OTHER THAN THE BED... ? [ HYUNG LINE ]

★ ── OTHER THAN THE BED... ? ⸝⸝ [ HYUNG LINE ]

skz hyung line and their favorite places to fuck ! ♡

[ ⟡ ] ── NSFW, MDNI! ⭑ fem!reader, dom!skz, mirror sex, couch sex, riding, doggy, light primal play, talk of exhibitionism, name calling, spanking, wall sex, degradation, manhandling, possessive behavior

੭ ⭑ 𓂃⠀⠀⠀⠀[ 0.7k ] ⭑ [ m. list ] ⭑ [ reblogs and feedback appreciated! ]

⟡ 방찬 BANG CHAN -> bathroom mirror.

chan grabbed a fistful of your hair, tugged hard so you lift your head to face him-- or rather, the mirror in front of you. he had you bent obscenely over the bathroom sink, fat cock pistoning in and out of your dripping cunt from behind, his thrusts so hard and deep that the sink digs painfully into your hips and you keep narrowly missing hitting the mirror with your forehead. "look at you~" he cooed so sugary sweet, nasty and condescending, the smacking of skin and the wet squelches from your cunt nearly drowning out his voice, echoing against the bathroom tile. "look so pretty like this, babygirl." you hardly recognized the person that stared back at you in the mirror; your mouth hung open, unable to contain your moans and shrill cries of pleasure, drool leaving your chin spit-slick and shiny. your eyes were blown out, dazed and unfocused and utterly debauched. you wanted to avert your eyes, but chan wouldn't let you look away. you can see his handsome, sweaty face and his pretty smirk behind you in the mirror, his tanned skin pink and his hair sticking to his forehead. "go ahead, pretty girl, tell me what you see."

⟡ 민호 MINHO -> the floor.

"such a tight fucking pussy, so good for me--" minho rasped, panting like a dog; the pace of his hips made you throw your head back and wail, his pretty cock hitting so deep inside you were seeing stars. you had been being a brat all night, pushed minho's buttons until he snapped and put you back in your place-- he had pushed you down onto the living room floor and mounted you right there like some kind of animal, held you in place with his long fingers pressing blooming purple and pink bruises to your hips and neck. "gonna make me cum soon, fuck baby... gonna let me cum inside? let me fill you up?" your knees burned from the carpet but you couldn't find it in you to care, not when minho was fucking you this good. he goes faster, harder, enamored with the way your ass jiggled fom his thrusts, the way your moans only got higher, more pathetic and whiny. he slapped your ass, hard, and snickered to himself as you choked on your scream. "you like it when i fuck you like this, huh? whore. right here where anyone could see you? see how good i give it to you? fuck, my girl's such a nasty slut."

⟡ 창빈 CHANGBIN -> the wall.

"who's pussy is this?" changbin growled into your ear, calloused hands folding you in half as he pounded you against the wall. "hm? who's pussy does this belong to? since you don't seem to fuckin' remember." your legs swung uselessly over his shoulders, bin's white-knuckle grip pressing your knees up against your chest-- his thick fat cock hit all of the right spots, kissed your cervix with every rough thrust, filled you up so deliciously you were rendered completely speechless.. "i-i'm sorry!" you warbled, scratching uselessly at his bulging biceps, unable to say much else with his thick fingers sliding down your thigh to rub tight circles against your swollen, aching clit. you could hardly focus, greedily drinking in eyefulls of changbin's big arms as he flexed to keep you firm against the wall. "it's yours! i'm yours!" "damned right," he grunted, huffing breath unsteady, his thrusts growing slick and sloppy as he neared his climax. "fuck yeah, you're mine, all mine."

⟡ 현진 HYUNJIN -> the couch.

"i just want to cuddle, baby," he had sworn with a smile, patting his lap so invitingly and beckoning you to come sit, but you knew he was lying straight through his teeth-- in no time at all hyunjin had you stripped naked and bouncing up and down on his cock, helping you set the pace with his hands gripping tight on your ass, alternating between squeezing and slapping the flesh, his evil grin widening with every whimper and gasp he managed to get out of you. his big long cock was so deep it made your head spin; you could feel him in your tummy, his hips meeting yours with deafening smacks... "jinnie, jinnie, i'm gonna cum!" you squealed, your nails digging crescents into hyunjin's shoulders; he just bounced you harder, fucked you deeper, threw his head back against the couch cushions when your wet gummy walls spasm and flutter around his shaft. "shit, baby, gonna cum for me? gonna make a mess?" he goaded eagerly, lopsided grin and unfocused eyes making your pussy clench hard around him. "go ahead baby, cum on my cock~"

Nightmares

Genre: 18+, smut, fluff

Cw: ChildhoodBestfriend!Minho x Fem!Reader, nightmares, only one bed, swearing, perv min, masterbation (m), slight voyeurism

Wc: 3.5k

Summary: You thought Minho was having a nightmare, but his mind was focused on you in the middle of the night, out of breath for a completely different reason

AN: SORRY I STARTED MY EXAMS EVERYONE I will try to post every week because I've gotten some wonderful requests so far like this one that I can't wait to write, but I'll be done in two months so I'll be back soon don't even worry 🫵

Minho's childhood was sprinkled with silly nightmares, nothing too scary- but enough to disturb him in the middle of the night when no one else should have been awake. As his best friend, you took on the role of his self-designated guardian, and took the liberty to soothe him back to sleep in your small arms and offer him what solace you could.

During sleepovers, your vigilance transformed into something of a ritual whenever he would start to stir from something in his little mind. Without hesitation you'd rise, ready to comfort him and cuddle him until he fell back to sleep again. You'd tell him that whatever scary thing he was dreaming of was no match for him really, that the two of you would team up to scare it back- and he'd be okay.

There was an unspoken agreement between the two of you, a silent pact to keep his nightmares a secret between friends. If you weren't spending the night together, Minho would tell the tale to you on your walk to school, just a few feet ahead of your parents as they escorted the two of you to the building. You would give him a hug and move on, ready to delve into whatever game you wanted to play so you didn't gather attention from the adults.

