#sub ateez

Your studio hums softly around you. Low music. Warm light. The familiar buzz of the tattoo machine steady in your hand like a second heartbeat.

Outside, the street beyond the front windows is already dark, neon signs reflecting faintly against the glass. Your last appointment of the night stretched later than planned, the rest of the building long since quiet.

The smell of antiseptic and ink clings to the air, clean but intimate in a way most places never are. People let you touch them here. Let you get close enough to hear the change in their breathing, to feel tension beneath their skin before they even notice it themselves.

You’ve always liked that part.

“Breathe out,” you murmur.

Your client obeys immediately.

He’s stretched beneath the lamp, shirt tossed somewhere behind him, skin warm under your hand where you steady him by the waist. The tattoo curves along his ribs in clean black lines, and you lean closer to finish a careful stroke, thumb pressing lightly into his side to keep him still.

He sucks in a sharp breath.

“There,” you say softly. “Relax.”

“You say that every five minutes.”

“And somehow you still trust me.”

He laughs under his breath, eyes dragging down to your mouth for a second too long. “Hard not to.”

You ignore that easily. You’ve heard versions of it a thousand times before. You wipe excess ink from his ribs.

His gaze flicks down to your hands again. “You always this nice to clients?”

“You’re paying me.”

“Could charge extra. I’d still come back.”

The bell above the studio door jingles softly. You don’t look up immediately. You know who walked in anyway. The heavy steps. The careless confidence of someone who’s been here enough times to stop asking permission for anything. The fridge opening.

“Beer tax,” Mingi calls from the back.

Your mouth curves before you can stop it.

“Get your own studio.”

“You’d miss me.”

You don’t answer. Because you would. Terribly.

Instead you lean closer to inspect the tattoo, fingers spreading against your client’s stomach as you stretch the skin carefully beneath the needle.

From behind you, the couch creaks, and you finally glance back at him.

Big hoodie. Work boots still on. Slouched deep into the couch cushions like he lives there. Watching you over the rim of the bottle with that lazy heavy-lidded stare that always does something unfortunate to your nervous system.

He comes here almost every night after work.

At first it had been accidental. Quick stops before heading home. Then takeout between appointments. Then sitting with you while you cleaned your station at midnight. Then coffee appearing beside your machine before you could ask for it.

Somewhere along the way, your studio started feeling wrong without him in it. Somewhere along the way, you started falling in love with him. Quietly. Stupidly. 

Because Mingi is like this with everyone. Warm. Affectionate. Easy with touch. The kind of person who leans into you when he laughs and throws an arm around your shoulders without thinking. The kind of person who makes you feel chosen even when you probably aren’t.

So you buried it under routine and late-night beers and the hoodies he keeps leaving behind in your studio chair. Under the certainty that none of this would ever become more.

Your client shifts slightly beneath your hand. “You know,” he says, “if I met you somewhere else, I’d think you were flirting with me.”

You drag the needle into a clean line. “That sounds like a you problem.”

“I’m serious.” His smile turns crooked. “Soft voice. Hand on my waist. Eye contact. It’s confusing.”

“You came to a tattoo appointment.”

“Yeah, but you’re making it hard to stay professional.”

Mingi sets his beer down a little too hard against the table. You glance back automatically. He’s staring at the floor now, jaw tight for half a second before he notices you looking.

“What?” he says.

“Nothing.”

Your client looks between both of you once, then keeps talking. Unbothered. As if Mingi isn’t watching his every word. 

“No, but seriously,” he says, looking at you again. “You’ve got dangerous energy.”

“Dangerous.”

“Yeah. Like you flirt for fun and ruin lives accidentally.”

You laugh softly through your nose. 

But Mingi doesn’t. He should. He could. He usually does.

Instead his eyes keep lifting every time your hand settles against the client’s ribs. He goes quiet whenever the client calls you sweet. He keeps trying to insert himself into the conversation and failing to catch your attention the same way the client does.

And underneath all of it, something uncomfortable starts pulling tighter in his chest. Because the client gets your teasing. Your soft voice. Your hands all over him. And Mingi suddenly can’t stop wondering if that’s just who you are with everybody.

The rest of the session passes normally. Mostly. Your client keeps trying.

“You gonna miss me when I’m gone?”

You smooth the wrap carefully against his ribs. “I’ll think about you sometimes.”

“Damn. Sometimes?”

“Don’t get greedy.”

He laughs again, completely charmed by you in the way men always are. 

And every time you touch him, Mingi notices. Not angry. Not even resentful. Just painfully aware. Like hearing your favorite song playing from somebody else’s car.

By the time the tattoo’s paid for, the studio feels strangely dense. Your client grabs his jacket, already backing toward the door.

“Same time next week?”

“We’ll see if you survive this one first.”

“I survived because you were gentle.”

Something shifts in Mingi’s jaw. The client notices immediately. A grin spreads slowly across his face.

“Tell your boyfriend thanks for the emotional support.”

The door closes before either of you can answer. Silence spills into the studio after him. The buzzing needle’s gone now. The music suddenly sounds louder. Slower.

From the corner of your eye, you catch Mingi pushing himself off the couch. He flips the sign on the front door to CLOSED before sliding the lock into place with a quiet click. Then he walks toward you.

You start cleaning your station, peeling off gloves and reaching for disinfectant.

Usually Mingi waits for you to drift back toward him naturally. Tonight he comes to you instead. You feel him before he speaks. Close enough that your body notices immediately.

“So,” you say lightly, wiping down the tattoo bed, “my boyfriend, huh?”

Mingi nearly chokes on his beer. You glance over just in time to catch the way his eyes widen above the bottle.

“He was joking,” he says too fast.

“You seem stressed for someone who’s definitely not my boyfriend.”

“I’m not stressed.”

You hum like you totally believe him.

Mingi reaches past you for the paper towels at the exact same moment you turn. His chest brushes your shoulder. Tiny contact. Barely anything. Still, his hand lands automatically at your waist to steady you.

Your stomach flips immediately. 

Neither of you moves. Then his thumb shifts once against your side before he pulls away like he only just realized where his hand is.

“You were very attentive with him,” he says casually.

You glance sideways at him.

“It’s my job.”

“Hm.”

Not convinced.

He leans against the edge of the bed while you keep cleaning, entirely too close for someone pretending to be normal right now. His knee knocks yours once.

“You know,” he says, “I’ve been thinking about getting another tattoo.”

You snort softly. “You complain through every appointment.”

“And yet I keep coming back.”

“For the art?”

His mouth twitches.

“For the experience.”

“The experience.”

“Special treatment. Soft voice. Emotional support.”

“You want me to hold your hand?”

Mingi’s mouth twitches.

“…Maybe.”

The answer slips out so easily you almost miss it. Almost. 

Your mouth curls before you can stop it. That seems to make him realize he said it out loud, because he looks away immediately, rubbing at the back of his neck while you reach for the petroleum jelly beside him. 

His hand catches your wrist first. Lightly. You freeze.

“There,” he murmurs, thumb brushing across the inside of your wrist. “Ink.”

Your breath catches a little stupidly. 

Mingi has always touched you easily. Like affection is something that lives in his hands naturally. This doesn’t feel careless. This feels slow. Aware.

His thumb drags once more before he lets go. Neither of you pulls away right away.

“That guy was flirting with you.”

You tilt your head. “You think?”

Mingi gives you a flat look.

“He literally asked for your number.”

“And?”

“And you flirt back.”

You blink. “I don’t.”

“You absolutely do.”

That lands heavier than it should. Like he’s been holding onto it longer than just tonight. You turn fully toward him, arms folding loosely.

“Oh my god,” you say slowly. “You’re jealous.”

“No.”

Immediate. Too immediate.

“You are.”

“I’m really not.”

“But you don’t like it.”

“I don’t care.”

“You looked ready to bite through drywall because he called me dangerous.”

“That’s because he sounded ridiculous.”

You laugh before you can stop yourself. Mingi’s eyes narrow slightly.

“There,” he says immediately. “That.”

“What?”

“That. You do that with everybody.”

“Do what?”

“That—” He gestures vaguely at you. “That thing.”

You stare at him for two full seconds. Then burst out laughing. Mingi groans instantly, dragging both hands down his face.

“Forget I said anything.”

“No, no,” you say, stepping closer. “I want details. What thing?” 

“I hate you.”

“That’s not very boyfriend of you.”

His head snaps up so fast it almost makes you grin.

“You’re enjoying this way too much.”

Maybe you are. Because suddenly everything from tonight rearranges itself perfectly in your head. The hovering. The watching. The way he kept interrupting. The way his eyes tracked your hands every time you touched the client.

And now this.

Song Mingi, who walks through life like nothing rattles him, suddenly can’t even look at you properly. 

You should let him recover. You don’t. Instead, you step closer. Slow enough that he notices. Close enough that his attention snaps back to you immediately.

Now there’s barely space left between you. 

Your hand lifts automatically toward the silver chain half-hidden beneath the collar of his hoodie, the pendant twisted awkwardly into the fabric. You hook two fingers under it, easing it free, then straighten it against his chest. A small gesture. Almost domestic.

Your knuckles brush warm skin where the chain slips under his shirt.

Mingi freezes. Not dramatically. Just enough for you to feel it.

“You’re touchy today,” he says softly.

“You started it.”

“Did I?”

“Mhm.”

Your fingers trail once along the chain before falling away. He watches every second of it. Like your hands are speaking a language he’s trying desperately to translate before it disappears.

A reluctant smile threatens at the corner of his mouth again, weaker now. Distracted by the fact you’re still standing too close. 

“How many clients leave here thinking you’re into them?”

You blink once. “Excuse me?”

