Stray Kids X Rolling Stone UK

ৎ୭‧₊◜ you can take it like no other lee know x f!reader

summary: minho doesn't forgive easily, especially not when it's his own member calling his girlfriend 'easy'. so when seungmin comes home early from a trip, you and minho decide to fuck with him - by having the loudest sex possible.

word count: 2.8k words

author's note: not me polishing up my WIPs instead of actually working on my series!! someone stop me!! but also read this because I wrote this months ago when I was in a mood and i think it's sexy

warnings: voyeurism/exhibitionism (as per usual, sorry not sorry); unprotected sex (you know the drill, just don't!); whipped dom!minho and sub!reader; reader calls minho daddy; dacryphilia; slapping; some degradation/dumbification; creampie; porn with barely any plot

“Maybe if your girlfriend wasn’t so easy, you wouldn’t have to be so jealous all the time.”

Seungmin had grumpily mumbled the sentence out one random day at dance practice, and Minho had immediately seen red, venom in his eyes as he stalked over to Seungmin. Chan stopped him in his tracks. Chan did his best to defuse the situation, telling Seungmin to fucking apologise. Seungmin did, and Minho graciously decided not to punch him in the teeth, but he had never forgotten.

Minho gets his opportunity for revenge on Seungmin one unexpected morning when all the boys are away, visiting family or friends for the weekend, and you and Minho crash at the dorms after a date.

Minho wakes up in the morning to the sound of the front door opening and closing and footsteps leading to the room next to Minho’s.

He smirks and as soon as you wake up, he pulls you into his arms, whispering the news about the unexpected guest in your ears. You knew what he was getting at right away, because of course Minho had told you what Seungmin had said, and if you and Minho had anything in common it was a temper.

So, without a second’s hesitation, you swing your leg over Minho’s trim hips, straddling him on the bed and leaning down to kiss him deep and dirty. He groans into your mouth, indulgently. God, he loves it when you get so demanding.

His greedy hands rub up and down your soft thighs as you lick into his mouth, before he grabs the meat of your ass and grinds your barely clothed core over the bulge in his boxers. It’s already so good because there’s oh so little fabric between you.

His hands get more demanding, wandering under your (his) shirt, and he revels in your soft, warm skin. Gently cupping your breasts, he rolls your sensitive nipples between his fingers, making you sigh into his mouth, back arching, and he can feel your cunt clench around nothing.

He pulls the shirt over your head and flips you over, pulling his own shirt off, leaning down to press hit hot lips back to you. But now he can feel your soft skin on his, the plush of your tits pressing your hard nipples into his chest, and it makes goosebumps race down his spine. He presses his body into yours, trying to feel more, more, more, his tongue deeper and deeper into your mouth until he can’t breathe anymore.

His hand snakes between you and when he touches the boxers you’re wearing (also his) the material is already damp.

“I haven’t even touched you yet, my sweet little baby, why are you so wet already?” he rasps into your lips with a little smirk.

“Wanna show you what a whore I am for you,” you chirp sweetly, smirking up at him with innocent eyes, “I want Seungmin to hear, too.”

A surprised whine tears out of your throat when he suddenly slides two fingers into you to the knuckle, groan rumbling out of his chest at the lack of resistance and slick slide of them.

“I want Seungmin to get hard when he hears,” you suddenly mumble out, and Minho swears he goes cross-eyed and his cock throbs. He pulls his fingers out of you entirely, heart racing in his chest as he watches you whine and arch your back at the loss.

“You want to put on a show for Seungmin? Want him to jerk off to us having sex?” his voice is thick with want as he says these nasty things, and he can feel your legs try to rub together to relieve some of the pressure.

“Don’t need to put on a show, you fuck me so good, daddy.”

There it is. Minho all but rips the boxers off you, standing up to shuck off his own, before he lets one finger drag down, gathering your slick. He pops it into his mouth and sucks the sweetness off it as he fists his cock. He’s already rock hard, but the view of you naked and needy underneath him never gets old.

He leans over you again, rubbing the swollen head of his cock through your slick.

“Here’s what we’ll do, baby girl,” he whispers into your ear, choked whine escaping your throat as shivers rack down your spine. “I’ll fuck you into this mattress long and hard until you forget your name, just how you like it. And you’ll make your pretty noises, and you won’t hold back, promise me, sweetheart?”

You nod at him frantically, but he pulls back and slaps you once on the cheek, making you moan out, one tear forcing its way out of your eye at the sting.

“Use your words,” he chides, now out loud.

“Yes, daddy, please, daddy, treat me so good,” you babble, and he can already see you slipping. God, he loves you.

He thinks he can hear the mattress squeak on the other side of the bed, and he suddenly slides into you, slow, but steadily until he bottoms out.

He stilled briefly to let you adjust, but your hands are grabbing at his arms, hips trying to fuck yourself onto him.

