@ATEEZofficialjp

@ATEEZofficialjp

The Way to His Heart [10]

Pairing: general!Seonghwa x wife!reader

AU: arranged marriage au (Joseon era)

Word Count: 4.5k

Trigger Warnings: graphic violence/torture, gore, implied mutilation

Summary: Life has been hell ever since your mother's passing many years ago. Despite being from a prominent family, you've never received the privileges associated with it. It only got worse with the arrival of your stepmother and her daughters. When the intimidating General Park was in search of a wife, your father seized the opportunity to dispose of you, simultaneously securing a connection with the powerful general—killing two birds with one stone.

Part 9 | Fic Masterlist | Part 11

"You wanted to see me, sir?" Wooyoung called out, entering the general's study with Jongho following closely behind, having been summoned to the estate.

Seonghwa looked up from his desk, "Ah yes, I heard you turned down the bonus incentive we offered. Why is that? Is there something else that you wish to have?"

Having encountered few who would refuse extra money, your husband found it hard to comprehend the private investigator's decision. Most people around him were usually drawn by the allure of his wealth or other associated benefits, which left him curious about Wooyoung's motives for declining the bonus. Surely, there was something specific he desired.

The younger man beamed, "My lord, I wasn't working so willingly for you because I wanted something more from you. Honestly, nothing makes me happier than being recognised by you! I just... okay, maybe there is one thing I really want."

Raising his brow, the general was not surprised by the sudden admission, "Go on, name it then."

With a cheeky grin, the investigator replied, "It's that you allow me to help you with whatever problems you have now!"

Your husband rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, "What do you mean? I have no problems now; the worst is over."

"Really? Is that why you're here sulking alone instead of being with Lady Park? You clearly want to be near her, and yet, here you are, staying away from her because you haven't a clue how to face her after the traumatising ordeal you put her through yesterday."

That finally piqued Seonghwa's attention, prompting him to sit up straighter, though he attempted to maintain a nonchalant demeanour, "H-how did you figure that out?"

Without waiting for Wooyoung's response, he shook his head, "No, wait, actually, I don't want to know that. Just tell me... what should I do? I realise I haven't considered well enough what she went through, but I... I've never had to care for someone like this before, and I'm not really sure how to..."

The investigator offered an understanding smile, "My lord, the key to any relationship is communication. You need to talk to Lady Park. Ask her how she's feeling, and tell her you're sorry for what she went through. Avoiding each other won't solve anything; it will only create more distance between you two. You're her pillar of support now, and she needs to feel that you're there for her. You both deserve happiness, but it starts with open and honest communication."

Absorbing the advice, the general nodded thoughtfully, "You're right, Wooyoung. I appreciate your straightforwardness. I'll go talk to her and make things right."

Without hesitating, he sprang from his chair and made his way out of the study. The assistant and his friend couldn't contain their laughter, covering their mouths with their hands, but quickly composed themselves when Seonghwa glanced back at them, "Oh, and please, accept the bonus. You deserve it, especially after this."

Before Wooyoung could object, he had already exited the room and was rushing down the path toward the House of Lotus, his heart pounding at the thought of seeing his wife again.

He remembered how quiet you had been during the entire journey back home the day before, your gaze fixed on the passing scenery outside the window. While you weren't overtly distant or cold to him, you seemed lost in thought throughout dinner. You excused yourself early, retiring to your quarters. The atmosphere carried an unspoken tension, making him hesitant to say anything for fear of your potential reaction.

Reflecting on it, he realised he should have assured you that things would be better from that point forward. Rather than maintaining a facade of normalcy, he regretted not breaking the silence and being there for you in that moment of unease.

His steps hesitated, and his breath deepened as you finally appeared in his line of sight, seated alone in the pavilion outside your room. Your lady etiquette books lay open beside you, but the faraway look in your eyes remained glued to the horizon beyond the lotus pond. For a moment, he stood there, appreciating your beauty, suddenly feeling thankful you looked nothing like your father.

However, as soon as you turned your head slightly and noticed him standing by the entrance, he blinked rapidly, feeling flustered. Gathering his courage, he took a deep breath and approached you.

Just go talk to her, you fool.

Seeing him approach, you closed the books and made room for him to sit in the small pavilion. He offered a warm smile, "Hey, I hope I'm not bothering you or anything."

Shaking your head, you returned a small smile, "No, not at all. I tried to study, but I just... I couldn't."

As he settled down beside you, reaching for your hand, you didn't flinch or pull away. He released a relieved breath and moved closer, "It's alright, you don't have to force yourself. I know you're probably upset with me. I... I'm sorry, my dear."

Lifting your head to meet his eyes, you furrowed your brows, "What? Why would I be upset with you?"

He winced, wondering if you were intentionally testing him to see if he knew what he did wrong. But then again, he knew you would never do anything like that. Sighing, he admitted, "Look, I know I should've thought things through better yesterday. I was so focused on wanting to punish your family for what they did, I forgot about how horrible it must have been for you to go back there and sit through all of that."

"I acknowledge it was a mistake. My intention was to give you a chance to confront your family by taking you to your old room. I didn't think it would affect you so badly. I realise now that it was a misguided decision, and I regret taking you back to that place. I'm a goddamned idiot."

His admission tugged at your heart, and you responded by placing a comforting hand over his.

"Seonghwa, you're not an idiot. I'm not upset with you," You assured him, "I've been quiet since the visit because I'm still processing the fact that my own father killed my mother. All this time, I believed she died from sickness. Now, I can't help but wonder how different my life would have been if only she were still alive. He took her away from me just like that, and for what? All for his own selfish reasons..."

"I just... I feel so—" Tears welled up in your eyes, and your voice broke, "I-I'm sorry..." You pulled your hands away from him, attempting to wipe your eyes, but he gently grasped your shoulders and turned you to face him.

"No, you need to stop apologising. You have every right to be sad, and I'm here to tell you that you never have to endure any more of the pain you're going through alone. I'm here for you, okay? From now on, I want you to lean on me whenever things get too unbearable. Can you do that?"

Feeling the genuine warmth in Seonghwa's tone and seeing the unmistakable care in his eyes, you finally broke down. The weight of the revelations, the pain of your father's actions, and the years of emotional torment spilt over, and you couldn't hold back your tears any longer. He pulled you close, cradling you in his arms as you sobbed against his shoulder.

Whispering comforting words into your ear, he pressed gentle kisses onto the top of your head. His touch was a soothing balm, providing the comfort and support you desperately needed in that moment. As you let out your emotions, he held you tighter.