“I’m serious.” His jaw shifts faintly. “You look at people like that and then act surprised when they start falling in love with you.”

The sentence lands hard enough to knock the air slightly out of your lungs. Because he says it like an accusation. But underneath it, there’s something rawer. Softer. Something dangerously close to confession.

Your mouth twitches despite yourself. “It gets me better tips.”

“Right.” He glances away briefly. “Cool.” Then, quieter, “you flirt with me for free.”

Mingi’s eyes widen slightly like he physically felt the words leave his mouth and wants to grab them out of the air. 

You blink once. Then tilt your head.

“…Do I?”

His ears turn red instantly. Actually red. And that’s new enough to make warmth bloom low in your stomach.

“I just mean,” he says quickly, taking half a step back, “you’re naturally like that. With everyone.”

“With everyone?”

“Yeah.”

You follow him when he steps back. Not enough to scare him. Just enough to make him realize you noticed.

“And you hate it?”

“No.” Too fast again. “I mean. Not hate. I just don’t like watching people flirt with you.”

The words slide warm and heavy into the room. Your heartbeat stumbles.

“Oh,” you say softly.

Mingi laughs once, humorless around the edges. “Yeah. Oh.”

Another step back from him. Another forward from you. The rhythm becomes almost absurd. Mingi retreating inch by inch while you slowly invade every space he gives up. Like he’s trying to survive this conversation and you’re trying to see how long until he breaks.

“I just think,” he says carefully, “most people don’t pay attention properly.”

“And you do.”

He hesitates. Then nods once. Small. Honest.

God.

The air suddenly feels too thick in your lungs.

“I know when you’re tired before you admit it,” he says quietly. “I know you pretend to hate sweet drinks but steal mine every time. I know you stop talking when something’s actually wrong.” His voice softens. “I know you hum when you tattoo.”

Your chest tightens painfully.

Mingi keeps talking now like he can’t stop once he’s started.

“I know which clients piss you off before they even sit down. I know you clean your station twice when you’re stressed. I know you act meaner when you’re embarrassed.”

Your lips twitch despite yourself.

“And I know,” he says, finally looking at you again, “that you flirt with people when you want them comfortable. But it doesn’t feel the same when you do it to me.”

The room goes quiet. Not empty. Heavy. Your heart is beating so hard now it almost feels embarrassing.

“Mingi…”

He keeps backing up as he talks. You keep moving forward. Until eventually his back brushes the wall near the hallway leading to the back room. Trapped. His breath catches slightly.

He tries to shift forward again on instinct. He can’t. Because you’re still there. Not crowding. Just close enough that the space he needs is gone. He’s actually stuck. Not metaphorically. Not dramatically. Just physically there, pinned between the wall and you. 

His breath turns shallow.

And suddenly you realize he’s actually nervous. Not teasing nervous. Not playful nervous. Real nervous. Mingi, who flirts with strangers like breathing and walks through every room like he belongs there, is looking at you like one wrong sentence might crack him open completely.

The realization sends warmth blooming painfully through your chest.

“I think about you too much,” he blurts suddenly.

The words hang there between you. Honest. Unpolished. Mingi winces immediately after saying them like he regrets how revealing they sound. But he keeps going anyway.

“Like… an embarrassing amount, actually.” His eyes flick away again. “At work. On my way home. I see things and think you’d laugh at them. Or hate them. Or make fun of them for being ugly.”

Your lips twitch helplessly.

“And then you flirt with random guys in front of me and suddenly I’m sitting on your couch acting like a fucking psycho because some dude called your hands magic.”

The laugh that escapes you is soft. Warm. Fond enough to make his face flush deeper.

“I’m serious,” he mutters weakly.

“I know.”

“No, I don’t think you do.”

That lands differently. The air shifts with it. Mingi swallows hard, debating whether to say the next thought out loud. 

“I…” His voice catches briefly. “I’ve liked you for a long time.”

You stare at him for a second longer than necessary. Like you’re enjoying this more than you should.

“You said that out loud,” you murmur.

Mingi groans again, covering his face briefly. “I know.”

The words leave him too easily. You see the exact moment he realizes that. Mingi drops his hands from his face slowly, looking at you now with this exhausted kind of honesty that almost hurts to look at.

“And the worst part,” he says more quietly, “is that I don’t even think it’s just a crush anymore.”

Something deep in your chest folds in on itself. Because his voice changes in that sentence. Softer. Heavier. Deeper. Like he didn’t mean to admit that part out loud.

“I think…” He exhales shakily, eyes finally lifting fully to yours. “I think somewhere along the way you became the first person I look for everywhere.”

The room goes completely still. No music. No neon outside. No buzzing lights overhead. Just him, and the way he’s looking at you like he’s just handed you something fragile with both hands and doesn’t know what you’re going to do with it.

You should say something. You should probably breathe. Instead, you step closer. Slow enough that he notices immediately.

His eyes widen slightly. A flicker of confusion first. Then something sharper, like he’s just realized the distance is disappearing.

 Your hand catches lightly in the strings of his hoodie, fingers curling there as you guide him back into the wall behind him. Not rough. Just certain.

The soft thud of it stops his breath for half a second. His shoulders hit first. Then stillness.

Mingi blinks up at you, wide-eyed now. Caught off guard in a way that makes him look younger, softer. Like his brain is a beat behind his body catching up to the fact that he’s not moving anymore.

Trapped, but gently so.

The realization flashes across his face in real time: 

Oh.

Your hand stays at his chest, twisting the soft fabric once around your fingers. And for the first time since he walked into your studio tonight, Mingi has absolutely nothing left to hide behind.

No jokes. No easy grin. Just wide dark eyes and a pulse hammering visibly in his throat beneath your touch.

He stares at you like you’ve just pulled the floor out from under him.

“…You have to stop looking at me like that.”

His voice barely survives the sentence. Low. Rough around the edges. Like every nerve in his body is pulled too tight beneath your hands.

You tilt your head slightly, still twisting the drawstring between your fingers.

“Like what?”

Mingi shuts his eyes for one dangerous second. Like he physically can’t withstand this much of you at once. When he opens them again, there’s only helpless honesty bleeding through every crack.

“You know,” he says quietly.

“Explain it to me.”

A shaky breath leaves him.

“It’s just…” His eyes flick helplessly between yours. “You keep looking at me like you already know every stupid thing I’m trying to say before I say it.”

Your pulse stumbles.

“And it’s making me insane because I had this whole speech in my head on the drive here and now you’re standing this close and I can’t remember any of it anymore.”

A laugh threatens at the corner of your mouth.

“Mingi—”

“No, wait.” He shakes his head quickly, words starting to tumble out faster now. “I’m serious. I was gonna do this properly. I had actual thoughts. Like coherent ones.”

“Did you?”

“Yes.” His ears are pink now. “And now all I can think about is your mouth.”

That almost breaks you immediately. Mingi realizes what he just admitted and groans softly, the back of his head nearly knocking against the wall behind him.

“See? This is exactly what I mean.”

“You’re doing great.”

“I’m literally not.”

You smile despite the violent rhythm of your heartbeat. Because this is what you’ve wanted for so long. Not perfection. Not some polished confession. Just him. Big hands flexing uselessly at his sides. Voice falling apart mid-sentence. Looking at you like wanting you has become unbearable to carry alone.

His eyes snap back to yours instantly. And that does it. 

Because Mingi has always looked enormous next to you. Broad shoulders. Height that swallows space when he walks into a room. But right now? Right now he’s melting under your fingertips. And the realization floods through you like heat.

You step even closer. Until his breath catches against your mouth. Until the wall is the only thing keeping him upright.

“I just…” His voice catches again. “I really like you.”

The sentence lands between you soft and devastating. And suddenly kissing him feels less like a decision and more like instinct. So you do. Fast. Sudden. Like finally giving in to gravity after fighting it for months. 

Mingi freezes instantly. A sharp inhale catches hard in his chest the second your lips touch his. For half a heartbeat he doesn’t move at all. Like his brain genuinely stopped working. Then his hands hit your waist. Hard. Not rough. Desperate.

A wrecked sound tears out of him somewhere between a gasp and a whimper as he melts forward into you all at once, like the kiss physically knocked the strength out of his body.

You kiss him harder immediately. Months of swallowed wanting snapping loose at once.

Mingi tries to follow too fast, too overwhelmed already, and his head knocks lightly against the wall behind him with a soft curse breathed straight into your mouth.

“Fuck,” he whispers against your lips.

You laugh softly into the kiss.

“You talk too much.”

“I was trying to…”

Another kiss cuts him off.

“I know.”

Mingi makes that sound again. That helpless little exhale that seems to punch straight through your ribs. 

His hands finally settle at your hips, huge and shaky and warm through your clothes. Not controlling. Just holding on. Like he’s afraid this might disappear if he loosens his grip.

You pull back barely enough to look at him. His lips are flushed already, swollen and wet from your mouth. Eyes blown wide and dazed beneath messy dark hair. 

He looks ruined. By a kiss. 

The realization sends another pulse of heat straight through you.

“Mingi,” you whisper.

He visibly swallows. You brush your thumb against his jaw and he leans into it immediately without thinking. That almost undoes you. 

“You don’t get it,” he says suddenly, breath uneven.

“Then tell me.”

“I can’t when you keep doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Looking at me like you want to eat me alive.”

You smile slightly. “Maybe I do.”

His entire body reacts. A shiver runs through him so obvious you feel it beneath your palms.

A laugh slips out of you before you can stop it.

Mingi’s forehead drops briefly against yours with a quiet groan, like even hearing you laugh right now is too much for him.

“You make everything worse,” he blurts suddenly.

You blink once. “Excuse me?”

“I mean good worse,” he says quickly. “Jesus Christ.”

