving him. The blade of the knife falters slightly, bringing him back to reality, gripping you by your elbow he snatches you up to your feet.

Turning you around quickly he shoves you chest first against the wall, bunching your dress up against your hips, undoing his belt, he shimmies his pants down on his thigh, thick cock springing free, just oozing with pre cum. The cool air on his cock makes him shiver. You let out a soft moan at him manhandling you, your mind clouded with love, while Mingis mind is clouded with lust.

The blade is on the front of your throat, while his other is on your shoulder, thumb brushing against your pulse, he can feel the quick pulsation pump through his thumb. He sticks his cock between your thighs, brushing against your clothed cunt.

“I’m going to use you how I see fit, do you understand me?” He whispers in your ears, his warm breath tickling your ear, the pulsation from his cock on your count has you whimpering, nodding your head you let out a deep breath trying to gather yourself.

The blade bites into your skin, making your body tense up. You choke out a small yes to him, which immediately follows him thrust his hips slowly, cock slickening from how wet you are getting with each second, one particular thrust makes you whimper loudly.

“Who was the funniest between them?”

Biting your lip, trying your best to keep quiet, your mind can’t even fully comprehend what he’s saying. Stopping his sudden thrusts he pulls back slightly, causing you out a small cry when you feel the cool air hit your sticky cunt, strings of arousal cling to the fabric as he hikes it down to your knees, sticking his cock back in between your thighs he gathers as much slick as he can before he starts to thrust between the lips of your cunt, before slamming his cock into your pussy.

“Don’t make me ask again.” He grits out, moving the blade, the cool steel sitting alongside the vein that runs in the side of your neck.

“None of them were as funny as you Min-Oh my god!” You yell out, hands trying to find the closest thing to grip, his hand grips the blade tighter, making it bite your skin, right on the verge of slicing it.

The sudden slamming of his hips, hike you up and down the wall, cries leave your throat, as the biting of the blade continues to rub against your skin, your cunt gets wetter and wetter by the second. The empty hallway fills with your moans, and the sound of wet skin on wet skin.

“Next time if you even think of cracking a smile at them, I’ll kill you.” He grits, toes clenching in his shoes, you’ve never been this wet before, it’s soaking his pants. Maybe you were just as deranged as he was.

“Or maybe I’ll kill them.” He whispers into your ear, his harsh thrusts making your brain mush, you can feel him brush over your cervix, the squelching noise from your cunt overrides every sound in the hallway, even your pathetic moans. His other hand comes down to your hip. Bringing you down on his cock when he thrusts back, aiding in the powerful strokes he’s delivering to you.

Moving the knife from your vein he holds it to the front of your throat, right above where an adam's apple would lie. The sharp end of the blade pokes your chin, making you moan loudly, with each powerful stroke he gives you, your chin brushes down lightly against the tip of the blade, scratching your skin. With one false move it could easily impale you.

“You hear your pussy talking to me?” He says through clenched teeth, the way your cunt is soaking him, so sloppily he’s so close to the edge.

“She’s telling me she’s sorry, she’s sucking me back in, it’s almost like she knows the boys can’t fuck you like I can, they can’t pleasure you like I do. They could never do half the shit I do.”

His words are like velvet in your ears, the degrading, dirty words flutter in your head like tiny butterflies. Loud whimpers are falling out of your mouth, you attempt to bring your hand up to your mouth trying your best to quiet down when Mingi digs the blade into your neck even harder, you are sure the blade has nicked your skin slightly. Causing you to let out a loud cry, your head knocks against the wall in front of you, crying out Mingis name like it’s a mantra while your orgasm crashes over you.

“Yeaaa, yeaaa that’s it momma, cum on my cock.” He gasps out, tossing his head back, hips speeding up, the tip of his cock crushing against your cervix, walls squeezing him tightly. Milking him for every last drop of cum. His hips jerk slightly trying to help you ride out your own orgasm, as he’s trying to ride out his own.

His body falls forward slightly crushing you against the wall, cock still buried deep into your cunt, knife still present against your throat. The tip of the cool blade is digging fully into your chin. His hot breath pants against your ear, you can feel his heart thump hard against your back. He nudges the blade against your chin, making it dig into your skin further, your head tilts up slightly, eyes looking to the side, catching his wicked smile.

