⛓️˚₊‧⁺⋆♱ ruin me - part II
lee know x f!reader
There are no words in any language he speaks that could explain what he’s feeling, so instead he pulls you into a kiss, one that wipes his brain free of anything except an almost primal need, and an even more primal sense of pride that he is able to kiss you like this now. Uninhibited. Uncoordinated. Needy. Filthy. Tongues tangling until there’s spit dripping out of the corner of his mouth. The whimper you press into his mouth tells a story of a desperation he never in his wildest dreams thought you could feel about him. He could sob. Maybe is about to, when you rip yourself away, push yourself up with a hand next to his head, and then, suddenly, curl your other hand around his neck and Minho roars, stars exploding in his vision from the intensity with which his eyes roll, his body locks up.
OR
minho's obsessed with you. turns out, you're obsessed with him, too. and you match his freak better than he could've ever anticipated.
author's note: phew part 2!!! this got ambitious, lads!! the tenderest, and horniest tenderhorny bdsm shit you will ever read. This one’s real dirty, so please heed the warnings! and while the kink is definitely under negotiated in this fic, I tried to create a realistic portrayal of how consent can look, and how the energy can ebb and flow, how you can go in and out of a scene. be safe everyone!! but also enjoy the filth. Not enough perv!minho out there. he’s not pathetic enough, not down bad enough, in most x reader fics. I have been wanting to write him like this for a looooong time, so really, why am I surprised it got this long
warnings: they match each other’s freak, in a weird fucking way; he’s obsessed with pudge and pubic hair (like a man should be); undernegotiated kink, please don’t engage in this kind of stuff without extensive communication!; very explicit bdsm things: dom!reader, sub!minho; panty stealing, choking and breathplay, on oneself (DON'T!!!) and on someone else, painplay, ball slapping, degradation, praise, spit, dacryphilia; breeding; implied butt stuff (m receiving)
A wet dream. His best, filthiest, dirtiest, most magnificent dreams and then some, that’s what it feels like when you push him onto the bed, curl two fingers into the chain of his necklace, your necklace, and slot your lips over his in a hot, searing kiss.
It’s everything. You’re everything. Everything he has ever wanted. Needed. Desired, loved more than anything. Your lips are soft, your spit sweet, the way you move against him controlled but demanding in a way that makes him want to just open his mouth and let you have your way with him. When you nip at his bottom lip, jolts of electricity shoot between his legs and his cock is throbs. He’s so, so close despite being entirely untouched.
And God, every inch of you he can get his hands on – it’s all so fucking perfect that he struggles to make sense of it. Every new inch of you that his hands touch is so new and so perfect – he wants to try and catalogue it all, store it away in his head for a rainy day, when he touches himself, when he’s three fingers deep and sobbing into his sheets. Just in case this is a dream.
Your tongue licks over his bottom teeth and Minho moans. It’s not a dream.
You’d pushed him against the wall as soon as the door closed behind you, one hand fisted into the collar of his shirt, and his breath had caught, his whole body taut like a bowstring – but you didn’t kiss him. You were trembling, breathing heavily, mirroring the desperate shake in Minho’s impossibly tight body, but you didn’t kiss him, only let your forehead fall against his and mumbled out a we need to talk about this first before dragging him to his room.