But as the two of you slowly crossed the border from inseparable children to young adults, Minho's nightmares difted right to the very back of his brain, falling low into his subconscious where they couldn't bother him anymore. The frequency of his confessions dwindled down to passing comments about 'one of those dreams again' until he barely mentioned them to you.

With maturity came the realisation that not everything had to be shared between friends, the knowledge that some thoughts could be private thoughts- something that the other half didn't need to know. Secrets blossomed and insecurities arose, and the fact that nightmares were something vulnerable and full of depth spurred Minho not to share them with you like he had before.

While the currents of life carried the two of you through young adulthood, the bond you shared didn't break, the two of you were still almost inseparable- you just went home to your respective beds at the end of the day.

You couldn't help by be winded by the nostalgia of chucking your bags down in the corridor- speeding up to Minho's room to get out your shared Pokémon cards and argue over which of them was the best before climbing into pajamas and clinging to eachother while under the covers grew cold during the night.

"What?" He smiled, closing the gate to his garden- leaving you on the other side. There was a metaphor in there, you were sure of it. "Why are you staring at my house?"

"Just thinking," you hummed to yourself, "I haven't seen your room in a while."

"You can come up and help me pack if you want?"

"Oh as if," you scoffed, scrunching your face at his suggestion.

Minho was a perfectionist, and being a victim of his tyranny was something you'd experienced well enough growing up, you didn't need to be subjected to his exact instructions of how he wanted everything in his bag arranged.

In the midst of planning your triennal trip together, your parents had made a subtle change and gave you and Minho a room together instead of grouping with your parents. The sense of trust was happily welcomed, since the last time you had this trip you were both 16, you roomed with your families and it was getting a little cramped, safe to say.

It was somewhat of a rite of passage, the independence that was given with age, two adult best friends- given their own room like you hadn't been up countless nights thinking of sharing a bed with Minho again.

When the group of you arrived at the hotel, there was a shared semblance of excitement from you and Minho, a buzz of energy that hadn't been present for a long time. The feeling you always used to get before a sleepover, just like all those childhood nights.

He had brought the box of Pokémon cards, but the trip had been delayed because of traffic, and so your usual routine of arguing about the objective best for hours before you went to bed would have to wait until the next night. As it was now 11:36 and you needed to sleep.

"One bed?" You hummed, Minho lugging his excessive amount of bags in behind you.

"One bed," he shrugged back, "they must've done it by habit."

That was true, you never slept on an airbed or anything when you were kids- favouring top and tailing until you were awake to cuddle him back to sleep.

"I'll sleep on the floor," he said with a smile. Without hesitation, he grabbed a pillow and blanket, swiftly arranging them on the ground before rifling through his bag for his nightly routine. Minho waddled to the bathroom, carrying a bag of skincare and his toothbrush. The bathroom light flickered slightly when he turned it on and he shot you a weary look.

You snickered quietly to yourself and pulled out your own toothbrush to go and join him. The sound of running water accompanied the brushing of your teeth together, and when you were done- you quickly emerged to get changed while he was busy with his face.

You shedded your body of your clothes and slipped on a large t-shirt before jumping into bed, getting comfortable under the covers. The gentle tug of sleep captured you already, and within seconds of having your face buried in your pillow you could feel your eyelids growing heavy.

The sound of your best friends laugh bounced softly around the walls as he too flopped down into his makeshift bed.

"Are you sure you're okay down there?" You asked quietly.

"I'm okay, just rest."

"Minho?" you said sleepily, raising from the bed to look at him, perched on his phone. His gaze met yours, and there was a weariness in his eyes that hinted at his lack of rest. "Why aren't you asleep?"

The shrill sound of something playing for a second had pulled you out of your slumber.

"Nightmare," Minho replied, his response simple yet weighted. The vulnerability in his admission prompted you to sit up, the comfort of being together insinuating the beginning of that same thing you did as a child.

He looked down, a little guilt playing through his features for not checking the volume on his phone before opening a video.

"Really? I didn't even notice," you admitted, a touch of surprise in your voice. A decade ago, you would have been hyper-aware and attuned to the slightest shifts in Minho's sleep. The realization that you hadn't sensed his nightmares stirred a subtle pang in your heart.

Ten years prior, the shared proximity in the same bed had made you an expert at knowing when he needed you, responding to the rustle of sheets or the soft murmur of distress. It was like the seperation had dulled your senses.

"It's okay, you didn't need to wake up," Minho reassured, the soft glow of his phone illuminating the gentle smile that graced his face. His words were an acknowledgment that the dynamics of your friendship had changed with time.

But it bothered you.

"Come up," you urged, an insistence in your voice.

"I'm not a little kid anymore, you know," Minho giggled. He maneuvered his body to face you, the playful teasing weaving a familiar thread through the air.

"Just come up here," you scoffed, a mock exasperation lacing your words.

He sighed, a sound not of disappointment but the knowledge of your eagerness to help and comfort him. With a fluid motion, Minho climbed to his feet, trudging over to where you had pulled the covers over in a silent invitation.

"Your pillow too," you whisper yelled at him, and he just chuckled, playfully stealing the pillow from underneath your head. "Really?"

"There's one down there if you want it."

His quiet laughter lingered in the air like a familiar melody that you never wanted to forget. You found yourself staring into his big brown eyes, a boyish glint dancing inside them, and it was then that you knew that if all the mischief that was allowed to present in one person had condensed right into someone, then that person was Minho.

"Fine," you declared with feigned indignation.

Without hesitation, you ripped the covers off of yourself, climbing out of the bed and stomping over to where he was laying moments earlier on the floor at the foot of the bed.

Minho's breath hitched silently in his throat, thankfully, because he wasn't sure how he would explain to you that he just couldn't take his eyes off of the curve of your ass as you bent over to collect his pillow from the floor, that the view was pulled directly from his midnight thoughts and it almost stopped him from breathing.

He swallowed down that lump as his gaze lingered on your panties as your shirt pulled across your back. The slither of stomach he saw as you pulled it back down lingered in his mind when his stare drifted down your legs-

"Hey, move over," you playfully shoved Minho's arm and slipped back onto the bed, landing face down.

He could see the dip of your spine as your shirt bunched up underneath you, pulling tight and giving him a view of your silhouette in the dark.