His forehead bumps yours again, embarrassed.

“I’ll be fine all day. Totally normal. And then you smile at me once and suddenly I can’t think straight for hours.”

Your expression softens before you can stop it. Mingi notices immediately. You can see the exact second he realizes he said too much. But instead of retreating this time, he exhales shakily and lets his forehead stay pressed to yours.

“It’s not just this,” he says quietly. “It’s never just this with you.”

Your fingers loosen against his hoodie. The teasing drains out of you slowly, replaced by something warmer. Deeper. Aching.

“Then what is it?” you whisper.

Mingi’s eyes close. And for a moment he just breathes against you. Like he’s spent months holding this inside his chest and doesn’t know how to survive finally letting it out. 

Then, barely above a murmur:

“It’s you.” Your heart stumbles violently. “It’s always been you.”

That one nearly steals your breath. You kiss him again before he can recover from saying it. Slower this time. Intentional. And he melts properly. No hesitation left now. 

Mingi makes this quiet, wrecked sound into your mouth like the kiss physically knocks the air out of him. His hands tighten at your waist for a second before one of them slides higher, tentative at first. Like he’s not fully sure he’s allowed.

Your breath catches when his fingertips slip beneath the hem of your shirt at the small of your back. Warm skin against warm skin.

Mingi shudders immediately at the contact. You feel it happen under your hands.

The kiss breaks for half a second on his end, like his brain short-circuits from touching you there, but then he’s kissing you again instantly. Hungrier now. Still soft, still careful, but with this desperate edge underneath it that makes your pulse stumble hard.

His hand spreads slowly against your lower back beneath your shirt. Huge. Shaky. His fingertips drag upward inch by inch along your spine like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you through touch alone.

The sensation sends heat straight through your chest.

“Mingi,” you breathe against his mouth.

That sound almost ruins him. A helpless exhale leaves him as his forehead bumps yours briefly before he kisses you again, deeper this time. Like hearing his name in your voice just dissolved whatever restraint he had left.

He keeps touching you carefully. That’s the dangerous part. Not greedy. Not rough. Just unbearably attentive. His fingertips trace lightly along your spine again and your entire body reacts before you can stop it. You feel him notice immediately in the way his breath stutters into the kiss.

“Oh my god,” he whispers against your lips, sounding dazed. “You felt that.”

You hate how much your stomach flips at the shaky little note of wonder in his voice.

“Keep kissing me,” you murmur.

He obeys instantly. Like reflex. Like he’d do anything you asked right now.

Every sound you make wrecks him further. You can feel it happening in real time.

The little breathless noises he keeps losing into your mouth. The way his hand trembles slightly against your back every time you kiss him deeper. Every time you pull back half an inch, Mingi follows immediately like instinct. Like distance physically hurts now that he’s had you this close.

Your hands slide fully into his hair now, tugging lightly at the roots.

A shaky sound breaks out of him immediately. You feel it against your tongue.

“Fuck,” he whispers again, ruined already.

One of his hands stays spread beneath your shirt, warm against the center of your back. The other slides up suddenly, almost clumsy with urgency, until his fingers bury into the hair at the back of your head.

Then he kisses you deeper. Not confident this time. Needy. Like he can’t get close enough anymore.

Your breath catches softly against his mouth. One of your hands stays tangled in his hair while the other drifts slowly down his arm, fingertips tracing the hard curve of his bicep beneath his hoodie sleeve before sliding higher again. Over his shoulder. Around the back of his neck. Up along his jaw.

Mingi visibly shivers when your thumb brushes beneath his ear. You feel his hand flex hard against your spine beneath your shirt. Like he doesn’t know what to do with how badly he wants to touch you.

You kiss the corner of his mouth. His jaw. The warm skin beneath his ear.

Mingi’s head tips back against the wall automatically, exposing more of his throat with a helpless inhale that nearly destroys your composure entirely.

“There you are,” you murmur softly against his skin.

A wrecked sound leaves him immediately. Not even words anymore.

“You have any idea,” you breathe between kisses, “how hard this has been for me?”

Mingi goes still for half a second.

You pull back just enough to look at him. His lips are parted now. Eyes dark and blown wide beneath messy hair. Completely wrecked.

“I mean it.” Your forehead presses against his again. “You take care of me without even thinking about it. You show up every single time. You make every room feel safer just by walking into it.”

His hands are shaking now. Actually shaking.

“And you have been driving me insane for months,” you confess softly. “So don’t stand here acting shocked because I finally kissed you.”

A wrecked laugh breaks out of him, immediately swallowed by another desperate kiss.

Your mouths keep finding each other between breaths, between half-finished sentences, between tiny overwhelmed sounds neither of you can hide anymore.

Everything feels overheated and too close and slightly off balance.

Then suddenly his kiss falters. Not because he pulls away. Because his body gives out first. A rough breath punches out of him against your mouth as his knees buckle unexpectedly beneath him.

“Mingi—”

Your hands grab for him immediately, trying to steady him, but he’s already sliding down the wall in one overwhelmed motion, dragging you with him instinctively. One hand catches hard at your waist while the other slips from your hair, fumbling clumsily for balance that clearly no longer exists.

“Wait, wait—”

A helpless laugh breaks out of him mid-collapse.

Your knees hit the hardwood on either side of his thighs as he lands heavily against the wall with a stunned exhale. Boots scraping awkwardly against the floorboards. Long limbs everywhere at once. Completely uncoordinated now.

For one messy second, neither of you knows where to put your bodies.

Then stillness.

Mingi’s chest heaves beneath you. Your brows knit immediately. Concern flashes through you first.

“Min?”

He shakes his head once quickly. Not hurt. Just catastrophically overwhelmed.

You can see it everywhere. The violent flush spread down his throat. The dazed look in his eyes. The way his hand is still under your shirt like he forgot it was there entirely.

And something about it feels almost surreal. Song Mingi. All sharp height and broad shoulders and effortless confidence. Reduced to this because you kissed him.

“…Did your legs just give out?”

“No,” he says immediately.

“They literally folded.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re on the floor.”

“So are you.”

The comeback would land better if he wasn’t staring up at you like he’s moments away from short-circuiting completely. 

And then you feel it. The thick, hard press of him beneath the dark denim where you landed directly on his lap. Heavy and unmistakable, pressing right up between your legs through your clothes. Fuck. He feels as big as he carries himself, maybe bigger.

Your breath catches slightly. Mingi notices instantly. A mortified sound leaves him.

“Don’t start,” he says quickly.

You look back up slowly. “…Start what?”

“That face.”

“What face?”

“The one where you realize things.”

Your mouth twitches immediately. His throat bobs hard.

You feel his fingers flex under your shirt instinctively before his nails drag lightly down your back in one slow scrape that makes your entire body jolt.

Fuck.

Mingi notices that too. His eyes darken immediately.

“I’m trying so hard to be normal right now,” he whispers.

The honesty of it nearly knocks the air out of you. Because he sounds wrecked. Not cocky. Not teasing. Just overwhelmed down to the bone. Still holding onto you like letting go would physically kill him.

Your eyes flick briefly to the way his hands are gripping you now. One spread hot against your spine beneath your shirt. The other tight on your waist. Strong enough to leave bruises. Shaking anyway.

Something hot curls low in your stomach at the sight. You can feel the strength coiled in him, the way he could easily lift you, pin you, take control if he wanted to. But he doesn't. He just looks up at you like he’s dying from how much he wants you. 

When your hips shift experimentally against his, his reaction is immediate. A broken sound tears out of his throat as his head falls back toward the wall.

Your hand catches it before it can hit too hard, fingers tightening at the base of his neck as you cushion the impact instinctively.

Mingi melts instantly beneath your touch. His eyes squeeze shut for one second as your fingers tighten slightly in his hair. His grip spasms hard against your waist.

You bite your lip, suppressing your own sounds at the way he reacts so fast, so visibly, like every nerve in his body is wired directly into your hands.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, almost fascinated now. “I broke you.”

"Shut up," he breathes instantly, voice cracking. 

Your laugh brushes warm against his mouth. Mingi’s eyes open again immediately, locking onto you like he’s afraid to miss a second of this. 

And suddenly your concern dissolves into something hotter. Because he looks huge beneath you. Broad chest rising hard beneath his hoodie. Big hands gripping your body like he can’t stop himself. Thick thighs spread under yours. But none of that changes the fact he’s completely unraveling for you right now.

You tug his hair again, sharper this time. A wrecked sound punches out of him immediately.

“There he is,” you murmur softly. “My good boy.”

“Please don’t say things like that.”

“Why?”

“Because I already can’t think.”

His fingers scratch lightly down your spine again, rougher now, and the sensation shoots heat straight through your stomach. You feel him twitch between your legs, the pressure catching your clit perfectly even through denim, and you have to swallow your own moan down before it escapes.

You grin instead. Then you kiss him again. 

And whatever control he had left finally snaps. His hand fists suddenly in your hair while he tilts your head enough to deepen the kiss properly. Sloppier. Hungrier. He kisses you like he can’t get enough oxygen from anywhere else.

You drag your mouth down his jaw, over his throat, and Mingi immediately tips his head back for you again with a helpless sound, exposing more skin like instinct.

His head knocks toward the wall once more and you catch him again automatically, palm sliding behind his head while your other hand stays around his shoulders.

“There,” you murmur against his throat. “Careful.”

That almost makes him whine.

Your teeth scrape lightly over his pulse. Mingi’s hips jerk up involuntarily beneath you.

“Fuck,” he chokes out, hands tightening hard enough to drag you fully against him. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

He sounds terrified.

Your forehead brushes his gently, breath mingling between you while his entire body trembles underneath yours.