The sound of your heart-wrenching cries only caused an uncomfortable squeeze in his heart. The general had never experienced this kind of ache before. Throughout his life, he had always believed that no one had a tougher life than he did. But then you came along, with your fragile form, managing to shake his entire world and alter his perspectives on life. All of a sudden, the notion of having someone to protect and care for didn't seem so repulsive, especially when it was you.

You slowly pulled back, staring up at him through your wet lashes, and offered a grateful smile, "Seonghwa, I want to thank you for doing all this for me. I never imagined someone caring enough to go through all that trouble. I promise, in return, I'll try my hardest to be a worthy wife for you."

He wiped away your tears tenderly and gazed into your eyes, "You don't need to prove anything, my love. You're already perfect, just as you are."

Your heart raced, and your eyes widened as you stuttered, "W-wait, what... what did you just call me?"

He stilled, realising the words that had slipped from his mouth before he softened. Leaning close, he pressed his forehead against yours, "My love."

Seonghwa's presence became almost intoxicating. Feeling him so close, as if with a mind of its own, your eyes slowly fluttered closed. He took that as permission to lean in further, and after what felt like an eternity, his lips touched yours in a soft and tentative kiss. When you didn't push him away, he bravely angled his head before pressing his lips firmly against yours.

Finally, our first kiss.

Pulling away after a while to catch your breath, you bit your lip shyly, "I-I'm sorry if I wasn't—"

He shook his head, "Don't worry, it's my first time kissing someone too," He admitted, struggling to take his eyes off your swollen lips. A soft smile played on his lips as he caressed your cheek with his thumb, "Can I..." He asked with half-lidded eyes, and you nodded breathlessly.

Without wasting another moment, he captured your lips in another loving kiss. The world seemed to fade away, leaving only the warmth of each other's presence. His touch was gentle yet filled with a depth of emotion. As the kiss deepened, you felt a rush of emotions, a mix of vulnerability and passion.

Feeling the need for air, he pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours. Your eyes met, and you could see the affection and sincerity in his gaze, "You're perfect." He whispered, his voice filled with tenderness, realising that kissing you might just be his new favourite thing to do from now onwards. The moment lingered, the air charged with newfound emotions. It was a beginning, a sweet promise of the love that had blossomed between you.

"Your Majesty, please—"

The King slammed his fists against the handle of his throne, causing the minister to gasp and lower his head. He shook like a leaf, awaiting his impending doom as the ruler declared, "I don't want to hear another word from you, Jang. You're a bloody disappointment. Actually, you're worse than that, you monster."

Kneeling beside your father were your stepmother and stepsisters, equally trembling. Pathetic tears rolled down their cheeks as they attempted to put on a pity show, hoping to move His Majesty's heart. However, their efforts did little to appease his rage. He scoffed in disbelief at their audacity to cry, considering all the despicable things they had done to you and your mother.

This marked the first time the four women had set foot in the palace, and little did they anticipate it would be under such circumstances. The visit might also be their only time here, as the imminent judgement from the King would decide their fate.

Seonghwa stood in the corner, arms crossed over his chest, an amused expression on his face. He left home that morning after a lingering kiss on your lips, feeling rejuvenated and determined. Choosing not to burden you with the details of today's assembly, he shielded you from further thoughts about your family.

Don't worry, my love. I'll make sure they suffer a punishment worse than death.

"I can't stand to look at you imbeciles for another moment longer. Let's get this over with already. Royal Secretary Choi, would you be so kind as to enlighten us with all of Minister Jang's crimes and his punishments?" said the King.

Stepping forward from his corner next to the throne, San bowed, "As you wish, Your Majesty," Tugging open the scroll in his hands, he began reading out loud, "Minister Jang has committed a total of five crimes. First, he committed adultery voluntarily, and for that, he will be whipped with eighty lashes. Second, he committed the crime of official document forgery, and for that, he will be whipped an additional twenty lashes."

Dread filled the minister as he gulped, anxiously listening to the secretary move on to the next section, "Third, for the confinement, continuous abuse, and mistreatment of his own daughter, an innocent citizen, he will be flogged thirty times. Next, for violating the code of ethics as a minister, which is to be a law-abiding citizen, he will be stripped of his title and flogged another twenty times."

As your father's hands trembled, he attempted to hold himself up by pressing his sweaty palms against the floor, breathing heavily as he awaited the final and most severe punishment. San continued, "And finally, for the murder of his first wife, an innocent citizen, he will be sentenced to permanent exile."

That's... it?

Feeling a sliver of hope, the old man let out a small sigh of relief. At least it wasn't death by beheading or arsenic poisoning as he had feared. Banishment seemed acceptable; he supposed he could still live a quiet life somewhere away from here. Bowing deeply, he cried, "Thank you, Your Majesty! Your grace is immeasurable!"

All the ministers and officials present quickly stole glances at Seonghwa, wondering if he would throw a fit and object to the punishment that was yet to be the heaviest one. However, they failed to discern his feelings, as there was only an unreadable smirk on his handsome face.

Lady Jang and her daughters trembled as they awaited their turn. With a nod from the King, the secretary continued, "Moving on, Lady Jang has committed a total of four crimes. First, she voluntarily committed adultery, and for that, she will be whipped eighty lashes. Second, she committed the crime of official document forgery, and for that, she will be whipped an additional twenty lashes."

She nodded to herself, seemingly already accepting her fate, as she listened, "Third, for the confinement, continuous abuse, and mistreatment of the minister's eldest daughter, an innocent citizen, she will be flogged thirty times. And finally, for being an accomplice to the murder of the first Lady Jang, she will be sentenced to penal servitude for life."

Her eyes shot up immediately, finding it hard to accept that she would be separated from her husband. She had believed she, too, would be exiled along with him. But she quickly lowered her gaze as soon as she saw the glare the King had directed at her, as if daring her to complain about it.

Oh god, my life is over...

Noticing the King's patience wearing thin, San quickly concluded with the final sentencing, "Lastly, for the confinement, continuous abuse, and mistreatment of the minister's eldest daughter, an innocent citizen, the three young misses of the Jang family will be flogged thirty times each and sentenced to penal servitude for a total of thirty years."

All three of the sisters' jaws fell slack at their punishment. After living luxurious lives like spoiled brats for so long, they were now expected to be servants, performing hard labour for three decades. All their dreams of getting married and leading comfortable lives were shattered. The prospect of finding suitors after serving their sentences seemed bleak. Their lives were forever ruined, and things would never be the same.