You pulled the covers back over yourself, settling into the bed with a familiar ease despite never having stayed in this hotel before and you knew it was because of Minho's presence.

The man crossed his brows in dissaproval until your foot accidentally brushed up against his leg underneath. A gasp escaped him, quickly covered by a muttered complaint about you being cold- the shakiness in his tone betraying the unexpected touch and the thoughts that brewed in his mind along with it.

With a soft sigh, you found yourself yearning for the simplicity of how things used to be. Beneath the covers, a quiet longing tugged at your heart. You wanted to bridge the gap that had grown between you, to feel the warmth of Minho's embrace as you had done countless times in the past.

The desire to reconnect with that old intimacy hung in the air, a yearning to cuddle him, to have his arms take you in a comforting embrace, and to snuggle together as you did when your hearts were unburdened by the complexities of other emotions and other feelings.

It was no secret to yourself that over the years you had grown real, adult feelings for the man laying just centimetres away from you.

While you lay there yearning for the comforts of the past, Minho found himself tangled in a not so innocent dilemma. The desire to maintain the purity of your friendship wrestled with the need for him to reach out further- latch onto something more. The moonlight peaking through the curtains shone a soft blueish glow on his bitten lip as he grappled with uncharted territories.

Well, uncharted?

No, he had thought about this many times, thought about going further with you- transcending the title of best friends so that he could indulge in every impure thought of you that plagued his mind.

Every want and need for him to explore parts of you he didn't know about yet, parts of your body that he wanted to touch and..

He shifted slightly, the internal conflict of his heart and his mind manifesting in a way that he knew wasn't appropriate when he was sharing a bed with you like this. Like friends.

In the quiet of the room, you couldn't help but steal a glance at Minho. But as you looked at him, his gaze seemed to linger for a beat longer.

"Big spoon?" You mumbled out into the darkness.

He swallowed, that pesky blush creeping up his ears. He was thankful that it was too dark for you to see his adams apple bobbing up and down, and his bottom lip slip underneath his teeth.

He didn't want to risk you feeling.. anything.

"Me? No," he shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips before he rolled over to face the opposite direction. "I want to be the little spoon."

You huffed with a grin and shuffled closer to him, hesitating for a split second before you curled your arms around his chest, resting your head against his pillow- close enough that your nose was nudging against his shoulder.

Minho's body tightened up, the feel of your chest pressed against his back, your breath hitting the nape of his neck making his hairs stand on end, the way you slung your leg over his.. so smooth and.. bare.

He was rethinking being the little spoon, he didn't think he could do it.

"Go back to sleep," you whispered, a gentle reassurance that you would stay as you were.

Feeling the tension in Minho's body, you traced delicate shapes over his skin in an attempt to make him relax, not realizing that the tender gesture was inadvertently making his heart pump faster. The feeling of your fingers dancing over his chest definitely wasn't making him relax.

As every one of your breaths deepened, Minho felt a mixture of relief and uncertainty. Your warmth against his back was comforting, but it was also not doing a thing to help his problem, the closeness amplifying it in fact. He wondered if, without disturbing your sleep, he could gently move you back to your side of the bed so he could get to the bathroom.. get somewhere else.

Carefully, Minho shifted, his movements slow and deliberate, trying to create enough space without waking you. He held his breath.

As he gently maneuvered the two of you to your side of the bed, the subtle rustle of sheets being the only noise beside your breathing, he slowly tried to untangle your hands from around his chest. Some unknown strength resided deep within you, because Minho tugged and pulled as quietly as he could for what seemed like minutes before your grip around him loosened.

He lifted each of your fingers one by one, relishing in his silent victory as he very slowly began to move away until you made a noise akin to a yawn and fixed your arms around him again.

Fuck.

Your small hands travelled down to his waist and wrapped around him like a snake, making his breath hitch and his stomach swirl with how close your hands were getting to his.. problem.

Minho was hard.

He was hard and your hands were inches away, intertwined and resting just below his belly button like you were doing it on purpose.

He sucked in a shaky breath and tried to pull away again, to no avail. He was being a lot gentler this time because he knew what kind of noise would escape his lips if your hands accidentally brushed him and he knew he couldn't wake you up moaning because your fingers had touched his bulge.

Minho couldn't ignore it, but everytime he tried to delicately wiggle away, your grip remained steadfast, tight and tethering him to you like a vice. He groaned, bleeding into a whine as he buried his face in his hands.

Fuck, fuck.

Fine.

He's stuck, and he needed something- some sort of friction, he could be quick, just.. just get it over with so he could just get to sleep. You wouldn't hear him, you didn't hear him awake until his phone went off earlier, so he would be fine right?

Right?

What if you did wake? How would you react? What would you think seeing your best friend fisting his cock right next to you? To the thought of you?

God, the thought plagued his mind like a thick fog- not letting him think straight and understand that this was clearly a terrible idea, carefully pulling down his joggers was a terrible idea.

The transition from childhood best friends to adults had hit him hard, this wasn't the first time he had touched himself to the thought of you- but doing it right here next to you aroused some sort of perverse sense of pleasure deep in his stomach. Thinking of you peacefully unaware of how your best friend wished to fill you to the brim, watch your face contort when he made you cum, when he made you cry.

He wished to see you squirming underneath him, he wished to see those panties again before he bent you over and buried his cock deep in your pussy.

Small hums escaped his mouth as his fingers gently curled around his shaft, tugging up and down and teasing himself- his abdomen tightening everytime his hand brushed yours.

His tip was just inches away from your hand, when he came he'd cover your fingers in his..

Fuck.

A deep groan escaped his throat, accompanied by you stirring in your sleep.

He paused, listening carefully to see if you'd wake- actually catch him in the act. The thought didn't turn him off. Minho held his breath as you moved, a wave of relief flooding through him when you merely sighed and nuzzled against his back.

Unbeknownst to him, your eyes were open, smiling softly as you assumed your presence had brought him out of another nightmare- his jittery movements stopping altogether as you hugged him tighter. His heartbeat was racing and his breathing was shallow, but he seemed okay, so you didn't push it. You'd just sit tight and wait for him to drift off again.

Minho exhaled shakily.