You kiss him again, slower now, while your hips move in tiny experimental rolls against his. Barely anything. Just enough friction to make his breathing fall apart completely.

He’s concentrating so hard you can see it in his face. Jaw clenched. Brows pinched slightly. Trying desperately not to cum on the spot from just this. He tries to slow you once, but he fails instantly when you press closer and another helpless, broken moan slips out of him into your mouth.

Then he’s moving too, dragging desperate open-mouthed kisses down your neck like he doesn’t know where to put all this wanting anymore.

His hands slide lower.

One stays beneath your shirt, fingers tracing your spine again and again like he’s addicted to the feeling of your skin.

The other grips your ass hard, dragging you tighter against him while his mouth presses sloppy kisses against your throat.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispers against your skin, voice wrecked beyond repair. "So fucking pretty, baby, look at you—"

You’ve never seen him like this before. Never seen him stop trying to perform strength. And maybe that’s why this feels so intimate it almost scares you. Because he’s letting you see every vulnerable part without fighting to hide them anymore.

“Mingi,” you murmur softly.

He looks at you immediately.

“You okay?”

A quick nod. Then, quieter, “don’t stop.”

Your thumb smooths gently across his cheek.

“I won’t.”

And that’s what finally breaks him open. You see it happen in real time. The exact second the last bit of distance leaves his face. The exact second he realizes this isn’t temporary. That you’re not going to pull away from him tomorrow and pretend none of this happened.

His forehead drops against your shoulder with a shaky exhale.

Then he kisses you again. Different this time. Slower. Still hungry, but softer around the edges, like he can’t decide whether to devour you or memorize you.

His hands roam more boldly now, your back, your waist, your hips, your ass, gripping like he keeps remembering he’s allowed to touch you like this.

Your knees ache against the hardwood, but you barely notice once he plants his boots against the floor and pulls you flush against him with one helpless pull of his hips.

The breath leaves both of you at once.

Suddenly there’s nowhere your body ends without running into his. Broad chest. Heavy thighs. Strong arms boxing you in, without feeling threatening for even a second.

That’s the thing that gets you. How big he is and how careful he still is with you anyway.

Your hand slides to his throat experimentally, fingers loose against his pulse. Mingi's eyes go dark instantly, pupils blown wide. He swallows against your palm. Breath catching hard enough you feel it against your mouth. 

"Yeah?" you whisper.

He nods, fast and desperate. "Yes. Please."

The smallest increase in pressure tears a wrecked sound out of him, his head falling back against the wall. The sound goes straight between your legs.

After that, everything loses rhythm. Kisses turning sloppy. Breathing uneven. His hands gripping harder whenever you get too close. 

His hips are thrusting up, rolling, seeking more friction, and you feel yourself getting wet just from the desperation in his movements. He's so hard it must hurt, straining against the denim, and when you grind down against him, he cries out, hands gripping your ass to try to make you move faster.

He realizes what he's doing halfway through and stills himself with visible effort, eyes squeezed shut like he’s trying to regain control. 

“Wait,” he breathes roughly. “If you keep doing that, I’m not gonna last.”

The honesty of it sends heat curling low in your stomach.

And you're barely doing anything, but the fact that he's this close from almost nothing makes you want to feel him fall apart because he wants you that much.

You kiss him again, deep and filthy, and keep your movements light. Just small, teasing rolls of your hips.

"So pretty," he whines, "baby, you're so—fuck. Seriously. You're so beautiful, so hot, I can't—I can’t even look at you properly right now."

“You’re so cute,” you breathe against his mouth.

Your fingers slide softly through his hair again, gentler this time, scratching lightly at his scalp while his eyes flutter half-shut. 

“That’s my pretty boy,” you whisper softly. “Trying so hard to hold it together.”

His face flushes deeper immediately.

“You’re doing so good for me, Min.”

That one finally ruins him. 

His hips twitch up again, needy and involuntary, and you feel the damp heat spreading at the front of his jeans where he’s already leaking from almost nothing. The realization barely has time to settle before his whole body jolts beneath you.

A strangled grunt punches out of him.

His grip clamps hard around you so suddenly it knocks your balance backward. You catch yourself instinctively, palm slapping against the wall beside his head before either of you can crack into it.

Mingi goes tense all at once, hips stuttering up into yours before he buries his face instantly into your neck with a sharp gasp, biting down hard enough to muffle the wrecked sound that follows.

And then he’s coming. Fast. Sudden. Hard enough his whole body shudders under you.

For the first time all night, he stops holding himself back. His arms lock tight around you as he pushes himself off the wall just enough to drag you with him, forcing you to tilt back slightly in his grip while he shakes through it. Like he physically needs you closer to survive it.

Your arms loop around his neck automatically to steady both of you, one hand sliding into his hair, fingers spreading against the back of his head to keep him tucked against your throat while he rides it out.

You feel every pulse through the denim between you. The hot spread of wetness. The helpless way his body betrayed him from almost nothing except your mouth, your weight against him, your hand at his throat.

His hips jerk once more before he folds inward completely, trembling against your neck, breathing ragged through clenched teeth while he tries desperately to hide how easily he came.

Then nothing. No movement. No sound except his uneven breathing against your skin.

You blink once, heat rushing straight through you at what just happened. At how little it took. At how desperately his body gave in the second you told him what he wanted to hear.

“Mingi.”

A horrified groan muffles straight into your neck. 

You bite back a laugh instantly. Not mean. Never mean. Just unbearably fond. Because this man. This man who walked in here trying to act normal about being in love with you is now actively attempting to fuse himself into your shoulder to avoid eye contact.

You shift slightly, trying to look at him. He follows immediately, burying himself deeper against your neck.

“Mingi,” you repeat, softer now, fingers slipping into the hair at the nape of his neck. “Hey.”

A helpless smile spreads across your face as you press a kiss against his temple. He shudders under it instantly.

“Don’t look at me.”

That actually makes you laugh. Quiet and warm against his skin.

You coax his face back enough to look at him properly and nearly lose your mind all over again. Pink cheeks. Wet swollen lips. Eyes glassy and unfocused beneath messy hair. Completely wrecked.

And beneath you, you can still feel him, hot and sticky and probably uncomfortable as hell in his jeans, but making no move to fix it because that would mean acknowledging it.

“Shit,” he says immediately, mortified. “I’m sorry.”

That catches you off guard enough your expression softens instantly. Because he sounds embarrassed, yeah, but underneath it there’s sincerity too. Like he’s genuinely worried he ruined something.

“I was trying really hard not to cum,” he blurts, words tumbling out faster now that they’ve started. “I was trying to hold it together and then you kept kissing me and calling me pretty and I just—”

He cuts himself off with another groan, dragging a hand over his burning face.

“Min.” You wait until his eyes finally flick back to yours. “Why are you apologizing?”

His brows pull together slightly.

“…Because I came in my jeans like a teenager?”

You laugh softly. “And?”

“And we were literally just making out.”

You grin despite yourself, pulse still throbbing low and hot between your legs. Because honestly? The more you think about it, the more turned on you get. 

Your hips shift unconsciously against him and Mingi sucks in a sharp breath immediately, eyes squeezing shut.

“Shit, sorry,” you murmur, fascinated. “Still sensitive?”

“Please have mercy on me.”

The shaky way he says it sends another pulse of heat straight through you. You lean in until your noses brush.

“You know this was hot, right?”

“That was hot to you? You’re not making fun of me?” he asks carefully.

Your heart actually aches a little.

“Mingi.” You brush your thumb over his cheekbone. “I’m trying very hard not to climb you again right now.”

“Oh my god.”

You kiss him again before he can get more embarrassed. Just a small one. Quick. Soft.

Mingi exhales into your mouth immediately, shoulders dropping another inch. There’s something dangerously addictive about it. Like the second you kissed him, his body decided hiding anything from you was impossible.

Your gaze drops again before you can stop it. Right between his legs. And right on cue, he shifts under you again and you feel it. Hard again. Twitching faintly beneath the damp denim. Still reacting to every little thing you do. 

You pull back barely enough to look at him. “You’re kidding. You’re hard again?”

Mingi groans immediately. “Don’t say it out loud.”

Your laugh spills warm against his skin. He shivers hard at the sound. His hips shift unconsciously like he’s trying to relieve pressure and instantly regrets it when the denim drags against him.

Mingi must see something change in your face, because his breathing catches again immediately.

“Can you stop looking at me like you’re about to climb inside my ribcage?” he whispers.

You grin. “No.”

Mingi groans. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t.”

“…No. I really don’t.”

You laugh again and finally climb off his lap. Your knees ache faintly when you stand, but the sight in front of you almost takes you back out again.

Mingi looks ruined. Hoodie twisted crooked from your hands. Lips bitten red. Dark stain obvious across his jeans now no matter how he tries to angle himself away from it.

You bite your lip softly and hold your hand out toward him.

“C’mon.”

He blinks up at you. “…Where?”

Your smirk sharpens just slightly.

“You’re a mess,” you say, pointedly glancing at his lap before meeting his eyes again. 

His face goes red all over again.

“Besides…” Your voice softens. “I don’t think I’m done with you yet.”

Mingi goes completely still. Then his fingers tighten around yours hard enough to feel it.

“Cool,” he says faintly. “Awesome. Great. Yeah,” he says quietly, standing now, towering close enough to steal the air from your lungs again. “You have no idea what you just started.” 

Your stomach flips embarrassingly hard at the look on his face now.

“That sounds threatening.”

“It is.”

You open your mouth to answer, but Mingi kisses you first. Slow enough to distract you completely. Which is exactly why you don’t notice him crouching until the floor disappears beneath you.

“Wait, wha—”

A squeak bursts out of you as Mingi hooks an arm behind your legs and lifts you clean over his shoulder in one smooth motion.