“What is it, sweetheart?” he mumbles out, saccharinely sweet.

“Move, please,” you finally whisper, and he complies with a dirty grin, sliding in and out of you painfully slowly, your combined moans mixing with every slow drag of his cock along your walls.

He loves fucking you like this, drawing out the pleasure, feeling every second of it. You tried to get off like this before, and it was a night he would never forget, the hot drag of his cock along your pulsing walls for hours and hours and hours until he nearly blacked out from the overstimulation, so bad yet so good. At some point, you had started begging him to make it stop, and he couldn’t control himself anymore, fucking into you sloppily, animalistic, your hips rocking to meet his desperately, until you both came so hard you could barely breathe. But he was still hard and fucked you through another orgasm. You passed out on top of the covers that night.

But that wasn’t the plan now. He was only trying to savour the feeling of you, get you nice and sensitive, and also to get you to make those noises he knew were better than porn and would get any man weak, especially the one on the other side of the wall.

And it didn’t take long before you were doing just that underneath him, moaning languidly, indulgently, desperately with each deep, slow thrust, and you sounded so good it made him light-headed, and he was already inside of you.

When he felt like he had given Seungmin enough of a reason to start touching himself, he slowly picked up the pace, thrusts a little shallower but more powerful, and you groaned out beautifully at the different stimulation.

He leaned down to capture your lips with his, swallowing your sweet noises with every swipe of his tongue into your mouth. He knew that he needed to pull back if he wanted Seungmin to hear, but he didn’t care. You were his first and he needed to feel you everywhere. And when he finally did pull back he was rewarded with the sight of your fucked out eyes full of love, sweet whimper dripping from your swollen lips.

His dick was throbbing already, but he willed himself away from his orgasm, the payoff oh so sweet on the horizon.

It didn’t take long before he could hear the headboard of his bed slightly rock against the wall. Your hands were clawing at his hips and ass, and he took the cue, starting to drill into you in long and deep thrusts. You let out a filthy string of curses that ended with “thank you, daddy” and he could swear he heard something drop to the floor on the other side of the wall.

The bed was squeaking under him, the headboard hitting the wall, the sound of his hips slamming into yours ringing through the room; it was all so obscene it drove him absolutely wild. The evidence of your combined desire, your lust, your devotion to each other ringing through the air so clearly, it gave him a heady high.

You were squirming underneath him, hands reaching out for him, pulling him down to your mouth and threading into his hair. He lets it happen for a second before he pulls back and slaps your cheek again.

“Don’t be so greedy, baby,” he spits out as your head lolls back. He slaps you again on the same cheek, and a strangled yell tears from your throat.

“You’ll take what I give you, when I give it to you.”

He lands one last slap on your reddening face, and he can feel your cunt gushing and clenching around him.

“Dumb little baby, you know I know what’s best for you,” he sneers, but his eyes are full of love for you, as they are always when you’re like this, letting yourself go entirely, putting your body into his hands. All for him, him, him. It drives him crazy.

It’s rare that he’s this mean to you, but you seem to be getting off on it like you never have before, and maybe it’s because you too suspect that this is the kind of show Seungmin would like.

At the thought of Seungmin, he growls out and starts rutting into you harder, angling his hips so he’s hitting the spongy spot deep inside of you, and you almost yell out in pleasure when he first hits it, a litany of curses falling from your lips.

He pushes your hips down and keeps pounding into you like a man possessed, sweat starting to bead on his body, the slap of your skin getting louder and wetter by the second. The headboard is slamming against the wall in earnest now, and if Seungmin was going to leave, he would’ve heard it by now. So clearly, he is still on the other side.

“So good, ‘m so close,” you whine out, and he presses his lips to yours again in a messy, wet kiss.

“I’ll be nice, I won’t ask you to hold it, kitten,” he purrs at you, and you clench around him again. “Cum on my cock, kitten.”

It’s an order your body obeys almost automatically, your back arching and a whine ripping out of your throat as you cream around him, pushing a white ring of your arousal to the base of his cock.

It takes everything in him not hurtle over the edge as well, but he wants more, wants you sobbing about his cock so loud Seungmin can hear. He wants him to know that he can fuck his girl better than Seungmin can ever even dream of fucking anyone. So he keeps rutting into you, with an unrelenting pace.

“Too much,” you whimper before a breathy moan escapes you.

“Sounds you like when it’s too much, kitten, besides, I’m not done yet,” he snarls.

Your overstimulated cunt flutters around him as you whine out, and he watches your hands start grabbing at the sheets, a first tear rolling down your cheeks.

“Daddy, please,” you beg, and it makes his cock throb.

“Please what, kitten?” he responds, and it’s almost gentle. He can’t be mean to you anymore, not when you’re being so good for him.

“Are you going to cum again for me, angel? I know you have it in you, I can feel it,” he coos at you and at an especially harsh thrust you finally sob out, tears slipping down your cheeks. He can feel his balls tightening at the sight.