Thinking you were asleep, he continued his movements from before, up and down and up and down- almost desperately tugging at himself with a painfully bitten lip. The thrill of almost waking you, combined with the shared closeness, ignited a fire in his stomach.

Contrary to what you thought, Minho's pulse didn't calm down at all, and a frown creased your forehead as he began to pant, audibly out of breath. You felt for the man, he knew you would never judge him for having a nightmare, especially if it was bothering him this much. Feeling what you thought was distress, you instinctively hugged him tighter in your reassuring embrace.

A small whine of your name fell from his lips.

Oh.

Oh.

The tension hung in the air now, but your best friend didn't stop this time- he didn't know you were awake yet.

Should you tell him? Let him know you know?

Should you tell him you've been awake for a few minutes or just pretend to wake now? Did you even want him to know?

To.. stop?

He whimpered again, the sound broken and small. Quickly, he rushed his hand up to cover his mouth to stifle the sighs and whines that were getting louder- inevitably signalling that he was close.

No, you didn't want him to stop.

God, how could he do this and expect you not to wake up: he was being so loud? Maybe he wanted you to, maybe he was shamelessly getting himself off next to you because he wanted you to hear?

Maybe he was only being 'loud' because you were pressed against his back, the only sounds in the room were his small whimpers and the wet sounds of his fist sliding his precum up and down his cock. Anything from him would sound loud when you were fine-tuned with years of experience.

You wanted to see his face, to tease him about it- honestly the desperate sounds slipping from his lips made you want to join in.

You didn't want him to stop but you wanted him to know.

Know you were listening and feeling his elbow shake and the bed move underneath the two of you, know that all of his noises were pooling somewhere between your legs.

"Fuck." He moaned quietly, the sound muffled by his hand as he leant his head back- almost leaning on your shoulder.

Minho's body twitched against you, and you smiled to yourself before adjusting your hand placement. You may have slipped them under his shirt on purpose, and scratched your nails over his abs on purpose, gotten comfortable with each arm twisted over his chest like a backpack on purpose, but he didn't need to know that.

He let out a broken noise of pleasure, his muscles tightening frantically under your touch until he sighed out: his shoulders relaxing and his breathing steadying.

"Shit," he mumbled under his breath, once again trying to get out of your grip but you didn't let him. "Come on, I need to.."

Clean up, you assumed.

"Go to sleep, Min," you drawled against his shirt, feeling his entire body freeze.

A mischievous smirk befell your lips as he took in a shaky breath. "You're a-awake?"

You hummed in confirmation, not missing the little squeak of surprise that escaped his throat.

Cute.

Taglist: @linos-kitten @agi-ppangx @milf-ivy

SORRY SORRY SORRY I TAGGED YOU TWICE I ACCIDENTALLY DELETED THE FIRST POST KMFAOAOAOA

If you'd like to be added to a taglist, just submit an ask and let me know what for!

𝐢 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐚 𝐛𝐢𝐠 𝐛𝐨𝐲 ; 𝐬𝐜𝐛

this is part of my binnie month collab with @httpdwaekki ♡

ash's masterlist ; ash's fic ♡

my masterlist

🏷️: @giddyfatherchris ; @lurking-coconut ; @thatonexcgirl ; @bowsnbang ; @strawbini ; @nyang3racha ;

[afab!reader. an annoying guy at a club approaches the reader but nothing happens. size kink i guess? because reader is obsessed with changbin's big arms. strength kink i guess for the same reason. changbin fucks reader in a headlock. unprotected piv sex. clit play. choking if you squint but not really. creampie. not edited so bare with me if there are typos.]

—

Changbin saw you standing in front of a mirror with an unamused look on your face. He circled your waist with his arm and pressed a kiss on the back of your shoulder. 

“What’s wrong?”

You snorted. “I don’t know, I’m not sure I like this outfit.” 

Changbin was confused, because that was a really good outfit. “Why not?” He recognised the skirt you were wearing, and remember how excited you were the day you’d bought it. “You were head over heels about this skirt. It looks so good on you, baby, there’s nothing wrong with this outfit.” 

He was being sincere, looking at you absolutely starstruck. The outfit you’d chosen literally made his mouth water — the skirt was hugging your body beautifully, and the same thing could be said about the top you were wearing — nobody loved your body more than Changbin, always touching you whenever he could. Now, Changbin was no fashion expert, but he seriously couldn’t tell what was wrong with the clothes you’d chosen — he thought you looked like a goddess in that skirt and top.

“Isn’t it a little too… short, though?” You hummed unamused, not fully convinced. 

The truth was — you loved the outfit and thought it looked really good, you were just scared it was too revealing and that Changbin would feel uncomfortable going out with you dressed like that, especially since you were going to a club with his friends and their girlfriends.  

“It looks stunning. You look stunning. Wear whatever you want, baby,” Changbin kissed your temple, “I can fight.” 

He meant it as a joke, flexing his muscles right after to brighten your mood. He was probably unaware of the effect his big, strong, buff arms had on you. Changbin’s muscles turned you on like crazy and you never missed an occasion to touch them, squeeze them, bite them. He found it cute that you were so obsessed with his arms, but you found it incredibly hot. 

You went out in that outfit, feeling safe with Changbin by your side. 

—

Changbin could see you were uncomfortable, and that’s why he started to walk in your direction slowly, so that he could witness with his eyes and ears what was going on with that guy who decided it was okay to approach you while you’d gone to get a drink for you and Changbin. He couldn’t hear much with the music blasted through the speakers, but he knew you, and he knew you’d only toy with your fingernails when you were uncomfortable. 

“Is everything alright?” Changbin cleared his throat. 

The guy turned around and gave Changbin an annoyed look. “Yup. We’re just talking.” 

Changbin didn’t like the way the stranger looked at you from head to toe, his stare lingering a bit too long on your exposed thighs. 

“Can’t you see that she’s uncomfortable?” Changbin asked him. “I think you should go.” 

The guy clenched his jaw annoyed. “And I think you should mind your business.” 

Changbin was starting to lose it. As soon the guy turned around, Changbin grabbed him by the collar, grip not too tight as to hurt him, only working as a warning. 

“Listen to me,” Changbin muttered through gritted teeth, “leave her alone or we’re gonna have problems.” 

