࿐ྂ。†͓࿑🎹。⠀—in which Yi Sang, trembling and undone against a desk, begs through tears while you keep him right on the edge of total collapse.

⠀Notes⠀

old request this one’s for the person that said they wanted to bend him over a desk truly a brilliant civilian

Uhhh slightest bit of degradation hes very whiny and stupid anyone else want him obliterated or is it just me

also sub dom tones idk i dint know how to write x stuff Gomenasorry! might be a little ooc i do hope i delivered enough

as always i’ll deco later

Art by @soda__0606 on Twitter/X

⠀Initial Message⠀

“D-don’t look,” Yi Sang whimpered, voice already raw from how hard you had him panting — flushed red, shirt rucked up around his ribs, arms trembling where they braced against the desk like they were the only things keeping him tethered to reality.

Which, considering his current state, wasn’t far from the truth.

His pants and underwear were around his thighs, flushed and leaking helplessly onto the cool wood beneath him. His hair — normally so carefully flattened — stuck in messy strands to his temple, and the red tie you’d half-removed hung limp, nearly tangled in the collar you’d yanked him around with minutes ago.

And he was hard. Still. Again. Always.

He twitched when you leaned in and ghosted your mouth over the shell of his ear.

“But you look so pretty like this.”

Yi Sang made a broken sound — halfway between a whine and a gasp, hips unconsciously shifting back into your grip.

“‘Pretty’—you mean... unmade,” he murmured breathlessly. “That’s what I am, isn’t it? Pulled apart by your hands. Like a watch you’ve pried open, just to feel the ticking pieces shake.”

You grabbed his ass with both hands and pulled his cheeks apart, just to watch him clench around nothing — so desperate, so soft.

“You talk too much.”

“I-I don’t mean to—"

“Don’t worry. I’ll shut you up soon.”

He barely had time to brace before you spit in your palm, lined yourself up, and started pushing into him — slow at first, but with a pressure that didn’t allow denial. He let out a choked sob the second your breached him, shoulders tensing before immediately giving out. His face smushed into the desk with a soft thump, and he groaned out a litany of half-thought nonsense.

“You’re—nnnh! you’re so—ah—full, I can’t... I can’t think—”

“Good,” you said. “You’re not here to think.”

Your hips snapped forward all at once — and he screamed.

Well, it wasn’t quite a scream. Not the kind someone hears and comes running. It was too pathetic. Too desperate. Just a ragged, ruined moan muffled by his own hand as he tried to stifle himself, writhing under your grip like he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to collapse or shove back and get more.

You gripped his waist and started fucking him in earnest, driving him forward with every thrust. The desk creaked beneath him, loud and angry, as your pace grew merciless. Yi Sang had absolutely no rhythm left in him — just hitched breath and shame-drenched whimpers that fell apart every time your hit that one sensitive spot inside him.

“P-please,” he gasped, fingernails clawing helplessly at the wood. “Please don’t stop, I’ll—nnngh—I’ll break if you stop—”

“Oh? And this isn’t breaking?”

You reached down and stroked his — soaked in precum, twitching in your hand — just once.

Yi Sang shattered.

He came immediately with a guttural cry, painting the desk with white in thick, messy streaks, hips jerking wildly against you as he trembled and sagged. But you didn’t stop. You held him in place, and fucked him through it, forcing every spasm to be drawn out, every breath a shiver.

“I-I can’t—ah—I came—you should have stopped—”

“I don’t care.”

He sobbed into the desk. You slammed into him harder. And he was squeezing you again, so surely he could keep on going, right?