“Mingi!”

He laughs against your startled noise as he playfully smacks your thigh before he starts walking toward the bathroom like carrying you around like this is the most natural thing in the world.

“Oh, now you’re shy?” he teases.

Heat rushes straight to your face. “Put me down.”

“No.”

He punctuates it with another slap against your ass that makes you gasp so loudly he nearly folds over laughing himself.

“You were talking real brave five minutes ago.”

You bury your burning face against the back of his hoodie while his laugh rumbles warm through your legs.

“You let me recover. Rookie mistake,” he says, opening the bathroom door. “You’re gonna regret giving me confidence.”

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not like you would notice anyway … too distracted by said people. engaging in multiple conversations and accepting countless gifts from where you sat on the couch.

he was enamored by how good you looked, smiling brightly, eyes crinkling in the corners, your laugh echoing sweetly in his ears. it just wasn’t fair that everyone else got to see and hear it. he wanted that part of you all to himself. wanted you to be smiling at him like how you were smiling at them.

he’s been trying all night to get just a minute with you, brushed aside by your friends before he could even get the chance to speak. you would mumble a quick “sorry” with a grimace every time someone new whisked you away from him.

that’s when san decided to stumble his way into the kitchen with a frustrated huff and pour himself a drink…or two, who’s counting? is it a crime to want to spend time with your girlfriend on her birthday?

at the same time there was nothing more san wanted then for you to be happy. alongside the growing envy, he was genuinely pleased that you were enjoying the event he partook in planning. maybe he was just being a little selfish…

“ahh, what am i thinking?” he mumbles to himself, rubbing the bridge of his nose and earning a sideways glance from someone who walked into the kitchen for a drink. he clears his throat before chugging down the rest of the alcohol in his cup.

he can feel the effects of the alcoholic drink, his skin getting warmer, his limbs feel tingly, his balance is off as he stumbles from where he stands. he crosses his arms over his chest and leans his head back, closing his eyes to rest them a bit, just to collect himself.

“woo? holy shit, you’re here!” san hears you shriek from the other room. his eyes peek open and he turns his head to see you jump into some guys arms, presumably the one you called woo.

san’s eyebrows raise at that, his eyes gravitating towards the arms that were wrapped tightly around your waist and the hands that were gently caressing your back in small circles. he can't fight the way that his teeth grind together at that, his eyes narrowing into slits.

“a little late, but yes i’m here,” he replies when he pulls back with a bright smile and shifts his hands on your shoulders as you launch into a conversation with him.

san looks away with a pout and stares blankly at the floor in front of him, his foot tapping restlessly against it. woo? you never mentioned an woo to him, not to his knowledge atleast. he wracks through his muddled brain, pouring himself another cup and tries to recall a conversation where you mentioned anybody with that name, finding none.

sucking his teeth, he pushes himself off the counter, drinking sloshing and some droplets spilling onto his hand. he’s ready to walk over to you and ask about this guy that suddenly showed up to your party, but he freezes when he makes it to the living room.

you and wooyoung weren’t standing anymore, instead you were both sat on the couch, laughing about something he couldn’t hear over the music. san can feel his eye twitch and his fingers flex around the cup in his hand.

wooyoung was practically in your lap, well not really, but that’s what san’s drunken mind made it out to be. one leg draped over you and his arms wrapped around your shoulders, grinning and whispering into your ear and making you laugh loudly.

it was getting on his nerves watching the way you and him were interacting. he doesn’t like it. it should be him there instead. how come he gets to be so close to you, when he hasn’t even gotten a second with you all night?

he was frozen in place, tense and taking a swig every time he would get a little too close, a distraction, the alcohol starting to catch up to him. but the lingering touches were ticking him off. wooyoung’s hand landing on your thigh and running it along the smooth skin was his last straw.

he couldn’t take it anymore, downing the rest of his drink before making his way over to you. and if he almost tripped twice on the way there, what about it?

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

you were startled when your boyfriend suddenly appeared in front of you. having not seeing him the whole night, you were kind of glad that he was here now. you couldn’t get a good look at his face in the dimly-lit living room, but you knew it was san by his voice.

“can i talk to you,” he huffed, his body was swaying as he clumsily thrusted a hand out for you take. you lean back, his hand way too close to your face.

you take his hand, rubbing a finger over his knuckles, “yes, but there’s someone i want you to meet.” you smile and look over to wooyoung. san hasn’t meet woo, your best-friend that was always busy with his career, always traveling. this is the first time you’ve seen him in months and you were excited to introduce the two, you figured they would get along well.

“san, this is wooyoung my be-” you start, gesturing between the two. san's eyes travel over to him, your sentence lost to deaf ears as he watches wooyoung rub your shoulder, cheesing, and his jaw tightens in frustration.

“i just-” san breathes with a hiccup, tilting his head back to contain himself before continuing. “i just want to talk to you, please.” he whispers the last word and squeezes your hand.

“o-okay,” cocking your head in confusion. was something wrong? is he feeling sick? you part from wooyoung and stand to go with your boyfriend. and san doesn’t miss the way wooyoung’s hands drop from your shoulder and drags down your waist as you go. “be right back woo.” you say with a smile and allow your boyfriend to take you away.

san brings you upstairs and down the hall to your shared room, closing and locking the door behind you both. he leans his back and head against the door, dizzy from the drinks and fast movements. he’s not sure how he even made it here without completely falling, he only tripped once.

“san, you alright…” you question, taking a tentative step towards him and placing a hand on his shoulder. he’s skin is warm, hot almost, you could feel it through the shirt he was wearing. maybe he was feeling sick...

he slowly nods, a mistake as the alcohol is setting in and even that made him a little unstable. you rush forward to catch san before he could trip over himself, his hands landing on your waist and head dropping to rest against your chest.

you gently lift his head up by his chin, taking in his disheveled state. in the lamp light you notice that his cheeks are tinged pink, a slight shine to his forehead from sweat, and the smell of alcohol was strong on his breath as he pants, his breath fanning across your face.

“are you drunk?” you ask, resting your hand against his cheek. he immediately nuzzles into, sighing at the cool touch. he looks up at you, eyes glossy and unfocused.

he ignores your question, his gaze dropping to your lips. he leans in, presumably to kiss you. but before your mouths could touch, you lean your head back and earn a little groan from san who starts to pout.

“i asked if you are drunk.”

“only a little bit tipsy,” he hurriedly mumbles as he hiccups, leaning in to kiss you again only to be denied. this time by you placing a finger against his wet mouth. “fuck, why~” he whines impatiently, fingers drumming against your waist.

“you said you wanted to talk to me, not kiss me,” you remind him of the reason why we’re here, with a giggle. san puffs in annoyance. he didn’t actually have anything to say, just wanted to finally be alone with you. “you dragged me away from my conversation with woo-“

you’re cut off by san rushing in to press his lips against yours. nibbling and licking at your bottom lip, taking control of the kiss. he doesn’t want to hear that name right now. doesn’t care about what you and him were talking about, he just wants you to focus on him.

you part your mouth, deepening it as you lick into san’s mouth. he moans into it and his knees buckle a bit, his grip on you tight to keep himself upright.

“this is what i wanted to talk about,” he breaths out when he pulls back for air, a string of saliva connecting you two. “your birthday gift.”

it’s true. san did have a gift for you, he’s been waiting all night for everyone to leave so he can give it to you. quite literally. but if this is what it took for you to forget about everyone else, forget about woo, and just give him all your attention then…

“i’m confused…” you slowly say, furrowing your brows and searching san’s face for some kind of answer. there was a lot of physical activity going on for him to be talking about a gift.

“can i show you it,” he leads you to the bed, and instructs you to get on it and you follow his instruction, curious. “i was going to wait until after the party, but i’m a bit impatient now…” he says, a whiny tone in his voice.

“san- what exactly is this ‘gift’?”

he once again ignores you, climbing on the bed and crawling towards you, hovering over you. it forces you to lean back, your head gently hitting the mattress as san looks down at you with his flushed face. his hand instantly roaming your body, up your thighs, to your waist, and under your shirt to cup a breast.

your eyes can’t help but to flutter at that, your breathing picking up slightly as you watch san’s movements. he moves in to kiss you, not holding back this time and shoves his tongue into your mouth. he whines as your tongues swirl together.

“san,” you whisper into his mouth. he pays you no mind, trying to get as much of you as he can, hoping to distract you enough. “sannie, as much as i’m enjoying this… there is a party going on downstairs and wooyoung-”

san grumbles at that, that name that you just can’t seem to stop saying. he sucks his teeth and leans back to sit up, a little too fast, his hands landing on your thighs as he wobbles.

“woo, woo, woo,” he mumbles, dropping his head down and shaking it from side to side. you rise up on your elbows to look at your boyfriend. “when are you going to pay attention to me, huh?”

“i’ve been wanting to talk to you all night. been waiting to have just a second with you. just a little conversation, a kiss, a hug, a smile, a laugh. anything, but you’ve been giving it all to everyone else. i want that too. i’m your boyfriend.” he rambles, shakily pointing a finger at himself.

you have to press a hand to your mouth to keep from laughing. he was just too cute, all pouty and angry, his cheeks dusted red. you’ve never seen this side of him before. sure, you’ve gotten drunk with him, he usually gets all quiet, often staying to himself. but this was different…

“then someone else comes in, woo, and you’re all over him. what about me? laugh with me, talk to me, let me cling to you like that, i can-” he continues and you shut him up before he can rant on for hours, leaning up to press a chaste kiss to his cheek.

“sounds like your jealous,” you giggle as san lifts his head to look at you. his eyes flitter around your face, avoiding eye-contact with you, his face burning hotter.