“I will, daddy, for you,” you babble and your head lolls to the side as another wave of wetness floods his cock.

You’re already tightening around him again, and he’s about to lose it so he redoubles his effort, slamming into your sweet spot at an angle he knows drags against your walls just right before he brings his fingers down and rubs your clit in tight little circles. He can feel his own sanity slowly slipping as you’re loudly sobbing in pleasure underneath him.

“Come on, baby, make daddy cum inside you, let me fill you up real good,” he rasps out, mind fuzzy with his own approaching orgasm. You drag your nails down his abs before your hand finds his again and you interlace your fingers with his sweetly.

“Ah, fuck, angel, you’re my one and only, you can take it like no other,” he starts babbling as you clench and clench around him, “give me another, come on, drench my cock.”

And that’s all it takes for you to cum again, sobs and moans tumbling from your pretty lips as you squeeze him so tight he hurls straight over the edge, pleasure hitting him like a truck, making his vision fuzzy as he keeps spilling deep inside you, his orgasm feeling never ending.

He doesn’t know exactly how he managed to get there, but when his vision clears up, he’s collapsed on top of you, breathing heavily underneath him as your fingers thread through his hair soothingly.

“Good God,” he breathes out as he tries to push himself up, but he can barely muster the strength.

He makes eye contact with you, and you’re still a little glassy, but you smile at him, so blissfully his heart skips a beat.

“I know,” you giggle, and it makes you clench around his softening, overstimulated dick that’s still inside of you. He curses and gently pulls out before collapsing next to you, pulling you into this side.

“That certainly was a show,” he mumbles, and you just hum in agreement.

“It worked, too, I heard him cum the moment you did,” you say with a wicked grin, “made a really pathetic little noise, too.”

Minho feels petty pride flood his chest. Seungmin getting off to them having sex makes the man who basically called his girl a whore nothing more than a dirty little perv.

He pulls you closer and presses a kiss into your hair.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, you know,” he whispers, and his chest aches with how much he means it.

You turn in his grasp, looking up at him with wide eyes, before you smile at him gently and pull him in for a kiss. It’s slow and lazy and your skin is slightly sticking together, but you don’t care, moulding against each other deeper and deeper, like you want to disappear into each other’s skin.

“I love you, too, loverboy,” you mumble when you finally pull back after what feels like an eternity. He kisses you one more time before he untangles from you.

“Let me get you cleaned up and make us some breakfast,” he says gently and gets up, getting a towel and wiping you down gently. He throws the towel into the hamper, puts on his boxers and t-shirt and pads to the kitchen, where he puts on some rice and cracks two eggs into a pan.

Before long, he hears Seungmin’s door open, and he turns around. Seungmin briefly looks at him before he avoids his eyes, clearly surprised by Minho’s presence in the kitchen.

“Oh hey, I didn’t realise you were back already,” Minho greets him nonchalantly.

“Hey, uh, yeah, got back, uh, earlier,” Seungmin stammers out and Minho smirks to himself. Seungmin is still standing like he’s rooted to the spot, unsure of what to do.

“Want some breakfast?” Minho asks him, and he feels like he can hear the gears in Seungmin’s head turning.

“S … sure,” he finally mumbles out in defeat and sits down at the table, pulling out his phone. Minho adds another egg to the pan.

As it’s sizzling, Minho hears his door open and Seungmin clear his throat, fidgeting in his seat. You pad out of his room barefoot, his shirt hanging on your frame, though he’s pretty sure you’re no longer wearing his boxers anymore, but your own panties. You seem to have brushed your hair, but your lips are kiss bitten and your tits and perky nipples are clearly visible through the fabric. He smirks at you, and you smirk back like you know exactly what you’re doing as you make your way over to him.

“Oh hey, Seungmin, back already?” You casually greet Seungmin at the table before you come to stand behind Minho, wrapping your arms around his waist. Minho would bet good money that Seungmin is staring at your ass.

While he’s plating up the food, Minho pulls you around him so you’re standing in front of him, his arms working around you, your ass pressed into his crotch where he’s already half hard again. He places a wet kiss on the side of your neck before turning around to slide the bowl over to Seungmin, who is trying to look anywhere but you or the tent in Minho’s boxers, and murmurs out a thank you before he escapes into his room.

When his door closes, you start giggling and Minho joins in as he hands you your bowl and pulls you back into his room.

skzms' masterlist // ko-fi

🔖 general taglist: follow and turn on notifications for my library account: @skzms-library 🔞 I monitor ages over there, just like I used to do with my taglist. I will block minors and ageless blogs, and you'll have to message me again to get unblocked. so just have your age in your bio before you follow!

can can i request how they deal with boners in public? or like, how they deal with you turning them out (intentionally or unintentionally)

Skz Headcannons:

turning them on in public ~*

OT8 x reader HCS..

warnings: degredation, exibitionism, frottism, very tame?

your order is ready☺️ smut below the cut!!!!!!!!!

