#suga bts | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cigarettesuga · 1 month ago

Text

꒰꒰⠀⠀⠀too good at pretending.⠀✸⠀(⠀ myg ⠀)

pairing: idol!fwb!yoongi x producer!fem!reader

genre: smut, slow-burn tension, hidden feelings, late-night studio rendezvous, slice of chaotic intimacy, mutual pining masked as indifference

warnings: explicit sexual content (18+), fingering, teasing, rough sex, oral tension, light dom!yoongi, semi-public sex, dirty talk, marking, overstimulation, slightly possessive behavior, soft aftercare if you squint, mutual denial of romantic feelings, mention of work-stress/mental fatigue, they’re both bad at feelings but good at sex

word count: 4.3 k

summary: it’s after midnight in a nearly-empty hybe building, and she’s still buried in deadlines and demos, jaw clenched and hands in her hair — until the only person who knows her chaos in silence shows up, just as worn out and just as emotionally unavailable. but when yoongi finds her in studio 3A, looking like she hasn't slept and biting down on her own frustration, the air shifts. and when he pulls her into his lap and tells her to be quiet if she doesn’t want the whole floor hearing — neither of them is thinking about feelings. only about relief. except everyone knows — even if they don’t say it out loud — they’re already each other's. just too damn stubborn to admit it.

lu's note: hey there i just wanted to pop up and say that requests are open, i'm on a writing spree and hopefully i'll update more regularly now that i'm almost done with the semester. i'd like to know if you want to see something abt any of the guys... just send a whisper ;)

⠀⠀⠀⠀m.list | latest

the building's nearly dead.

just the low hum of fluorescent lights and the distant echo of someone vacuuming in another hallway. most people had cleared out hours ago — normal people, anyway. the ones with boundaries. sleep schedules. lives.

but not them.

yoongi stretches his neck as he turns the last corner, a paper cup of half-warm coffee in his hand, and there she is.

exactly where he figured she’d be.

her back’s to him, shoulders tense, hands tangled in her hair like she’s trying to physically pull inspiration from her skull. he watches her for a second before saying anything — mostly because it’s kind of fascinating, the way her frustration makes him want to smile. not in a cruel way. more like... fuck, of course it's her. of course she's making herself crazy over something that probably already sounds better than half the shit on the charts right now.

he leans against the doorframe. takes a sip.

“you know you’re not getting paid overtime for this, right?”

she doesn’t jump. just groans without turning around. “don’t start, yoongi. not tonight.”

he chuckles, low and quiet. walks in.

“been trying to reach you.”

his voice is softer now, casual, like this isn’t the third time he’s walked past her empty studio earlier, pretending he wasn’t checking in. “thought maybe you finally ran off to join that noise-pop cult you keep threatening me with.”

“almost did,” she mutters, fingers flying over her keyboard. “but then this demo started sounding like a crime against humanity and i couldn’t leave it like that.”

he settles into the chair beside hers — not close enough to touch, but close enough to be there.

his usual spot.

“play it.”

she hesitates, chewing her lip, and for a second he thinks she’ll argue. but she presses spacebar and leans back, arms crossed.

the track fills the room — unpolished, raw, still bleeding at the edges. but there’s something real in it, something aching and sharp.

and he knows her well enough to hear the exhaustion between the beats.

the trying too hard.

it ends. silence settles.

he nods once. slow.

“doesn’t suck.”

she scoffs. “great. can’t wait to put that on the album review.”

his smirk twitches. “i mean. it doesn’t suck as much as i expected, considering you’re trying to mix in what sounds like a dying printer.”

her mouth drops open in fake offense, and he can’t help it — the corner of his lip lifts again, amused.

this. this is why he came. not because he needed to hear the track. not because he didn’t trust she’d get it done.

but because she looks like a goddamn hurricane when she’s like this, all untamed and brilliant and so deep in her head that it scares him a little.

and he knows the world doesn’t always get the calmer version of her. the one that leans into the quiet. the one that lets herself just be.

but she gives him that version. even when she’s falling apart. especially then.

“take a break,” he says gently, pushing the coffee toward her. “you’re spiraling.”

she looks at the cup, then at him.

and for just a second — just one — her eyes soften.

but then she rolls them. “you’re annoying.”

“you like it.”

“unfortunately.”

he doesn’t say anything to that. just sits there beside her, letting the silence stretch, letting her know she’s not alone — that even when she forgets how to breathe, he remembers. for both of them.

the moment’s quiet.

too quiet for how fast his pulse is moving.

he watches the way her shoulders rise and fall — clipped, uneven — like she’s trying not to fall apart, like holding herself still is the only thing keeping her from unraveling right there in the middle of waveforms and midi tracks. and that shouldn’t do anything to him. he tells himself that every single time.

but fuck, there’s something about seeing her like this — worn down, raw around the edges, still fighting anyway — that guts him more than he’ll ever admit out loud.

he takes a step closer.

then another.

and when he’s close enough to feel the heat of her back through her hoodie, he bends a little, eyes on the crown of her head.

presses his lips there — soft, brief. a barely-there kiss that shouldn’t mean anything but always does.

her hand twitches on the mouse.

he pretends not to notice.

instead, he lets his hands find her arms, slow and easy, fingers tracing lightly from her elbows to her shoulders and back again. not squeezing, not rushing — just being there. reminding her she’s not in this alone, not tonight. maybe not ever, even if neither of them will dare say it.

his mouth finds her hair again, this time to whisper, low and amused, “you keep this up and you’re not getting anywhere with the song.”

her breath stutters — a soft exhale.

and she leans back the tiniest bit, like her body knows something her pride won’t admit.

“maybe,” she says, voice quieter now, “i just need to relax…”

he hums, and it comes out more like a growl than a laugh.

his thumbs drag slow circles into her arms now, a little firmer.

not suggestive — not yet — just intentional.

“yeah?” he murmurs, mouth still ghosting against her hair. “you want help with that?”

there’s a pause. one of those heavy ones, where a whole universe of unsaid things pass between two people who keep pretending they don’t care.

she doesn't say yes.

she doesn't have to.

her body shifts back into him, barely-there contact that might as well be a plea. her eyes stay on the screen, like she’s still pretending this is about the music — like the way her thighs press together slightly isn’t an answer in itself.

he leans closer, lips a whisper away from her ear.

“say the word.”

his voice is lower now. soft, rough, dangerous.

and god, if she says it?

he’ll make her forget what stress even feels like.

her hands on his hips feel deceptively casual — light, teasing — but he feels the tremor beneath her fingertips. the tension riding up her spine even though her voice comes out cool, steady.

"you know i’ll say yes, right?"

he looks down at her, lips quirking into that crooked half-smile — the one that always makes her roll her eyes like she’s not secretly addicted to it.

"yeah," he murmurs, brushing his thumb over the top of her arm. "but consent is sexy. and i’m nothing if not respectful."

her laugh is soft, almost a sigh, but her eyes never leave the screen, like it’s some kind of anchor. or maybe a shield.

he knows how much she hates vulnerability.

knows how much she hides behind work.

but when she leans into him like that — trusting him, choosing him — it undoes something in his chest every single time.

"c’mon," she says, still in that whisper, glancing toward the studio door. "we can’t take too long… we don’t know who’s still on this floor."

and he wants to say, let them fucking hear,

but instead, he lets her guide him — lets her take control the way she always does when she needs to feel like she’s not drowning.

her hand slips into his, fingers cold from hours on the mouse, and he follows as she leads him toward the tiny couch in the corner of the room, worn down from too many late-night naps and occasional power plays like this.

he sits down first, legs open, arms resting on the back of the couch like he’s not already burning for her.

she stands in front of him, hair messy, hoodie half-zipped, pupils dark and pulled — and it takes everything in him not to reach for her right away.

but he doesn’t have to.

because she climbs onto his lap with no hesitation, knees bracketing his thighs, arms sliding around his neck like she’s done it a hundred times — like it’s muscle memory now.

and maybe it is.

he exhales, hands settling low on her waist as she leans in, their foreheads brushing for a moment. a charged pause.

“you good?” he asks, voice barely there.

her mouth tilts into a smirk that doesn’t reach her eyes — not yet — and then she kisses him.

it starts slow, all lips and warmth and quiet desperation. not rushed. not rough.

like they’re trying to remind each other that even in chaos, this is the one place they always come back to.

his fingers press into her back, her hips roll into his without even meaning to, and the tension between them unravels thread by thread.

her hands are in his hair now, tugging, anchoring herself as their mouths move together in sync — and he swears she tastes like frustration and espresso and whatever scent drives him fucking insane every time she walks past him in a hallway.

somewhere in the back of his mind, he hears the vacuum whir down the hall again. a reminder of where they are. who they aren’t supposed to be.

but it doesn’t matter right now.

not when she’s sighing into his mouth like this.

not when she’s melting into his chest like maybe she’s tired of holding the whole world up by herself.

he kisses her deeper — just once — before pulling back just enough to whisper against her lips,

“five minutes.”

she breathes a laugh, breathy and wrecked.

“we’re gonna need at least ten.”

his fingers curl into the waistband of her sweatpants, slow and deliberate — a quiet warning and a promise all in one. the fabric bunches beneath his grip, and he tugs just enough for her to feel it, to know what’s coming next.

but then —

the vacuum hums closer, louder, just outside the door.

they both freeze.

he leans in, lips brushing her ear now, voice low enough to blend with the rumble in the hall.

“you’ll have to be real quiet if you don’t wanna get caught, pretty girl.”

his voice does that thing to her — that husky drop, the weight of intention threading through every syllable. she shifts against him, hips tilting just slightly like her body’s answering before she can think, and that’s all he needs.

he helps her out of the sweatpants — slow and careful, keeping her steady as she steps out of them one leg at a time. it’s practiced, familiar, intimate in a way that makes the air in the room shift.

and then she’s back in his lap, straddling him again, bare thighs brushing denim, skin against skin with only a whisper of lace in between.

her hoodie’s still on. her converse are still on — something about that is stupidly hot, chaotic and casual like everything about her.

his hands trail up her thighs, thumbs skating along the edge of her underwear, a slow tease that makes her bite her bottom lip.

he leans back just enough to take her in — flushed cheeks, messy hair, mouth slightly parted, and that signature don’t fall for me look in her eyes that he knows is all smoke and mirrors.

“lace, huh?” he murmurs, fingertips brushing just under the hem of her panties. “you really didn’t plan on finishing that demo tonight.”

her nails dig into his shoulders in response — not enough to hurt, just enough to say shut up and keep going.

he grins, letting one hand slip up her hoodie, dragging his palm along warm skin, the curve of her waist.

“we’re on a clock, baby,” he whispers, thumb circling higher now, just barely grazing. “think you can stay quiet for me?”

and yeah, he says it like a challenge.

like he already knows she’s not gonna make it easy.

her breath catches — barely audible but unmistakable — as his thumb draws slow, lazy circles over lace. there’s nothing rushed about him, no urgency in the way he touches her. just quiet control. patience that only makes it worse.

or better.

depending on how you look at it.

she shivers under his hand, biting her lip so hard it might leave a mark, trying to keep it together even though her thighs are already trembling around his.

he smirks against the crook of her jaw, amused and maddeningly calm, as if they aren’t one thin wall away from getting caught, as if she isn’t already this undone and he’s barely even touched her.

“you’re shaking,” he whispers, breath hot against her skin. “and i haven’t even done anything yet.”

then his fingers slip under the lace — slow, deliberate — and she gasps, soft and sharp, her hands grabbing at his shoulders like they’re the only solid thing in the room.

he grins, lips brushing her cheek.

“uh-uh,” he murmurs, nudging his nose along her jaw. “remember what i said.”

she nods, swallowing hard, eyes glassy and unfocused.

and that’s when he guides her hand.

takes her wrist gently and brings it down, pressing her palm over his own hand, over the fingers teasing slow, torturous circles just where she needs them most.

“use my fingers,” he whispers, low and rough. “you know what you like.”

and she does.

her hand trembles as she starts to move — guiding him, hips rocking in quiet desperation. it’s messy, it's intimate, and so fucking real.

he lets her take control, but never lets go — his other hand pressing firm at the base of her spine, grounding her, holding her there, reminding her that she’s safe, she’s seen, she’s his — even if they’ll never say it.

every breath she exhales into his neck sounds like a confession.

every roll of her hips says i need you louder than words ever could.

and yoongi, voice barely audible, lips pressed to the shell of her ear, breathes out the one thing he knows will wreck her:

“that’s it, pretty girl. just like that.”

his breath is hot against her skin — ragged now, catching with every sound she makes, every tiny gasp she tries to swallow back like it’s not unraveling him completely.

his fingers move slower, deeper. stretching her gently, curling just enough to make her spine arch into him. he knows her body by now — every twitch, every soft curse under her breath, every time she presses her mouth to his shoulder to keep from moaning too loud.

she’s trying to be good. to be quiet.

and he’s not making it easy.

“so fuckin’ wet for me already,” he murmurs into her ear, voice low and dark and laced with a smile she can feel. “this what you needed, huh? not a break. just my fingers inside you while the whole building’s still awake.”

his lips trail down her neck, open-mouthed kisses that go from soft to claiming real quick — he sucks just under her jaw, enough pressure to leave a mark that won’t fade by morning. something she’ll complain about later with a smirk, trying to act like she’s mad, like she doesn’t love it.

she whimpers — the sound small and stifled, but there — and his teeth graze her skin right after.

“shh…” he soothes, lips brushing the red bloom he just left behind. “you’re doing so good, baby. so fuckin’ pretty like this, falling apart on my lap, hoodie on, shoes still on — god, you’re such a mess for me.”

his fingers stretch deeper now, his rhythm steady but ruthless — working her open while his free hand tightens on her hip, pulling her flush against him, letting her feel just how hard he is under her.

“you feel that?” he breathes out, grinding her down a little. “feel what you do to me?”

she nods, desperate, mouth parted and gasping — but he doesn’t stop.

he can’t.

not when she’s trembling like this, thighs twitching, hands clawing at his shoulders, his name falling off her lips in broken whispers she probably doesn’t even realize she’s saying.

not when she’s losing herself and still trying to hold it together, still trying to not moan loud enough to echo down the hall.

he kisses her collarbone, trailing down with slow reverence before whispering against her skin — filth laced in affection:

“come for me, pretty girl. be quiet if you can… but fuck, don’t hold back on my account.”

she’s trembling in his lap now — her entire body shivering with the aftermath of it, hips stuttering as she rides it out against his hand, making a mess all over his fingers, on his jeans, like she’s got nothing left to give.

but the way she’s gasping his name, barely even trying to be quiet anymore, the way her hands are still gripping his shirt like she’s starving — that’s when he knows.

she’s not done.

not even close.

"yoongi," she breathes, voice wrecked, pleading, pulling at his shirt now like she’ll unravel if he doesn’t do something now.

he kisses her jaw, quick, and helps her up without a word, hands strong and steady under her thighs as she finds her footing again, legs shaky, lips kiss-bitten and slightly parted.

“c’mon,” he says, voice low, firm, laced with need so thick it’s almost a growl. he turns her gently, guides her to lean over the back of the couch, her knees sinking into the worn cushions — and fuck, the sight of her like that?

it nearly undoes him.

she pulls off the hoodie in one smooth motion, tossing it somewhere behind her, hair falling wild and messy down her back. the black lace underwear’s still clinging to her thighs, barely pushed down, an afterthought now — and something about it makes his brain short-circuit.

he stands behind her, hands trailing down her spine, over the soft slope of her hips.

he could tease. he wants to tease.

but not now.

not when she’s already shaking for him, not when she’s arching her back just right, looking over her shoulder with that desperate, wrecked little expression that makes his cock twitch against his zipper.

he leans in, one hand sliding up her back, pressing down between her shoulder blades.

“you want it like this?” he whispers against her ear, hot and low.

she nods, frantic.

he barely tugs the underwear any further, just enough to expose her, to have her. he likes the way it looks bunched on her thighs, messy and rushed, like they never really had the patience to undress properly.

like they never do.

then he undoes his belt, the quiet clink loud in the stillness of the studio.

and just before he sinks into her, he leans down, pressing a kiss to the top of her spine, and mutters — low and reverent — like she’s the only thing he believes in,

“let me take care of you.”

his hands are rough now, no more of that slow build-up — it’s fast, all heat and urgency, all of it fueled by the risk, by how easy it would be for someone to walk by and hear the unmistakable sounds slipping out from under the door.

his fingers dig into the swell of her ass, spreading her open, thumbs pressing into skin like he owns it. he squeezes, slaps once — quick and sharp — just to watch her jolt forward on instinct, breath catching as she reaches for something to bite down on.

she grabs the old throw blanket folded lazily on the armrest — some gifted merch no one ever uses — and she sinks her teeth into it, moaning into the fabric like it’s the only thing keeping her from getting caught.

yoongi’s head falls back for a second at the sight of her like this — needy and wrecked and his, half-naked with her shoes still on, knees digging into a couch they’ve both crashed on too many times.

and he’s fast now. fucking into her like it’s the only thing tethering him to reality, low groans escaping his throat every time she clenches around him, every time her hips grind back like she’s just as desperate.