"Now that that's settled, remove these individuals from my sight, and see to it that they receive their physical punishments by today. I don't want their presence contaminating my palace walls any longer than necessary. Moving on to the next agenda, let us discuss who will stand in as the interim Minister of Military Affairs until we elect a new one." The ruler grumbled, waving his hands dismissively.

Seonghwa grinned smugly, relishing the way your father's face fell as he absorbed His Majesty's words. The King fully intended to drive the point home, reminding him that, no matter how much he believed he contributed to the nation, he, too, was just as disposable. Consider it emotional torment for further punishment, if you will.

As the members of the Jang family were forcefully pulled to their feet and guided toward the palace torture chamber where all punishments for criminals were administered, the general bowed deeply, "Your Majesty, forgive this humble subject for not feeling too well. Would it be possible for me to excuse myself from the remainder of today's assembly?"

With a knowing glint in his eyes, the King nodded, "Of course, my boy. Nothing matters more than your well-being. I'll have Royal Secretary Choi send you the minutes of today's meeting later on."

All eyes were fixed on your husband as he confidently exited the hall, wearing an excessively pleased expression, looking a little too content to be feeling unwell as he had claimed. It became evident to everyone that he was plotting something, a scheme that even His Majesty was privy to and had tacitly approved.

"P-please, have mercy!"

Screams reverberated within the dim and eerie confines of the torture chamber, a place the general once frequented during his duties of interrogating spies, war criminals, and suspicious individuals to maintain peace within the nation.

The familiar sounds of your family's agonising cries filled his ears, and he couldn't suppress the chuckle that escaped his lips as he entered, "Ah yes, music to my ears."

Upon his arrival, all the royal guards present swiftly bowed deeply and greeted Seonghwa with respect, "Good day, General Park!" They dared not continue until he gave them a nod, "Go on, don't let me stop you. I'm only here to enjoy the show."

"Yes, sir!" They chanted in unison. To many young soldiers and palace guards, he was akin to a god, an embodiment of success they aspired to achieve one day. Therefore, his mere presence motivated them to perform their duties with increased ruthlessness and precision.

Taking a seat in the centre of the room, your husband bit his lip with a smug expression, locking eyes with your father whose gaze reflected anguish. The elderly man lay face down on a wooden table, enduring lash after lash on his already bloody and battered back. His painful ordeal was far from over.

Whimpering, your father pleaded, "S-Seonghwa, I'm s-still your father-in-law! Please, at least show a little mercy to your wife's father!" Beside him, his wife nodded pathetically, sharing the same painful fate. Meanwhile, the three daughters stood frozen in a corner, wrists cuffed, awaiting their turn to face their beatings.

A devilish laughter escaped the general as he shot a menacing glare at the former minister, "Oh, I'm sorry, was that supposed to make things any better? I would show you mercy if only you had shown my wife any. You shouldn't have said anything, you fool," Turning to the guard in charge of whipping your father, your husband ordered, "Not hard enough, soldier. I want to see his skin tear."

"Yes, sir!" Striking with increased force, the lashes landed on the old man's back, inflicting wounds that would take months to heal. The continuous shrieks of pain only served to widen the smile on Seonghwa's face, "And to think you were thanking His Majesty for his grace; you've underestimated the severity of being whipped, haven't you? Did you really think you were going to walk out of here with a small bruise? Dream on."

"Oh, I can't wait for all of you to experience the wonders of flogging! It will be delightful, a punishment perfectly suited for your kind." The general sang, eyeing the three girls slyly.

They cowered under his intense gaze, suddenly regretting every action they took on the day of your visit. Perhaps if they hadn't attempted any of those, they might have gotten away with a lighter sentence. But there was no point dwelling on such thoughts now.

"Father! Mother!" The girls cried, witnessing their parents only now completing the first half of their punishment. Before they could continue their wailing, guards approached them, saying, "Quiet down! Worry about yourselves instead; it's your turn."

The former minister and his wife looked practically lifeless by the time the guards were finished with their hundred lashes each. The skin on their backs was completely torn open, blood gushing out relentlessly. They were nearly unconscious by the time the guards moved them to separate poles, where they would be beaten with a heavy stick all over their bodies.

Letting out a small yawn, Seonghwa signalled for them to prepare for the flogging. This would be entertaining to witness; most criminals barely survived this punishment by the time it concluded. He would relish the idea of them being left in critical conditions.

"Enjoy yourselves! Thirty times each for what you've all done to my wife – just the perfect amount to leave you halfway to hell. Don't worry; you'll wish you were dead by the end of this. But rest assured, we will keep you alive," Your husband exclaimed with a clap of his hands, "Now, I want you to think of all the things you've done to my wife as you endure this. Can we all do that?"

In the ensuing silence, the guards approached each family member, forcefully striking them with the heavy sticks in their hands. With just one hit, all of them began howling in pain, "Answer the general! Can you all do as you are told?!"

"Y-yes! Yes!" All five of them sobbed miserably, and the general beamed, "Fantastic! Now, let the official flogging begin! The first one does not count, alright? Consider it warm up!"

The insanity in his eyes was genuinely terrifying, and your family was once again reminded of his reputation. Suddenly, it all made sense. This was how it felt to be a victim of his cruelty. They never should have sent you to him; that was their biggest mistake, and nothing they do or say could ever change that now.

"Yes, sir!"

And so it began, the screams that now filled the room were even more piercing than the ones during the first round of whipping.

Approaching each family member one by one, Seonghwa smirked, "Remember all the times you starved her?" Jinjoo nodded in between shrieks, "Good. And you, recall all the times you insulted her and made her feel small?" Jinhee repeated her sister's actions, nodding furiously, "Very good. And you, remember all the times you did something wrong and blamed it on her so that she would take your punishments for you?"

Jinah cried, tears and snot running down her sweaty face, "I'm sorry!" He shook his head, "Will saying a useless sorry change anything? Nope. Hit her harder, soldier," With a grin of approval, he moved on to your stepmother, "And you, recall all the times you kept her locked up in that prison cell you call her room?" Not wanting to suffer like her eldest, she nodded aggressively, "Good."

Finally stopping in front of your father, he crossed his arms over his chest, "And you, remember all the times you laid your hands on her? Your own daughter?" The former minister nodded quickly but was not spared, "Good, hit him even harder so he never forgets how it feels."

"Twenty-nine, thirty." The beatings stopped for the four women, and they collapsed one by one onto the floor like rag dolls. Blood trickled from their noses and the corners of their lips, their bodies covered in countless bruises and open wounds, soaking their clothes red. And that is only what can be seen on the outside; who knew what fatal internal injuries they could be suffering from.