Chris:

• shy and giggly. he can’t believe half the stuff thats coming out of your mouth! (as if he hasn’t said worse)

• he’ll be hiding his red face in his hands and doing that cute squeaky giggle he always does🤭

• when he actually does get hard though, he’ll be looking around and crossing his legs, accidentally gaining a bit of friction from his jeans on his hard cock.

• but be careful, he’s a teaser too😖

•he wont make you regret it, he’ll just play along until you’re dripping and begging to go home

• (hes gonna find excuses to stay longer to get back at you)

“oh, so now you wanna go home, hm? i don’t know…ask me later. or beg me now, maybe ill decide then.”

Minho:

• will 100% laugh at your pitiful attempts to get him hard.

• he’ll just watch you with a smug/bored look on his face while you just end up riling yourself up.

• if his body ends up betraying him and he in fact is hard, he still won’t appear embarassed.

• if anything, he’ll grab your hand and have you feeling up his cock through his pants like the whore you wanted to be that day.

“did you have your fun, kitty? or did the poor slut get herself needy and wants me to take resposibility?”

Changbin:

• flustered and side eyeing you.

• he’s shifting in his chair and rubbing his plush thighs together, begging you silently to stop talking.

• its not difficult to make him hard, he never forgets the way you look on top of him, so teasing him with that image in public is torture!

• it’s when you start ghosting your hands over his cock that he’s immediately asking for the check and grabbing his keys😭 he does NAWT wanna do that shit in public but he’s literally this close to bending you over.

“let me take you home? i just need your hands, please? ill treat you so good, i promise, just let me take you back home?”

Hyunjin:

• thinks it’s kinda fun, treats it like a game/competition.

• he can hold out pretty well, but alas he’s just a boy😔

• it’s like his default setting to be inside you so he isn’t going to last very long. he just wants to feel his sweet girl.

• he’ll hide it, but will definetly show it you purposefully. he’ll lean back on something, exposing his hard on to you, biting his lip as he watches your reaction.

• or he’ll pull you into a bathroom stall and press his clothed bulge into your tummy, looking down at it and holding your hands. wants nothing more than to see your nails running along his long, hard cock.

“look how hard you made me, hm? want it? think it’s pretty? you made it, so i think it’s pretty. my little artist.”

Han:

• poor baby tries so hard to resist.

• he’s shying away from your hands and whining at you to stop when you tease him with words.

• he could never comepletely say no to you though, so he’ll let you palm his cock for a while.

• he’s arching and subtly grinding up into your hand. biting his lip while his cock leaks, trying not to get caught.

• he tries his best not to make any sounds, but he still lets whiny sighs slip through his mouth. ends up cumming in his pants anyway, only wanting to go home so he could change😭

“ah..shit..can- can i cum? or should we..go home? fuck..it’s too late. don’t stop- cumming!”

Felix:

• he doesn’t get it. he doesn’t understand why you would be saying all of these filthy things and feeling him up in public?

• he just thought you must be feeling needy. he reaches his hand over in pity, thumbing at your clothed clit and looking around to not get caught.

• your words do get to him though. as soon as you call him a few names he’s chubbing up in his pants.

• when you reach a hand over to him too, he realizes how suspicious this looks in public and just decides to finally take you home.

“aw, my poor girl. c’mere, ill make you feel as good as i can while were out. unless you wanna go home? no? my baby wants people watching?”

Seungmin:

• also shy about it.

• he doesn’t care much about the words (even if they do get his leg bouncing)

• its when you start touching him that he gets him wide eyed and flushed.

• he’ll grab your wrist and whisper-yell things like “you can’t do that, were in public!” at you.

• he’ll squeeze his legs shut and look at you with a slight sheen of excitement in his eyes. he’ll start stroking your ankle with the tip of his shoe, while resting his head on his hands. he’ll play along a bit for now.

“hm? what? am i not allowed to play with you too? touching me and saying such filthy things in my ear, who taught you that, huh? such a slut.”

Jeongin:

• he’s amused, but still suprised at your boldness.

• he has a wide smile on his face, mouth hanging open and his hand dramatically pushing you off of him.

• will deadass run away like he doesn’t know you

• if he gets hard oh lord he’s hunting you down.

• he doesn’t care if you’re in a bookstore, he’s finding the isle you’re on and dragging you out😭

• he’s laughing like he can’t believe that just happened, but trust your pussy is done for when you get home.