“Remember who you belong to, because next time I won’t remind you. I’ll just show you.”

as you slowly sat, crocheting a simple shirt, you looked over into your basket of art, possessing a peculiar talent for crocheting, your most prized creation sitting at the top of the basket, a special thong adorned with intricate patterns in beautiful colours, treasuring it as your first ever success creation and for the general craftsmanship you had to will to make it.

One sunny morning, while you were engrossed in a new project, a figure slinked out of his room. Mingi, your roommate known for his stealth and mischief, quickly spotting your pretty pink thong nestled in your shared dirty clothes basket, Mingi's eyes gleamed with mischief, quickly realizing you'd only just taken them to the basket, quickly snatched them and disappeared into his room, to... study them~

later, as you returned your basket to wash the clothes, staring at the sight of the empty bottom of the basically where it once lay. annoyance gripping your mind as you quickly heard slight moans coming from mingis room, quickly opening into his room, seeing his thighs spread out, panties around the pretty pink tip of his cock, quickly walking to him snatching them out of his hand

"you're a freak"

Mingi quickly denying any wrongdoing, cock still in hand , even after spitting in his face.

As you quickly went back in your room with your now, cum covered thong, only being able to reflect on the unexpected bond, though they came from different places, slowly realizing that... blah blah blah, either way, mingi no.1 freak

a/n: kinda loved making this

Mingi bursts out laughing, fist clenching around his chopsticks. “I cannot do this, I really can’t.” “Stop being such a pussy and eat some fish god damn it.” You hiss, muscles frozen in fear of following Mingi’s chuckling. Mingi’s near crying with laughter, chopsticks shaking as he reaches towards a slice of yellowtail topped with a sliver of jalapeno. Shaking from the force of his guffaws he knocks the fish off the rice it so lovingly sat atop. “My dad owns a sushi restaurant.” “Mingi!” “I can’t stop seeing his face!” “Mingi, fucking christ, why didn’t you tell me?” You lay there, carefully arranged banana leaves and raw fish topping your naked body. You’d seen it once in a movie, a little kitschy but seemed like a cute and sexy way to have a quiet valentines day dinner at home. A nice bonding experience that didn’t involve the stress and effort of going to some crowded restaurant with an overpriced pre-fixe menu.  It hadn’t occurred to you to ask your partner’s parents' occupations. “I didn’t think it was pertinent! I’m so sorry-” tears streaming down his face. “I’m sorry I ruined your very…creative…idea.” Gingerly pinching the leaves arranged on your body and picking them up, takeaway sushi and all, Mingi helped place them to the side, revealing more and more of your skin. It wasn’t the way you’d hoped the night would go. Ideally the pieces would’ve disappeared slowly as Mingi ate, feeding you as he discovered the tastiest slices. Leaves slowly dwindling, building anticipation. Not shuttling the pieces away in chunks so that you could re-robe yourself in shame to sit on the couch next to your boyfriend picking through the mess of fish and green.

“I mean, the sushi is really good!” Mingi’s cheeks bulge with rice as he chews. “Rice is well seasoned…nice thick cuts of-” You glare. You aren’t in the mood for him trying to lighten it. You want to sulk and pout and ruminate. You want him to feel the cool breeze from your silence wash over him. Nibbling at the pieces Mingi places gingerly near you, the ‘sensual’ jazz playlist you’d found hums along in the background. The foolishness of it all still stings even though some day this will be a found moment, right now you want to disappear and wail into a mug of wine.

Slowly the evidence of your misfire dwindles, only a small stack of leaves remaining which Mingi gathers into a tight bundle to throw in the trash. “Easy clean up!” The man valiantly attempts to lighten the mood and is once more shot down with a mute stare as he exits to throw away the decoration. Slouching back into the couch with a heavy sigh you pull your phone from your robe pocket. “Mission fail. Imma kms.” You message Wooyoung. “WHAT. How?!” A flurry of bubbles appear on your screen in all caps. “How dare he, he doesn’t know how much effort went into the layout, the presentation, the acquisition.” “His dad. It was his dad.” “His dad? His dad saw you naked?!” “No dummy. His dad owns a sushi spot.” “Shit.”