“look at you,” he pants, leaning in close, chest to her back. his hand tangles in her hair, not too hard, just enough to pull her head back so he can get to her ear, mouth brushing the shell of it. “biting that blanket like you don’t want the whole damn building to know how good i’m fucking you.”

she moans louder at that — muffled but loud — like the filth in his voice is winding her tighter.

“so fuckin’ needy,” he whispers, hips snapping into her, rhythm relentless. “you were practically begging for it, weren’t you? making a mess all over my hand, whining in my lap like a pretty little slut…”

he kisses the corner of her jaw, slow and messy.

"you think they’d still respect you if they saw you like this? bent over, drooling into a blanket while i fuck you stupid?"

her whole body shudders at that — hips twitching, back arching — and he grins, breathless.

“didn’t think so,” he murmurs, voice like velvet and smoke. “now be good, baby. stay quiet, take it all — and don’t you dare cum until i say so.”

yoongi swears under his breath, voice low and ragged, eyes locked on the slick, messy glide of her body swallowing him whole — over and over again. the mess she’s making of him, of herself, of the damn couch cushions. it’s obscene. it’s art.

he can’t look away.

the way her thighs tremble.

the slick sounds echoing in the tiny studio.

the blanket still caught between her teeth, now damp with spit and moans she’s too scared to let out.

it’s almost too much — almost.

he slows suddenly, pulls out with a slow drag that makes her gasp and arch back instinctively, trying to chase the friction.

but he’s already palming himself, thick and flushed and dripping — dragging the head of his cock right against her swollen clit.

“yoongi—” she breathes, voice high and strung out, hips bucking back, needing more — needing anything.

he grins, lazily, running himself along her, smearing her wetness in tight little circles. messy, filthy pressure, just enough to make her legs shake.

“fuck, look at this,” he groans, thumbing her open again just to see the way she twitches. “you’re so wet for me, pretty girl. making a goddamn mess all over my cock, and i haven’t even finished with you yet.”

he pushes in just the tip — enough to make her cry out into the blanket — and pulls back again to rub slow circles against her clit, dragging the head across her like he’s trying to brand her with it.

“you like that?” he murmurs, watching her hips try to press back into him. “like how it feels when i tease you like this? you want more?”

she nods desperately, a muffled please slipping out around the fabric in her mouth, and it’s so sweet, so fucking perfect, it makes his grip on her hair tighten just a little.

“you’re gonna lose your mind if i don’t give it to you, huh?” he growls, circling her clit again, wet and hot and just enough to make her shake. “but i like watching you fall apart like this. so messy, so loud without even saying a word.”

he leans in close again, lips ghosting over her ear, voice lower than before — dangerous.

“keep that blanket right there, baby. ‘cause when i finally fuck you again… you’re gonna need something to scream into.”

he can feel it building — low in his spine, thick in his blood, the kind of tension that’s impossible to slow down once it starts burning through his veins. she’s soaked, her thighs trembling against his, back arching every time he drags himself over that perfect spot, and he’s dangerously close to losing it.

he pulls her up gently, not because he wants to be sweet — though he is, in his own way — but because he needs a better angle. needs to see her face, her wrecked little expressions. needs to feel her falling apart with him.

“come here,” he mutters, helping her shift, guiding her down onto her side, her legs curling slightly as he lays behind her. he hooks one arm under her knee, holding it up to keep her open, the other snaking around her waist to pull her flush against him.

and then he’s back inside her — deeper like this, slower for a second, but heavier, more intense.

“fuck, baby,” he grits, mouth pressed to the back of her neck, teeth grazing skin. “you’re so tight like this… you were made for this.”

she lets out a breathy, muffled moan — lips parted, eyes fluttering — and it’s so much, the intimacy, the sweat, the quiet gasps between them. the danger of getting caught still sharp in the background, echoing with every thrust.

he’s close — too close — and when she reaches behind her, fingers barely brushing his hip like she’s trying to pull him even deeper, that’s what does it.

“shit—” he groans, deep and rough, burying his face in her shoulder as he pulls out quickly, hand wrapping around himself.

in just a few rough strokes, he’s coming hard — hot and messy, thick spurts landing right across the black lace of her underwear still tangled around her thighs. he pants against her, forehead pressed to her back, hand steadying himself against her hip as the tremors run through him.

“fuck,” he whispers, breathless. “you’re gonna be the death of me.”

they’re still tangled like that — her on her side, flushed and slick, his cum cooling on her thighs and lace — when a knock slices through the air.

sharp.

loud.

too real.

they both freeze.

she shoots him a wide-eyed look over her shoulder, and yoongi curses under his breath as he scrambles for her hoodie, tossing it over her bare chest while trying to zip himself up with one hand.

“(y/n)-ssi?” a voice calls politely from the hallway. a young male staffer, probably an intern. “i was told to remind you about the morning meeting. they asked if you could check your email before you leave.”

yoongi presses a finger to his lips, mouthing don’t laugh when she lets out a wheeze and nearly chokes on it, face buried in the blanket again.

“thanks!” she croaks out after a second, voice not nearly as steady as she wants it to be. “i’ll check in a bit!”

silence. footsteps retreat. door remains mercifully shut.

yoongi leans down, pressing a kiss to her shoulder, voice smug and low and just as wrecked as she is.

“you owe me a new pair of jeans,” he murmurs.

“and maybe a warning next time you decide to look that fuckable in sweatpants.”

-quietly always, cigarettesuga.

929 notes · View notes

kooklovee · 25 days ago

Text

Claimed (m) - Myg

"The only Min you'll ever get is this one."

Pairing - Yoongi x Reader

Genre - smut 18+, established relationship au, MDNI

Oneshot - 5k words

Warnings - yoongi's brother's reception, secret relationship, yoongi's aunt wants to set reader for her son🤪, jealous yoongi, Explicit smut - Hard dom yoongi, sub reader, chocking, mirror sex, unprotected sex, degradation, man handling, fingering, face fucking, spiting in mouth, edging, crying, hair pulling, marking

a/n - hi n byee🫣

divider credit - @uzmacchiato

Masterlist kofi

---------------------------------------------------

The Min family estate is breathtaking, especially tonight. The glow of fairy lights, the grand chandeliers, with laughter and music filling the air.

You step out of the car, adjusting the delicate fabric of your dress. With one final glance at your reflection in the tinted window, you reach for your phone, fingers gliding over the screen.

You: just reached. where are you?

It takes only a few seconds before your boyfriend replies.

Yoon: 2nd floor. Left side of the hall

The moment you step inside it's filled with the scent of fresh flowers and expensive cologne. Your lips curve slightly as you push through the crowd, eyes scanning the space.

It doesn't take long for you to find him.

Min Yoongi, standing near the far end of the ballroom, eyes already locked onto you like a magnet.

He’s dressed in a tailored black suit, crisp and perfect. One hand is tucked into his pocket while the other lazily holds a glass of whiskey, but it’s his eyes that hold you captive.

Those dark eyes roam over you, starting from the waves of your hair down to the delicate curve of your neckline. They trail lower, taking in the way your dress hugs every inch of your body. His tongue peeks out, wetting his lips ever so slightly, making heat crawl up your skin.

Your phone buzzes again.

Yoon: You look beautiful

You bite your lip, glancing at him beneath your lashes.

You: And you look like trouble

The corner of his lips twitches, and even from across the room, you see the slight shake of his head.

A familiar voice calls your name.

“Finally! We were starting to think you weren’t coming.”

You turn to see your friends waving you over. You weave through the crowd smiling, and join them, instantly enveloped in chatter.

Taehyung’s already halfway through his drink, Jimin’s adjusting his blazer and Hoseok is grinning at you.

“You look stunning,” Jimin remarks. “Bet someone over there is losing his mind right now,” he says, giving you a knowing smirk.

You roll your eyes, but the heat creeping up your neck betrays you. “Would you shut up?”

“Oh, come on,” Hoseok teases.

You can't deny though, because you can feel it too. Yoongi’s gaze.

“Must be so hard pretending you two aren’t together,” Taehyung adds, sighing dramatically. “Poor Yoongi hyung, watching you like a lovesick fool but having to act all cool and composed.”

You shake your head, laughing softly. “We’ll tell his parents when we’re ready.”

And that’s the truth. His family is traditional, full of expectations, while Yoongi never cared much for their opinions. But still, you asked to wait before telling them. And he agreed, because this decision was yours to make together.

A fresh round of laughter pulls you from your thoughts, and you join in easily.

“Yoongi hyung!” Taehyung exclaims a bit dramatic, grinning as he lifts his glass.

Yoongi huffs, sliding effortlessly, his fingers grazing your waist just enough to make your breath hitch but not enough to be noticed by anyone else. His way of saying hi when he can’t say it out loud.

He just leans in slightly, his breath warm against your ear as he murmurs, just for you to hear, “You do look beautiful.”

And just like that, you’re gone.

----

The function moves along in a blur of clinking glasses, lively conversations. Yoongi -ever the reluctant center of attention, eventually takes the stage for a speech. His voice carrying warmth as he speaks about his brother and new beginnings.

And then, as quickly as he appeared, he’s swept away, pulled into conversations that demand his time- relatives, business associates.

Meanwhile, you remain with your friends. Jimin recounts a particularly embarrassing memory from their younger days, making Taehyung groan dramatically. Easy laughter fills amongst you.

After some time, you make your way toward the drinks table, the glass in your hand nearly empty. As you tilt your glass for a refill, a voice almost too-sweet cuts through the noise.

“My, my… such a lovely young woman all alone at the drinks table?”

You glance up, meeting the keen eyes of a lady, dressed in an elegant hanbok.

“You must be close to the Min family,” she continues, stepping beside you, her smile never faltering. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of speaking yet.”

Your fingers pause around the stem of your glass, momentarily confused. You’re certain you’ve never seen her before. Not the few gatherings that you've attended along with your mutual friends, neither in any of the rare photos Yoongi has shared with you. But still, you offer a polite smile and a slight bow in greeting.

“Ah.. I’m sorry, I don’t believe we’ve met before,” you say. “But it’s lovely to meet you.”

She lets out an amused laugh, “Oh, dear, that’s because I don’t visit often,” she says, waving a delicate hand. “But I am part of the family. Yoongi’s aunt.”

Your grip on your glass tightens just slightly. Yoongi’s aunt. You nod politely, offering a small smile. “Oh, I see. It’s nice to meet you. I'm Han Y/n.”

She hums, eyes scanning you in a way that feels far too observant. “I noticed you earlier with Yoongi’s friends,” she says, taking a delicate sip of her drink. “You seem quite close to them.”

“They’re good friends of mine,” you reply keeping your tone light.

She hums again, a knowing glint in her eyes. “You’re quite a lovely girl. Well-mannered, and beautiful too.” Her voice is warm, almost too sweet. “It’s a shame someone in the family hasn’t snatched you up already.”

You blink, caught slightly off guard by her sudden comment. “Oh?”

She nods, setting her glass down on the nearby table. “My son, Seojun-ah—my brilliant boy. He just returned from New York a few months ago. Studied and worked there for years. Hardworking boy.” She smiles as she continues, “In my opinion... you two would make a wonderful pair.”

Ah. So that’s where this is going.

You school your expression, forcing a polite smile. “That’s... kind of you to say.”

She leans in slightly, lowering her voice as if sharing a secret. “He’s single, you know. And someone like you—” she gestures vaguely, as if you’re the perfect ideal, “—would be perfect for him.”

You grip your glass a little tighter, willing yourself to stay calm. “That’s flattering,” you reply, carefully measured. “But I’m not really looking for anything like that right now.”

Her smile falters for only a fraction of a second before she recovers, waving a hand. “Oh, nonsense. A woman like you shouldn’t be single for long.” She tilts her head, watching you closely. “Unless, of course... you’re already seeing someone?”

Just as you part your lips to respond, a familiar voice cuts in.

“Auntie, where have you been so long!?”

You turn to see Taehyung, his signature smile already in place as he slides into the conversation.

The aunt’s face lights up in recognition. “Oh, Taehyung! It’s been so long. Look at you! so handsome as always.”

Taehyung grins, “You flatter me, Auntie. Anyways, what’s going on here?”

The woman chuckles, tilting her head toward you. “I was just asking her if she’s single or maybe interested in meeting my son.” Her tone is light with teasing.

“Oh, she’s totally single.”

Your head snaps toward him, eyes widening in silent betrayal. He doesn’t even try to hide the amusement in his gaze.

The aunt's face lights up with excitement at Taehyung’s words. “Really? That’s wonderful!” She claps her hands together, already looking around. “Let me introduce you to Seojun. He must be here somewhere.”

Your heart stutters, a flicker of panic rising in your chest. Shit.

You shoot Taehyung a murderous glare, but the bastard only sips his drink, eyes glinting with pure mischief. You know he’s enjoying this way too much.

“That’s really not necessary—” You start, voice edged with nervous laughter, but the aunt isn’t even listening. Her eyes scan the ballroom eagerly, as if his son will magically appear at any moment.

“Well, this sounds like a lovely setup, but I promised someone a dance,” Taehyung, your so-called friend is already retreating with a shit-eating grin. “Have fun, you two!”

Your glare could burn holes through him, but he’s gone before you can protest. Your fingers tighten around your glass. You need to find a way out of this. Fast.

“There he is! Seojun-ah!” The aunt’s delighted voice rings out as she waves eagerly.

Your stomach drops as a man maybe around Yoongi's age, turns toward the call, eyes narrowing in confusion before he approaches.

He’s tall, well-dressed, and honestly quite handsome, but that’s not the issue. The issue is that you know exactly what’s happening, and by the look on his face when his mother introduces you, so does he.

"This is Y/n, sweetheart!” his mother exclaims, practically radiating excitement. “Such a lovely girl. You two should chat, I have a feeling you’ll get along very well.”

“I’ll leave you to it! No need to thank me,” she's disappearing into the crowd before either of you can react.

Seojun chuckles nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “I—I’m sorry,” he says, shaking his head. “I know what my mom’s trying to do..” His eyes flicker with mild embarrassment before he sighs. “Sorry if she made you uncomfortable. You really don’t have to entertain this.”

He seems genuinely shy, his words coming out in a rushed ramble as he struggles to navigate the awkward situation.

You offer him a small smile, trying to ease his nerves. "I wasn’t expecting it, but..” You glance around briefly, hoping for an escape. “She seems too... enthusiastic?”

Seojun lets out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. “That’s one way to put it.” He takes a sip of his drink, still looking slightly mortified. “She’s been on this matchmaking spree lately. Thinks it’s her life’s mission to get me married off.”

You chuckle at that.

Meanwhile, across the ballroom, Yoongi strides back toward your group, his gaze scanning for you instinctively. But a frown tugs at his lips.

“Where is she?”

Jimin and Hoseok exchange glances, poorly hiding their amused smirks. Taehyung, however, doesn’t bother to hold back his laughter.

“Oh, hyung,” he drawls, draping an arm over Yoongi’s shoulder dramatically. “Your dear girlfriend is currently on her way to becoming your sister-in-law.”

Jimin finally loses it, chuckling as he nods toward the far side of the room. “One of your aunts decided she’d be the perfect match for Seojun.”

Hoseok chimes in, shaking his head. “She just pulled her aside like it was fate.”

Yoongi’s eyes flicker towards where you stand. The moment he spots you, with Seojun, no less, looking all polite and engaged in conversation and that makes something sharp coils in his chest.

His fingers flex, tightening around his wine glass, an odd heat creeping up his spine.

It’s irrational, really. He knows you. Knows you’re probably just being your usual, kind self. But the fact that someone else—some other man—is standing in front of you, looking at you like you’re something to consider, doesn’t sit well with him.

Seojun is laughing lightly, and you’re chuckling too—chuckling.

“Hyung,” Taehyung drawls, watching the way his expression darkens. “You good?”

Yoongi doesn’t answer, face almost unreadable as he downs the rest of his drink in one smooth motion.

You offer Seojun a polite smile, searching for a way to wrap this up without seeming rude. "It was nice talking to you, but I should get back to my friends," you say lightly.

Seojun, still a little flustered from the situation his mother put him in, nods quickly. "Oh, of course! Yeah, no worries," he says, "Enjoy the rest of the night."

You give him a small nod before turning away as relief washes over you. The moment you step closer to your group, the playful energy among them is unmistakable.

Taehyung is already smirking ready to tease, but before he can open his mouth, you shoot him a glare that makes him chuckle instead.

“So, how was your first meeting with your future husband?”

You shoot him a dry look. “Shut up.”

Jimin snickers beside you. “You two really did look good together, though.”