“yah! look what you did! couldn’t wait 10 minutes could you? eager slut. im taking you home, and you’re fixing this.”

three hearts (?) with minsung

⛓️˚₊‧⁺⋆♱ ruin me - part I lee know x f!reader

In his dirtiest, deepest fantasies, you know exactly what he wants. You run your pretty fingers along his jaw, down his throat, letting your nails drag over his skin dangerously. You stare at him like you’re ready to devour him whole, and then you wrap your hand around his throat and squeeze until his vision fuzzes out at the edges. You force him onto the bed, rip his clothes off until he’s bared to you in all his desperation, maybe make him get on all fours, push his face into the sheets as you inspect his hole. And, God, he begs, begs until his throat is raw, promises you anything for just one touch. OR perv!bsf!minho finds your panties. temptation is too strong.

word count: 4k words

author's note: the second part of this is basically almost done and will be dropping in the next couple of days, but I needed to separate them for pacing reasons. the second part is ... long. for reasons that will become apparent at the end of this. also this is pretty filthy, so heed warnings!

warnings: this a perv!skz thing so Minho’s being weird and pushing boundaries, please don’t see this as a model of healthy behaviour; mention of food and being full in a sexy way because this may be perv!Minho but he’s still Minho; panty stealing; masturbation; male squirting; choking and breathplay by himself (DON'T!!!); fantasizing about degradation, praise, more choking, painplay; dacryphilia; one mention of breeding; implied butt stuff (m receiving)

link to part 2

skzms masterlist // ko-fi

Ten seconds. Ten seconds is all it took.

One, you disappearing into the bathroom to find your bracelet.

Two, Minho scuffing his foot into the plush carpet next to your bed and spotting something peeking out from under the bed frame.

Three, a single shift of his weight from one foot to the other, to see what it was.

Four, a realisation that made his mouth go dry and his heart skip a beat.

Five, six, seven, his body moving before his brain could stop him.

Eight, nine, clammy hands shoving the material into the pocket of his jeans, next to his traitorous cock that was already filling out.

Ten, you walking out of your bathroom, pretty and glowing like the main character in a movie as you slot your earring into place, shirt riding up enough to expose a sliver of soft waist, jeans digging into the pudge of your stomach in a way that makes Minho’s stomach lurch with need.

A few steps of your pretty socked feet on the hardwood, a smile up at him, looking at him through your lashes, offering him your wrist, your bracelet dangling between your fingers. Minho is glad he manages to hold your gaze, glad his fingers aren’t shaking, and his body doesn’t betray him when your chest keeps rising and falling, tits so close to his fingers that he could brush against them if he straightened them out. He takes a deep breath, is overwhelmed with the smell of you, your shampoo, your perfume. His cock is half hard, his guts pulsing with the same gut-wrenching desire you pull out of him all the time without even trying, only this time it’s made more deliciously maddening by the knowledge of what he’s hiding in his pocket.

Your panties. Black, simple, only a little lacy around the edges, crushed up in a ball in the left pocket of his blue jeans, burning a hole into his skin, a hole into his conscience, where guilt and unbearable desire swear to rob him off his sanity, as he struggles to be even half coherent as he flips the meat on the grill at your favourite KBBQ place.

Of course, he grills it for you. He would worship the ground you walk on, if he could – but you don’t know that, so he settles for grilling your meat and watching you eat well, preening at the happy, satiated grin on your face when you’re done, resisting the urge to reach across the table to wipe a smear of grease off the corner of your mouth or let his hand drag over your full, undoubtedly warm, soft belly to slip between your legs and caress a full-body orgasm out of your warm, –

He has to shake himself out of it, has to will his cock back to the half chub he’s been sporting all day that has only been controlled by his willpower and his willpower alone, has to force himself to put one foot in front of the other when the food and the two shots of soju have mellowed you into a clingy, sleepy version of you that holds on to his bicep as you walk, head resting against his shoulder in a way that he knows will leave the smell of your hair ingrained there for exactly two hours, long enough for two orgasms, rubbed out of his cock, burning with guilt and shame and so much desire it makes his world feels like it tilts on its axis and makes him sob into his pillow when the high fades …

He almost forgets about the panties, mind entirely elsewhere on the cold walk from your place to his after dropping you off, thinking about you, yes, but also Doongie’s birthday, as he toes off his shoes in the hallway, drops his coat on the hook, wonders whether cats feel their own age at all and if they know why humans give them presents and the good wet food once a year …

Until he stands in the middle of his bedroom, reaches into his pockets for his phone, his wallet, his keys, ready to peel off his pants and shove the shoulder of his sweater under his nose and finally take care of his half hard, aching cock when he reaches into his pocket and his fingertips meet cotton.

His hands are shaking when he pulls them out of his pocket, and it only takes him one look before he flings them onto his bed and takes a shaky few steps back, his heart thundering in his chest.

They’re not washed. They’re worn.

They’re worn

His cock pulses between his legs, his stomach coiling with so much desire it nearly makes him double over. He digs his fingers into the wood of the dresser behind him.