With his hands propped on his hips, Seonghwa took in the sight with satisfaction, "Very well, some of these scars should last you for life. Now, you look as bad as the way you'd left my wife. Actually, worse. But that's good. I'm very happy with the outcome. Guards, take them away and make sure to send them to places where they're known to treat their servants poorly."

The girls sobbed upon hearing that, "General, please, have mercy! We've already suffered enough!" Your husband scoffed, "Mercy? Have you not been paying attention this entire time? I'm not known for that. Get them out of my sight."

As the guards dragged the wailing women out, they cried for their husband and father. The former minister yelled, still taking his twenty additional beatings as he watched his wife and daughters go, "W-will you not at least let me say my final goodbyes to them?"

"Minister, please don't make me laugh. Did you also allow my wife and her poor mother a final goodbye?" The old man had nothing to say at that, grunts of pain escaping his lips as he tried to endure the remainder of his punishment despite feeling like all of his insides had been beaten to mush at this point. He didn't have to look down to know that he was soaked in blood; he could feel the sting on his wounds whenever the slightest bit of wind blew past.

Just a bit more, and I'm free.

« Preview of Part 11 »

"Forty-nine, fifty." Your father sighed in relief when the punishment finally ceased. Collapsing to the ground upon being untied, he stared blankly ahead, feeling pain throughout his entire body. Slowly but surely, he slipped into unconsciousness due to the loss of blood.

Unfortunately, his respite was short-lived. A bucket of dirty water was abruptly dumped over him, causing him to scream in agony as the injuries on his body stung intensely, bringing tears to his eyes.

"Did you think it was over?" His blood ran cold as he noticed he was now tied to a chair, unable to move. With most of the guards gone, only him and Seonghwa remained.

"What do you think you're doing, general? I've completed all my physical punishments; you're supposed to banish me now!" The old man croaked, his eyes widening in fear as he noticed the dagger in your husband's hand.

The general burst into laughter, "Oh, minister, you can be quite slow at times. Did you genuinely believe that His Majesty's decision not to sentence you to death was an act of kindness? Who do you think requested your exile?"

"Y-you—"

Seonghwa smirked, "Indeed, it was me. Killing you would have been too merciful. No, I want you to endure a life so filled with pain that you wish for death every single day. Now, after seeing how skilled you were at begging all day, I believe you'd make a very talented beggar. Do you know what would make you a successful beggar?"

Tears streaming down his face, your father shook his head hopelessly as your husband traced the blade against his skin before whispering, "One without limbs."

That was the most violence I have ever written HAHA I had to channel my inner Joker for Seonghwa's character. Anyway, I hope that was satisfying enough!

As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

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SATURDAY | Seven | smg xf!reader

You love when I jump right in All of me I'm offering Show you what devotion is Deeper than the ocean is

Rating: M (18+) | WC: ~1.8k | Pairing: smg x f!reader | Genre: smut, romance

Warnings: biting/marking, praise kink, oral f. rec., fingering, kitchen sex

Reader Notes: wears skirts and dresses, has breasts and a vagina, gets lifted by mingi

Mingi leans over the sauce pan and takes in a deep breath through his nose to check the garlic and shallots as they saute over low heat. They need a couple more minutes to become fragrant, and those minutes give Mingi just enough time to get the rest of his ingredients out. A tube of tomato paste, a few tablespoons of vodka, and a cup of heavy cream are lined up on the counter, along with a block of parmesan and some butter. 

He opens and squeezes the tomato paste into the sizzling sauce pan just as you breeze into the kitchen wrapped in a towel, your skin dewy and your hair up. 

“How long do I have?” You ask, wrapping your hand around his elbow and leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek. 

“Twenty or so minutes,” he estimates, stirring the paste into the aromatics until the mixture smooths out before turning his head and stealing a real kiss. You giggle into his mouth, cupping his face with lotion-soft hands and kissing him breathless, and then you pull away. 

You pull away, and Mingi is too dazed to catch you as you dart from the kitchen. He just stands there, one hand wrapped around a wooden spoon and the other holding the handle of the pan, and tries to remember what he was doing before you came in. 

He was cooking, he knows that, but where in the recipe was he? What steps are left? There’s cooked pasta on the counter, so he did that already, at least. There’s also an uncapped tube of tomato paste and oh, that’s where he was. 

It’s simmered more than long enough by now, and he slowly pours in the vodka to deglaze the pan, stirring until it’s all evaporated before adding the pasta water he kept. He lets it come back to a boil as he stirs, the mixture becoming smooth and bright and fragrant. 

“Okay, outfit number one,” your voice sounds behind him, and he tries to contain the rush of giddiness that comes when he realizes you’re going to give him a fashion show. You don’t do it often, just when you’re having a date night in and you have the energy, so Mingi absolutely adores these nights. The twinkle in your eye, the extra pep in your step, the cute little twirls you do to show off the whole outfit, he loves it all. 

He turns in place and attempts to keep his face smooth, to pretend to be critical, as he takes you in. You’re wearing a short, light pink dress, with lace and little embroidered strawberries and bows on the straps, and as you spin for him, he notices you’ve got matching bows in your hair. You look gorgeous, adorable, radiant, and he doesn’t even have to think to say, “One million out of ten, baby.”

He reaches for your hips, only to feel his face fall in a pout when you skip out of the way and out of the room, calling, “Next!” over your shoulder as you go. Sighing, he returns to dinner and tries to figure out where he was again. 

The cup of pasta water is empty, so it must be time to add the cream. He stirs as he pours, reducing the heat when the sauce has smoothed out and opening up the parmesan to start grating it. 

“Outfit number two!” You sing as you glide into view, wearing one of his favorite tops and a skirt he hasn’t seen before. His hands freeze as he looks you up and down, his heart racing at the sight of you. The shirt is light, buttery yellow silk, and something about the way it molds to your tits always makes Mingi’s head spin. It goes perfectly with the white, flowy skirt you chose, the whole outfit making you look like sunshine embodied. 

It’s just as sweet as the last, but with a different vibe, and Mingi wonders what the final outfit will be. He doesn’t even try to touch you this time, knowing both that you’re too quick for him and that he’s got cheese hands. Instead he beams and says, “Fuckin’ beautiful, baby.”

You preen at his words, your pleased little smile pushing your cheeks up as you smooth your hands down your body, ironing out invisible wrinkles. 

“You’ve got ten minutes,” he warns before you can ask, giving the sauce a stir and returning to his cheese grating when you squeak and fly away. He misses you instantly but reminds himself you’ll be back before he knows it. Dinner requires his attention anyway, the parm and butter just sitting there, waiting to be added. 