You roll your eyes, shifting slightly on your feet. Yoongi sets his drink down and just as you open your mouth, “Yoongi—”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he simply mutters, “Excuse me,” and turns away, heading toward a group of guests like nothing just happened.

Huh?

Did he just.. walk away? Just like that?

You stare at his retreating back, your lips parting slightly in disbelief. This man. You weren’t even the one who dragged yourself into that conversation with the guy. It’s not like you were flirting! If Yoongi’s gonna be all broody and distant over something that wasn’t even your fault—

You huff, crossing your arms. If he wants to play the ignoring game, so will you.

The lights dim, the dance floor filled with soft music. Even Yoongi’s parents share a brief dance, their laughter blending with the sweet ambiance of the evening.

Yet, Yoongi still hasn’t spoken to you since he left. Not that you care.

The crowd stands watching, some cheering for the dancing couples. Just as you shift, thinking about moving elsewhere, someone stumbles into you.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” the person says quickly. You turn to see Seojun, his eyes widening slightly in surprise before he chuckles.

“It’s okay,” you say, offering a small smile. He seems like he’s about to excuse himself when you hear a very familiar voice beside him.

“Oh my! I knew it!” she exclaims excitedly. “You two were bound to click!”

Your stomach drops.

She's already nudging her son towards you.

“Ask her to dance!” she insists, practically beaming.

Your eyes widen slightly, panic bubbling up. How the hell do you keep finding yourself in these situations tonight?

He almost pleads with his eyes for his mother to let it go, but she remains insistent, nudging both of you onto the dance floor.

Realizing there’s no way out, Seojun clears his throat, his shyness giving way to a small smile.

“Would you like to dance?” he asks.

Your heart beats faster—definitely not from excitement but from sheer disbelief at how the night keeps unfolding.

Yoongi was busy handling some final wedding details when Namjoon nudges his arm.

"Isn't that Y/n?"

Yoongi’s eyes flicker towards the dance floor, scanning the crowd until they land on you.

And just like that, his entire demeanor shifts.

There you were, on the dance floor. With Seojun. His arm lightly placed on your waist while your hand rested in his. Yoongi watched as you let out a small laugh, though your body language still seemed slightly stiff. That didn’t matter.

The sight of you with someone else was enough to make something simmer inside him.

"Damn…you look like you’re about to murder someone." Namjoon chuckled.

"Shut up, Joon."

Your laughter fades slightly, and almost instinctively, as your eyes flicker over to Yoongi’s.

The second your gazes meet, your breath catches. His darkened eyes are locked onto you. Even from across the room, the weight of his stare is suffocating. His grip on his drink is tight, jaw clenched. You can practically feel the tension radiating off him.

Seojun says something with a chuckle, "I don't think we've had a formal introduction, I'm Min Seojun—"

But you barely register it. Your heartbeat picks up, and suddenly you’re hyperaware of everything. The placement of Seojun’s hand, the closeness of the dance, the way Yoongi’s expression darkens further with each passing second.

You take a deep breath, deciding you’ve had enough. You quickly scan the crowd, searching for Yoongi's aunt, hoping she’s wandered off elsewhere. When you don’t spot her, you take it as your cue to end this.

Slipping out of Seojun’s light hold, you step back offering him a polite but firm smile. “I'm sorry, I think I should leave—”

You turn before finishing, weaving your way through the mass of people to find an open space away from the dance floor. The air feels cooler here, giving you a brief moment to collect yourself. Just as you exhale, a hand wraps around your wrist.

“Y/n,” Seojun’s voice is gentle as he calls out, his grip enough to make you turn around.

“I… are you free this weekend?” he asks suddenly, his voice steady despite the slight pink dusting his cheeks.

You blink, completely taken aback.

The last thing you expected was for him to ask you out. Your lips part, ready to form a rejection—

But you don’t get the chance.

Because before you can even utter a word, another hand snatches yours away from Seojun’s grasp.

“She’s not.”

Your breath catches as you whip your head around, your wide eyes meeting Yoongi’s. His fingers are wrapped securely around your hand. His jaw is clenched, the muscle ticking as his stormy gaze remains locked onto Seojun.

The voice was filled with an unmistakable edge which startles Seojun, clearly caught off guard. His gaze flickers between the two of you, slowly processing the situation—the way Yoongi's hand hold yours.

“Oh…okay,” Seojun mutters after a beat, letting out a slight awkward chuckle. His eyes dart to you once more, lingering for a second before he turns back to Yoongi.

“See ya around, Hyung,” he says, forcing a half-smile before finally stepping away.

You glance up at your boyfriend, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Yoongi—”

“Don't."

Yoongi’s grip on your wrist is possessive as he tugs you through the crowd. Your heart pounds in your chest, the buzz of music and laughter fading into the background as he leads you down the dimly lit hallway.

His silence is deafening, the tension in the air between you growing further.

“Yoongi—” You try to call his name, but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t even look back. His fingers tighten around your wrist just enough to make you swallow your words. You don’t know if it’s jealousy, anger, or something deeper that’s driving him right now.

A door swings open, and Yoongi pulls you inside. Turning you around and pressing you against the slammed door.

“You think this is funny?”

His arms cage you in, palms flat beside your head as he leans in. His breath is warm against your skin, but there’s nothing soft about the way he speaks.

Your voice wavers slightly. “Yoongi.. I - your aunt forced us to dance—”

“Forced you?” he repeats, his tone laced with disbelief, his dark gaze flickering between your lips and your eyes. “Did she force you to smile at him too? To let him touch you?”

“It wasn’t like that,” you say quickly, your hands pressing lightly against his chest, but he doesn’t budge. His body is warm, and his scent fucking intoxicating.

Yoongi scoffs, his fingers curling against the door beside your head. “Then what was it like, huh?” His voice is lower now, rough with something unreadable. “Because from where I stood, it sure as hell looked like you were enjoying yourself.”

You blink up at him, your heart hammering. “You know I didn't mean it any other way,” you defend, your voice softer now.

Yoongi exhales sharply through his nose, his tongue swiping over his lower lip in frustration.

You barely get his name out before his lips crash onto yours, cutting off whatever you were about to say. A shocked gasp escapes you, but he doesn’t give you a second to process as his hands grip your waist, pulling you impossibly close as his lips move against yours with almost a punishing force.

Your fingers tighten around his blazer. His body presses against yours. The kiss is fiery, nothing like the gentle ones he’s given you before.

His teeth graze your lower lip, and you whimper softly, your knees nearly buckling.

Yoongi growls lowly at the sound, one of his hands sliding up to cup your jaw, tilting your face so he can deepen the kiss. His tongue brushes against yours, stealing the breath from your lungs, making your head spin.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” His voice low, as he growls.

You look up at him, panting softly, yet eyes laced with something playful. You’ve never seen Yoongi this worked up. In all the years you’ve been together, he’s always been the calm one. But fuck, seeing him loose his cool, it’s turning you on more than you care to admit.

“Didn’t know you could be this jealous,” you murmur a breathless whisper meant to provoke.

Yoongi’s eyes narrow, his jaw ticking.

“Don’t test me, princess,” he breathes, his voice low with warning as his hand slowly wraps around your throat, enough to make you feel the warmth.

“You don’t want to play with fire.”

Your breath hitches at the sensation, but the way your thighs clench in response betrays your thoughts.

“But I want to,” you whisper.

And just like that, the last thread of restraint snaps within Yoongi.

Yoongi’s breath fans against your ear as he leans in, voice like gravel. “You asked for it.”

A low groan rumbles from deep in his chest as he tugs you to the mirror counter, spinning you around, pressing his body flush against yours.

His hands grip the zipper of your dress, yanking it down roughly. The fabric pools at your feet, leaving you standing there in your panties and bra. You catch your breath, eyes wide as his hungry gaze roams over you.

He bends you forward over the counter, one hand steadying your waist. Then, with a ruthless flick, he shoves your panties down, tearing them in the process.

You gasp sharply, “Yoongi!”

“I’ll buy you new ones.”

His fingers already dig inside you, rough, stroking deep and fast. You moan his name, your body arching involuntarily against the counter.

He curls his fingers, pressing that perfect spot inside you while his thumb rubs fiercely over your clit. The sensations swirl and crash through you. Your fingers tangle into his long hair, nails scraping against his scalp as you moan his name, breathless and desperate.

His free hand grips your thigh, keeping you spread open for him. You can’t control the soft cries that slip past your lips, but the sound only makes him work you harder.

Biting down on his shoulder, you try to muffle your moans, he growls, hands gripping your jaw, forcing you to meet his eyes. “My little slut, aren't you” he hisses, voice dripping with raw possession. “Always soaking wet for me.”

Your moans grow louder, trembling on the edge. He pulls his fingers out abruptly, leaving you aching and desperate.

“Get on your knees.”

Your legs are wobbly but you obey without hesitation.

He unzips his pants, the sight of him already driving you wild. His cock stands hard and proud, and you feel a fresh rush of heat flood your core.

Yoongi’s gaze never leaves you as he grips himself slowly stroking that make your breath catch.

He cups your chin with another hand tilting your head up.

“Open.” Yoongi leans in, spitting into your mouth. You swallow instinctively, meeting his gaze with a mix of submission and desire.

“Good girl.”

Yoongi’s gaze burns down at you, eyes sharpening as they lock onto yours. His fingers slide under your chin, tilting your face up like you belonged to him, because you fucking do.

“You know the safe word, right?”

You swallow hard, nerves and need tangling together as you nod.

He pushes forward, sliding into you with a deliberate force that took your breath away.

His hand finds your hair, fingers threading firmly through the strands, pulling you closer. “Look at you,” he growls under his breath, his hips rolling deeper. “Taking me so well.”

His lips part in a guttural groan, head tilting back.

“Fuck...” he breathed out, voice ragged, “That mouth is made for me, yeah.”

He was claiming you with every thrust, every touch, every breath, and you knew you were exactly where you belonged.

Your throat tightens further with each controlled roll of his hips, the stretch forcing little whimpers from you.

A choked gag slips out as he sinks deeper.

You blink up through watery lashes, lips stretching around him as you look up at him, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy.

His own gaze burned into yours.

“Fuck,” he hisses, slipping his cock out.

You gasp at the loss, lips swollen.

You let out a soft, startled sound as he hoists you up onto the cool counter, your back hits the mirror behind the vanity, and Yoongi stands between your thighs.

His palm slide up the inside of your thigh, forcing them open wider.

He drags the swollen head of his cock along your folds, slick with your arousal. His other hand came to your jaw. One deep thrust and you cry out his name, and Yoongi captures it in a messy kiss.

Your gasp was sharp, ripped straight from your lungs as he bottomed out inside you, the stretch making your eyes squeeze shut—but Yoongi didn’t let you hide.

His body was pressed tightly between your thighs, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing in the steamy glass.

“Look at you,” he growls, thrusting hard, “Fucking dumb on my cock.”

You whimper in response.

“You think anyone else could fuck you like this?” he hisses, lips brushing your ear.

You shook your head frantically, tears finally slipping down your cheeks, “N-No, Yoongi—only you.”

“That’s right,” he growled, pace unrelenting. “You’re mine. This sweet little pussy, all mine."

He grabs your thighs, hoisting you closer to the edge as his thrusts turns downright brutal.

Your head falls back with a sobbed moan, mouth open, drool trailing from the corner of your lips as your walls clenched tighter.

“I—Yoongi, I’m close,” you gasp, voice high and wrecked, each breath punched out of you with the way he slams into you over and over, your thighs trembling around his hips.

Of course he knows. He feels the way you’re fluttering around him, pulling him in, desperate to tip over.

“Not yet,” he growls, voice rough in your ear.

You let out a broken sound, frustration spilling into a sob, your nails digging into his shoulders. But he’s already pulling out, your body twitching from the sudden emptiness.

Yoongi grabs your waist and slides you off the counter.

Your legs barely hold you up as he spins you around, your palms splayed on the mirror, your cheek flushed against the surface. His hand guides your hips back, arching you until you’re right where he wants you.

One ruthless thrust that has your eyes flying open, a loud, helpless moan spilling from your lips. “Fuck,” you cry out, your breath fogging the mirror. “Yoongi—”

His mouth finds your neck, teeth sinking into your skin with a sharp bite that has you clenching around him instantly.

He groans at that, sucking a mark into your skin.

“Mine,” he snarls against your throat.

His hand slides up your chest, your sternum and closes firmly around your throat. His body is burning against yours, muscles tense, heat radiating between you.

“Open your eyes,” he growls.

Your lashes flutter. You look wrecked. Your gaze meets his through the mirror. Yoongi's dark eyes locked onto you, jaw clenched as he rasps against your ear.

“The only Min you’ll ever get is this one.”

You clench around him so hard it makes both of you groan. Your legs buckle, body begging to come undone.

“You wanna come, baby?” he whispers. “Say it.”

The grip on your throat sends heat straight through you. You nod, trembling, as your voice cracks, “Y-Yes, Yoongi please—”

His free hand slides down your front, trailing between your thighs, already soaked and trembling and finds your clit.

Your moan was filthy, echoing off the walls. You couldn't even try to bite it back.

If anyone was outside the door, there’d be no doubt about what was happening in here. The obscene sounds of his hips slamming into you, your cries, was undeniable. Yoongi didn’t care. In fact, it only spurred him on. “Louder,” he hissed into your ear. “Let them fucking hear who owns you.”

His fingers moved in merciless, dragging you faster toward the edge than you could handle.

You couldn’t breathe.

You couldn’t think.

Your body trembled so hard it was barely standing, your palms slipping on the mirror as you braced yourself, tears sliding down your flushed cheeks. His cock pounded into you, filling you so deep you swore you felt him everywhere.

You sobbed out his name, gasping.

And Yoongi was right there, mouth at your ear, voice low and dark as sin.

“Come for me, baby. Ruin this mirror. Ruin yourself."

Your orgasm hits you so intense it robs you of breath. Your body locks up, trembling hard around him, and you scream his name like it’s the only word you know, your voice shattering under the force of it. Your walls pulse around him, clenching with desperate rhythm, and he groans.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he growls through clenched teeth, hips crashing against you one final time. “All mine.”

He buries himself deep spilling inside you with a broken curse.

His forehead drops against the side of your head.

Tears stream down your face from the overwhelming release, legs barely holding you upright.

His cock still twitches inside you.

He slips out of you carefully, catching your body as it slumps forward, cradling you against his chest. His hand rubs soothing circles over your bare back.

“Shhh,” he murmurs, voice hoarse, lips brushing your temple. “You did so fucking good. I got you.”

Your tears wet his neck as you try to calm down. His thumb brushes your cheek, catching the tear trails.

“You okay?” he asks quietly.

You nod, sniffling as he’s rubs your back.

“I might intentionally piss you off sometime if it gets you like this.” You manage to speak after a moment.

You feel him pause for a second. Then a dangerous chuckle rumbles from his chest, as he looks down at you.

Those dark eyes flicker with something primal, half warning, half promise.

He brushes his thumb over your bottom lip, as leans in.

“Don’t tempt me,” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours. “Because you know I’ll fucking ruin you all over again.”

Your thighs clench involuntarily. When Min Yoongi says that, you know he means it.

Especially after tonight.

721 notes · View notes

katarlnabluu · 2 months ago

Text

Yoongi x concubine reader

The palace was no place for love.

Only duty. Obedience. Blood.

And yet, beneath the gold-leaf ceiling of Gyeongwon Hall, behind carved screens and perfumed silks, your body remembered love in the form of bruising kisses and whispered lies.

Min Yoongi—the Emperor—was a man cold as jade, his affection rarer than snow in summer. But you, one among dozens of concubines, were the only one who ever warmed his bed twice in the same week.

Even the Empress, divine and ruthless in her own right, couldn’t draw him close long enough to bear the heir she so desperately needed.

⸻

You were nothing but a servant when you were chosen. Another flower among many. Young. Obedient. Easy.

You hadn’t understood the look in Yoongi’s eyes the first time he called for you. You’d thought it was kindness. Mercy.

But no.

It was possession.

The first night he took you—no one had warned you how quiet he could be, how cold his fingers felt as they undid the knots of your robe. You’d trembled on silk sheets, more frightened than ready, and he had only stared.

“You belong to me now,” he’d whispered, dragging his lips across your throat like a brand. “No matter what they call you.”

You had cried. It had hurt.

But he hadn’t stopped.

And when he spilled inside you that night, emptying himself with a low groan against your ear, you hadn’t known that you’d become his favorite by morning.

⸻

It was dangerous, being favored. The Empress had begun to notice. The other concubines had long since started to hate you. They whispered behind fans and scented sleeves, called you “that girl who smiles too easily” or “the Emperor’s plaything.”

But you were too dazed, too enamored, too naive to see the blood in their eyes.

Late at night, he came to you in secret—his voice quiet, footsteps softer than a shadow. His robes smelled of cold incense and metal, and he kissed you like he hated you for existing.