The boy fully turned to face Changbin, acting all tough and brave. “Problems? What are you gonna do, huh?” He insisted, insulting Changbin once more.

“How about I’ll fly you out the window?”

The guy was well aware that Changbin was much stronger than he was, and that’s probably why he eventually gave up, muttering something you could not comprehend as he walked away from you. Changbin didn’t expect you to latch your arms around his neck and pull him in for a heated kiss. 

“You’re so— you’re so hot. My saviour. My big boy,” you bit his lower lip. “Look at these,” you squeezed his biceps, “I love these arms. My favourite arms in the world.” 

Changbin chuckled because what you just said didn’t make sense, how could someone have favourite arms? It made sense to you, however, and Changbin’s were hands down your favourite. They made you feel safe and protected always, and they looked so irresistibly hot on him and you were weak for him. 

“Let’s go back to the guys.” But you pulled him by the wrist, shaking your head. “You don’t wanna go back?”

You shook your head once more. Then, you whispered in his ear, “you’re so hot, Binnie. My Binnie. ‘M so desperate for you, baby. Need you.” And again, “Wan’ you to put these big arms in use. Wan’ you to put me in a headlock and fuck me until I can’t walk tomorrow.” 

Changbin choked on his own spit. “Wha—? What? Baby, princess, are you drunk?”

You shook your head and he remembered that, in fact, the two of you hadn’t had a single drink ever since you stepped inside the club. 

“Nope. Not drunk. Just really desperate for my strong boyfriend,” you pouted at him.

Changbin didn’t give in when you tried to pull him into the club’s restrooms. He didn’t want to fuck you in a dirty, public bathroom with the risk of strangers coming in and catching you right in the act, let alone seeing you naked. He didn’t give in when you tried to convince him to fuck in the backseats of his car — too uncomfortable. He chuckled and pecked your lips, whispering something that sounded like “patience, baby. Let’s get home first and then I’ll fuck you all night long.”

—

It was a miracle Changbin even got the passcode to his house right since he typed it without looking, too busy making out with you against the door to care. You stumbled inside his place clumsily, struggling to take your shoes off without pulling away from the kiss, but you had no time to waste right now. You craved each other. 

Changbin started kissing your neck, leaving openmouthed kisses all over your skin, kisses that felt a bit sticky due to your lipgloss that he was now smearing all over your body. “Changbin— Binnie, bedroom, please,” you sighed with desperation. 

Changbin lifted your body effortlessly, and you bit your lip at the sight of his flexed muscles, not missing the opportunity to squeeze them under your fingers, leaving a few red marks with your fingernails all over his arms, marks that you were going to leave kisses all over. 

“You’re so hot, do you know that?” You mumbled on his lips, clenching your legs around his waist as he kicked the bedroom door open. “So fucking… big and buff and… and mine. My big boy.” 

Changbin responded with a low grunt. 

“You were so hot… back in the club…” you gasped in between hot kisses and licks. “So fucking hot… the way you talked to that guy… ugh, the way you flexed your muscles…”

“Hmm, you really like when I do that, don’t you?” He smirked.

Changbin figuratively threw you onto his bed, kneeling right between your legs and flexing his muscles to tease you. You pushed yourself up on your elbows to witness the sight better, then bit your lip so hard you could almost taste blood in your mouth. Changbin was rock hard inside his boxers the same way your panties were entirely wet. 

“I wasn’t kidding back at the club,” you looked at him through your eyelashes, “I really want you to put me in a headlock and fuck me dumb.” 

A timid blush appeared on Changbin’s cheeks. What you just told him was so different than anything else you were used to doing in bed. Changbin was always romantic and never ever rough with you, not even when you explicitly asked him to he’d been able to fully let go. Seeing you so desperate over the mere sight of his arms, though… 

You don’t remember how or when you found the time to undress yourselves, but you eventually found yourselves naked and with Changbin’s fingers between your legs. “What are you doing?” You quirked an eyebrow at him. 

“Prepping you?” He returned the confused stare. He always prepped you.

“Changbin, if you don’t pin me down this bed and fuck me stupid within the next three seconds you and I are going to have problems.” 

Something inside him switched. However, he still wasn’t going to fuck you without the tiniest bit of prepping, so he figured lube was the second best option. He squeezed a generous amount onto his cock, then his gingers, then looked you in the eye. 

“You really want me to pin you down and fuck you stupid?” 

“Very much,” you returned the challenging stare.

Changbin cupped one of your asscheeks and squeezed the flesh into his hand. “Turn over. Face down, ass up.”

You obeyed. Turned around to glare at him when, once again, you felt his fingers between your legs, impatient to feel him already and not wanting to waste your time with foreplay. 

“Changbin—”

“I’m just spreading the lube. Behave,” he spanked you jokingly. 

“Why don’t you make me behave?” You challenged him. 

The next thing you knew, you were pressed onto the mattress with Changbin’s body pressed on yours. His arm circling your neck tight enough to keep your head in place but not as tight as to suffocate you, of course, you could breathe just fine in this position. 

“That what you wanted, huh?” He whispered in your ear. 

Goosebumps all over your skin at the sound of Changbin’s lust-filled voice. His other arm hugged your waist so that your hips were slightly lifted from the mattress, enough to grant him access to where you needed him the most. He rubbed himself on your pussy just to tease you, ready to slip inside any moment. 

You nodded, truly desperate to feel him. “Mhh yeah,” you whined, “wanted you like this, Binnie.” 

And he melted at the pet name, pressing his tip inside and then filling you up wholly, taking your breath away. He wasn’t excessively big — more girth than length for sure, but from this specific angle he was entering you in, he felt much bigger inside of you, filling you up perfectly until all you could feel was him, until he filled all your senses. He pressed a kiss on your shoulder. 

“Love you so much,” you rambled on, already cockdrunk as he started to push inside of you slowly, rolling his hips to meet the skin of your ass. “Love everything about you.” 

“But you love my arms a bit more, don’t you?” Changbin joked, whispering the words in your ear as he tightened the grip around your neck the tiniest bit, checking you were alright right after and relaxing once he made sure you could  still breathe just fine.