Both go into the bubbling sauce, along with some fresh ground salt and pepper, and as he lets it all meld together, he starts cleaning up. With just a minute to spare, you rush into the kitchen, sliding on socked feet and stealing his breath. 

You’re wearing thigh high socks. That’s literally all Mingi can register. He doesn’t know what else you’re wearing, can’t hear what you’re saying, doesn’t even notice the timer going off. All he knows is you’re wearing thigh high socks, and he’s so gone for you. 

He only drags his gaze from your legs when you start moving toward him, his arms opening on instinct as you step into his space and reach up. He’s not sure what you’re doing, but you could do anything to him and he’d be happy about it, thankful even. He’s a little disappointed when he finds that you were just turning off the microwave timer, but he’ll survive if it means he gets to keep looking at you.

“I guess this one’s your favorite?” You tease, switching the burner to low and turning in a slow circle for him. Finally, he takes in the rest of your outfit, a cute little pajama set, and his face crumples in defeat when he sees the way your knit shorts hug your ass. 

“Fuck, baby. Yeah, this one’s my favorite,” he practically groans, his hands burning with the desire to touch, to take, to consume. He abandons the stove, the wooden spoon clattering onto the spoon rest as he takes you by the hips and lifts you to sit on the freshly cleaned island. 

Your hands fly to his shoulders, holding tight and keeping him close when he starts to pull away. 

“Lemme eat you out, baby. Hm?” Mingi murmurs in your ear, pressing kisses down your throat as he waits for your answer. 

“Shouldn’t we eat dinner first?” You ask halfheartedly, tilting your head to the side to give him better access. 

“This is our place, baby, we make the rules. If we want dessert before dinner, we can have dessert before dinner,” he speaks low and slow, feeling very much like the devil on your shoulder and not minding at all. 

“Okay,” you shrug and sigh happily, blissfully, a smile brightening your voice as he tugs you right up to the edge of the counter. Your hands fall away from his shoulders to brace behind your back, your hips lifting when he curls his fingertips in the waistband of your shorts and starts to pull. 

He’s careful pulling them over your socks, folds them up and places them next to you on the island before sinking to his knees and biting a mark into your inner thigh, just above where the socks pinch. 

“Why have I never seen these before?” He asks softly, running his hands over your calves and wrapping his hands around your ankles to spread your legs wider. 

“They’re new, I bought them with the set I wore on Tuesday,” you gasp as he takes hold of one leg and hefts it up onto his shoulder, doing the same with your other leg before nuzzling into your pussy and taking a deep breath. 

“I fuckin’ love them,” he mutters against you, knowing you can feel his words better than you can hear them. 

“Good, I bought them for you.” 

He thanks you by licking through your folds to find your clit, a loud moan leaving his lips as soon as your taste hits his tongue. He wonders how long you’ve been wet, if you started off your little fashion show with damp panties and wicked intent, or if every wardrobe change made you hotter. 

He’s not curious enough to tear himself away from you, too entranced by your weeping pussy to even consider pulling away long enough to ask. All he cares about is getting more of you on his tongue, in his mouth, on his face. 

He wants you all over him, and with determined fingers, he starts to search for the spot that will make you gush. He knows he’s got it when you buck into his touch and curl up around him, whimpering his name in a voice that makes his cock twitch. 

The ache is distracting, and he reaches down to undo his jeans, pushing them and his boxers down just far enough for his dick to pop out. He sighs in relief as he tucks them under his balls, squeezing the base of his cock once just to tide himself over, the feeling of your walls wrapping around his fingers making it throb. 

He grinds into that spongy patch with his fingertips and slides his tongue from your clit to your entrance to catch the arousal that seeps out, an encouraging groan leaving him as he swallows you down. He’s never been more thankful for his nose, the size and shape of it perfect for you to rub your clit against while he shoves his tongue inside you along with his fingers. 

Your cunt clamps down like you don’t want him to move, but he knows that just means you’re getting close, knows he should fuck you through the tightness, knows you can take it even though your socked thighs are trembling on his shoulders and you’re crying like you can’t. 

“You can do it, baby. You can cum for me, I know you can,” Mingi pulls his tongue out to coo roughly, his fingertips still working your g-spot. You open one teary eye, peeking down at him, and he grins sharply, his lips swollen and shiny with you, before he wraps them around your clit and sucks hard. 

The sound is obscene but the result is divine, a rush of wetness flowing out of your fluttering cunt  as you writhe in pleasure above him, your whimpers and soaking wet pussy making his dick throb against his thigh. 

He could stop, but his knees don’t hurt yet and his tongue still works, so why should he?

Dinner will hold, and if it doesn’t, there’s always takeout. 

pls reblog if you enjoyed!! as always, i would love to hear your thoughts 💖

Seven Masterlist

My Masterlist

gang shit | knj

Your daughter's classmate has a really hot dad. Apparently, you're his arch-nemesis.

○ Pairing: Dilf!Namjoon x Single Parent!Reader

○ Rating: Sfw

○ Genre: Kidfic, strangers/romantic interest, an attempt at humor

○ 1 / 100 Drabble Challenge (Single Parent)

○ Word Count: 1204

○ Warnings: Shockingly none!! aside from my terrible sense of humor, jokes about Crime!!, and also Namjoon's dimples

○ Notes: Inspired by this tweet. I hope you enjoy the first drabble of my 100 Drabble Challenge I'm doing with @sailoryooons - Please check out Hali's drabbles throughout 2024, too! Happy New Year, besties! ✨

○ Post Date: January 1, 2024

○ Masterlist | Send me ur thots

○ What was Jai listening to? GOAT - Number_i

“I don’t make the rules to this gang shit. I just play my role.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, and you cock your head to the side in disbelief. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Namjoon adjusts his black baseball cap. His bicep bulges out of his short sleeve when he lifts his arm. 

You’re too old to be thirsting for a man like this. In all honesty, you’ve been acting childish all day – literally. It’s the last day of school before summer break, and your daughter’s preschool teacher invited parents to an end-of-the-year celebration. Having the privilege of working a hybrid schedule means it’s relatively easy for you to swing by the school with primary-colored cupcakes in hand. They’re the disgusting ones kids love that’ll stain their fingers and mouths bright blue. Oh, to be a four-year-old. So easy to please. 

Unlike little Yuna’s father, who has a stick shoved up his ass, and for what?

“What are you even talking about?” you ask with your arms crossed against your chest. 

You’d said literally five words to the guy, intending to start a pleasant conversation while the kids ran around the playground and the other parents mingled at the picnic tables outside. 