“You shouldn’t wait for me,” he said once, while pressing you into the lacquered wood of his study, her silk fan crushed beneath your palms. “I never promised you love.”

And yet he still came.

The Empress, desperate, cornered him in court: “I will give you an heir. You need only lie with me.”

He said nothing. He only turned away.

You, oblivious, wrapped in daydreams and the warmth of his last visit, never saw the court’s fury sharpening against your throat.

But soon, you will.

⸻

You were brought into the palace at sixteen, when your village paid tribute to the Emperor with silk, spices, and beauty. They chose you because you smiled too easily and bowed too quickly. The officials called it grace. In truth, it was fear.

You thought you'd be placed among the garden keepers. Maybe the dancers.

But the Emperor looked at you once—once—and you were sent to the Lotus Wing.

No one explained what that meant until the night you bathed in jasmine water and a palace maid brushed your hair seventy-seven times in silence.

He came after midnight, dressed not in royal robes, but in black silk.

"You," he said, voice soft as falling ash. "You're too pretty for the servants’ quarters."

And just like that, your life was never yours again.

⸻

Min Yoongi did not speak more than he had to. His court feared him. His generals respected him. His empress resented him.

He did not laugh. He did not smile. But his hands—when on your skin—shook like someone desperate to feel.

You learned quickly that he was not kind. But he was meticulous. Every time he undressed you, it was ritual. Every time he entered you, it was slow and calculated, until your thighs trembled and your body pulsed around him.

He never kissed your lips.

Only your throat, your breasts, the curve of your spine—places that would bruise.

And every time he spilled inside you—warm, possessive, filling you deep—you wondered if this was what love felt like in the palace.

⸻

She was beautiful. And cruel.

You met her once in the garden. She walked beside you, smiling like a blade. "You’ve grown lovely," she murmured, plucking a camellia. "The Emperor always had an eye for broken things."

You curtsied, afraid to speak. Her ladies laughed behind their fans.

That night, Yoongi did not visit.

Two days later, he came to you under moonlight, dragging you to his private library like a thief. He took you over the desk—books falling, parchment tearing—and fucked you hard enough that you sobbed his name.

"She won’t take you from me," he whispered against your shoulder, teeth grazing your flesh. "She can’t."

But the Empress had begun her campaign.

⸻

You started to notice the change.

The way he held your wrists tighter. The way he said your name less. How he didn’t look at you after he came inside you—just pulled away, silent, and left you aching.

You were too easy. Too hopeful.

And too jealous.

You heard the other concubines boast. That he had touched them. Spoken to them. Visited their wings.

And even though he never stopped coming to you… he no longer stayed.

You began to cry alone, fingering the bruises he left like they were medals.

Maybe, you thought, he never loved you at all.

One night, he left behind a scroll. Sealed in wax. Your name on it.

You broke it open with shaking hands.

Inside: nothing but a pressed camellia. Crimson. Crushed.

You held it until dawn.

And that night, when he came again, you refused to undress.

He looked at you—cold, unreadable. "Do you think you belong to yourself now?"

You said nothing.

So he undressed you himself.

⸻

The Empress made her move.

A public plea before the Council of Elders: she would give him an heir, if only he stopped wasting seed on the concubines.

The court gasped. The officials nodded. The ministers approved.

You waited that night, but Yoongi never came.

Instead, a servant delivered a new robe. Red. Imperial.

And a note: "Wear this. Don’t speak. You’re mine."

He took you in the Hall of Jade, where any of them could walk in. Bent you over silken cushions. Fucked you hard, slow, cruel—until you were sobbing, gasping, creaming around him.

"You think she owns my throne," he whispered, teeth against your ear, "but you own what matters."

He spilled inside you, deep and desperate.

And for a moment, you believed him.

Now, the palace watches. The Empress plots. The concubines whisper.

And you… you wait.

Because no matter how hard he pulls you close, he never promises tomorrow.

Because love in the palace isn’t eternal.

It’s forbidden.

And so are you.

⸻

Whispers bloom like mold in dark corners of the palace.

They say one of the concubines has missed her moon cycle—whispers that ripple like poison in tea.

You do not know it is you, not yet.

Until one of the Empress's spies offers you a strange tea and smiles too sweetly.

You pretend to sip. You do not swallow.

Later that night, your body aches in ways you do not understand. You bleed. You bleed too much.

And when Yoongi comes, he sees the stain on the sheets.

"What did you drink?" he demands, colder than winter. "Who gave it to you?"

You don't answer.

Because even now, even broken, you are too afraid to be a burden.

⸻

You collapse two nights later.

The physician says it was poison laced in contraceptive tea—meant not to kill, but to ensure you would never carry again.

The Empress is never named, never blamed.

But Yoongi doesn’t leave your side for three days.

He sits by your bed, hands clasped, unmoving.

When you wake, he looks at you like you’re a ghost. "I should’ve protected you."

You smile, too weak to lie.

"You still can," you whisper.

He kisses your hand—not your lips.

And for the first time, you wonder if he regrets ever loving you.

You collapse two nights later.

The physician says it was poison laced in contraceptive tea—meant not to kill, but to ensure you would never carry again.

The Empress is never named, never blamed.

But Yoongi doesn’t leave your side for three days.

He sits by your bed, hands clasped, unmoving.

When you wake, he looks at you like you’re a ghost. "I should’ve protected you."

You smile, too weak to lie.

"You still can," you whisper.

He kisses your hand—not your lips.

And for the first time, you wonder if he regrets ever loving you.

He no longer visits the Empress.

No longer sees other concubines.

He holds court and returns to you—always you.

But it is not out of love.

It is guilt.

You see it in the way he touches you: reverent, not hungry.

Until one night, he comes to you with a silk-wrapped bundle.

Inside is a dagger.

"Use this if she comes for you again," he says.

You look at him, heart cold. "And if it’s you she sends?"

He does not answer.

⸻

It starts with a scream.

Then smoke.

The East Wing—the Empress’s chambers—burns under moonlight.

No bodies are found.

No answers are given.

But by morning, Yoongi declares the Empress dead of unknown causes.

And you—draped in mourning robes—are named the Royal Consort.

Not Empress. Not wife.

But close enough to draw blood.

#min yoongi x reader #yoongi #yoongi smut #yoongi angst #king yoongi #emperor yoongi #bts #suga bts #new writter #yandere yoongi #yandere #suga

463 notes · View notes

magic-shop-stories · 5 months ago

Note

hello! i just found your blog, i loooooove the way u write yoongi! could i request yoongi x f!reader boyfriend headcanons? just this, ty in advance!

💌 Reply:

Thank you SO MUCH for this request! 💜 Writing Yoongi is always a joy. Hope this hit all the right notes for you! Let me know which part made you giggle, scream, or melt. And as always, thanks for trusting me with your delulu dreams. I think Yoongi would 100% judge us, but he’d secretly love it.

BOYFRIEND HEADCANONS

↳YOONGI (SUGA) × FEM!READER

~ CONTENT WARNING FOR SECOND PART OF THE POST ~ MATURE THEMES | (extra warning in the post)

Possessive behavior

Suggestive themes

Mild NSFW references (kissing, intimacy)

Jealousy Proceed mindfully!

DAILY RHYTHM

Mornings

Night Owl Realness

he’s never awake before 10 AM unless forced by schedules

you’ll find him passed out face-down in bed

one arm slung over your waist (possessive octopus)

his alarm?

a grumbled “Five more minutes…” muffled into the pillow

followed by hissed “새끼…” (“Damn it…”) when reality hits

Quiet Rising

if he wakes first (rare), he’ll slip out of bed like a ghost

careful not to jostle his bad shoulder

returns 20 minutes later with (decaf) iced americano

your favorite placed silently on your nightstand

Breakfast (Sort Of)

he doesn’t "cook"

he assembles

haphazard charcuterie board of convenience store finds

triangle kimbap, yogurt...

sliced apples arranged in a half-hearted star

leaves a note: “Eat. Don’t die.”

Post-Wakeup Rituals

Lap Cat Energy

you find him in his studio

hoodie hood up (glasses askew)

he’ll grunt “Come here” without looking up

patting his thigh

you sit sideways on his lap

legs draped over the chair arm

his right hand stays on his mouse

his left absently plays with your hair

fingertips brushing your scalp in a rhythm matching his beat

Tugging

if you try to leave too soon, he hooks a finger in your waistband or sleeve

“Where you going? I didn’t say you could move.”

voice rough but eyes soft

Shoulder Check

notice him rolling his left shoulder? = a wince he’d deny

“Yoongi, your...” “I’m fine...”

slip a heating pad onto his chair

he doesn’t thank you

his next track samples the crinkle of the pad and your sigh

Coffee & Conversations

Decaf Devotee

sips his americano with a grimace

“Caffeine’s for rookies.”

call him out:

“You’re just paranoid about shaking during recording.” he side-eyes you: “…Maybe.”

when you rant about work, he listens while staring at his screen

you think he’s ignoring you?

he mutters: “Tell your boss to eat shit. Nicely. Or don’t. I’ll write a diss track.”

his advice is always a threat wrapped in a shrug

Midday Moments

Nap Trap

doze off on the couch?

he drapes his favourite blanket over you

wakes you by poking your cheek

“Hey. You’re drooling on my merch.”

just wants attention

Catlike Coexistence

he works; you read

no talking for hours

just the hum of his work and your pages turning

occasionally, he’ll toss a grape at your head

“You alive over there?”

Nighttime

Pre-Bed Grump

2 AM, he’s still coding beats

drag him to bed!!!

“Yoongi. Now.”

grumbles but follows

leaning his forehead against your back in the dark

“…Could’ve finished that bridge.”

Sleeping Style

curled on his right side (bad shoulder elevated)

arm slung over your waist

if you shift, he pulls you closer

sleepy “쳇…” (“Tsk…”)

breath warm on your neck

KEY DIALOGUE

when you nag him to hydrate:

“You’re worse than my manager.”

catch him nodding off mid-edit, glasses crooked

“I’m not cute. Shut up.”

his version of “I miss you.” :

“Come here. Now.” (not a request)

COMMUNICATION

TEXTING STYLE

7 AM: “ㅋ”

translation: “I’m awake. Suffering. Think of me.”

3 PM: Spotify link to “First Love” by Utada Hikaru

no context

midnight: “Come home.”

you’ve been in the next room for hours

Notes

scribbles lyrics on receipts

leaves them in your coat pockets

“Your laugh, B-flat minor. Unreleased.”

PET NAMES

calls you “aggressively average” in public

“야” (Ya) / “너” (Neo) = simple, blunt (default)

translates to: “Hey, you.”

bonus points if he tacks on “-아”

when annoyed: “야-아!”

“멍청이” (Mongcheongi) = “Dummy.”

delivered with a smirk

when you trip over something: “Classic 멍청이 move.”

privately, it’s “my little disaster"

always in Korean

always when you’re half-asleep

“꼬마” (Kkoma) = “Little one.”

used when you’re sick or crying

grumbles into your hair

hands awkwardly patting your back

“고양이” (Goyangi) = “Kitten”

reserved for sleepy mornings when you nuzzle into his chest

“고양이… 너무 떨어져.” (Kitten… quit clinging)

he does not let go

CURSING (HIS LOVE LANGUAGE)

Worried Curses

come home late

he’s pacing

hoodie zipped to his chin

“씨발… 12 missed calls. You trying to kill me?”

pulls you into a crushing hug

sees you struggling with a suitcase?

"Damn it, just give it"

carries it up five flights

collapses on the couch

“…Never moving again.”

Flustered Curses

wear that dress

he stares too long

spills his americano

“…씨발.”

avoiding eye contact (not for long tho)

you know his gaze? like in the weverse live? THAT!

“Change. Or don’t. I don’t care.”

MUTTERINGS (UNFILTERED & UNBOTTLED)

Annoyed Affection

“Why are you so bothersome…"

when he fixes your phone charger (again)

“Ha… wanna die?"

when you steal his fries

pushes the plate closer to you

Sleep-Soft Confessions

half-asleep, face buried in your neck:

“…넌 내 거야.” (You’re mine)

followed by a huff

if you acknowledge it: “I was dreaming. Shut up.”

after nightmares (his or yours), voice gravelly:

“It’s okay. Let’s lie down."

HIDDEN POETRY (FOR YOUR EARS ONLY)

Lyric Leaks

overhear him mumbling into his voice memos

“Her laughter... G major, sustain pedal down.”

when confronted, he snaps: “It’s not about you.” (it is)

find a crumpled note in his jacket:

“Her anger: A minor 7th. Still prettier than my best chords.”

Satoori Slips

stress unlocks his Daegu dialect

he’ll sigh:

"I’m dead tired"

leans his head on your shoulder

"Your hair smells good."

ACTIONS SPEAK LOUDER

Overprotective Tendencies

mention a creepy DM? next day, your Instagram is mysteriously set to private.

“Don’t look at me. Blame Joon’s ‘internet safety’ phase.” (lying)

Passive-Aggressive Love

complain about your slow Wi-Fi?

come home to a $2,000 router installed

“It was on sale.” (It wasn’t)

Services

you’re sick?

he’ll DoorDash three kinds of soup

pretends he “accidentally” ordered too much

“Just pick one. The rest can rot.”

reheats the leftovers for you later

VULNERABLE MOMENTS (CUTS DEEP, HEALS DEEPER)

When You’re Hurt

sees you crying?

says nothing, just pulls you into his lap

chin resting on your head

hours later, he’ll rasp: “Who did it?"

translation: “Give me a name. I’ll end them.”

after a fight?

he’ll slam a peppero box on the table

“Here. Sugar helps… or whatever.”

your favorite flavor

drove to three stores

Drunk Truths

tipsy on soju

he’ll trace your jawline

“넌… 내 비트 같아.” (You’re… like my beat.)

ask what that means?

“Without you, the song’s empty. Happy? Now drink.”

UNEXPECTED SOFTNESS

Shoulder Secrets

his bad shoulder acts up?

he still carries your groceries

“I’m fine. Drop it.”

later, you find him icing it

muttering “Fuckin’ hero complex…”

Period Protocol

preemptive strike

tracks your cycle like a NASA mission

stocks the fridge with chocolate

heat pads

your weird cravings

“Don’t ask. Just… take what you need.”

Foot Massages

curled in bed, cramping?

he wordlessly pulls your feet into his lap

thumbs digging into your arches

“You’re tense as fuck.”

you moan?

he smirks “Not the time”

Bad Day Rituals

comes home to find you crying?

silently orders fried chicken

sits on the floor with yo

feeding you bites

lets you wear his favourite hoodie for weeks

“Return it when you’re done being a gremlin.”

buys a duplicate so you never have to

FIERCE LOVE

Defending Your Honor

Karen insults you at the grocery store?

he “accidentally” rams her cart with his

“Oops. Should’ve seen you there… ma’am.”

practiced that line in the mirror

Sacrifices

gives you his expensive headphones during a flight

“Take them. I don’t care.”

spends the trip white-knuckling the armrest

tortured by a crying baby

COLD FRONT

Silent Treatment Master

when hurt, he retreats into a glacial calm

answers in monosyllables

eyes fixed on his screen

“Fine.” “Whatever.” “Do what you want.”

you’d prefer yelling?

this icy detachment is worse

Playful Insults Gone Wrong

joked about his “grandpa music taste” during dinner?

he stiffens, chopsticks clattering

“…At least I don’t listen to nursery rhymes.”

later, you find him scrubbing dishes aggressively

muttering about “disrespect”

his playlist? Full of your Disney favorites

NEGLECTED NIGHTS

Overwork Blinders

he’s been in the studio for 72 hours?

show up with dinner = he doesn’t look up

“Not hungry.” snap: “You’ll die before you finish that track!” he smirks. “Already dead. Ghosts work faster.”

Breaking Point

turn off his monitor mid-session?

he slams his fist, voice shaking

“You think this is a game? I’m building a future.” fire back: “Future’s empty without us!”

he storms out

returns at 3 AM with tangerines (both your comfort fruit) and a USB drive labeled “Track 13: Sorry.”

GIFTS

(NOT YOUR GRANDMA’S ROMANCE)

Practical Pampering

forget roses.

gifts you custom ergonomic keyboard after noticing wrist pain

“Don’t thank me. Just stop typing like a grandma.”

keys are programmed to flash “DUMBASS” if you type past midnight

Sentimental Sleuth

finds your childhood Tamagotchi in a thrift store

resurrects it, feeds it for weeks, then hands it over

“It’s on life support. Your problem now.”

Lingerie? Please... (mostly tho)

buys you noise-canceling headphones

“So you’ll shut up about the neighbors.”

you’ve never mentioned the neighbors aloud (he just knows)

PRETENDS TO HATE SHOPPING

Reluctant Mule

drag him to a flea market

he complains about “dust mites” and “overpriced garbage"

carries your bags without a word

“Hurry up. I’m not your butler.” (he is)

Secret Splurges

catches you eyeing a vintage leather jacket

“Too expensive. Let’s go.”

returns the next day to buy it

leaves it on your bed with a note: “Don’t ruin it.”