Your eyes rolled in the back of your skull with the next thrust. Your hair was stuck all over your forehead and face and Changbin was fucking you so good he was making you see stars. You clenched around him. 

“Are you close, baby?” Changbin asked, and you nodded, unable to speak properly. 

From this position, he couldn’t rub your clit, but you also didn’t want him to move at all because he was hitting all the good spots inside of you.

“Harder… tighter…” you mumbled incoherently, and somehow Changbin got the message.

He fucked you harder, allowing your clit to repeatedly brush on the soft covers of Changbin’s bed, and flexed his muscles harder, consequently tightening the grip around your neck. With a moan and a choked gasp of his name, you finally managed to reach your high — body shaking and trembling, toes curling, fingers fisting the sheets beneath you. Changbin continued to fuck you, determined to chase his own orgasm before you felt overstimulated. He pressed his forehead on the nape of your neck and rolled his hips harder. 

“Binnie—”

He came inside of you, biting down your skin to muffle the sounds that fell from his lips. He softened inside of you, and effortlessly rolled the both of you over onto the mattress until you were resting on top of him. 

“Missed seein’ your cute face,” he smiled at you, pulling your hair from your face. He pressed his lips on yours. 

“Missed my favourite cheeks,” you poked his cheek, returning the smile. 

“Favourite cheeks, favourite arms… seems like you’re obsessed with me or something,” he jokingly rolled his eyes, then bursted out in a contagious laugh. He hugged you closer, and you rested your head on his chest, lulled by his heartbeat. You wrapped your arms around his torso and squeezed him.

“You’re my favourite.”

—

-> 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬! "𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧", 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝.

(180325) happy anniversary stray kids 🎂

RASPBERRY PIE

minors dni. minho x fem!reader. 4k words content warnings. pet names (sweetheart, angel). mutual pining. sweet/shy reader. perv!minho. corruption kink. food play. dirty talk. oral (m rec.). soft!dom minho.

you bake your quiet neighbour a warm raspberry pie.

He's pretty sure he's utterly fucked from the jump – he finds himself attached so early he almost convinces himself you're a witch in disguise; that maybe he'd moved in next door to a creature designed to trap men like him. A siren, maybe. The sweetness was an act; all the soft tones and doe eyed looks were just a trick to lure him down beneath the waves.

He was determined not to drown.

And then you show up with the pie, a little flushed from working around a hot oven. It'd been 6 months – 6 months since he'd moved in, and as he opens the door to find you in an apron with little pink stains, a feeling of approaching and inevitable doom settles in his chest. Finally, you'd come to take him.

"Hi," you greet with a shy smile. "My friend brought me over far too many berries yesterday so..." you look down at the golden pie, carefully decorated and clearly still warm, "...well I made this. For you."

If he was wise, he'd politely decline, close the door, and never be faced with the reality of the sweet little siren in his apartment, offerings of temptation and all.

"For me?"

You look up at him through long lashes. "Do you like pie?" you ask. It's the way you say it, like if he doesn't you might genuinely hurt inside – like with a simple rejection of your offering, he had the ability to snuff out some little candle alight inside you.

"I like pie," he says.

Then you smile. Like it's the best news you've heard in weeks. "Oh, good."

He steps aside, his body betraying him. The siren enters with her warm pie and soft smiles – and he knows, unequivocally, that he's fucked.

He keeps his distance as you comfortably navigate to the kitchen to find a place for your offering. The apartments were all pretty much identical as far as he knew. The two on this floor, his and yours, were mirrored. He imagines that just on the other side of your joining wall, you took the same steps he did he each morning, in parallel.

You fiddle a little with the delicately placed raspberries atop the pie as he approaches from the other side of the island. You wear a tiny silver ring on one finger, much like one he wears on his own. He'd spotted it before, during short interactions in the elevator. He suppresses the urge to comment on it now, to ask if it meant anything to you.

He doesn't need to know you. He couldn't afford to. He was finding himself attached enough without it.

Then you pluck one little berry up in your fingers and bring it to your lips. He watches you. He watches you and he knows that he's walked willingly into a trap.

"Sweet?"

You look up. "Hm? Oh." You nod. "They're lovely. My friend gets them from this farm near his parent's place."

Friend. His. He sits in the feeling that stirs in his chest for a quiet moment. It's a rotten feeling. He doesn't like it at all.

"He brings them often?" he finds himself asking.

"Not at all. He just happened to come by after being there for a weekend. He doesn't go there often, I don't think." Your accompanying smile is almost enough to snuff out the rotten feeling before he has time to digest it. Almost.

Then he considers that this might not be the only pie. You may have made this other guy a pie just like it... maybe it was bigger, maybe you'd used the sweetest berries in his pie.

He kicks a cat toy across the floor as he stuffs his hands in his pockets, a little embarrassed by his own internal monologue. Witchcraft, turning his brain into mush.

"You have a pretty view."

He looks up to find you brushing your hands down your apron and rounding the kitchen island. You seem drawn to his floor to ceiling windows, a little moth to the light.

He follows.

"Mine isn't nearly this nice," you continue once he's standing beside you. "All I get is the construction site and a concrete wall." Then you close your eyes, head tilting back a little to let the sun's afternoon rays bathe your face. "Don't get the sun like this, either," you add, a little dreaminess leaking into your already sweet voice.

Oh, he's fucked.

"You like it?"

You blink up at him, eyes adjusting to the light again. "Hm?"

"I mean if you really like it, you're welcome over anytime, whenever." He wonders if this is part of your spell work, making him say stupid shit. Maybe he'd be better off if you were casting spells on him, if he had a reasonable excuse for being so fucking braindead. "For the sun," he adds, like it makes it better.

A small breath of laughter slips from your pretty lips. "It does get a little gloomy over there, on my side of the wall."

It was hard to imagine anywhere you were being gloomy.

"I should go," you continue after a short moment of comfortable silence, each of you basking in the sunlight. He really should appreciate that more, he notes. Then he considers the fact he'll associate this little patch of warmth with you each time he attempts such a thing.

"Sure," he says, following you from a safe distance to the door. "Thank you. For the pie."

"You're welcome."

Everything is fine. He's alone and he survived the encounter. Then he's faced with the pie. He stares down at it, warm and made with careful hands.