“Hi, I’m Y/N, Brooklyn’s parent.”

Apparently, that was offensive.

Namjoon’s sharp eyes drag up and down your body, and you try not to let his heavy gaze affect you – and fail when you feel your stomach dip. 

“Brooklyn said Yuna dresses weird,” Namjoon finally says with a pout that shouldn’t look so cute on a grown-ass man. 

“Did she?” 

“Are you calling Yuna a liar?”

“No!” This man is so volatile. “I’m just surprised, that’s all. We’ve been practicing using kind words, but, well, you know how kids are…” 

Namjoon doesn’t look convinced. 

You feel antsy under his gaze, unsure what to say or do. Are you supposed to apologize? Maybe that’s the mature thing to do. You’re still new to this whole “I’m suddenly responsible for an entire human being even though I barely even know how to take care of myself” thing. It’s a little bit unbelievable, actually! 

“I’m sorry for Brooklyn’s judgmental behavior. What kind of weird-, what kind of clothes-” you stumble through what you already know is a shit apology, “Which one is Yuna?” 

“That’s her.” Namjoon nods in Yuna’s direction.

You look across the playground to the swing set, where a little girl is lying on the swing on her stomach and spinning around with her arms and legs hanging limp. She’s wearing her hair in asymmetrical pigtails, one higher on her head than the other. Her sneakers are mismatched, as are her colorful knee-high socks. Her pants are polka-dotted, her shirt striped, and she’s got a bright purple cape tied around her neck. 

“She’s adorable,” you say softly. 

“She’s weird as shit.” 

Your mouth hangs open when Namjoon shrugs. 

“What? She’s my kid; I’m allowed to say that.” 

“Fair enough,” you concede with a smile, “So, we got beef now?”

“Yup.” 

Namjoon crosses his arms against his chest to match your stance. You tell yourself it’s very inappropriate to be eyeing your new enemy’s boobs when you’re in the middle of a showdown. 

“I’m not gonna lie, I don’t think I’m down for going to war for Brooklyn. Usually, I just like to blame her bad behavior on her dad,” you say with a barking laugh. You cover your mouth with your hand when you snort. “Sorry, that was inappropriate.” 

“You’re good,” Namjoon finally cracks a smile, and, wow, it’s breathtaking. His eyes crinkle at the corners, his teeth are big and bright, and he has dimples… “Yuna’s mother doesn’t let her dress how she likes, so when I have her, I let her do what she wants. Self-expression is important, y’know?” 

You nod because he’s right. Kids should be kids. 

“Plus, I like being the fun parent.” 

“Right! Who wants the parent with all the stupid rules?” You perk up, taking a step closer because now you’re partners in crime rather than enemies. Maybe. You’ll work on it. He’s too cute not to get up to some parental crime with—gang members, not rivals. 

“Not cool parents like us,” Namjoon lightly elbows you. 

“Yeah, they can’t ride with our gang.” 

Namjoon makes a face the moment the words come out of your mouth. He bites both lips, rolling them in and hollowing his cheeks, eyebrows raised. 

“What? What!” you gasp, knowing when you’re being made fun of, even if it’s in silence. 

“Don’t ever say anything like that ever again.” 

With a huff, you give him a tiny punch to the arm and tell yourself that it isn’t because you want to feel how tight his muscles are. 

“You’re the one who–” 

“HEY! NO HITTING!” 

Groaning, you throw your head back as a tiny blur of pink collides with your body. Brooklyn tugs on the hem of your shirt, repeatedly chanting, “Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey,” until you crouch to meet her at her level. Taking her little hands in yours, you hold them to your lips to give her knuckles a quick peck. 

“You’re right, I shouldn’t have done that to Mr. Kim,” you admit, “I should apologize, shouldn’t I?”

Brooklyn nods, and the bulbous beaded hair ties at the end of her pigtail braids swing like a deadly game of tetherball. 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Kim,” you say as you look up at Namjoon. He taps his finger against his chin in mock thought, and you can’t help but think that you’ll actually punch him if he fucks up this teaching moment by pretending not to accept your apology. 

“I forgive you,” he says with another grin that makes you feel like a silly teenager. 

“Y’know, Brooklyn, Mr. Kim told me something about you and Yuna…” Brooklyn immediately ducks her chin to her chest. No one has ever looked guiltier. “It’s not very nice to talk about how people look, love. I think you should apologize to Yuna, don’t you agree?”

It takes very little convincing for Brooklyn to run off toward the swings. She flops on her stomach in the swing beside Yuna, and then, after a bit of talking, both girls spin around. 

“If Brooklyn throws up from doing that, it’s your fault,” you mutter to Namjoon. 

“Real aggressive coming from someone who just physically attacked me.” 

“Okay, Mr. Gang Shit,” you quip back, catching Namjoon’s widening grin out of the corner of your eye. 

“Listen,” Namjoon touches your elbow, his fingers lingering just long enough for you to give him your attention. Heat spreads along your forearm and makes your fingers tingle. “I don’t really accept either of your apologies. You might need to try a little harder to get me to forgive you.”

“Oh.” You feel your stomach twist. 

“Might want to start with getting dinner with me, and then we can see where it goes?” 

Oh.

“I mean, if you think it wouldn’t hurt my street cred being seen with the likes of you, then, yeah.” 

Namjoon grabs his baseball cap bill and pulls it down until his hat covers his face. “Don’t make me rescind this offer because I’ll do it.” 

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll see how it goes.”

Disclaimer: All my writing is fictional and for entertainment purposes only. None of these characters are meant to actually represent the real people mentioned in the stories. 

All rights reserved © @gimmethatagustd​ - Do not copy, repost, modify, or translate any of my writing. Do not use my writing for any AI purposes whatsoever. Do not use my fics for anything aside from reading and commenting on them. My fics will only be posted on this Tumblr and on AO3 (gimmethatagustd & daddytaehyungie). Request an AO3 account here.

SUNDAY | Seven | smg x f!reader

You wrap around me and you give me life And that's why night after night I'll be fucking you right

Rating: M (18+) | WC: ~2.9k | Pairing: smg x f!reader | Genre: smut, romance

Warnings: cockwarming, piv sex, creampie, marking/scratching

Reader Notes: has breasts and a vagina

Mingi didn’t understand the beauty of bathing until he met you. He washed, of course, but his showers were utilitarian and quick, water cold and soap three-in-one. Then you came along and introduced him to the luxurious side of getting clean, and now his life is forever changed. 