Fashion Critic (Liar)

try on a frilly dress

“You look like a cupcake.”

later, texts Jin: “Hyung, where do you get those stupid ... she likes?”

HATES WHEN YOU GET DRUNK

(BUT LOVES YOU MORE)

Gruesome Guardian

catches you tipsy at a party (clinging to a giggling band member)

his jaw clenches

" Let’s go.” (“We’re fucked…”)

throws you over his good shoulder like a sack of rice

ignoring your slurred protests

deposits you on the couch

forces water and aspirin into your hands

“Drink. Or I’ll IV it into you.”

Morning-After Mercies:

wakes you with haejangguk (hangover soup), extra kimchi

“Eat. You look like death.”

when you groan, he smirks

“Next time, stick to soju. At least I can carry that.”

Secret Worry

texts your friends preemptively:

“Keep her at 2 drinks. Or I’ll end you.” Jungkook replies: “Hyung, she’s a grown...” “Try me.”

FAMILY GHOSTS

Dad’s Shadow

mention wanting kids?

he freezes

“I won’t be like him. Ever.”

later, he researches parenting books

leaves one on your nightstand:

“Raising Kids Without Being a Dick.”

Mom’s Voice

calls her weekly

Satoori thickening

hear him whisper, “Mom, she… eats well."

MARRIAGE

(UNLIKELY PROPOSAL)

Fight

jokingly call him a “commitment-phobe” after he dodges yet another wedding invite

he snaps

“Marriage is a corporate merger. Why the fuck would I want that?” retaliate: “Then stop acting like my CEO!”

Ring

he buys it six months prior

a minimalist platinum band etched with “Agust D” lyrics in Morse code

hides it in his guitar case, where you “accidentally” find it

“It’s not... ugh. Just take it.”

Proposal

after a brutal argument about his workaholism

he slams a USB drive on the table

a track titled “Forever (feat. You)” with a voice memo:

“Marry me. Or don’t. I’ll still be here.”

FATHERHOOD = THE GREAT TERROR

Panic

mention wanting kids?

he freezes mid-bite

“…We can’t even keep plants alive.”

buys a cactus, names it “Baby Jungkook” (it dies)

Test Run

fosters a three-legged cat

calls her “Practice"

lets her sleep on his studio chair

“If she survives me… maybe.”

she thrives

he cries when she’s adopted

Revelation

catches you watching a toddler giggle at his concert VLive

mutes the video

“…They’d have your laugh. Maybe that’s… okay.”

ARGUMENTS & FEARS

Fight

you suggest baby names

h scoffs

“We’re not naming a kid ...” snap: “It’s tradition in my family!”

he storms out

returns with a list of “acceptable” names (all Korean, all unisex)

Fear

find him researching “How Not to Screw Up Your Kid” at 3 AM.

“You’re not your dad,” you whisper he slams the laptop “…I know. Doesn’t make it easier.”

THE ARRIVAL

Pregnancy

pretends indifference but learns prenatal massage techniques

“I’m just relieving tension. For me.”

secretly records your belly to sample kicks into a lullaby

Birth Day

stoic until the first cry

then collapses in the hallway

sobbing into Jin’s shoulder

“Hyung, what if I...” “You’ll be great. Now go hold your kid.”

First Night Home

stays awake

baby on his chest

humming “Sweet Night” off-key

texts the group chat:

“She has your nose. And my rage. Send help.”

~ CONTENT WARNING ~

MINORS DNI | NSFW | SPICY INTIMACY/PHYSICALITY AHEAD

doesn’t include explicit descriptions of sexual acts

contains: possessive themes, sensual language, suggestive scenarios, jealousy, explicit intimacy/kissing,suggestive content, kink mentions (marking, power dynamics), body worship, (feral Yoongi™)

PHYSICALITY/INTIMACY

Possessive Holding

his hands are always on you in public

thumb hooked in your back pocket

palm splayed possessively over your thigh at dinner

at home, it’s worse:

pins you against counters

forehead resting on your shoulder like a feral cat marking territory

mutters “Mine” into your skin

breath hot

Jealousy

silent but deadly

catches a coworker flirting with you?

says nothing

later, he’s suddenly shirtless in the kitchen

flexing while making ramen

“What? It’s hot in here.” (AC is blasting)

Staring

watches you while you read

eyes tracking the way you bite your lip

“What?” you ask “Nothing,” he lies

clicking his pen like a metronome

SECRETLY LOVES YOUR SEXY OUTFITS (BUT WILL NEVER ADMIT IT)

Possessive Glances

wear a backless dress

he hovers all night

hand resting on the exposed skin like a human shawl

growls at anyone who looks too long

“Eyes up, fucker.”

Backhanded Praise

“That skirt’s impractical.”

later, finds him staring at your Instagram post in his studio

saves it to a hidden folder labeled “Inspo.”

Late-Night Honesty

after sex, he’ll trace the strap of your lingerie

voice rough

“…Keep this. But don’t wear it outside. Or do. I’ll just kill someone.”

TOUCH

Electric Prelude

his hands speak first

calloused fingertips skimming your jawline

thumb brushing your bottom lip

maps your skin like a composer tracing sheet music

lingering on pulse points (wrist, throat, inner thigh) to memorize your rhythm

Possessive Anchors

palm splayed against your lower back pressing you closer

fingers tangled in your hai tugging just enough to tilt your head

Aftercare Rituals

post-passion, he traces idle patterns on your hip

his touch lingers on scars, birthmarks, stretch marks

“Proof you’re real,” he mutters, as if convincing himself

KISSES

Slow Ignition

starts with closed-mouth presses to your temple, knuckles, the corner of your lips

testing, teasing

when you gasp, he smirks

“Impatient.”

Tongue Technology

deep but controlled,

push-and-pull of heat and restraint

his tongue flicks the roof of your mouth

steals your breath

leaves you dizzy

“Breathe,” he growls, not letting you

Hidden Softness

after fights, his kisses are apologetic

chaste pecks to your eyelids, nose, scars

“Sorry… sorry…” breathed like a prayer

PACE

Deliberate

prefers slow

almost maddening build-up

takes hours to undress you

mouth exploring every inch before letting you fall apart

“You’ll take what I give you,” he warns

eyes dark

Feral Surges

when jealousy or adrenaline strikes, he’s relentless

pinning you against walls

biting your shoulder

“Mine. Say it.”

POSITIONS

Missionary, Modified

your legs hooked over his bad shoulder

his left hand gripping the headboard for leverage

“Don’t hide,” he orders

watching your face unravel

Cowgirl Command

lets you take control

hands squeezing your hips

“Show me what you need.”

the moment you falter, he flips you

“My turn.”

PREFERENCES

Lighting

pitch dark or candlelit

claims he “hates distractions,”

catch him staring at your silhouette in the shadows

Soundtrack

your whimpers

his name gasped like a curse

demands “Louder,”, then covers your mouth

“Too loud.”

Kinks

Marking

leaves bruises where only he can see

inner thighs, under collarbones

“So you remember who you belong to.”

Power Play

lets you bind his wrists with his own belt

then breaks free

“Cute. But I’m still in charge.”

ROUNDS

Quality > Quantity

one meticulous, earth-shattering

wear his hoodie the next morning

he’ll corner you in the kitchen

“You’re asking for it.”

Dawn Encores

wakes you with his mouth between your thighs

voice sleep-rough

“Don’t act surprised. You knew I wasn’t done.”

FAVORITE SPOTS

Neck-to-Shoulder Junction

bites here to hear you yelp

soothes it with his tongue

Behind Your Ear

whispers filth in Korean

grinning when you shiver

“You understood that, didn’t you?”

Inner Wrists

kisses your veins like they’re holy

“Every heartbeat’s because of me.”

TRIGGERS

Begging

“Please, Yoongi..."

cuts you off with a snarl

“Not yet.”

Competence

take charge, riding him ruthlessly

he lets you

until he doesn’t

“Fuck… okay, okay...”

flips you mid-stride

Vulnerability

tears during aftercare

crushes you to his chest

voice breaking

“I’ve got you. Always.”

BONUS

“I Don’t Do PDA”

except when he does

drags you into empty alleyways to kiss you senseless

“Someone could see...” “Let them.”

“I’m Not Cute”

posts a selca of you both

your face visible

his obscured by a heart emoji

caption: “#NoFilter"

ARMY notices his left pinky curled around yours

trends for days

486 notes · View notes

haihoneys · 5 months ago

Text

Good Vibes Only

Summary: The one where Yoongi finds his girlfriend’s stash of special toys and wants to play.

Word Count: 6,917

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Fem!Reader

Warnings: smut - absolute filth. y’all this is raunchy hahaha::: FaceTime sex/masturbation, overstim, cum play, a lot bit of pleasure-dom!Yoongi, degradation, oral (fem receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, mentions of a sub drop

——

Most people’s nightmares are filled with monsters or tragic events; ghosts and goblins or getting abducted by aliens or being trapped in horrible storms. But not for Y/N. No, her nightmares were filled with gawking crowds and hecklers as she stood on a stage in only her underwear. Sometimes it even involved her puking her guts up as the crowd roared with laughter. The horrid dream had plagued her since high school and no matter what she tried, she couldn’t shake it. Even now, years later, the mere thought of giving a presentation at work had nerves bubbling in her belly.

Giving actual presentations had her a nervous wreck for weeks in advance. The pure dread she felt as she stood in front of her colleagues, people who were technically her friends (except Bethany from accounting - Bethany could choke on a dick as far as Y/N was concerned), was insurmountable. Her hands would get clammy and her knees would be knocking against each other, a steady mantra of ‘I love my job’ looping through her head as everyone patiently sat and waited for her to begin.

Anxiety was gnawing at Y/N’s stomach as she sat at the desk in the corner of her living room, pouring over the notes for the presentation she had at work the following morning. It was a big one and if she nailed this pitch it meant she landed the new account. And that, in turn, could mean big things for her career-wise. Really big things. Like that corner office and pay raise she’d had her eye on for the past year. Honestly, those stakes made it all the more nerve-wracking.

With a frustrated groan she leaned back in her chair and scrubbed her hands over her face. She needed to talk to Yoongi. He always knew exactly what to say to get her out of her own head.

Unfortunately, he was in the middle of promotions in Japan. In the ten days he’d been gone, they had barely gotten a chance to speak to one another. Either she had a meeting or he was at an interview. Or she had an important business lunch or he was about to walk on stage. Their precious few spare moments just weren’t lining up in their favor.

It seemed that even their texting had been slow all day seeing as though she’d been pouring over her notes and he in a fanmeet with the other members.

When everyone finally called it a day and headed back to the hotel, Yoongi decided to take the opportunity to call Y/N. As disgustingly sappy as it was, he really missed the sound of her voice. Her smile. Her laugh. Just…her. She just had this way of soothing his nerves. Putting him completely at ease.

Being gone this long without having a chance to talk to her always caused his anxiety to ratchet up a couple of notches. It was starting to cause an actual physical tightness in his chest and he knew his friends were getting tired of his snappiness. He even swore he heard Jin grumble something about ‘a dose of bitch-be-gone’ under his breath the day before. Whatever that was.

Several hundred miles away, Y/N was pulled from her studying when her phone vibrated on the desk beside her. She snatched up the buzzing device, grateful for any excuse to take a break, and smiled at her boyfriend’s contact that appeared on the screen.

🥰yooyoo🥰

Are you free to FaceTime? We just got back to the hotel and I want to see you xx

sunshine☀️❤️

Yes! Give me just a sec get my laptop ready!

Absolute glee radiated through her at the thought of not only getting to speak to him but to be able to see his face. In her excitement, she swung around in her chair so quickly she nearly toppled out of it as she reached for the laptop tucked away in her work tote. Quickly regaining her balance, Y/N opened up her computer and just as it connected to the wifi, Yoongi’s FaceTime request came through. She couldn’t help the cheerful giggle that bubbled up in her throat at the sight of him.

“Hey, angel,” he greeted her. It was more of a yawn really, and she frowned at the deep purple smudges beneath his eyes. Before she could even open her mouth, he was laughing. “I know, I know. ‘I’ve got to get some rest.’ You don’t have to tell me.”

“Well, you look like you haven’t slept in a week.” She was pouting as she said it, concern dripping from her words.

Yoongi snorted. He hadn’t been sleeping. He felt like he was running off cigarettes and anxiety at this point. Even when he was able to catch even a few minutes of sleep here or there, they were fitful and often left him feeling more exhausted than before. “I sleep better when I’m with you.” He gave her a sleepy smile, his whole face going soft and warm as he looked her over. “How’s the presentation prep going?”

She groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose before launching into all her worries of how it could go wrong. His intention was to make her feel better, even offer to listen to her rehearse if she wanted. But as she continued to talk, his eyes started to lazily wander over her. She was wearing a t-shirt and one of his baggier cardigans. And the with way she had her leg propped up in the desk chair allowed for her skimpy choice of panties to be on full display.

It was wrong, not to mention rude, to be getting so turned on while his girlfriend was clearly upset but damn she just looked so pretty and he hadn’t seen her in so long.He knew he’d never hear the end of it but he just couldn’t help himself as his hand drifted down out of view of the camera. And as discretely as he could, he began to slowly palm himself over his sweats, his teeth biting down hard on the inside of his cheek to keep from moaning out at the friction.

But then she had to go and lean back to stretch over the back of her chair. Pebbled nipples pressed against the thin fabric of her shirt and Yoongi didn’t even realize he had moaned out a soft ‘fuck’ until she abruptly stopped talking. A hot blush crept up Yoongi’s neck and onto his cheeks once he saw that he’d been caught.

Busted.

Her eyebrows shot up damn near to her hairline, eyes wide as she realized what exactly her boyfriend was doing on the other end of the call. “Min Yoongi, are you jerking off while I’m talking to you about work?” she laughed as she questioned him, not daring to admit that just maybe the thought had turned her on a little bit.

‘Well, we might as well fully commit now’ he thought to himself as he sat up a little straighter against the headboard and smirked. “Not yet. Maybe you could help me out, hm?”

Always so straightforward, her boyfriend.

Blinking at his bluntness, she pulled her lower lip between her teeth as his hand slipped out of view again. It always surprised her just how quickly his temperament could change when it came to bedroom matters.

To the outside world he was quiet and reserved, even somewhat standoffish. But behind closed doors, Min Yoongi was as freaky as they came. A little FaceTime sex was mild in comparison to some of their other escapades.

“Take your shirt off for me?” Yoongi asked her, the flush on his cheeks darkening and his voice growing even huskier than usual. “But leave my cardigan on.”

Always one to please, a sly grin pulled at the corner of her lips as she sat up straighter and did as she was asked. She leaned back in the chair and ran a hand through her hair. Yoongi’s breath hitched in his throat at the sight of her bare chest, her nipples taunt from the air conditioning he knew she had blasting in her apartment. Goddamn he loved her tits.

He told her as much and she offered only a small smirk in reply as she slowly brought her hands up to cup her breasts, squeezing and pushing them together to emphasize her cleavage for his viewing pleasure. With her left hand she slowly began to pinch her nipple between her thumb and forefinger as her right slid down her stomach towards the waistband of her panties.

“You gonna touch yourself for me baby?” Yoongi said, an arrogant smirk plastered onto his flushed face. Cocky bastard.

The filthy words spurring her on, Y/N let her fingers drift over the silk crotch of her underwear, pausing to press against her clit. Her head lolled to the side as she dipped her hand into her panties, a breathy moan of Yoongi’s name spilling past her lips. A dark, damp spot was forming against the pink fabric, turning it almost translucent as her fingers worked slow circles against her clit. Yoongi’s pupils blew wide as he watched her, fumbling to shove his sweats down just enough. Once his cock was free he wrapped his hand around himself, his hips jerking upward into his fist.

“T-Take your panties off and show me that pretty pussy, baby,” he grunted as he tightened the grip he had on his cock.

Just as she stood from the chair to wiggle out of her underwear, there was a series of short, sharp knocks at Yoongi’s hotel room door. Eyes wide at the sudden disturbance, he cursed and fumbled with his phone as he tried to get his pants pulled back up. “Be right back,” he huffed as he hopped off the bed and went to answer the door.

All hope of continuing with their sexcapades vanished as Hobi’s muffled voice floated through the room.

Something about how they were about to have an impromptu team meeting about tomorrow’s schedules. Seconds later, Yoongi’s flushed face popped back up on screen.

“I have to go but I’ll call you back as soon as I get a chance.”

Annoyance was pulling his features tight, even as his bottom lip jutted out in a petulant pout. Even though the mood had effectively been ruined, she smiled and blew him a kiss. Cheesy as ever, Yoongi reached up to catch it and smacked his palm to his cheek.