“j-jealous, why would i be jealous?” he defensively says.

“you already answered your own question when you were rambling,” you whisper, wrapping a hand around his neck and fisting your hand into the hair on his nape, pulling him in for another kiss.

the make-out is all saliva and messy as san gasps, caught by surprise at the sudden attack on his lips. he lets you take the lead, losing himself in you. he wraps his arms around your waist from where he sat in your lap, drawing his body closer to yours.

his hips twitch against you when you bite his bottom lip, his hard cock dragging against your stomach and making san draw out a whimper.

“uhn,” he breathily moans when he grinds himself against you again. his head tilting back as he gets lost in the pleasure of the friction on his cock. you take advantage and leave little nibbles and pecks on his warm neck.

“can- can i still give you your gift, please?” he sighs, his hands skimming along your arms. the way he pleads, sends a trail of goosebumps along your skin where he touches.

you nod your head, your party forgotten about as the man in front of you starts to trail kisses down your body. he thumbs at your shirt, peeking at you, a silent ask. you take it upon yourself, stripping off your shirt.

san heavily breaths before leaning in and taking a tit into his mouth, whirling around his tongue on your nipple, making your back arch into him. he attends to both, switching between the two and leaving a few hickeys behind.

he moves down, kissing along your stomach and waist. he looks up at you when he makes it to the band of your skirt and with a playful smirk, dips his head under it and drags your underwear down your legs with his teeth.

he goes back down, burying his face into your cunt. it’s wet and messy and exactly what san wanted. he whimpers as he licks, lapping up at your juices, his nose pressing against your clit.

“sannie,” you breath, carding your fingers through his hair and tugging at some of the strands, pulling him impossibly closer to you.

san’s hip twitch against the bed, grinding down against the sheets. just him being able to taste you, turns him on. being able to please you, make you feel good, better than anyone else.

“does it feel good? am-am i doing good,” he asks, his thumb circling your clit as he looks at you with his half-lidded eyes, nothing but desire shining in them. he wants to hear you say it, he needs to know how good he is making you feel.

“so good, you’re doing so good,” you sigh, tossing your head back when san licks a strip from your entrance up to your clit.

he moans at your approval, his cock twitching where it was trapped between his pants and the bed, his body trembling as he gets close to cumming. he just wants to stay here, burying his tongue in you, he doesn’t care how messy it gets.

“fuck,” you gasp, grinding your hips against san’s face as you cum.

san whimpers, cumming untouched in his pants. he spills all over the bed, pushing his hips against the mattress as he licks up your mess, drinking you up like he did the alcohol.

once you come down, you let go of his hair and pull him up towards you. licking into his mouth to taste yourself on his tongue. you reach a hand down to his pants, hoping to return the favor and get met with a huge sticky spot there instead.

“did you…” you start, looking at san who had a sheepish look on his face. turning his to the side and clearing his throat in embarrassment.

“i-i can go again,” he whispers, removing his bottoms and stroking himself to hardness again. record speed. “i want to be inside you, please…”

he spreads your legs apart, placing himself there. he grabs onto your hips and slides his hot cock between your folds. he moans, his body shivering at the intense pleasure from just cumming.

“please, please let me put it in,” he pleads, stuttering out a moan when his tip catches on your entrance. he’s tempted to push in, but he won’t not until you say he can. “i’ll make you feel good, i- i promise.”

you don’t respond, wrapping your legs around him, you push him forward and into your wet heat.

“mm, fuck,” he loudly moans. it would’ve been too loud if not for the music blaring downstairs. even then, with how tipsy he was, he wouldn’t care if anyone heard.

he deeply rocks his hips into you, each thrust hitting just the right spot. punching short ‘ah’s’ from you.

“so good, only i can have this…” he babbles. his thrusts getting rougher, slamming his cock into you as he recalls the events from earlier.

“nobody else can see you like this, n-no one else can make you feel good…” he whines, his hold on your hips almost bruising as he pounds into you.

he feels drunk off of this. him feeling how you clench around him, how wet and warm it is. he needs more, he wants more, wants you to know that only he can do this to you.

“s-sannie,” you stutter as you can’t keep up with his pace. “s-slow down…” you moan, bringing your arms up to wrap around waist and bringing him closer to you.

of course he doesn’t slow down, it almost feels like he speeds up.

“so pretty, so tight…” he moans into your ear, his pace unrelenting as he fucks you. “wanna cum inside - i’ve been wanting it all night, i just - fuck. please let me.”

you pull him back to be face to face, his eyes closed and he doesn’t open them until you coo, “you want it that bad?”

he almost looks ravenous, his was so gone, drunk off you.

“yes, wanna cum inside,” he babbles, his voice raspy from all the moaning. “wanna fill you up, make you mine, please-“

“yeah?”

he nods his head wildly, “fuck yes, please~ i’ll be good, so good. i promise, if you just let me cum inside - let me own it.”

you lean in to whisper in his ear, “show me that you do,”

san’s breath hitches, a strangled moan stuck in his throat as his eyes roll back. one last thrust is all he had before he came deep inside.

“fuck, fuck, fuck…” he whiningly chants, as he fills you with rope after rope of cum. his breath hot against your neck that he was buried in.

you caress his back with one hand and his sweat-soaked hair with the other as he rides out his orgasm. weakly thrusting into you until he can’t from the sensitivity.

he pulls out with a hiss, rolling onto his back, feeling a different kind of heat and tingle in his body, one not from the alcohol.

you roll over to rest on his chest, tracing circles along his stomach.

“that was quite the birthday gift,” you laugh, with an exaggerated sigh. “you’re pretty cute when you’re jealous.”

“‘m not jea-“ he starts before getting interrupted by a knock at the bedroom door.

“hey um, i just wanted to say happy birthday again before heading out,” i voice shouts from the other side. “and it was nice to briefly meet you san, i hope we can talk more next time.” then there were footsteps.

san rolls his eyes after the second sentence, becoming aware of who was outside the door. his chest heaving and a tiny pout was on his lips.

you look at him with raised eyebrows and a knowing smile.

“i’m not jealous!” he shouts, a blush blooming on his face.

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You trotted through the woods, your soft bunny ears perked up as you listened for any signs of danger. Your whiskers twitched in the gentle evening breeze, and you took a moment to appreciate the warmth of the setting sun on your fur. You normally took fun little walks like this as a way to unwind.

You knelt down in front of a patch of wild berries, your nose quivering as you decided which ones to pick. The sweet scent of the berries filled your nostrils, making your mouth water. As you reached out with your tiny paws, a sudden rustling in the bushes behind you made you freeze.

You turned and saw…nothing. Was it your imagination? Were you finally going crazy? You took a deep breath and turned back around to the berries, trying to convince yourself that you were just being paranoid. But as you began to pick them, the rustling grew louder, closer. You dropped the berries and jumped to your feet, ready to bolt.

Out of the shadows emerged a creature, and not just any creature - a werewolf, massive and terrifying. You recognized him immediately. It was San, from the neighboring village. He was known to be a solitary creature, but he looked more desperate than you had ever seen. His fur was matted with sweat, his eyes wild with a hunger that made your heart race.

"You smell amazing." he breathed out, his voice low and gruff, not quite the melodic tenor you heard him sing in the village square. San took a step closer, and you felt the heat radiating from his body, almost like a furnace.

"What-" you began to stutter, but San was already on his knees, his nose sniffing the air as if he was trying to inhale every atom of your scent. You took a step back, your heart hammering in your chest. "San, what are you-"

"Please." San's voice was strained, the word barely a whisper. His eyes had turned a fiery amber, and his pupils were dilated with need. You could see the internal struggle playing out across his furry features as his wolf instincts warred with his humanity. "I need…I need to touch you."

"Why? Are you okay?" You asked, your voice quivering, as you took another step back, trying to maintain the distance between you. San's eyes remained locked on yours, his breaths coming in ragged pants.

"It's my heat." He explained, his words strained as if the very act of speaking was a battle. "I… I haven't found anyone to ease the change. My pack… they left me." His gaze dropped to the ground, and his shoulders slumped in defeat.

"Did they leave you? Seriously?" You felt a twinge of pity for the poor werewolf. You'd heard about werewolf heats before, how intense and painful they could be. It was a biological necessity for them to find someone to ease the transition, and if they didn't, they could go mad from the pain.

"Well," he gulped. "I mean, I annoyed them a lot before they left. But still, it's not their responsibility to deal with me when I'm like this." His words were filled with a mix of embarrassment and pain. You could see his desperation growing with every second that passed, and despite your fear, you couldn't help but feel a pang of empathy for him.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart. You were a werebunny, known for your gentle and nurturing nature. It was in your instincts to help others, especially those in pain. "Okay," you whispered, your voice quivering. "What do you need?"

San looked up at you, his eyes pleading. "Just…just touch. Anywhere. It'll help with the pain." His voice was raw with need. You cautiously stepped closer, your hands shaking slightly as you reached out to touch his ears. It was coarse and hot to the touch, but as your hand made contact, you felt the tension in his body ease slightly.

"Can I be inside of you?" San asked, his voice a desperate growl. His eyes never left yours, the intensity of his gaze making your knees feel weak.

You took another step back, your heart racing. "Inside of me? Like…mating?" The very thought made your stomach flip. You weren't quite ready for that. San's face fell, his desperation palpable.

"I-I'm sorry," he stuttered, his voice a mix of embarrassment and pain. "I didn't mean to scare you. I just need…someone to be with me." He looked away, his ears drooping with defeat.

You chewed on your bottom lip, considering your options. The thought of mating with San was overwhelming, but you could tell he was in agony. Plus, the bond between a werebunny and a werewolf during heat was known to be incredibly strong. It wasn't something to be taken lightly, but you didn't want to leave him to suffer.