There’s a speaker in your bathroom, and a bluetooth controlled sunlamp, and a fucking towel warmer too. You’ve got a basket in your vanity just for face masks, and another for shower melts and bath bombs. He even uses separate shampoo, conditioner, and body wash now.

The absolute best part, though, has to be getting to bathe with you. 

It’s like a ritual for you, and Mingi always feels so special to be included in the process. Today is an everything shower day, and he gets to tag along for the tail end of it - a bath and a face mask. He used to wonder why you end the day with a bath, but after seeing all that goes into an everything shower, he doesn’t blame you for wanting to relax. 

You sit on the edge of the tub, your hair twisted up in your special towel and your naked body still damp. In the early days, you would use towels in between, too shy to be naked with each other out of the context of sex. Now, you’re both comfortable being nude as you wait for the tub to fill. 

That doesn’t mean his dick doesn’t get hard at the sight of you though. He can tell himself it’s not sexual as much as he wants, it still won’t stop his body’s natural reaction to yours. He’s not embarrassed by it anymore, thankfully, and you’re usually too focused on your routine to care. 

Not tonight, it seems. 

You can’t tear your eyes off of him, his chest, his arms, his back, his cock. He feels them on him as he packs towels into the warmer, as he takes two face masks from the cupboard, as he runs the hand towel through his hair to mop up the extra droplets clinging to the ends. You stare unabashedly as he approaches the tub, your gaze caught on the way his hard dick bobs in the steamy air. 

He’ll admit it, he struts a bit for you. 

As always, he climbs into the bath first, exhaling a low sigh at the feeling of the hot water enveloping him. You typically sit in his lap facing away from him, but this time, you climb in and straddle him, the tub just wide enough for your knees to fit on either side of his body. 

He raises an eyebrow, his hands gripping your hips and his cock poking up out of the water between you. 

“I wanna sit on it,” you admit, looking between his face and his dick hopefully. You don’t explain further but he doesn’t need you to, nods down at his cock and watches as you take hold of it, line yourself up, and sink down. 

Fighting to keep his eyes from rolling back in his head, he holds in the long, loud swear he wants to let out. You’re as hot as the bath but infinitely better, the clutch of your cunt mesmerizing to him as always. 

He hands you a washcloth and opens up the first face mask packet, handing it over to you and taking the cloth to put to the side. He opens up his own packet and retrieves the mask with clumsy fingers, the slippery sheet dripping onto his hands before he can unravel it. 

“Fuck, I forgot my headband,” he groans, letting his head tip back and glowering at the fuzzy ears on the vanity. 

“Just push your hair back,” you say, stretching the mask over your face and smoothing the edges out. 

“But my hands are all-” 

You pointedly dunk your hands in the bath to rinse them off and grin back at him when he smiles sheepishly before raking your fingers through his hair and pushing it up and off of his forehead for him. You take the mask next, tugging it apart and carefully laying it on his face, using your fingertips to press down the edges. 

Your cunt flutters around him as you move, clenching when you lean forward to kiss him and squeezing down even harder when he takes you by the hips with firm hands. He’s about to lift you when you press a palm to his chest and ask, “Can we just stay like this? Until the mask comes off.”

“Yeah, baby, of course,” he breathes, smooching your towel clad head and settling deeper into the water. You melt into his chest, the chill of your sheet mask on his pec making it jump beneath your cheek, and he wraps his arms around you both to hold you close and to keep your back warm. 

Your body goes lax against his, your breathing evening out, and he grins to himself before joining you in slumber, so fond of you he could die.

Mingi wakes to cool water, a dry face mask, and a pleasure so sharp, it burns. 

He’s not ready to open his eyes yet but to know you’re still there, he doesn’t need to. There’s a soothing weight holding him down, and a velvet heat surrounding him, and he just might feel more content than he ever has before. 

Maybe also more needy than he ever has before. 

He can’t stop his hips from thrusting in little motions, can’t stop grinding into you, trying to get deeper even though he’s already met the end of you. You’re moving too, rolling into his thrusts and pulsing around his cock, and when he finally opens his eyes, he looks down to find yours still shut.

“Baby,” he whispers softly, rubbing your back with gentle hands in an effort to wake you. “It’s time to take off the masks.”

You hum and, not ready to rise yet, attempt to burrow further into his arms, making him chuckle and pinch your cheek.

“Ow,” you peel yourself off his chest to cross your arms and pout at him, your face mask adorably skewed and your tits pushed together. He just smiles sleepily at you and reaches up to fully remove the mask, his first and then yours, before balling them up and throwing them into the trash basket. 

“So… the masks have come off,” he leads hopefully, gripping your hips and digging his fingers into the supple flesh. 

“Indeed they have,” you nod your head serenely and blink at him, one, two, three times. 

Fuck, you must have forgotten what you said. But Mingi doesn’t want to push you into anything, especially if you’re tired (and you seem like it), so he just nods back and starts lifting you off his cock. Your eyes grow wide and your nails dig into his abs, your pussy clenching so hard around him, he almost can’t move you. 

“What are you doing?” You gasp, obviously alarmed and perhaps even displeased. 

“Well, we’re getting out of the bath, aren’t we? It’s cold,” he doesn’t really understand your confusion, but he stops moving in the meantime, not wanting your bottom lip to tremble any more than it already is. 

“Oh. Yeah, I suppose we should,” you agree in disappointment, looking away from him as if that could hide your feelings. 

“Baby, what do you wanna do?” He asks, leaning over to catch your eye and bringing a soaking wet, chilly hand up to cup the back of your neck and squeeze reassuringly. 

You take a few seconds to think it over and he waits patiently, letting his eyes trace over every square inch of your face. He’s already got you committed to memory but there’s nothing wrong with a little reinforcement. 

“I want to cuddle,” you sigh and draw circles on his pecs. “But I want you to fuck me too.”

“Baby, that’s a thing,” he rushes to tell you. “We could totally do that.”

“Really? I’m not being too needy?” Your voice sounds small and you won’t look him in the eye again, and Mingi shakes his head with fondness. 

“You could never be too needy. Well, you could, but I’ll never not like it. I promise,” he brings his pinky up, hooking it with yours and pressing your thumbs together to seal the vow. “You know this means I have to pull out, right?” 

Your face scrunches in displeasure but you relax your inner muscles and allow him to lift you up and off of his cock. You’re both quick to get out after, Mingi going to the warmer to grab your towels and you carrying out your skincare routine. When you’re done, he wraps you up in the plush, heated fabric and hefts you into his arms, bridal style, to carry you to bed. 