Somewhere deep within him, his conscience rebels, strikes the alarm. Tells him that he shouldn’t do this, that he should know that once he gets a taste of this, he won’t be able to go back. That he’s fucked in the head and that he knows it, that he’ll be digging through your dirty clothes hamper before the next week is up to get more, more, more, because he’ll wrap them around his cock and smear his release all over the residue of your pussy, and he’ll never be able to forget the taste of it once he has it on his tongue.

He wars with himself like that for what feels like hours, until the sun has sunk way past the horizon, shrouding his room in darkness until the offending material is nothing but a dark shadow on his bedsheets. Standing at the other end of his room, as far away from his bed as possible, gnawing at his bottom lip, but he knows he’s delaying the inevitable.

He knows his fate was sealed the moment he reached under the bed and stuffed the panties in his pocket.

His legs don’t feel like his own when he slowly walks over, sinks onto his bed. Blindly, he feels around for the thing that has been tormenting him. When his fingers find lace, he crushes the panties into his hand with an iron grip. His legs part slightly. His chest feels tight. Arousal makes his brain feel foggy, until everything fades, except the one thing that’s always there, in every waking thought — you.

In his more tame fantasies, he takes what he can get. He imagines kissing you, maybe, if he lets himself go where he shouldn’t, he imagines you kissing him. Shoving your pretty pink tongue that he’s only ever gotten greedy glimpses of when you were eating or taking a sip from your coffee, right into his mouth. He’d probably drool all over himself, but you’d like it. You’d climb into his lap and his hands would be shaking once he finally got to touch you. But touch you, he would. He would commit every inch of you to memory. He would push his fingers into you, rub an orgasm out of you, suck your juices off his fingers and not wash his hands just so he could rub them against his nose for the next 24 hours while he jerked his cock raw.

But here, in the darkness of his room, with the black lace of your panties crushed between his fingers, he lets himself venture where he doesn’t often let himself go, where it’s too dangerous. Because if he let himself believe that you could give him what he really wants, his hopes would get too strong to contend with reality, threatening to distort it and warp it until the tenuous grasp he has on his sanity, on his sick and twisted and unrequited love for you, slipped right through his fingers.

Because in his dirtiest, deepest fantasies, you know exactly what he wants. You run your pretty fingers along his jaw, down his throat, letting your nails drag over his skin dangerously. You stare at him like you’re ready to devour him whole, and then you wrap your hand around his throat and squeeze until his vision fuzzes out at the edges. You force him onto the bed, rip his clothes off until he’s bared to you in all his desperation, maybe make him get on all fours, push his face into the sheets as you inspect his hole. And, God, he begs, begs until his throat is raw, promises you anything for just one touch.

He likes to imagine, how you’d render every gram of muscle he’s worked so hard on in the gym useless. How you’d make him feel like he’s nothing. Smaller than small. Just a vehicle for your pleasure. Maybe you’d condescend to calling him pretty. Run your sweet, deadly fingers over the arch of his nose, stare down at his lips without touching until he’s shivering. Reduce him to tears with just one look of those eyes he has the privilege of being seen by, without ever truly being seen. He doesn’t want you to just see him. He wants you to see everything, wants to be bared to your intelligent eyes — he wants you to see him for what he is. Pathetic. Dirty. Perverted.

Wrong.

And he wants you to punish him for it.

He doesn’t know when he raised his hand, when he brought the balled up underwear in his hand to his face, but the first whiff of it is life-changing, earth-shattering, makes his world turn upside down and his eyes roll into back of his head, his back hitting the sheets as he shoves it against his nose so hard it almost hurts and inhales again.

It’s sweet. Tangy. A little sour, maybe, because you were probably wearing them all day. Maybe some sweat mixed in with the sweet slick from your pussy. The thought alone makes Minho’s hips jump off the bed pathetically, chasing the pressure of his own hand. He often wonders what your pussy looks like. He only saw the outline of it once, when you were wearing leggings, thoughtlessly leaning over the side of the sofa to grab your phone before you were heading out. Your ass, round and perfect, then, leading down, a little V. Two lips, and a little space in between, where the head of his cock could fit so prettily. He jacked off so often to the thought of filling that little space with his cum that his dick was chafed raw, and he could barely meet your eyes. But no matter what he imagines it to look like, he knows it wouldn’t matter to him – it would be as gorgeous as you are, no doubt, wet and glistening and hot, and he’d worship it, if he was just given the chance.

He takes a ragged breath, chest rising in barely controllable tremors, and lets go of the panties, lets them drop on the pillow next to his bed, in favour of torturously slowly trailing his free hand over his clothed chest – the depraved, limitless part of himself already slipping into a place where he can imagine it’s your hand instead of his – until his fingers find the cool metal of the necklace around his neck.

You gave him this necklace, almost a year ago now, for his birthday. It’s a simple thing, a sturdy, a thick chain, shining, real silver, long enough to rest just between his collarbones, a decorative closure, a little thin stick that is threaded through a ring to hold it in place. And Minho knows that’s all it is – a present, a thing you picked out because you thought it would go well with his oversized shirts and thick hoodies, short enough to not get in the way too much when dancing, not expensive enough to be too precious to wear.