"San," you began tentatively, "I can't… w-what'll happen if you claim me? Or if you come inside of me? What if-"

"Please. I-It's just for my heat. It won't be a full bond. I promise," San begged, his voice hoarse with pain. His eyes searched yours for any sign of understanding. You felt torn, but the sight of him in such distress was more than you could bear. You took a deep breath and nodded, your body trembling as you made your decision.

"Really?" San's eyes lit up with hope, the desperation in his voice subsiding slightly. You nodded again, taking another step closer.

"Just be gentle." You whispered, your voice shaking as you allowed San to approach you. His movements were deliberate, his eyes never leaving yours as he stepped closer. You felt the warmth of his breath on your skin as he leaned in, his massive hands reaching out to touch you with a tenderness that belied his size.

And within seconds, he had you laying on your back on the ground, your dress pulled up and his hot, rough hands on your bare thighs. San's touch was surprisingly gentle, his fur brushing against your skin like a warm, living blanket. You felt the heat from his body envelop you like a fiery embrace. His eyes searched yours for consent, and you gave it with a shaky nod.

He struggled to remove his pants, and soon just decided to push them down a little. He pushed your panties to the side and lined himself up with your entrance. He was so large that you could feel him touching you everywhere. He slid in slow, inch by inch, stretching you to your limits. You gasped as he pushed through your barrier, the pain briefly overwhelming before it subsided into a warm, pulsing ache.

"Oh fuck-" you whimpered, your eyes squeezed shut as San's thick, hot cock filled you completely. Your body stretched around him, adjusting to his size, and you felt your insides clench around him. San stilled, his eyes shut tight and his hands gripping you like crazy.

"S-San-?" you squeak out his name and he doesn't respond. "San, are you-"

"I'm gonna come," San grunted, his eyes snapping open, the amber in them burning like molten metal. His grip on your thighs tightened, his claws digging into your skin just enough to make you gasp. "I can't hold it back."

"It's okay, just-" you gulp, sitting yourself up on your elbows. "For as long as you need."

San's eyes widened slightly before a pained expression flashed across his face, his teeth bared in a grimace. He began to move, his hips rocking into yours with a force that made the ground beneath you tremble. You felt every inch of his massive cock as he claimed you, filling you so completely that it was almost too much. But as the initial shock wore off, you felt yourself begin to respond, your own body reacting to his primal need.

"S-Shit you're so good, y-you feel so good," he gasped out, his hips stuttering as he was already approaching his orgasm. "G-Gonna fill you up,"

You nodded, your eyes wide as you felt the pressure building within him, his movements becoming more erratic. His skin was sticky with sweat, and you could feel his heart pounding through his chest. You reached up and touched his face, feeling surprisingly soft under your fingertips.

"You gonna come?" you smile a bit despite the overwhelming situation, your voice barely a whisper. San's eyes flicker with surprise before he nods, his movements growing more frantic.

"I'm s-so close," he groaned. Unexpectedly, he slowed down, emptying his load much faster that he thought he would, his groans turning into whimpers as he filled you up. The warmth of his seed spilling into you was almost comforting.

"You need more?" you asked, your fingers gently caressing the skin of his cheek. San's eyes fluttered open, the amber fire in them dimming to a soft glow as he looked down at you. All he did in response was lay down on top of you, placing his hand underneath your head and beginning to move his hips again.

"Y-You feel amazing," San murmured, his voice strained with pleasure as he began to move inside you again. His body was like a warm cocoon, and the weight pressing down on yours was surprisingly comforting. He was so much bigger than you, but he was careful not to crush you, his movements gentle and tender.

"G-Gonna give you pretty pups." you knew he was babbling at this point, his body trembling with the aftershocks of his climax, but his cock remained hard. You felt a thrill at his words, a mix of excitement and fear. San's eyes searched yours for a reaction, and you could see the vulnerability hidden beneath his wolfish exterior.

"Please can I," he even played with your ears, his hips moving faster. "P-Please, I need-- I-I need to-" San's breath was hot against your neck as he nuzzled closer, his teeth grazing your skin lightly. The gentle sting sent a shiver down your spine, and you nodded, your own body responding to his need.

You felt him swell even larger inside you, the pressure building as he approached his climax again. His fur was slick with sweat, and your own body was flushed with heat. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper as you met his rhythm with your own. His claws dug into the earth beside you, his growls turning into desperate moans.

"Gonna fill you up, give you pups," he heaved out, breaths ragged against your skin. "Y-You're gonna look so pretty all full."

Your eyes widened at the thought, your body responding to the primal need in his voice. The heat inside you grew, and you found yourself matching his rhythm, hips rising to meet his. The idea of being filled with San's pups was strange, but something deep inside you stirred with a want that was unmistakable.

You could feel his knot beginning to swell, and the sensation was overwhelming. You've heard about werewolf knots before, how they lock into their mates during heat, but feeling it was an entirely different experience. You bit your lip, trying to keep the whimpers of pleasure from escaping.

"S-San, fuck, please," you whimper. "I-I need it," your voice is high and needy. You could feel your own orgasm approaching, your walls clenching around his thick cock, your tail wiggling underneath you. San's movements grew more erratic, his eyes squeezed shut as he fought to hold on.

"C-Come for me," he urged, his teeth grazing your earlobe. The sensation sent a bolt of pleasure straight to your core, and you couldn't hold back any longer. With a cry that echoed through the woods, you climaxed, your body shuddering beneath his as waves of pleasure washed over you. San's knot grew larger, pressing against your insides until it was all you could feel.

The pain was intense, but it was quickly overshadowed by the heat of his seed filling you up, his knot locking you together. You could feel him pulsing inside of you, his orgasm lasting what felt like an eternity. His weight grew heavier, his breaths coming in short gasps as he emptied himself into you completely. The bond grew stronger with each beat of his heart, each pulse of his cock.

"San," you panted, your voice barely above a whisper. His eyes snapped open, and he looked down at you with a mix of shock and wonder. The reality of what had just happened washed over both of you, and you could see the realization in his gaze. He had claimed you without a full bond.

"Did I hurt you?" He asked, his voice filled with concern, his gentle touch at odds with his powerful form.

"N-No, no I'm fine." You assured him, your voice still shaky with pleasure. The knot was definitely uncomfortable, but the intimacy of the moment was too overwhelming to focus on the pain. "It's just… it's a lot to take in."

San nodded, his expression filled with a mix of relief and regret. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," he whispered, his warm breath ghosting over your face. "But your scent was just… I couldn't resist."

"Really? I didn't even shower this morning…" You replied with a nervous laugh, trying to lighten the mood. San chuckled, his nose still buried in your neck.

"It's not just your scent," he murmured, his voice thick with arousal. "It's your warmth, your softness. I want you for every heat." His words were a gentle caress against your skin, sending goosebumps down your spine.

"Every heat?" You whispered back, your voice trembling. The thought of being with San, in this way, for the rest of your life was a lot to take in. But as you felt his knot slowly shrinking, and his cock still lodged inside you, you realized that the bond was already forming. It was a mix of fear and excitement that coursed through your veins.

San pulled away slightly, his gaze searching yours for any signs of regret. "If you don't want me to, I won't," he murmured, his voice filled with a vulnerability that seemed impossible for such a powerful creature. You took a moment to consider your answer, feeling the warmth of his seed still inside you, the ache of his knot.

But there was something in his eyes, a desperation that went beyond just the physical need. It was a connection that you hadn't felt before, a bond that was more than just skin deep. And despite the fear and the unknown, you found yourself nodding. "I… I want you, San." The words slipped out before you could second guess them.

Yunho.

“m-mommy… please—”

“Please what, baby?” Your voice was syrupy sweet, but the glint in your eye had Yunho’s legs twitching, ankles bound to the bedposts with soft restraints, wrists pinned above his head. His body was flushed, chest heaving, cock twitching helplessly between his thighs.

You dragged your palm across his inner thigh, smirking as he flinched. “You’ve already cum once. You wanna act like a spoiled slut, you’re gonna take it like one.”

His hips lifted without permission, greedy for contact, making you tut. “Did I tell you to move, puppy?”

“No, mommy,” he whimpered, back arching, cock smearing precum all over his stomach. “I-I’m sorry, I just—feels so good, I can’t—”

Slap.

The sting of your palm against his thigh made him sob. “You can. You will. You’re gonna take what I give you, and you’re gonna thank me for using this fat cock like it’s mine—”

“’Cause it is yours,” he cried out, breath hitching as you finally sank down onto him, slow and tight. His thighs trembled under your palms. “All yours, fuck—ah! Mommy!”

“That’s right, baby,” you purred, nails digging into his chest as you started riding him hard. “Such a loud little slut. Can’t shut up for two seconds while mommy fucks you dumb, huh?”

His eyes rolled back, mouth falling open with the prettiest moans, tears streaming down his cheeks. “Y-you’re making me—nngh—g-gonna cum again!”

“Already? You really are my pathetic little toy,” you cooed mockingly, grinding your hips until you felt his cock throb violently inside you. “Go on then. Make a mess. Show mommy what a weak, needy thing you are.”

“Fuuuck—!” Yunho’s body spasmed beneath you, arms straining against the restraints as he came again, cum splattering between both your bellies.

But you didn’t stop.

“Ah—ah, no no no please—!” he sobbed, legs jerking, overstimulated out of his mind as you kept bouncing on his cock.

“You think I’m done with you, pretty boy?” You leaned down, licking the tears off his cheek.

“Don’t worry, baby,” you whispered in his ear, “Mommy’s gonna ruin you real sweet.”

San.