You squeal weakly and throw your arms around his neck, holding on tight like you think he’ll drop you as he crosses into the bedroom. He lays you out on the bed with care, his biceps and abs straining as he lowers you down slowly. He could drop you to be funny, but you seem a bit delicate tonight and it makes him want to take care of you, to coddle you, to baby you. 

You cling to him when he tries to pull away, and he whispers, “Just getting some pajamas, baby,” squeezing your wrist when you’re still reluctant to release him. 

“Okay, we’ll sleep naked, I guess,” he laughs quietly into your hair and climbs on top of you, pushing your legs together and twisting them to the side so he can line himself up. 

“I just want you close,” you breathe as he sinks inside, smiling when he braces his arms on either side of your head and boxes you in.

“This close enough?” He asks, rooting his dick deep inside of you and pressing his chest to yours. 

“Nope,” you grin affectionately, clenching around him just because you can. The sensation of your walls gripping him sends a shiver down his spine, makes his dick twitch and leak inside of you. He’s so sensitive after two hours of being in your perfect little pussy, two hours of not cumming, two hours of not moving at all. 

That doesn’t stop him from drawing his hips back and slowly rolling them forward, filling you with his thick, hard cock and exhaling a ragged groan when he bottoms out again. You feel even hotter now that he’s not in the bath, wetter too, and it’s enough to drag him right up to the edge. 

But he hasn’t made you cum yet, and he refuses to let it be an afterthought. He can’t really get at your clit with your legs together like this though, so he pulls away just enough to take hold of one and wrap it around his waist.

You’re opened up for him now, his hand fitting perfectly in the space between your thighs and his fingers finding that bundle of nerves with ease. Nearly his whole body is pressed to yours and he loves it, loves being this close to you, so close it’s almost like you’re one person instead of two. 

Like this, he can see every expression that crosses your face, hear every sound that leaves your lips, feel every burst of pleasure like it’s his own, so he knows exactly when you start to climb that hill. His touch becomes more purposeful, more insistent, as you clench and squeeze around him, your cunt clamping down when he pulls out and fluttering wildly when he slides back in. 

It’s a slick, hot push and pull, a dance he only ever wants to do with you, because only with you will it be laced with love and desire and passion and devotion. Only with you will it feel this good, this pure, this right. 

Mingi feels like this is what he’s supposed to be doing. When he’s at work or the grocery store or the gym, he’s really supposed to be buried in you, connected with you, loving you. He’s built a home with you and found one inside of you, and if life was kind and sweet like you are, he wouldn’t ever have to leave. 

“Fuck, love you so fucking much, baby,” he forces out through gritted teeth, pressing his forehead to yours and sharing your oxygen. 

“I love you, Mingi,” you whimper, your lips moving against his with how close he is to you. 

Your nails dig into his neck as he hooks his hips up on a thrust inside, dragging the head of his cock over your g-spot. He hopes you leave marks, hopes you scratch him up so he can carry you with him every day this coming week, make every movement a reminder of how fucking good he makes you feel. 

One of his circles catches the side of your clit and you cry out sharply, your cunt squeezing his cock and your leg tightening around his waist. “Like that?” He shifts his touch, trying to replicate the motion that made you shout for him. 

It takes a second for him to find the right angle and pressure, but it’s obvious when he does. Your head pushes back into the pillow, arousal seeps out of you to coat his balls, and you get so fucking tight, it almost hurts. 

He relishes the ache, luxuriates in it, because he knows it means you’re right on the edge, primed to tumble off and take him with you. 

All it takes is a little extra pressure and an urgently whispered, “Fuck, cum for me, please baby, please.”

Your face crumples in pleasure and your pussy locks down around him as you shatter, your breathy moans and weak calls of his name like music in his ears. It’s blinding, almost, the sheer bliss that overtakes him when he starts to fill you up, white hot cum shooting out of his throbbing cock to paint your plush walls. 

His head spins for what could be minutes or hours, his dick slowly softening within you as you both try to find your way back to this plane of existence. He blinks drowsily, his eyelids heavy and his body feeling even heavier, and finds the strength to roll to the side, wrapping his arms around you and bringing you with him. 

With closed eyes, he leans in and tries to kiss your forehead, only for his lips to graze microfiber instead. 

“Baby, don’t forget about your hair,” he breathes quietly, patting your towel-clad head. 

“Fuck, my fucking hair,” you whine, your voice full of regret and despair. 

You already put in all your products, but you still have to take it out of the towel and either blow dry or braid it, and Mingi knows you don’t feel like doing either. 

“I’ll do it for you,” he offers sincerely, hoping you’ll be okay with just the braiding option. Your hair has been in the towel for almost two hours now, so it shouldn’t be too wet still. 

“Really?” You look at him with big, teary eyes, your voice tender and your hand gentle where it cups his cheek. 

“Of course, baby,” he smiles softly, lifting your leg off his waist and pulling out of you with a slippery pop. You’re still laying on the towel and he picks up one corner, dabbing gently at the cum dripping out of you before climbing off the bed and lumbering to the bathroom to retrieve your comb and a scrunchie. 

While parsing through the drawer for a hair tie, Mingi glances up at the mirror and can’t help but beam at what he finds. His cheeks are flushed, his face dewy and glowing, and his hair is an absolute disaster. He’s naked as the day he was born and his cock is still covered in cum, which he quickly rinses off before twisting to get a look at his back. 

There are scratch marks, and his smile just grows wider when the torn skin smarts at being stretched. These will linger for days, he thinks with glee, bouncing on his toes when he sets eyes on a scrunchie. 

He speeds back to the bedroom, finding you sitting up with the towel undone, your head hung low and your hands braced next to your thighs. 

“Baby?” Mingi murmurs, crouching next to you and peering up through your hair to find your eyes closed.

“‘m awake,” you slur quietly, making him jump and nearly fall flat on his ass.

He breathes out a sigh of relief and takes his place behind you, combing through your hair and braiding it with efficiency, his fingers practiced after many trials (and many errors). 

“Thank you, Mingi,” you sigh sluggishly as he wraps his hand around your throat and pulls you back into his chest. He presses a kiss to the side of your head before whispering, “Anytime, baby,” and shifting to lay down, his head on the pillow and yours on his outstretched arm. 

You’re so close, he can feel every breath exhaled into his chest, feel your heart beating against his, feel your body heat melding with his own, as his thoughts grow syrupy and his body grows heavy. 

Mingi wouldn’t have it any other way. 

AN: yay! thanks for sticking with me through another series, i hope you had a good time 💖

Seven Masterlist

My Masterlist

stupid pining idiot (said affectionately) 🩷❤️