But to Minho, it’s so much more. To Minho, the necklace isn’t as much of a necklace. It’s a collar. He wears it not for a fashion statement, but out of a devotion to you that only he knows about. He wears it every day, barely takes it off, his skin itching when he has to, at airport security, a hysterical kind of calm settling back into his bones when it’s back around his neck. He touches it when he sees your name light up his phone screen, or when he thinks of you while he’s out with his friends. But most often, he pulls at it when he’s right here, on his bed, one hand wrapped around his cock, tugging until the metal cuts into the back of his neck and he can feel his devotion to you with every sting of pain.

The necklace snags against his skin and the pain singes a path through his body, a light tremor that runs from the tips of his toes all the way to the crown of his head, makes his cock pulse with the neglect.

He’s been hard for so long that his cock hurts, where it’s confined in his jeans, and he feels his control slipping so fast it’s almost scary. His hand trails an absentminded path down his stomach, until his fingertips graze the bulge in his jeans, thick and hot, just how you’d like it, and the thought of you, makes him burn. You wouldn’t want him to give in so quickly. You’d make him wait.

He squeezes his cock so hard it hurts – his back arching, cock spurting more precum into his boxers, a sob tearing out his throat.

Oh, Minho.

Your voice, molten caramel crawling up his chest, coiling around the skin of his throat, a moan around a piece of meat becoming something entirely else here in the safety of his room. He digs his nails into the jean material of his bulge. Chokes out a ragged breath.

A soft giggle. Nobody does it like you. You’ve ruined me for everyone else.

He whimpers, blindly, desperately fumbles around his pillows until he finds the delicate material of your underwear again. He crushes them against his face and takes a greedy inhale, and the battle with his self-control is lost. His back arches off the bed again, his hand grinds down on his cock and the friction kicks him into motion.

He shoves his clothes off frantically, sits up only enough to rip his shirt and hoodie over his head at the same time, before flopping back down into the pillows. He drags a heavy, burning hand down until he can pop the button of his tight, tight, way too tight jeans, shucks them down, off, kicks them off the bed and then he’s finally naked.

He falls back. He’s exposed, body twitching and hot, every nerve ending on fire, just lying there on his bed, in the dark. The room is quiet except for his heaving chest. On the street, a car is passing. Minho shivers, whimpers into the darkness. He aches.

The cool air of the room makes goosebumps break out all over his body, but he doesn’t move to cover himself up. He lets them make another full-body tremor rack through him. His cock is heavy and hot and wet against his lower stomach, and he parts is legs, exposes himself further to the emptiness of his room, imagines it’s you he’s exposing himself to.

He shoves your underwear back to his nose and smoothes his hand down over his chest, first his palm, then the tip of his finger brushing over his sensitive nipple. The moan he lets out is dampened by the cotton, but the room is dead silent, and it slices through the darkness. It’s so loud, so needy, entirely humiliating. It’s perfect. He moans again.

His chest is sensitive, always has been. He came just from playing with it, once, cock entirely untouched, only his fingers brushing over his nipples until he nearly screamed with sensitivity. He wonders if you’d like it, that he’s sensitive. If you’d touch him there softly, brushing your fingers over him until he goes insane with pleasure. Or if you’d be mean, if you’d pinch them and twist them, laugh at him when he cries. His hand drags down his belly when he imagines your lips around his nipple, calling him your sweet, sensitive boy.

His hand curls around his cock when the you in his head bites his nipple and laughs at him. The pleasure of his hand finally curling around himself rockets pleasure through him and his cock spurts so much precum he thinks for a second that he already came – though when he pumps himself once, the hot, heavy weight of arousal in his guts tells him he hasn’t.

Already made such a mess, you purr, what are we going to do with such a needy little boy?

Minho sniffles into the silence of the room. And he is a mess already, his stomach covered in rapidly, uncomfortably cooling precum, the hand on his cock sliding with how wet it already is. It’s humiliating. He wishes you could see. Fuck, he wishes you were here.

What is heartache but a different kind of pain. He somehow manages to rip his hand from his cock, fisting it into the sheets, relishing in the way his whole body shakes, his knees knock together, try to create friction, and he howls into the room.

It’s like you’re a spectre. He can almost feel the weight of your body when he imagines you crawling over him, straddling his waist, can imagine it’s the plush of your ass when he pushes his cock up from his abdomen with his hands.Blindly, he scrambles for one of his

pillows, let’s go off the panties, only for long enough to fold the pillow in half and wrap it around his cock. The softness, the coolness of the material, they’re a relief on his burning, aching skin. He can’t help but think that this is what it would be like to touch you. Cool fingers, soothing the way his body burns. A salve on the open wound that is his desire for you.