"please… please, mommy, let me cum this time—" San whimpered, thighs trembling on either side of yours as he tried so hard to stay still. But he couldn’t. Not with how warm and wet you were around him. Not with your hand wrapped softly around his throat like you owned him.

And you did.

"Did I say you could speak?" you cooed sweetly, hips rocking once — just once — but enough to make his head roll back. His lips parted with a wrecked moan, body jolting from the sudden jolt of pleasure.

He tried to stay strong, he really did. Tried to be good. But your pussy felt too good, hugging him so tightly, his cock pulsing every time you clenched around him without warning.

"You want to cum that bad, baby?" you purred, tilting your head as you looked down at where he was stuffed deep inside you, twitching pathetically. "All you’ve done is whine and cry. Humping my leg like a puppy, begging like a slut..."

"M’not a slut…" he whined through a choked sob, face buried in your shoulder as he clung to you. His cock throbbed again, leaking so much you could feel it drip down between your thighs. "I just need you so bad… it hurts—"

"Awww, poor thing," you giggled, biting down on his ear. "My poor dumb baby. Cock’s all red and swollen. You’re lucky I even let you in at all."

And god — he was.

You had edged him four times now. Teased him with your tongue until he was shaking and crying, kept your thighs tight around his head as he licked you to two orgasms without so much as letting him grind against the mattress.

Now you were cockwarming him. Letting him sit full inside you while he tried not to explode from the overstimulation.

"M-mommy… fuck, please, I— I’ll be good, I promise, I’ll do anything you want—"

You finally gave him a few shallow thrusts, and San nearly came on the spot, a choked cry strangling in his throat.

"You can cum when I say. Not before." You tightened your grip on his jaw, dragging his face up to meet your eyes. His lashes were wet with tears, lips trembling. So pretty. So ruined.

"Look at you," you whispered, pressing your forehead to his. "Just a needy little cockdrunk mess. This what you wanted, huh? Wanted to be used?"

"Y-yes," he sobbed, eyes wide and unfocused. "Please, I wanna cum so bad, mommy, please—"

You started riding him. Slowly. Cruelly. And he lost it.

San’s body tensed all at once, a strangled gasp ripping from his chest as his hips bucked up wildly, chasing that high. But you stopped. Froze.

And he wailed.

"No! No, please—"

"Did I say you could cum?"

He blinked through fresh tears. You smiled.

"That was a warning, puppy. Next time you disobey me… I’ll ruin you so bad you won’t get to cum for a week."

He shivered. Moaned. And nodded like the good boy he was.

Mingi.

"Not good enough," you muttered, voice like silk laced with venom, fingers gripping Mingi’s flushed, tear-drenched face as you kept your hips in motion.

He whimpered so sweetly, his thighs trembling beneath you, cock twitching inside your soaked heat as he tried to keep his glassy eyes on your face. “N-no, I—I can do better, I p-promise,” he stammered, voice wet and desperate as fat tears slipped down his cheeks.

“Then show me,” you snapped, your pace never slowing, even though his body had already been wracked by orgasm after orgasm — you’d stopped counting after the third. “You said you could fuck me stupid, didn’t you? Said you could make mommy feel good?”

“Mmghh—mommy,” he whined, completely fucked out, breath catching in his throat as you clenched around him. His hands gripped your hips weakly, trying to ground himself, but it was no use. You slapped one away with a sneer.

“No hands. You don’t get to touch unless you earn it.”

He sobbed at that, big eyes wide and shimmering as his head lolled back against the pillow, lips parted in a silent cry.

His cock was so red, so sensitive, so used. And still hard.

"Why are you crying?" you mocked, cupping his cheeks with one hand, slapping the other against his thigh. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? Wanted to feel good?”

“I-I do… I do feel good, just—just hurts—”

“But did I say you could cum?” you spat, and his whole body jolted. “No. You came without permission, again.”

He sniffled. “I’m sorry, I’m s’rry, mommy—”

“You should be.” Your hips swiveled and he let out the most pathetic moan, one hand fisting in the sheets, the other grabbing at the headboard like he was holding onto life itself. “Look at your face. Dumb little baby. This how you impress me? By cumming like a messy little mutt?”

His breath hitched. You felt it in the twitch of his cock, in the sob that punched out of his chest.

“Please—”

“Say it.”

“W-want to be good,” he cried, eyes clenching shut as another orgasm stole over him. He twitched violently beneath you, body seizing up, cock spurting helplessly into you without your permission. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

You didn’t stop.

He choked on a sob, legs shaking, lips trembling as you ground down harder. “Not good enough,” you murmured, rubbing his red chest with fake sympathy. “Maybe if you’d just shut up and perform, I’d be impressed.”

He looked destroyed. And you loved it.

“Keep crying, baby,” you purred, finally letting your nails rake gently down his ribs as he gasped and whimpered beneath you. “You’re gonna give me one more. Or we start over from the beginning.”

And he nodded.

Sobbing, broken, overstimulated and aching.

Yunho who’s your sweet boy. Your lovely boyfriend of soon a year. The man who raised your standards through the roof and to the fucking sky. Okay sure he’s a bit nerdy, a bit of a weirdo but by Lord it adds to his charm. You watch him ramble about stuff he’s grossly interested in. Nodding along, pouting your bottom lip just right and tracing the edge of your acrylics across his bottom lip.

Yunho who got so awkward the first night you shared together. Empty bottles of alcohol littering the coffee table and clothes scattered around your apartment like your closet had just exploded. Hasty kisses, heavy touches and a.. whimpering Yunho? You looked up on the taller man. Poor guy that had sexted you the nastiest shit ever, is crumbling under your gaze. You stifle a laugh as you shake your head, kissing his pretty thoughts away while dragging him to your bedroom.

Yunho who adoresssss being jerked or sucked off. By lordddd he loves it. Oh my god don’t get me started on under desk support? Or pulling him to some random bathroom while in public because you wanted to. Fuck and he returns the favour. HIS LONG FINGERSSSS!!!! Fuck they’re so pretty, coated in your slick as he pulls them out, making scissoring motions as he admires the way the slick strings between his fingers.

But tonight?

You had gotten home from an emergency meeting. It’s 11pm and he’s up, oblivious to when you’d even return.

You snuck inside in case he was asleep, other than that he’d be wearing headphones and gaming. Sighing as you slipped your shoes off and your ear perked up.

..

A moan? Whimper?

You’re intrigued as you made your way down the hall that seemed far longer than it should be. The whimpers got increasingly louder as you peaked through the half closed door. Yunho scrolling though your instagram? While jerking off? Into your panties? Your USED panties?

You run a hand through your hair as you knock on the door, leaning against the doorframe. He freezes as the whimpers dies down quicker than you could even blink. He doesn’t turn around or remove the hand around his cock. You clear your throat.

“Want a moment alone.. or…?”

He shudders at your tone and he shakes his head. Still refusing to look at you. Too ashamed.

“(Name)… help.. me, please—“

your head falls back as you let out a laugh, walking towards him as you grab a handful of his beautiful hair, tilting his head back against his gaming chair. You hold back from spitting on his face right then and there.

“Jerking off to my instagram? What are you? A fucking pervert or something? Do it yourself. You’ve already got my panties wrapped around your cock”

Scoffing as you let go off his hair harshly. A whimper bubbles up Yunho’s throat. You pause mid-step. Nothing. You keep walking.

Then it hits again, harder this time, voice trembling.

“Please— fuck, I can’t— need you, please, I’ll do anything—”

You turn your head slightly.

“Anything?”

The word hangs heavy in the air.

You glance back, his face is flushed deep, tears brimming, lips parted as he pants like he’s about to fall apart. His hips jerk up helplessly, chasing friction that isn’t enough.

That’s when something in you snaps.

Your smile turns sharp as you stalk back, grabbing a fistful of his hair again and yanking his head back so hard he gasps again.

“Anything, huh?” you hiss against his ear. “Then fucking get on with it.”

Your free hand slaps his thigh, hard enough to make him whimper.

“You wanna come? Beg louder. Beg like the filthy little pervert you are.”

His eyes glaze over as he nods frantically, completely broken, completely yours.

His eyes glaze over as he nods frantically, completely broken, completely yours.

You grin, sharp and wicked, and tighten your grip in his hair until he winces.

“That’s it. Louder. Let the neighbors hear what a needy little slut you are for me.”

His voice cracks as he whimpers your name, louder this time, hips stuttering up like he’s lost control of his own body.

Your free hand snakes down, grabbing his wrist and yanking it away from his cock. Earning a desperate sob from him as he bucks into the air, chasing friction.

“Aw. Poor baby,” you mock, leaning in until your lips brush his ear. “Did I fucking say you could touch yourself?”

He shakes his head wildly, tears finally spilling over.

“No— no, please, please, I need you, I need it so bad, I’ll be good, I swear—”

You cut him off by slapping the head of his cock, sharp and fast, making him choke on a scream.

“Beg harder.”

He sobs now, shameless, hips jerking like he can’t help it.

“Please, please, please— wanna cum, wanna cum so fucking bad, need you, need your hands, your mouth, anything— please— I’ll do anything, just touch me, please—”

You spit on his face before finally letting go of his hair and shoving him back against the chair.

“Pathetic fucking pervert,” you growl. “Jerking off to my pictures like a loser and now you can’t even form a full sentence without crying.”

Your hand wraps around his cock, tight and rough from the start, making him scream your name like a prayer.

“There. That what you wanted? Huh? My hand?”

He nods so hard his head nearly bangs against the chair, face twisted in pleasure and pain.

“Good,” you spit, jerking him fast, ruthless.

“Because you’ll have to fucking do it yourself next time”

He sobs out a yes, already shaking apart in your grip as cum dribbled down his cock. Not even catching a breath before he gets hard again.