She laughed again, the sound warm and breathy and sounding like home. “I love you! Talk to you later.”

A goofy grin broke out across his face as she said it. The words filling him with a soothing warmth from his toes all the way to the tips of his ears. “I love you too. And good luck with your pitch in the morning. You’re going to kill it, baby.”

Before she could reply there was more knocking at Yoongi’s door, his head snapping up towards it as it creaked open. She was quick to wrap the cardigan around herself as Jungkook stepped into view over Yoongi’s shoulder, telling him that he was going to be waiting for him in one of the manager’s rooms down the fall. “Shit, I have to go. Love you.”

The call disconnected and Y/N was left alone again. Her mind was too far away from her notes now to even consider going back to studying. She huffed out a breath, blowing the hair out of her face as she pushed back from her desk, the chair swiveling around in a lazy circle. Still in just her boyfriend’s cardigan and her underwear, she kept spinning around in the chair until a rather brilliant idea popped into her head.

She hopped up from her seat and made a mad dash for her bedroom, dropping to her knees on her preferred side of the bed to flip up the bed skirt. Hunched down on the ground, she blindly started patting around for the black photo box she kept tucked just past the edge of the bed frame.

——

sunshine☀️❤️

Yooyoo!!

sunshine☀️❤️

Oh my god I NAILED my presentation!!

sunshine☀️❤️

My manager even said the raise looked really promising!

🥰yooyoo🥰

I knew you could do it, baby. I’m so, so proud of you. We’re going out to celebrate as soon as I get home xx

——

Two torturously long weeks later, Yoongi was finally on his way home to her. Exhaustion weighed heavily on him as he boarded the private jet with the rest of his members and staff. He was used to being gone for long stretches of time but there was something about this particular trip that was making him extra antsy.

Yoongi just wanted to be home. In his own bed. With his girl in his arms. And maybe his cock buried in her warm, wet, goddamn perfect cunt -

Jungkook plopping down in the seat next to him startled Yoongi out of his thoughts, the former sighing loudly as he settled into the plush seat. He lulled his head to the side, throwing Yoongi a bright grin. “You and Y/N got plans when we get home? I know you’ve been dying to get back to her.”

Yoongi couldn’t help the snort that escaped him. “I can survive a couple weeks without seeing my girlfriend.”

There was a bright peel of laughter from the seat behind them, Hoseok’s voice

causing them to turn back to look at him. “Yeah, keep telling yourself that. You’ve been extra mopey ever since we left Seoul.”

He let out a little hmph and reached for his headphones. “You guys are just jealous you aren’t getting laid regularly.”

——

When they touched down on the tarmac later that day, the first thing he did was call her. Hearing her delighted squeal had him practically sprinting through the airport to the waiting SUV that would take him to Y/N’s apartment, completely ignoring the waiting fans and paparazzi that crowded the space.

The drive to her place was relatively short but Yoongi felt like he was about to come out of his skin. Every nerve felt like a fucking live wire. When the car finally pulled up to her building, his door was open, and he was stepping out before the vehicle had even come to a full stop.

Yoongi jogged up to the front door of her building and threw it open, beelining towards the bank of elevators at the rear of the lobby. He jabbed at the buttons, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he waited for the lift to take him up to her floor. It was so fucking slow. The damn thing always was but he swore today it was taking even longer just to piss him off.

The stainless steel doors finally slid open and he felt like he could breathe easier now. He was so close to her. He was almost -

Just as he reached her door, it flung open revealing her beaming face. “Yoongi!!”

Y/n threw her arms around his neck, crushing him to her so tight he thought she might strangle him. But honestly… what a way to go.

She pulled back just enough to start smothering his face in kisses, not stopping until he was giggling and swatting her away.

“Cmon,” he took her hands and drug her back inside her apartment, “let’s get inside before that mean old lady down the hall calls the front desk on us again.”

They spent the next several hours wrapped up in each other. Arms and legs tangled together as they sprawled across her sofa, as they poured over every detail the other had missed in the weeks he’d been gone.

Eventually, they found their way to her bedroom, moving through their nighttime routines with effortless ease as he told her about the sights they were able to visit on the last couple of days in Japan.

“We had a few extra minutes the other day so we decided to walk through this park next to the venue, right? And I saw the cutest dog, Y/N; seriously, I was trying to think of a way to bring him home. Hold on, I made Hoseok take a picture of me petting it so I could show you.” In his excitement to show her the photo, he fumbled his phone, and the device was suddenly flying through the air.

She couldn’t even begin to describe how it happened. One second his phone was firmly in his hand and the next it was being tossed around like a damn hacky sack, bouncing between his hands before finally clattering to the floor. The distinct ‘swoosh’ of it sliding under the bed and ‘thunk’ as it hit the wall had Y/N snorting out a bellyaching laugh.

Yoongi looked nothing short of flustered, his cheeks and ears going bright red, as he mumbled a soft ‘fuck’ and crouched down to look for his phone. The slippery little fucker had made its way all the way to Y/N’s side of the bed. She was still giggling as he came around the bed and he shot her a playful sneer as he bent down again.

Flipping up the white cotton bed skirt, Yoongi started aimlessly patting around for his phone. But instead of the small metal and glass device, he found what felt like… a box, perhaps? Brows crinkled, he reached for it and sat back on his heels with his new discovery tucked in his grasp.

He looked up at her to find her nose stuck back in the book she had been reading earlier, a grin still on her face from all that laughter minutes before. “What’s this?”

Not looking up from her book, she waited on him to elaborate, “What’s what?”

Yoongi held the box up for her to see, eyes widening when its contents started to rattle around with the slight movement. He had an inkling what it was but he wanted to hear what she had to say about it. The look of pure horror she was wearing when she looked up was met with Yoongi’s shit-eating grin. Well that told him exactly what he wanted to know. With a swift, graceful movement, he jumped up and took a big step backward as she shot out of bed, making grabby hands in his direction.

“Min Yoongi, give that back. Now,” she said, her eyes wide and hands shaking as she reached out for it again, fully expecting him to be his gentlemanly self and just hand it over.

But she was wrong. Very wrong.

Absolutely delighted by his little game, Yoongi smirked down at her as he pulled the box to his chest and wrapped his arms around it, effectively locking it in place. “What’s in the box, Y/N?”

“Nothinggg.” The word was a drawn-out whine as she tried to lunge for it, only for him to dance away from her hands just as they brushed the sleeve of his t-shirt.

Yoongi was giggling at her like a little boy and held the box above his head as she pathetically attempted to get it back. “Oh, judging by this reaction, I think it is most definitely something.”

A wave of absolute mortification washed over her as she accepted her defeat. Groaning, she turned back toward the bed and flopped down face first to bury her head in the pillows. This must be how she died, she decided. From complete and total embarrassment.

Though she expected his pity, all she got was a sinful smirk as he dropped his arm back down to open the mystery box.

Bingo.

He riffled through the various toys and lubes, his smirk widening to a full-on grin as he pulled out a purple rabbit vibrator. He turned it on, testing out the different speeds and pulsing patterns.

The familiar buzzing sound had Y/N groaning again. In a desperate attempt to disappear completely, she pulled a pillow over her head praying the mattress would suddenly open up and swallow her whole. “Dear god, Yoongi, please put it back in the box. I’m literally begging you.”

A sardonic chuckle replaced the humming of the vibrator as he switched it off. The torturous embarrassment was finally coming to an end. Or so she thought.

“When was the last time you used that one, baby?”

She peeked out from under the pillow, biting down hard on her bottom lip as heat rushed up her neck and cheeks. There was no way in hell she was playing into this.

At her silence, he looked up at her and gave her little smirk. “Awe, sweet girl,” he cooed, his voice dripping with condescending mirth, “no need to be shy.”

“A few days ago. When you had to get off the FaceTime,” her admission was muffled by the pillow she had returned to her face to. But Yoongi heard it clear as day.

He was quiet long enough that she started to wonder if he was angry. Jealous even of the rather impressive collection she had amassed over her adult years. She knew from first-hand experience that most men would be.

But then she felt the bed dip and she shyly peeked over her shoulder to find Yoongi sitting at the foot of the bed. That damned vibrator back in his hands.

He was cooking something up in that beautiful head of his. And Y/N didn’t know if she should be excited or scared.

Rolling onto her back, she leaned forward on her elbows and watched with wide eyes as he turned the vibrator on its lowest setting. The look on his face was positively feral as he inched up the bed a bit, pushing her legs further apart to accommodate him. He put a hand on her chest and pushed her back down before he took the very tip of the vibrator and ran it up over the crotch of her panties, pressing it lightly right above her clit. She gasped, her hand shooting down to wrap around his wrist.

“What were you thinking about when you were fucking yourself?” The gravely tone of his voice had her moaning out and canting her hips upward, desperate for him to move the vibrator downward just a little.

“Your hands. And mouth. And cock.” Her admission was nothing more than breathless pants he rewarded her honesty by rotating his wrist, pressing the buzzing tip of the toy directly against her clit.

“Did you cum, baby?” The only response she could manage was a mumbled “mhm” as a delicious pressure started to build low in her belly. “How many times?”

Yoongi turned the speed of the vibrator up to the next setting, earning him a mewling moan but not an answer to his question. Well, that just wouldn’t do.

He pulled the vibrator away and before she could register the loss of stimulation, he brought his opposite hand down hard against her still clothed pussy. A shocked yelp tore from her throat as he growled, “I asked you a question, Y/N.”

“O-Once! I could only do it once,” her voice was shaky, practically a sob as he brought the vibrator back to the swollen bundle of nerves.

“Oh,” his deep chuckle had a shiver running down her spine. It carried a dark promise that the night was going to be filled with absolute torment at his hands. But it was a torment that she would gladly accept. “We can do better than that. Don’t you think?”

Applying just the slightest bit more pressure to her clit had Y/N writhing on the bed. Head tossed back into the pillows as her vision started to go fuzzy at the edges, the building pressure in her belly finally bubbled over into her release. A wanton moan ripped from her as she came, her back arching and eyes screwing shut as the pleasure washed over her.

He removed the vibrator from her just long enough to maneuver her panties down her legs. He tossed them over his shoulder and reached for the still buzzing toy beside him. Turning the speed up a few more notches, fully planning on using it for its intended purpose this time. He ran the toy up her slit, tapping it on her clit and grinning as she whined and tried to move away from his touch.

A firm grip on her hip forced her to still again, the warm weight of his hand pressing her harshly down into the mattress. Positioning the larger head at her entrance and the smaller coming to rest directly on her clit, Y/N forgot how to breathe as he slowly pushed it into her. Her hips bucking upward when he angled it just right to press against that perfect spot that instantly had her seeing stars.

He gave her no time to adjust to the new intrusion and started fucking the toy in and out of her in quick, shallow movements, always careful to make sure the bulbous tip brushed against her front wall.

Her eyes rolled back in her head as he fucked her stupid, her chest heaving with ragged, shallow breaths. It took hardly any time at all for that warmth to come back to her, pooling in her lower belly again like it had never even left in the first place.

This climax took her by surprise. It snuck up on her and ripped through her body in wave after wave of toe-curling euphoria. Her entire body was trembling with the force of it. And Yoongi only kept fucking her through it all.

Her knuckles were turning white as she fisted the sheets so tightly in her hands she had a vague thought that she might rip them. She couldn’t bring herself to care in the slightest though. Not when she felt like her world was rocking underneath her. Not when she felt like she was being devoured whole by the pure, undiluted ecstasy coursing through her veins.

Y/N crashed back down to earth just as quickly as she ascended to the heavens, her very soul seeming to slam back down into her body with enough force that she couldn’t tell up from down anymore. She was nothing more than mewling whimpers and twitching limbs as the pleasure quickly started becoming too much. And at the same time, not enough.

Yoongi was quick to lie down on his belly between her thighs, throwing an arm across her middle in an effort to keep her still. All the thoughts drained from her head as he pressed the button on the vibrator one more time, taking it to the highest possible speed, and tilting it upwards to rest right against her sweet spot.

A scream of his name tore from her throat, the shrill sound echoing off the walls as she arched so far off the mattress she might as well have been sitting up. With the intense vibrations sending her body into overdrive, it felt like it took mere seconds to have her cumming for the third time.

She started to cry as he finally withdrew the vibrator from her aching core, tears streaking down her cheeks as she babbled incoherent nonsense. The tears and slurred words only served to amuse him though. He sneered at her as he crawled up her body. He loved it when she cried.

“Awe my poor little crybaby,” he cooed as he brought a hand up to squeeze her cheeks together, fingers settling on her cheeks between her teeth and smirking down at the forced pout she now wore. He could tell she was having a hard time focusing on his face, her eyes were glassy and fat tears still rolling from the corners. “Your little pussy can’t handle it? I thought you were a big girl, hm?”

Grip tightening on her face, he snapped her head to the side so he could lick up the column of her neck before whispering in her ear. “If you can’t handle a little toy, how the fuck do you expect to take my cock?”

She could only whimper in reply as he angled his head to lick her tears away. Just as her labored breaths started to even out again, Yoongi reached for the box on her nightstand and pulled out a pair of fluffy pink handcuffs.

Y/N was still dazed, her body still felt like it was floating. So she took no notice of what he was doing until the soft click of one of the cuffs around her wrist rang throughout the room. She could only blink up at him as he hauled her hand up to the headboard and looped the handcuffs around a piece of framework before reaching for her other hand.

A broken sob of his name only brought another sadistic smile to his face as he reached for the box again and pulled out a small bullet vibrator. Yoongi twisted the base of the toy, turning it on to one of the higher settings it offered. Her legs snapped shut at the sound and he glared down at her, his eyes hard and sinfully dark. Strong hands were on her thighs instantly, squeezing so tight she knew there would be finger-shaped bruises left in their wake, prying them apart before he settled on his belly between them again.

She trembled as he brought the bullet to her clit and pressed down lightly. Fresh tears started to pool at the corners of her eyes as her hips jerked away from the overwhelming sensation. “I can’t. I can’t!”

Eye level with her weeping cunt, Yoongi only ‘tutted’ at her cries and slowly started to swirl the small toy on her clit, her highs tensing on either side of his head as she barreled towards another orgasm.

“C’mon, pretty girl. You know what I want.” His words fell on deaf ears, though, her blood pounded so fiercely in her ears that she couldn’t hear anything else. Hungry eyes stayed glued to her pussy as her hole continued to clench around nothing.

Yoongi couldn’t help but groan at the sight. She was leaking all over the bed, her slick puddling right under her ass as he continued his assault.

“Yoo-yoongi,” she moaned, voice broken and stuttering. “G-onna… gonna make a m-mess.”

Fuck yes.

He lowered his mouth to her entrance, tongue licking into her. He wanted to drink her down, swallow every drop she could give him.

And make a mess she did. Her orgasm washed over her in a tidal wave, crashing into her with enough force to have her vision whiting out completely.

Everything was soft and fuzzy around the edges when she came back to herself. Yoongi was mumbling soft praises and words of affirmation to her as he went about unlocking the handcuffs. He brought her wrists up to his mouth and pressed soft, open-mouthed kisses to the skin where the cuffs had started to dig in despite their padding.

“You did so good, baby. I’m so proud of you. You took it all so well.” His words were soft and gentle; his demeanor completely changed now as he doted on her.

He settled down next to her, one hand rubbing slow circles on her belly and the other sliding under her shoulders as she worked to catch her breath. With a groan she rolled over to face him and started pressing lazy kisses to his jaw, her hands sliding up his arms to wrap around his neck.

Yoongi turned his head and caught her bottom lip between his teeth, biting down just hard enough to earn a small whimper from her. “What do you want, baby? Use your words for me.”

He threaded his hand in her hair and gripped it tightly at the roots, pulling her back so she could look him in the eye as she whined, “I want you to fuck me. I want to feel you inside me. Please. Need it so bad.”

“Yeah? Need my cock, angel? Want me to fill you up?” He was already sliding out of her arms, not waiting for her to reply before he stripped off his sweats and t-shirt. He had been ready to just hold her for the rest of the night, satisfied enough knowing that he had taken such good care of her. He could have found his own release in his hand after Y/N had fallen asleep.

But if she wanted his cock he’d fucking give it to her.

Yoongi settled into the cradle of her thighs, rutting against her and hissing as his aching cock slid through the slickness there. All of his toughness dissipated as he finally sunk into her, biting down on his tongue to hold back the whimper at the feeling of her clamping down on him.

“Fuckkk.” One hand had a white knuckle grip on the headboard, the cool metal biting into his palm helping to somewhat ground him to reality. Yoongi was panting, eyes squeezed tightly shut. If he opened his eyes and looked down at her like this, he knew he’d blow his load.

Y/N was mewling under him, whining his name in the sweetest song he’d ever heard, begging him to move. It took every shred of willpower he possessed to open his eyes, looking down and burning the image of her fucked out face into the backs of his eyelids. “Yeah. Yeah, gonna give you what you need, baby. You’ve been so good for me.”