You quickly darken the screen as Mingi reenters and plops down next to you. He sits on the edge of the cushions, fidgeting. Fighting down what he wants to say. He knows sometimes you just need time to be upset but he hates knowing that you are. “You did set up the sushi really nicely, you know. I really appreciate that you noticed how much I’d been mentioning wanting to eat it.” He speaks softly with a small half smile. “Hmph.” Pouting he tries valiantly. “Please, as a gift can I love you now?” “I feel dumb and unlovable and I hate myself so no.” “Can I love you twice as much to make up for it?” He pesters one last time, swearing to himself he’ll give up if you say it again. You fold for him. Anybody would. Such a big man being so cautious and tender. “You’re such a big doof.” You soften into his side. His glow is contagious when he smiles as brightly as he does when you give in to his affection. It’s warm and comforting like a sunbeam in the middle of winter, reminding you that better days are just around the corner. “Plus you’ve given me a great idea for dessert…” he grins wolfishly.

You can’t believe that this man has you in such a similar position as he’d found you. Naked and layed out on the bed you shiver. The anticipation has you on edge more than the slight chill in the air. Mingi appears at the door, twirling a silver can in his hands. Very unceremoniously he tips the can to the ceiling and squirts a small pile of whipped cream into his mouth. “‘Ou r’a’y?” He can barely enunciate with his cheeks puffed out cutely. It’s hard to believe that he’s the same man that makes your gut twist and toes curl when he looks so adorable. “I’m naked aren’t I?” “And very appetizing.” He leans over and kisses you, a hint of sweetness lingering on his lips. Steadying yourself you close your eyes. It’s difficult to allow yourself to slip into the right headspace as you failed so spectacularly earlier. Flinching, the shake of the can is unmistakable. “Are you scared?” He teases. “Is my baby a scaredy cat? What’s the whipped cream going to do to you huh?” “Shut up, you’re worse than me.” You say through gritted teeth. “I’ve never once been scared in my whole life.” You frown, and look at him, “you’re such a bull-” you try to argue but are interrupted by the sudden shock. The can splutters, spraying fluffy cream directly onto your breasts. “-shit Mingi! It’s cold hurry!” You jolt and squirm at the sensation. He slaps your thigh, “if you keep moving it’ll melt off you onto the sheets and then you’ll really be sorry.” With one flick of his tongue he collects the sweet sticky substance, pleased with your reaction. He lowers his head to suck and swirl around your nipple, in the guise of collecting any remnants. “Y-yess,” you hiss and arch into him. “Oh you like that huh?” He shakes the can, pressing the nozzle to dispense more onto the other side. “Mingi- please-” you choke out as his warm mouth remedies the cold touch of the whipped cream deliciously. He lavishes the same attention to your other breast, drawing the sensitive skin between his lips. Blood flows to your sex, leaving you tender and tingly, hyper aware of the arousal leaking from your slit. “You want some?” He asks, lips parting from you with a pop. “I can put it on my-” “If you hope to put your dick anywhere near my pussy you know my answer.” “More for me then,” he shrugs, dispensing a line from the valley of your sternum down to your belly button, chasing the fluff the way back up. “Open.” You obey easily, tongue poking out and waiting. Carefully he squirts a tiny star from the can onto your tongue just enough for a taste, not enough to fill your mouth. “Meanie,” you whine and pout, trying not to smile. “You love me.” “You’re lucky I do.” “I know,” he smiles, placing the can on the nightstand and slinking between your legs. “I’m really lucky.”

Two of his fingers slide along your slit, circling, teasing. Your hips rock with him, always eager to bend to even the smallest of his touches. It helped that even his small touches felt large due to his size. Everything from his strong thighs, large hands, pointed nose, and thick cock made you needy and pliant against your daily nature. “Oh you’re ready aren’t you? My sweet thing. Mine. Mine. Mine.” He sucks small bruises along the insides of your thighs as punctuation. Leaving a physical representation of his sincerity for you to muse over if you ever wondered how he felt. He practically pulls your ass into his lap, tilting you with him as his form hovers over yours. Cock hot and heavy, he slowly rubs himself against you, sharing in your essence before pushing himself into your cunt. “Jesus FUCK,” you grit your teeth. “You really have to be so fucking huge don’t you?” “You really have to be so tiny?” He pants. “No matter how many times i fuck you-” he grunts and rocks himself back, “-still so tight-” he presses into you, bony vline meeting with the backs of your thighs with a deep sigh, “-but we always make it fit.” He nuzzles and kisses and dotes on you from your lips to your jaw to your shoulders. A big warm wolfish man curled over you protectively as the shared air heats between you. The burn of the stretch is fleeting, a flash that fades into pressure. The back of your throat empathetically choked by the depth he reaches inside of you. Although you know it isn’t possible, scientifically speaking, it feels like the head of his cock is pressing against the knot of your belly button with each readjustment of your bodies. You start to rock your hips, grinding your clit against him slightly, just enough to provide that pleasant floaty feeling of anticipation. The thud of your heartbeat has never felt so clear, magnified in your chest, pumping along in chorus with your ministrations. Slowly Mingi steadies you, palm resting heavy on your hip, leaning in closer to kiss you as he grabs a pillow from your side. Pulling you up to bridge your hips the pillow slips beneath your hips, propping you up just enough to ease the angle. “There we go, that’s better. Right?” He coos, thrusting into your slick warm heat. There’s an ease to each motion that comes with practice, with several bumps and bruises and early ends to sexpeditions, with knowing you. Really knowing you.