He plucks a berry off the top. He thinks of the berry you'd eaten in the same way.

Everything is fine.

He hesitates as he goes to pluck a second berry. Instead of lifting one from the crust, he presses the tip of his finger a little against the surface. Warm. He breaks through. His finger is coated in syrupy, red filling when he pulls it free. It's sugary sweet when he sucks it clean.

Shame. That's what he feels next. Because sweet gestures of neighbourly kindness should not trigger the kind of thoughts creeping their way into his head.

He wonders if the little siren's cunt is as warm and sweet as the little offering she brought him. He considers doing the right thing, having a cold shower and sitting in the morning sun with a slice of pie.

But apparently, today, and the day before, and every day for the past 6 months, Minho was not wise and he wasn't very good. Because he let the thoughts of his sweet little neighbour stew for months, and this is where it'd led him.

He stands there, one palm pressed flat on the kitchen counter, the other buried in his sweatpants, and he thinks of the sweet little siren with her sweet offerings, and he imagines sinking his hard cock into her warm, sweet cunt.

—

It's hard not to deflate entirely as you close your apartment door behind you. You'd expected too much from a single pie, you suppose. It would entirely out of character for him to ask you to stay for a slice, to take the opportunity to finally have a conversation longer than an elevator ride.

You sigh, dropping your forehead against the cool surface of the door. It helps a little. You're overheated, both from the cooking, the warm sun, and the heat that had bubbled up from the inside as the pretty - yet frustratingly reserved - man next door had watched you move about his space.

You hadn't lied, his apartment was far nicer than yours. You could imagine basking in that patch of sun any chance you had. You wonder if he does the same, if he sits there after a shower, chest bare and hair still a little damp - letting the sun warm his skin.

You leap back as a knock on the door jolts you out of your daydream. Sighing, you press your palm to your forehead - head thoroughly rattled - as you pull the door open.

Oh.

"Hi," Minho says casually. He's a little flushed compared to when you'd left him minutes earlier. He shouldn't be. There were no stairs between your apartments.

"Hello, again."

He glances over your shoulder, getting a clear view of your empty living room. "It is darker in here," he says, still casual.

"Oh. Mm, yeah. I miss your sun already."

His eyes fix back on you. Then he pulls his lip between his teeth slightly. He has something to say... something he won't say.

"Why'd you make me the pie?" he asks.

You blink. "I... had a lot of berries from-"

"Your friend. I know."

You're officially confused. His eyes drop down your dirty apron before returning to your face. "You only made one?"

"Is it bad?" you question.

He pushes some hair away from his eyes. "No," he says quickly. "No, it's... nice." His eyes sweep down your body again. "Sweet," he adds.

"I only made one."

His eyes jump to yours before a brief look of confusion flashes across his pretty face. He seems to remember his own question soon enough. "You didn't want to give it to," he gestures vaguely behind you, "your friend?"

"No," you answer simply. This entire interaction was drifting into territory you weren't sure you were ready for. If his questions got any more interrogative, you might find yourself wondering how to answer them in any other way than 'Oh, the pie? I baked it for you because I have a huge, embarrassing crush on you, even if you've seemed intent on not knowing me.'

"He doesn't like pies?" he asks.

You can't help following the path of his fingers as he fiddles with the chain hanging around his neck. They brush his skin as he strokes the metal back and forth.

"I... don't understand what you're asking me," you say as you pull your eyes from his neck. "Is something wrong?"

He readjusts his position in the doorway, pressing his hand to the frame and freeing you from the constant distraction at his neck. He leans over you a little like this.

God, he's pretty.

"You a witch?" he asks.

"I'm sorry?"

"Did you put something in it?" he continues, still leaning well and truly into your space. "Something to make me-" he cuts himself off, brows furrowing.

"Are you asking me if I poisoned the pie?"

His voice drops, like someone might overhear, despite you both being entirely alone on this floor of the building. "I'm trying to figure out why all I can fucking think about is how you might taste on my tongue."

Your head rushes, all the heat returning. Then your eyes drop to the floor.

"Look at me, sweetheart."

You don't. His shoes are safer. He was flirting. More than flirting. He wanted you.

His fingers guide your chin up, it doesn't take much, a nudge. "I'll leave if you want," he says. "Never mention it again. Just tell me what you want."

"Did you like it?" you find yourself whispering. "The pie."

His lips crack into a lopsided smile. It's tiny, but it's a smile. "Loved it, sweetheart. Sent me to heaven."

"Would you... would you like to come in?"

He nods.

You go to turn, to let him follow you. But then, instead, you take his hand and lead him in. He's warm. You imagine all the sun he gets over there must've absorbed deep inside him over time. Maybe he could leave some of it behind here for you - that heat might leak from him if your kept him here long enough.

He follows where you lead, his hand still grasped firmly in your own. You're not sure why you lead him to the sofa. You aren't sure what you're expecting next. It's why you find yourself simply standing beside the piece of furniture waiting for him to say something – to let go of your hand maybe.

Instead, his thumb begins brushing over your skin. He's quiet, seemingly unhurried to break the tension building.

"I asked my friend to bring the berries," you confess quietly, eyes focused on your interwined hands. Confessions were always so much easier with your eyes downwards. "I wanted to make something for you... specifically."

"Why's that?"

His thumb continues against your skin. He doesn't make you look at him like he had before.

"Because I... wanted you to - I wanted your attention."

You can hear the smile in his voice when he speaks, "So you baked me a pie?"

"I'm good at baking."

"You are," he agrees. Then his other hand reaches for the hem of your apron. He rubs it between his fingers a little. "Messy though."

You look down at the patterned splotches, pink on white. Then he releases your hand, taking that warmth with him. He only allows you a few seconds to miss it though. That same hand snakes around the back of your neck, skin on skin.

Your eyes are drawn to his without thought.

"Are you always messy?" he asks.

You nod, chewing on your lip a little.

He seems pleased with your answer, a small hum escaping his throat. "I like messy," he says, sounding a little far away. "Do you like messy, sweetheart?"

Your eyes drop to his lips, a little stained from your pie filling. "Yeah," you breathe.

He tugs you towards him before your have time to suck in another breath, attaching himself to you like he's starved. You can't help gasping a little into his mouth as he presses you into him with a hand to your back.