The slow, heavy drag of his cock as he pulled out of her just to slam right back in had her head spinning, breath hitching in her throat with every brutal thrust of his hips into hers. Yoongi leaned back, releasing his death grip on the headboard to grab her thighs instead, calloused fingers pressing bruises into the plush flesh.

He positioned her the way he wanted her, wrapping her legs tightly around his hips and damn near combusting when he was able to push just a little deeper, the tip of his cock nudging against her cervix. “Goddamn, this pussy. So fucking perfect. It was made for me, huh?”

“Y-yes! God, yes, Yoongi, please.” Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes as she started blubbering and begging, her words starting to run together in a mess of incoherence. Nails clawed at his biceps and shoulders, leaving angry red welts in their wake.

A particularly deep thrust had her screaming for him, arching into him and clamping down on his cock in a vice grip. His eyes screwed shut, jaw straining under the force of his grinding teeth. “Get your toy. The little one.”

She flailed and fumbled for it, blindly swatting around the mattress until her hand found the small toy and clicked it on. Her opposite hand slid between them, mimicking his earlier movements and letting her fingers slide on either side of her clit as she brought the buzzing toy down to it.

It sent shock waves through her, and Yoongi pushed in so deep she swore she could taste him.

The moan that clawed its way from his chest was deep and primal, the vibrations against the base of his cock nearly doing him in.

Her mouth dropped open in a silent scream and she arched up against him as she came, the vibrator falling from her slack hand. The fluttering of her wet heat around him sent him tumbling after her. He pulled out of her, hand flying to his cock to give himself a few furious tugs before spilling all over her pussy and lower belly in thick white ropes.

Watery eyes fluttered open to look at him, his flushed face cast up to the ceiling, jaw slack and chest heaving. He was always beautiful but like this… god he was a work of art.

Slowly, he eased himself down on top of her, resting his weight on his forearms so as not to crush her. Yoongi peppered kisses along her face, both cheeks and forehead and chin, not stopping until he was rewarded with a weak little giggle.

He hummed and moved to nuzzle his face into her neck, mumbling sweet praises into her skin. They’re still for a heartbeat, two, three, until their breathing has started to even out. Y/N vaguely registered him untangling himself from her and slip from the bed entirely.

Sleep claimed her quickly, and by the time Yoongi came back into the room with a warm washcloth, Y/N was softly snoring. Starting with the mess on her stomach, he gently set to work cleaning her up and made sure to save her surely sensitive core for last.

She whined when he tried to part her legs, and he decided that letting her soak in a warm bath might ease some of her soreness. He padded back into the bathroom and set the tap running, the steam billowing off the water and filling the small space.

While the tub slowly filled, Yoongi rummaged around under the sink for the homemade milk bath mix he knew she kept on hand. He pulled out the container and poured a hearty scoop into the tub, using his hand to gently mix it all together.

When the water had taken on a milky white hue, he rose to his feet and went to rouse Y/N.

She had curled onto her side, clutching the pillow he had lain on to her chest. Yoongi leaned down and brushed his lips over her cheek in a soft kiss.

“C’mon baby. I ran you a bath and you need to go pee.”

Y/N groaned and tried to roll away from him, but he slipped an arm under her and hoisted her up into a sitting position. “‘M fine, Yooyoo,” she mumbled, her head lolling onto his shoulder as he scooped her up and set her on her feet.

“I know you don’t want to get up but we both know that a UTI isn’t worth it,” he murmured into her ear as he helped her walk on unsteady legs to the bathroom. “I’ll step out and give you a little privacy, okay?.”

She didn’t reply as she practically collapsed on the toilet. The door clicked shut behind him, and she absently wondered why he was suddenly concerned with her privacy. He had just fucked her five ways from Sunday, but he thought she cared if he saw her pee. He was too sweet sometimes.

It took her longer than she cared to admit to get off the toilet and ease herself down into the warm, cloudy water. She moaned as the warmth seeped through her skin and into her bones.

“Yoongi,” she called out softly. He poked his head back in almost instantly, prepared to get her whatever she asked for.

“You can go to bed. I’m just going to soak for a while.”

He came fully into the room then and perched on the lip of the tub. She leaned her head against his hip and he turned just enough to be able to gently comb his fingers through her hair, scratching lightly at her scalp. “You did so good for me tonight, sweet girl.”

She hummed at his praise, her eyes slipping shut as she brought her knees to her chest and rested her head against them. Yoongi stood and pushed his sweats down his hips before stepping in behind her. It only took them a moment to get settled, her back to his chest as he rested against the back of the tub.

They were quiet for several minutes and he thought she might have dozed off against him as he started to bathe her. With her favorite soap lathered on her loofa, he ran it up and down her arms, over her chest and neck, between her breasts. He set it on the edge of the tub before cupping some water in his hands to pour over her shoulders and neck to rinse away the suds. He took the clean washcloth on the corner of the tub next. She flinched when he brought it up between her legs, running it gently up her slit.

Soft words of praise were mumbled into her hair as he continued to bathe her. “I know you’re sore baby. But you did wonderfully. I’m so proud of you.”

It was so intimate, so tender, that it made her heart ache in her chest, and she teared up as he started to wash her hair, gently massaging the shampoo into her scalp.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” she choked on her words as the tears started to freely fall down her cheeks.

He stilled instantly and reached out to cup her face in his palm, turning her face towards his in fear she might be mid sub-drop.

“I’m not dropping,” she assured him, a soft smile pulling at her mouth as she choked on a weak laugh. “I’m alright, I promise. I just love you, s’all.”

He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her tighter into his chest. She nuzzled her head into his neck as he dropped scattered kisses to the crown of her head. “I will always take care of you, Y/N.”

869 notes · View notes

7brownsuga7 · 5 months ago

Text

Crybaby | Yoongi

MDNI! Inspo: 1

Yoongi hated seeing you cry. He hated to see the wetness of your cheeks and the slight puffiness of your eyes, given any situation he’d make it his right to avoid it - like when he accidentally spoke to you in a different tone, or when he was being short with you one time. But he couldn’t help the feeling he got when he heard you cry out for him as you became eager and eager for more of his touch.

Especially when he had a full view of you lose it as you grind on top of him. Rubbing your clothed throbbing pussy against his cock. You were desperate for more, the wet patch on the fabric of your panties full proof. He could tell you were on the verge of tears as you eagerly rocked against him, trying to ease the tension between your legs. Eyes shut tightly as your pussy ached for something more.

You were so needy - so good for him.

It made him go feral every-time he noticed the first tear escape your eye, and then when the rest followed along with your whiny whimpers and soft cries did he tell himself this was probably one of his favourite sights.

His hands would run up your stomach, caressing your breasts - thumb circling over your hardened nipples as you trembled with pleasure. His cock was a twitching - leaky mess too - seeing you in that state was just enough to get his cock rock hard and ready to fuck you, and when he feels your clothed pussy against him does he go even more insane.

He’d give in to your plees, fucking you just the way you like. Eyes lighting up in awe as he watches you in all your glory as he pounds you from below, your hands caressing the bare skin of his torso, working up towards his neck, playing with the silver chain hanging loosely around it.

His lips would kiss your tear stained cheeks whispering praises in your ear, a small smirk hidden on his face. He hated it but he truly couldn’t resist it.

His fingers—ones he knew were your weakness— would trail feather-light across your skin, sending chills up your spine. He’d caress your neck, tilting your head just enough so he could see your pretty face better, admiring you as you took him so well. Because he wanted to see it all, every whimper, every cry, every tear that escaped your eyes.

The way he made you act. Like a baby.

His crybaby.

The nickname he never let you forget.

He’d coo some meaningless sentence like, “hey hey, shh… I got you” caressing your wet cheek knowing damn well he thrives off of seeing you in such a state like this. His cock hits every spot inside you, making you cry out more as overstimulation consumes you with each movement against your skin.

“Yoongi… i-i”, you stutter unable to form a proper sentence. And who can blame you when his cock is pounding deep inside your wet cunt, your body collapsed on top of him as you’re unable to support yourself due to his harsh movements. He supports you by wrapping his arm around your waist, holding you close to him as he takes control.

His eyes never stray away from your face - mesmerised.

“Don’t cry, baby” he bites his lip as his thrusts continue, knocking you forward with each movement. If your eyes weren’t so blurred by your tears and the grip he has around your neck, you would be able to see the mischievous glint in his eye.

He catches your cries with a sloppy kiss. Giving you a sympathetic look as he says, “ah you’re close aren’t you baby?” As he can feel your pussy clench repeatedly. Your eyes shut tightly as you try your best to keep your composure. Even though you’re a mess already.

“Look at me”

He brings his hands towards yours, holding them as he eases you through your orgasm. He kisses your knuckles, eyes never leaving yours as he looks up at you.

When he feels you come undone around him, wetness coating his thighs - he caresses your body, shushing you as you shake and cry. His lips kissing your shoulder as you slowly unwind.

And when he’s finished with you - you near enough falling asleep, he will kiss along your skin. Praising you every way he can with words like, “You took me so well” and “I’m proud of you”. Words he knows has you weak. Running his slender fingers along your back caressing your skin, soothing you to sleep. Slowly working along towards your shoulders as he massages them until he hears the soft sound of your snores.

925 notes · View notes

hoseoksluna · 9 months ago

Text

PROMISES | myg

pairing: idol!yoongi x f. reader

genre: fwb au / angst, smut

word count: 9.3k

summary: when you needed your social battery recharged by your fuck buddy yoongi, you didn't expect to have your undiscovered feelings for him reciprocated.

pin: promise / taglist: join / discord: join

warnings: strong daddy issues, slight dd/lg, manipulation, tiny rough treatmeant, edging, fingering, oral sex (f. receiving), teasing, mixed feelings, oc is confused abt her feelings and the whole situation, fight, yoongi counts down, unprotected sex, pussy spanks, nipple play.

note: this has to be my worst work in the whole hoseoksluna universe. i'm terribly upset, disgusted, unmotivated. i wrote this all week, hated every second, and i'm sorry to say this is my last smut for a while. i'm really struggling mentally, i'm struggling with writing, and i don't know what to do anymore. i'm posting this a day early because i can't stand this fic anymore. i can't stand smut. you're free to skip this one until i get better.

You were a folded swan, drifting upon the smooth, glittering surface of a river that led nowhere—a dead end, bearing the face of a man you’ve been casually seeing for the past few months. A man that clutched adrenaline and tenderness in his fist like a bouquet of the prettiest woodland wildflowers, on top of which perched a note signed in your name. Scratchy Latin letters, doused in ebony ink, they had more life than you did at this moment; poetry-woven experiences that had you feeling life like life should be felt—drastically, enthusiastically and delightfully. Every vowel depicted the closure of each night you spent with him: mouth parted agape, through which the sweetest moans would erupt and saturate him in a certain kind of fatherliness, pride and manliness.

It’s what you need, laying as you are on the linen sheets of your bed, dressed down to your lacy underwear that you thought would make you feel better, somehow would recharge your dead battery that was stuck on zero percent for longer than you care to admit. Father issues, dissatisfaction at your workplace, at your home life, at life itself. You were tired, your concentration running thin as you were watching your well-loved K-drama that you have seen a hundred times before. Through your vision, your own non-romantic interest would fly by, smiling down at you in your dejected state and form. Your body knows him more thoroughly than your heart, stirring erratically at the memories that would begin to flood your system. Tongue, lips, hands. His cock that he would tease you with, giving it to you and not giving it to you purposefully because he enjoyed the sight of your desperation for someone like him—a person who has seen the worst of life, its characteristics engraved upon his skin, and yet you still yearned for him, yearned for those scars. You didn’t have to tell him, but he knew.

He knew by the way you would so very often trace the scar upon his shoulder, either with your fingertips or your lips. You were friends, fuck-buddies to be more precise. You were aware that someone entangled in a special friendship such as this shouldn’t do something like that, but you couldn’t help it. Yoongi taught you many times to listen to your body and you were doing just that.

Following your body’s inclination to sink into his soul that he wasn’t too scared to let you inside of.

He allowed you to do it to such an extent that the threat of his quick orgasm would appear and he would slip out of you, distract himself between your legs, make you come twice in a row—perhaps as a playful punishment, or perhaps as a reward.

He saw you—and right now you need to be seen, folded in your forest-scented exhaustion while the river flows on, the trees sway on and everyone else passes by while you remain fixed on the same spot, stooped in your ungratified, seemingly unnamed problem.

You can text him, ask for a quick fuck, something he’s very well acquainted with, used to at this point—so much that everytime you leave his place stuffed full of his cum, he stuffs you with something else as well.

A promise for the next time.

A package of something to make you look forward to your tight-knit time spent with him. The last time, he had promised to take you to a running sushi restaurant, where you didn’t linger for long because you got fed up with the way other people would steal the sweet plates you wanted to try. He had fucked you in his car to make you feel better about your innate misanthropy and while he was balls-deep in you and you struggled to catch your breath, he promised you ice cream. With each thrust that squeezed your soul, he described how you’d enjoy each lick, the details of the flavor and how he’d buy you any ice cream you wanted. You hadn’t realized it then, within the stupor of your mind-numbing pleasure, but now as you are recollecting it, you perceive how bothered he was by the way other people ruined your night with him.

And that rips open the restraints around the butterflies in your stomach.

You want some ice cream—and more than that, you want to see him. Close your mouth around the adrenaline he’s always so willing to fill your life with.

You don’t know what he’s doing at seven PM on a Thursday night. You usually meet him on Fridays or during the weekend if he’s working the day before. You’ve never shown him your neediness—and there’s a certain dangerous feel to it, baring yourself naked in this way, despite the fact he’s seen, touched, and licked every inch of you. And it’s hard for your brain to comprehend that you yearn for him when your social, emotional and physical battery is dead. If anything, you should be resting as you are, get right in order to be at your best for the next time you see him.

But alas…

With a sigh, you turn to your other side and reach for your phone that you’ve been charging, gliding your hands down the cable, imagining it’s his arm. And with a frustrated furrow of your brows, you tap on the circle above your messages. A pinned picture of him that you took, his face caught in his gummy smile against the dark backdrop of his car interior, filtrated with the twinkling lights of Seoul’s city buildings. Another sigh leaves you, one that exasperates you because why are you so needy for him? Why can’t you be a normal girl, independent, okay with your own company shared with the fictional people that you love? You’ve spent your girlhood like this, and happily so. Why does growing up mean you need the male energy more than your own?

Biting your lip, your anxiety spikes up, but your desire for Yoongi overwhelms it, wins. And that settles a layer of calmness over it, gives the command to your fingers to type what they need to type.

what are you doing

The bubbles don’t emerge from the dark motive of your chat until a few minutes later, the green of his message brightening up your phone—and your life, too.

About to have a concert. Having a shot right now for your health.

Oh, shit. A strange concoction of disappointment and a deep, low, murmuring stimulus rises in you. The swan in you elongates her neck, interested, but still dispirited considering her options. She will have to fold back into her form, and continue on her long, somber voyage back from the dead end, dwelling on the thrill of the flirtation of the man that she likes a little bit too much.

Staring at the thick canvas of trees and shrubbery that aren’t letting you in to see him, you think about what to type, your thumbs hovering in the air. Life dislikes you; life wants you to suffer—

A ringing tone of your phone tugs you away from your distressed thoughts. The Latin letters of Yoongi’s name expand across the screen behind that picturesque and private shot of him, enlarged, stirring your heart. Silence spreads through your mind and your thumb quivers as you slide it across the bar to accept his call, placing the device against your ear.

It feels as though you’re pressing the side of your head against his, especially so once you hear the warmth of his raspy voice pronouncing your name in his accent, marked by the liquor he drank prior to your messages.

Enlivened, your body is. Just from that.

“What’s up with you?” Yoongi asks, and the swan sails a little bit more swiftly, her tucked-in wings fluttering against her feathery body. You play with your necklace, your trembling so, so terribly evident. You’re glad he didn’t video call you, but the phone call is much more intimate and pleasant.

You huff out a noise of desperation without meaning to and cringe at yourself, crunching up your features. Yoongi calls you by your name with a tiny hint of alarm and you curse yourself, silently. Your misanthropy gets pointed at you.

“Noth—”

“Should I cancel my concert right now?” he suggests, cutting in, and you can hear the drunken playfulness in his voice, the one you have enjoyed on many occasions. Even acted out on your pleasure from it by making him, physically, feel good about it. You wish you could suck his dick right now, right before his concert, so he gives out his best for his fans.

The sighs are ceaseless and you don’t bother to stop them at this point, your enlivened body soaking up in a swelling, unmet desire.

“You’re sighing,” he notes, and you discern a cube of ice clinking in his glass, then a swallow of his throat, as if the indication of your yearning got him going, got him needing that burning liquid. “Are you horny for me?”

Enlivened, your butterflies are, starting a war just from that sole question: desire versus your mental health.