The slow drag churns your insides, summoning moans and groans. “It feels so good,” you mutter in wonderment. “Can you feel how much I love you, babe?” His thumb circles your clit eliciting another stifled moan. “Love you so fucking much. Wanna keep you all stuffed and happy every day of your life.” His pace increases as you flutter and clench around him. “You like that? Want me to take care of you, Princess?” You do. You like when he takes care of you but you hate to admit it. Even the part of you that wants to be worshiped like this feels a spark of shame that she isn’t doing more to please her man.

For what it’s worth Mingi loves watching you let go. The moment he finds the small spot with his cock that makes your eyelids flutter and mouth drop he knows he has you. It’s enough for him that you let him love you like this, steady and strong and without any need for showmanship. Getting to appreciate you without a sideways glare or smart retort in some act of both self deprecation and self defense. He finally feels worthy of the choked back whines you hold in your chest. Shuddering you cum around him without warning, cursing under your breath. Body buzzing your eyelids fall heavy into post orgasmic haze. “Mingi-” you mutter breathily. Even hearing his name so instinctively called has him fighting to keep focus. “Yeah honey?” “Cum, please,” you ask sweetly, face scrunched tightly as your thighs quiver and hips bridge. “Please,” you beg.

The tone of your voice speaks to some deep animalistic trigger in his brain. The whines coming from you driving his hips faster and faster. He doesn’t want to lose control like this but when you’re begging him who is he to refuse? “Fuck, really? So soon?” He’s panting and cursing as sweat drips between you. “Mhm, please- ah-AH-fuck- I need it.” Hands grappling his shoulders, you pull yourself to him, squeezing with every part of your body, grinding and grasping in some meager attempt to merge the two of you. Mingi holds you tightly as you do him while you cum, letting your walls work him to completion. His breathing stops, all noise caught in his throat as he pumps his cum deep into you. Air finally releases from his lungs with a shuddered low whine.

In the sudden silence of your bedroom you lay your head on his shoulder feeling the rise and fall of your chests. “You’ve gotten stronger.” “I’m training with Yeosang now.” He laughs, shaking the both of you. “I’m going to need to wear some more full coverage shirts at the gym tomorrow.” “Oh come on I didn’t break skin! Fuck me worse next time if you’re going to complain!” “Not a chance.” Both of you giggle. The sweat dries sticky on your back and thighs. Slowly you feel the telltale pins and needles in your ankles from sitting kneeling on top of him. The body origami you have to do isn’t graceful, a gloop of cum unceremoniously splurting forth from you. The gory aftermath of a good romp isn’t new to either of you. Mingi tries to hand you a tissue but you wave him off as you clench and waddle to the toilet.

Door open, he stands naked in the arch with a glass of water. “Here or bedroom?” “Isn’t it a little awkward to drink water while you’re…using the toilet?” “Bedroom.” “Nah give it, I’m tired.”

By the time you’re done cleaning yourself off he’s laying on top of the sheets in a clean pair of boxers, scrolling on his phone. The failed Valentine present feels so distant already as you snuggle into his side.

“You’re still sticky!” You whine. “We don’t have to cuddle.” With a pout you wrap your arm around his waist and squeeze the unflexed muscles. It’s just a normal night. Maybe that’s all it ever had to be.   

I SAID I WOULD COME BACK FOR THESE AND I WILL.