Holy fuck. Surely you'd wake up slumped against the door any second. Maybe someone hadn't just knocked on the door. Someone had opened it and knocked you out and you were dreaming about your pretty, brown eyed neighbour.

He groans a little before taking your lip between his teeth. No. No you were definitely awake. "So sweet," he mumbles as he releases you, his breath ghosting over your wet lips. "Can I have you?"

–

It's hard to keep his head on straight as you look up at him with those big sweet eyes. Can I have you? His stomach rolls as he waits for you to say yes. Please say yes. 6 months of denial and he was desperate.

You'd made that sweet little gift for him. Just for him. His little siren.

Then you're pressing against his chest, forcing him down onto the sofa. He looks up at you, at the stained apron and the hair sticking a little to your temples from the time spent making his pie.

Then you lower yourself to your knees.

Oh, fuck.

Your hands only have to brush his legs for him to get the hint. He spreads them, allowing you to shuffle closer to him – settling between his thighs.

Then you look up at him. "Can I taste you?"

He's keeping you. His head drops back as he collects himself. Then, "You want my cock in your pretty little mouth?"

You nod, fingers pressing lightly into his thighs.

Minutes ago he was fucking himself into his own hand imagining how warm you'd feel around him. Now you're between his legs, lips wet, asking to taste him.

He's careful to keep his eyes on you as he frees himself, intent on catching each and every reaction you make – he's keeping it all.

You're a little hesitant as you reach for him. "You're good, sweetheart," he encourages. "Touch me however you like."

It seems to be all you need. In the next second your soft little hand is wrapping around his length. His head drops back again as his eyes close.

It's a mistake, closing his eyes. He's not prepared when your wet lips press to the tip of him, soft and warm. He groans, hand automatically making a home in your hair. He needs grounding. He needs –

Your lips wrap around him. His little siren was sucking his dick into her sweet little mouth. His hips jump a little. "Oh fuck, that's right. You're all warm for me."

You hum a little around him. Then, you take him deeper. Hot little tongue dancing over his sensitive skin.

"Good girl," he groans. "Take it for me, sweetheart." He resists the urge to spill himself right here, right against your tongue. "Hm? You taking it for me?"

His hips jump again as he fucks himself into your hot mouth, wet and sweet and just for him. You'd wanted his attention. You'd come for him. Just him.

"You mine?" he gasps as he forces his head up to look at you. "You gonna let me fuck you?"

Your lips pull off him slowly, a little suction at his tip sending his head spinning. "Do you want to?" you ask, lips swollen.

He leans forward enough to begin lifting you, encouraging you to climb into his lap. Each hand rests at your hips as you settle yourself there, his leaking cock pressed between you.

"So bad," he answers.

You shift a little in his lap. He imagines you squirming on his cock.

"Me too," you confess. It's quiet, like it's bad.

Sweet siren.

"Sit on me," he instructs. "Want you to bounce on me, sweetheart."

You eyelashes flutter as you blink a few times, processing, deciding. Then you shift, reaching up under your dress and tugging your underwear down.

Something in his stomach stirs when he realises you were leaving the rest on, apron and all.

You grasp him in a soft hand, guiding him beneath your clothes – then you sink down. He's transfixed by the little sound that escapes your lips as you take him in. That, and the way your cunt feels squeezing around him. He might have to keep you for fucking ever.

Hot and sweet and wet and better than he'd imagined as he'd fucked himself against his counter minutes earlier. Better than any of the scenarios he'd dreamed up over the months he'd spent thinking of his sweet little neighbour.

You fall into him with a sigh once you're full seated, cock buried deep.

"Doing so well," he says, hand squeezing a little at the back of your neck.

You mumble something into his neck in response. He can't quite make it out, but he swears, it almost sounds like a tiny 'thank you'. He has to keep himself from filling you at the thought of it.

His hands return to your hips. You must take it as a prompt because you lean back from him enough to begin lifting yourself off him and dropping again.

It's slow at first, a little swivel in your hips, grinding yourself down into him.

The apron prevents him from seeing how his cock looks slipping in and out of your little cunt. He hasn't even seen it, that sweet little hole between your legs.

Instead, he feels.

–

It makes sense that a man as pretty as him would have the prettiest cock. One you wanted to taste. One that would have you slippery and ready to take him.

There's this vein that throbs in his neck each time he drops his head back with a groan. His neck. God you want to lean forward and bite into it. But he might not be into that. Next time, you think. Or the time after that.

God you hope there's a next time.

His fingers dig into your hip as you sink all the way down again. It feels a little like he's resisting, holding back.

"Minho?"

His head lifts, eyes a little glassy as he blinks at you. "Hm?"

"You can fuck me," you tell him. "However you want. I want you to fuck me."

He blinks again. His fingers dig into your skin harder.

"Tell me when you wanna stop. Just tell me," he says.

You nod. Then he's leaning forward and tugging you against him. His lips press to your skin just at the crook of your neck.

Then you're falling. He falls over you. Then he lets go. He presses you into the couch cushions as he drives into you, hair falling over his face. He's even pretty like this, with parted lips and brows slightly furrowed.

Your skin slaps together as he fucks himself into you. Messy, he'd said. He liked messy.

That's what he gets as he continutes to drive into you, as you begin to drip around him, as he fucks that wetness into you and over your thighs and then the sounds it all makes.... messy.

"Wanna fill you," he mutters. "God, I wanna fill you so bad. Wanna fuck my cum into your sweet cunt."

You squeeze your eyes shut as he continues, overwhelmed.

"You can take it for me, angel. I know you can. Sweet little thing made just for me. I knew it." He's muttering so much you're hardly sure he even knows what he's saying. His fingers are almost painful as they dig into your skin, like he can't hold onto you hard enough.

"Fill me," you gasp.

He eyes lift from where you join together to lock on your face. "Yeah?" he asks, a slight croakiness breaking his words up a little. "I'll make you all warm and sticky inside, hm? Just like your pretty little pie? That sound nice?"

Oh god. There was something inside you, something made for this – for him. You knew this was going to ruin you forever.

"Please."

He falls over you, then he bites. He bites into you as he floods you full.