A first tear rolls down his cheek, and he grinds his hips up and oh god he isn’t gonna last, he isn’t gonna last at all.

The wetness seeps into the pillows, and it’s slightly uncomfortable, only makes him sob with how much better he knows you’d feel. You, sitting on his cock, pussy snugly wrapped around him. He imagines the lips of them, rubbing against his shaft with every lift of your hips. The button of your clit, wet, glistening, red, little, and needy for his touch. The cream of you coating his cock. Spit pools in his mouth. He grips the pillow in one hand, brings the other back to his face so he can shove your underwear against his nose, and lets go.

It’s pathetic, so fucking pathetic, the way he starts humping the pillow, the way his back arches and his mattress squeaks with every thrust into the softness that doesn’t quite squeeze him the way he wants to be squeezed, sucked into your warm body, milked until he’s breeding you full of his cum.

He half screams, half sobs, his release so close he can almost taste it, when his heel slips on his sheets, makes his cock slip out of the pillow and his hips lose their rhythm. It’s devastating. His body screams for more, for friction, heat, a hole to sink his cock into. He inhales, feels the tart sweetness of your scent cover his tastebuds and somehow, he manages to flip himself over. The pillow is still below his hips, but the fold of it is long forgotten, his cock now just trapped between it and his abdomen.

He falls forward onto his elbow, black lace still clutched against his face, and he grinds his cock down hard.

The friction is so good, so much better than on his back, and he loses the last dregs of his dignity/ With his face buried in your underwear, his back hunched, he allows his hips to do what they need to, to chase the friction, no matter how fast and hard and uncoordinated, desperate whimpers torn from his lips with every drag of cotton against the sensitive head of his cock.

There are no scenarios playing in his head, any more, no words he wishes you were saying, only the heavy, unignorable sense, the presence of you that haunts him day and night, and the brutal, cold hard truth of him, in his dark room, furiously humping his pillow with your dirty underwear pressed to his nose, every inhale a desperate gasp, every exhale a pathetic moan.

His arm gives out, and he falls forwards into the sheets, panting desperately, his face buried in your panties, his free hand snaking between his legs, wrapping around his cock in a tight fist, the other reaching behind his head, taking a hold of the necklace and pulling, until he can feel it constrict his airways.

He comes two seconds later. With his face buried in your panties, his hand still wrapped around the necklace, his lungs fighting for air, every shaky inhale sending more of your smell through his system, he crashes over the edge with such an intensity that his vision whites out for a second. Distantly, he hears himself scream into his sheets, toes curling, body locking up as he spills, hot and wet, all over his hand, his pillow, his abdomen. And he keeps cumming, his cock spurting wetness all over himself until he seriously wonders if he’s peeing himself, and also if he’s about to pass out, until he realises he’s still holding the necklace in a vice grip. He lets go.

He rears up, gasps for air, gulps it down, his hand helplessly falling into the sheets, his sensitive cock still dripping, every brush of it against the pillow underneath him making little jolts run through his body.

And it takes him a good few minutes to come down, his consciousness floating somewhere five feet above his head. His lucidity comes back to him slowly, but still too painfully fast.

The first thing that becomes awfully clear is his posture. His body, hunched over the pillow that’s still bunched between his thighs, absolutely drenched in his cum. His chest, still heaving slightly, pressed into the sheets.

Then, he realises his face is still smushed into your panties. They’re right underneath his face, on his pillow.

Oh, and he’s drooling. Fuck.

He tries to get himself upright, but his arm nearly gives out, then his leg does, and he tumbles onto his side, cursing in pain when he tries to straighten his leg and a dull ache shoots through his body. He reaches down, past his wet, sticky abdomen, tries to massage feeling back into his calves, and he waits. He waits patiently for what he knows is the next step of the all too familiar process of coming down from one of his manic jerk-off sessions. The shame.

But before it can kick in, his phone rings. But it’s not his normal ringtone. No, it’s the one he set for you. You’re calling. The thought hits him like it’s the bell, and he’s pavlov’s dog.

He scrambles out of bed, his legs still aching and half asleep, and he almost faceplants straight into the floor, catches himself, and crawls over to where his phone is vibrating in the pockets of his jeans.

He rips it out of his pocket, hits accept, and lets himself thunk back onto the floor with a groan.

There’s silence on the other side of the phone. But he can hear you breathing. Steadily, in, out, in, out.

He’s cold. Shivering. The comedown is hitting him.

Finally, you speak.

“Something of mine has gone missing …”

The tone of your voice, the quiet, knowing rasp, makes Minho gasp out a desperate moan, so loud there’s no doubt in his mind that you heard. The knowledge makes his oversensitive body tremor.

“And if you’re a good boy and tell me where it’s gone, I won’t have to punish you.”

link to part 2

skzms masterlist // ko-fi

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Page 1-2, Page 3-4, Page 5-6 (Coming Soon)

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