A Forbidden Plea - k.mg
Mingyu can’t help but crave the way you break him down with every sharp word and dismissive glance. Alone in his room, he gives in to the temptation of his fantasies, imagining you standing over him, indifferent to his desperate need. His body responds to your imagined cruelty—every stroke of his hand driven by the desire to be humiliated by you. He’s wrecked, consumed by the desire for your disdain, and no matter how much he surrenders, it’s never enough.
Pairing - idol!mingyu x idol!reader
Content warning - sexual content, degradation, humiliation, male masturbation, power dynamics, obsession, idol!AU, intense desire, explicit language.
The room was a haven of dim light, flickering softly from the lamp by the bed. Mingyu sat against the headboard, the silence around him almost oppressive, broken only by the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. His mind was a storm of memories and cravings, each one centered on you. The idol he worshipped from afar—so far, in fact, that his desires for you felt like something he could never touch. Yet, in this moment, all of that blurred into a singular, desperate need.
He exhaled slowly, a shudder running down his spine as he let his hand drift lower. His cock was already hard, throbbing at the thought of you—your words, your scorn, your power over him. He was always so careful to maintain his image in front of fans, in front of the cameras, but in this moment, in the soft shadows of his room, there was no one to watch him, no one to judge. He could let go.
With a soft breath, his fingers curled around his length, the touch almost too much, but it was necessary. He needed it, needed the way it felt when he imagined you pushing him down, your gaze cold and dismissive. “Pathetic” you would say, voice dripping with disdain. “You’re nothing more than a toy. Beg for me.”
His grip tightened as he traced his thumb over the head of his cock, the memory of your words igniting a deep, primal fire within him. “God” he muttered under his breath, his hips instinctively lifting. “I need you so bad. I’m so fucking weak for you.”
The thought of you mean, cold, indifferent to his struggles pushed him further, his hand moving in time with the fantasy building in his head. He pictured your face, the way your eyes would flicker with amusement as you reduced him to nothing. The way you laughed when he begged. The way you always made him feel so small and insignificant.
“Y/N…” he whispered, almost reverently. The name escaped his lips like a prayer, his voice cracking with the intensity of the craving. “I need to hear you tell me I’m pathetic again. Please…”
His strokes became faster, more urgent, the rhythm matching the increasing desperation in his chest. Every motion was an echo of the cruel words he imagined coming from you. “You think you’re special?” he could almost hear you sneer. “You think I care about you?”
His cock ached in his hand, the pleasure building slowly as he let the fantasy consume him entirely. He could hear the mockery in your voice, the deliberate indifference that made him yearn for more. The way you spoke to him like he was a piece of garbage yet he was addicted to it. Addicted to how alive it made him feel, how everything else faded away, leaving just the pain and pleasure of your contempt.
“God, I love it” he groaned, his voice growing more strained. “I love when you treat me like shit. I love it when you make me beg. You have no idea how much I need it.”
His body tensed, and with each word, each thought of you, he pushed closer to the edge. His breath hitched, his pulse pounding in his ears. “Please, Y/N… just tell me I’m nothing. Please tell me I’m your toy, your little bitch.”
The word “bitch” hung heavy in the air, a dirty, forbidden truth that only made him harder, more desperate. His strokes grew faster, rougher, as his imagination painted a vivid image of you—so beautiful, so untouchable, standing above him with that unbothered look on your face as he came undone.
“Fuck” he gasped, his voice hitching as he neared the edge. “Y/N… I need you to humiliate me, to destroy me. Please… I can’t take it anymore.”
With one final, shattered moan, Mingyu’s body trembled as he came, his release spilling over his hand in hot, intense waves. His mind was still reeling, flooded with the echoes of your voice, the imagined cruelty that left him feeling both utterly wrecked and strangely fulfilled.
As he lay back on the bed, chest heaving with ragged breaths, Mingyu closed his eyes. The aftershocks of his release left him aching, but he was already thinking about the next time. The next time you’d call him weak. The next time you’d laugh at how desperate he was.
He needed it. Needed the way your words could break him, make him feel both powerless and alive at the same time. And he would wait for you, endlessly, to do it all over again.