And using the vanilla scent of their wings, they remind you of the fact that you’re an adult woman and that you’re allowed, and more than allowed, to do whatever your body asks for. And if it’s asking for Yoongi, you’re going to go the extra mile to get him.

Brazenly and femininely—and a little bit slyly.

“Maybe I am, maybe I’m really craving that ice cream you promised me,” you say, lowering down your tone, and you play with the lacy lining of your bra. Think you can tease him with it for a good effect. “I’m wearing a nice lacy set right now.”

Yoongi sucks in a breath and lets it out in a sigh that is entirely redolent of you, making your mouth curve in a soft smile. “What color?”

Your expression of a muted joy expands as you tell him. “Red.”

He swears, raspily, and the shade of your lingerie becomes more vibrant in the dimmed yellow light of your bedroom. And there you feel it—a more intense tendril of lust slithering down your sternum, moving your body side to side against your sheets in need. And the whimper that comes out of you is more primal than it is forced.

At the sound, Yoongi pauses. You imagine him biting his lip, the gears in his brain turning, and he doesn’t disappoint you. He never does.

“Do you have a dress of the same color?” he asks, small pants escaping his mouth, and you smirk.

“I do.”

He chuckles in personal delight. “Wear it for me. The set, too. I want to see it. I will pick you up after the concert and get you that ice cream.”

Your butterflies spring to your lungs, making it hard for you to breathe. And you don’t know whether to be glad, to be happy, to jump on your bed or to get ready. All those emotions simultaneously gather in you, spreading sparks of excitement down your nerve endings. And most of all, you want to hug him.

You want to hug your adrenaline-infused angel.

“Okay,” you agree, prolonging the vowel, the muscles in your cheeks aching. “How long is the concert?”

His delight leaks out through a deep hum, one that causes you to tense your body in feverish eagerness. “Two hours. Can you wait that long for me without touching yourself?”

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip. Think you can wait however long for him, just as long as you get to see him. “I can, but my panties will be ruined. Sticky and uncomfortable.”

The hum is strangled by his strained intake of breath, turning you woozy, your fingers itching to slide beneath your said panties, knowing his noises alone would make you come in seconds. You weren’t wet before he called, but now you can feel the center of the fabric dampening the longer you talk to him.

“I’ll take them off as soon as I can. I promise. Hold it out for me.”

And you believe him. You compress that promise into your hand, warming it up with your body heat before you tuck it safely into the chambers of your heart—and you wait.

You wait for him to fulfill the myriad of his promises.

You did hold it out for him, and brilliantly so. You watched one episode of your drama with a little bit more vehemence, despite the fact Yoongi swam past your thoughts more times than you can count. You’ve never watched him perform in real life as his own private life was always kept in secrecy from his fans, but your curiosity led you to search him up online and watch a playback of one of his more upbeat songs. Dressed in a long black coat, white shirt and a tie, your mouth was wide open, as well as your eyes, as you took in his ferocious energy, enhanced by his passion, and you never looked at him the same as before. He became someone else, a figure of brutal yet tender power and it made you want him even more zealously.

The memories of that performance resurfaced in your mind every now and then, and his Agust D persona would melt into the male interest of the show, deepening your desire for him as you dreamed.

Dreamed of reaching different highs with him. More profound, more devastating.

A dream that could never come true. A promise that would never flow past his mouth.

You didn’t let that ruin your night, however. As the second hour wrapped around you and your body lacked the heat it needed, you shut your laptop and stood up to your feet, walking over to your closet. Your fingers found that red dress you had spoken about first before your eyes did, silky and sleek amidst the thick, woolen fabrics of your winter clothes. It was the only nice dress you had, one you haven’t worn before, and you were thrilled you got to wear it for him tonight.

It fit you like a second skin, hugging your curves just right, fading into the lacy linings of your lingerie. One would have to sharpen their gaze in order to notice it—and you wondered if Yoongi was going to scout it with his eyes first or with his fingers.

The unknown excited you, so much that your panties gained that stickiness you mentioned in the phone call. And when you sat down to slide your feet into your black strappy heels, the feeling was so intolerable that you cringed—and your brilliancy ended there.

How were you going to sit against your cold arousal for another hour?

The awaited text didn’t come through until you were dousing yourself in your vanilla perfume. Yoongi was downstairs, waiting for you in his car. Left my lights on for you, he had typed to reassure you because he knew how anxious it made you, looking for his parked car in the dark when you couldn’t see anything.

Your heart blossomed two times bigger when you checked it from your window. Yoongi in the passenger seat, scrolling through his phone, the headlights filtering through the mist of the deep of the night. You smoothed a hand down your tummy, calming your butterflies, and, reapplying your lipstick, you grabbed your coat and went outside to meet him.

He spotted you long before you lifted your head to smile at him and he reached over to the side and opened the door for you. The motor was running, keeping the warmth intact for you, and you sighed in relief when you entered it—only to realize that Yoongi had turned on the seat heater for you.

You melt into the leather, closing your eyes, the ambience of the present moment nestling upon you like the most delicate layer of snow that dissolves when you feel a swift breath along your neck and it’s Yoongi, lengthening his arm and closing the door while keeping his twinkling gaze on you and giving you a pleased smile.

The butterflies kick against your stomach.

“I was going to do that,” you say because you truly were—it’s just that the snug, comforting heat he prepared for you made you want to stop and bask in it as the short walk from your apartment building to his car numbed your bones to such an extent that you needed the time to defrost. And he quickened the process by placing an even warmer hand upon the nylon of your inner thigh that the slit of your dress and your trench coat exposed. “It’s just so cold.”

He fondles the fabric of your tights on the top of your thigh with his thumb. A gesture of comfort that diffuses life down your legs and colors your cheeks in a shade of pink that irradiates the subdued atmosphere of the car. It’s hard to breathe—and it’s hard to resist him, keep yourself cool and not swing your leg over.

Fuck the ice cream. You want something way creamier.

“It’s only right I close it for you after I opened it,” he reassures, the deep tenor of his voice puncturing right through you, looking for your core, and you shift your hips, the discomfort of your wetness not allowing you to relax as much as you need. Yoongi’s eyes flick down to your movement and he parts his mouth as that distinctive smirk of his divulges his enjoyment in seeing you so horny for him. “Are you still sticky for me?”

It’s now that you take the time to fully look at him. There’s a certain glossiness to his long hair that tells you he went home and took a shower before he got inside his car and drove through the quiet night to meet you. You can smell the rosemary of his shampoo and the usual minty aroma of his body wash, blended with his natural musky pheromones and the wood, the tangerine of his perfume. He’s the synthesis of your internal woodland, the breath of the trees that your swan inhales and a punishment, all in one; and you’re not sure if you can hold out any longer. Both emotionally, both physically.

“Very sticky,” you say, wrapping your hands around his arm, descending your fingers down the bulky, wooly material of his winter jacket like you were touching your charging cord—a temporary dream come true. You enclose your palm around his knuckles, think that if he feels how wet you are, he’ll realize that you sentimentally require more than he normally gives you—that your flesh will somehow tell him and give him the bravery to do so.

But Yoongi doesn’t move an inch. His fingers remain fixed on the inner of your thigh, digging dents into the skin as you feel the bulging of his bicep the more you push his hand towards your wetly clothed cunt. His smile falls, his eyes droop—and the energy is charged with such unnamed intensity that you let go of your pursuit, slipping your fingers beneath the edge of his sleeve as a sign of your submission.

That quickly.

“You promised to hold out for me, didn’t you?” he asks, waiting for your agreement, and you nod, feverish, dripping with perspiration, with this great need that towers over you. “Then, be like Daddy and keep your promise or you’re not getting anything.”

A shiver cascades down your spine—not merely from his authoritative voice, but from the role he dipped into that immediately puts you into yours. You begin to giggle, palming your mouth as the blush in your cheeks bursts and tears of overwhelmingness add a certain glint to your eyes that sparkles beneath the yellow-tinted car interior lights. And using this fatherliness of his, he interweaves your arousal around his long, piano fingers, announcing he’s its King.

Your essence trickles out of the confines of your panties.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” you whine, still giggling, you can’t help it. Yoongi takes after you, blessing you with that gummy grin of his that you adore so much. Your heart enlarges.

“What exactly am I doing on purpose?” he challenges, kneading the flesh of your thigh, and he senses his answer right away. Your essence travels to his hand, stopping there, and once again Yoongi’s smile falls, eyes plummeting to it, hand lifting—and fingers gathering that warm slick.

And it drips onto his own pants-clad thigh when he plunges his fingers into his mouth, shocking you to your core.

“Yoongi—”

He hums in titillation, interrupting you, and smacks his mouth. For a brief amount of time, he seems to be in his own world as he tastes you on his tongue. And then, he takes those same fingers, turns the key in the ignition, moves forward the shift stick, and without sparing you a glance, he drives out of his usual parking spot and doesn’t hesitate to correct you.

“Not Yoongi. Daddy.”

You clamp your mouth shut. Think you need some kind of plug to stop your arousal from flowing down your thigh. Yoongi doesn’t mention what just happened throughout the whole drive, but you do notice his semi-hard manhood poking out of his groin area. You salivate, but don’t tempt him, squeezing your thighs together so tightly that your muscles cramp.

You’ll save it for later.

You listen to him talk about his concert experience of tonight while the drum in your clit matches the beat of the songs of his playlist. He speeds down the road, keeping his hands on the steering wheel and the shift stick, and he doesn’t look at you until he halts the car at the first red light.

He smiles at you, knowingly. A dirty, dirty smile that turns your world upside down, vexes you deeply—enough for you to swivel your head in the other direction to ignore him because if you looked at him any longer like that, you’d be unbuckling his pants. But Yoongi does what he pleases. With his index finger, he whips your chin back to him, leans over and grins before he presses his lips against yours.

A gentle, gentle kiss. One that does not mirror his demeanor.

Your walls flutter, your whole body, too. Shock seizes you in its grasp at that gesture of affection and you can’t breathe—he’s stolen all of the oxygen in your lungs. The trees sway and bend, the swan in you dances quite buoyantly, despite the fact that a storm is coming.

A storm of your emotions.

He’s never kissed you like that—out of the blue, at the red light. He kisses you when he’s drunk, handsy and touchy-feely as he everlastingly is, but he doesn’t kiss you just like that when he’s sober.

“You doing good?” he murmurs against your lips, ripping away the fingers of your shock, and it feels as though you’re waking up from a dream—only to glide, boundlessly, into another one. Yoongi waggles with your chin before he pulls away, the yellow light bathing him in its shade momentarily before the green blinks and he jumps back into his own world.

Does he really think you won’t erupt in this storm? Disintegrate into smithereens and wipe everything clean that he is?

“What was that for?” you ask, softly, your lips numb and aching for more of his tenderness, one that you would, in all honesty, die for. You trace the print of his own lips on yours, feel its heavy warmth, and you might as well be drunk just from that.

You need a shot. And not just one.

Yoongi bites his bottom lip. “You’re holding out so well. I thought you deserved it.”

You roll your eyes back—not from raw annoyance, but from the pristine pleasure you receive from the dominant, fatherly energy of his words. Suddenly, you don’t know what to do with your hands, what to say, what to think. What you do know is that you surely will be crying into his pillow by the time this night is over and he’s fast asleep.

But you can’t cry much. Can’t wake up with puffy eyes. Can’t reveal to him the gravity of your feelings.

You don’t even remember the moment you realized you loved him. Think you loved him the first time you laid your eyes on him, but you buried it deeply in you—so deeply that you didn’t even recollect your feelings when Yoongi told you, straight away, that this was just a friends with benefits kind of arrangement. Truth be told, this business is the sole kind of relationship you can give him as you hate men. Always hated them. But you don’t hate him.

He’s not them. He’s different.

You may have wanted adrenaline and joy tonight, but as you dwell in this state of mind of yours, you slouch deeper into the leather and come to a heartbreaking understanding that you’ll never be happy in this life.

The night-clothed streets pass by you in soft shapes in colors, disappearing instantly out of your view. And the woodland, the trees and the swan, they disappear, too. Shrouded by the fog of your abysmal sadness.

***

Yoongi took you to such a small hotel that its luxuriousness pierced your eyes with its glorious light. You thought you were dining and ending the night at his place, but once Yoongi ordered your favorite shots of sweet rum with cocktail cherries, you perceived you were staying here. Perceived he was unknowingly giving you the opportunity to drown your feelings in alcohol as well.

You almost didn’t wait for him to take his own shot before you downed yours, but hearing the click of his tongue, you stopped midway. And to make sure you did wait, he placed his palm upon your wrist, bringing your arm down onto the table as he ordered your dessert.

Chocolate ice cream, just for her. Thank you.

He made everything worse.

You weren’t sure why you wanted to be so good for him, listening to every order of his that came to his mind. Why you wanted that validation, that praise. You could just do whatever you desired—it wouldn’t scratch your relationship with him. You could be bad and he wouldn’t mind. Hell, you think he would even enjoy it. But why is it your inert yearning to please him so much? It’s devastating—and it’s your personal ruination. Because the more you do things that caress his ego, the deeper the abyss of your feelings for him goes.

You shouldn’t. Not in the construct of your friendly relations. For the sake of your well-being.

You pry his fingers away and take that shot, watching his eyes grow large in their surprise. You never slide the cherry along with the liquor into your mouth, so once you swallow it, you open it wider and begin to chew it. His brows twitch, his own mouth parting at the sight and he leans back into his chair, completely submitted and enthralled by your act of defiance.

And it feels good, going against him like that. Living your life by your own decided rules, and not his.

You don’t hesitate to gulp down the other shot, but it’s not the slight burning of the liquid that gives you the buzz. It’s the way he seems to be completely pleased by your self-will, smiling lazily at you with his head tilted to the side. It propels you to steal his shot, too, and the brief facade of his pleasure collapses. A dark tendril of concern lines his eyes and those brows that twitched furrow, casting a dusky shadow over those slits.

Now he’s aware of it, the tornado that spins within you. But he doesn’t know the cause of it, the decadent poetry verses that cover it.

And he’ll never know—he’ll never read them. Because you’d much rather keep it in secrecy than risk losing him for all eternity. Feelings can be hidden, feelings can wander off, lose their bearings until they no longer remember that your body used to be their home. But Yoongi… he’s a person that you meet once in a lifetime. And losing him would mean that you lost not just your life, but the blood pumping in your veins as well.

It’s wrong, being attached like that to someone, regard him this way. And you’re cognizant of the fact it’s temporary—and for that sole reason, you bask in it. Because your life would be prosaic, and not poetic, if you didn’t.

That is the motto you carry in your pathetic, but strong heart.

And the darkness of his concern, it intoxicates you more than the last shot you take.

The backdrop of dining and chattering people sway, just like your past trees, behind him. Manifestations of foreign lives you’ll never witness twice in your life, that are a part of you today and will part from you tomorrow. Yoongi, in the middle, remains stable. A beacon of light, unmoving, a great pillar of fixedness and steadiness. He peers at you through the thickness of his eyelashes, his aura solemn, no longer playful. Your sighs emit out of you in a constant stream while your eyes roam at everything in motion but him and he seems to strongly, strongly dislike that.

“What’s up with you?” he asks for the second time around this evening, but the question has a loftier ring of seriousness to it. It passes through you, puncturing you until it pokes out of your back and transforms into a pair of monumental wings. Ones, upon which your feelings are mockingly hung, for his eyes to see, but not to recognize.

And the swaying of your body brings forth wetness to your eyes, for it is an anamnesis of the inner world you lost due to the comprehension of your feelings.

“Nothing,” you say for the second time around, too. A hefty blanket of silence is thrown across the table, scattered with empty shot glasses that were meant to be shared between the pair of you. Unable to look at him, your eyes drop to them, count them—one, two, three, four—and then your irises wind up at his clenched fist. At the white valleys of his knuckles that are composed only when his fingers are wrapped around a microphone. And the blanket of the silence is warmer than the warmth he has given you—a sweltering layer of heartsickness that you can’t bear. With your drunk brain, you think you should pierce it, as if with a needle, with a response to a question he didn’t ask you. “I haven’t eaten much today, that’s why I’ve gotten drunk so quickly.”

Yoongi runs a tongue down the inner flesh of his cheek. Ponders the information you have given him before he scolds you. “You didn’t eat and you drank four shots in a row. You won’t tell me what it is, fair enough, but I know you’re hiding it behind the pretense of you being horny.”

His head swivels to the side, sensing a presence. And he watches as the waitress puts down an ornamental plate of two scoops of chocolate ice cream in front of you. You don’t pay her a second of your time. You set your eyes on Yoongi, on the darkness of his energy that you are ever so slowly and magnetically pulled to.

Yes, he sees the problem, but doesn’t recognize it. He sees the shape of your wings, but he can’t recognize their color.

The solidness of his call-out quivers. You’re not sure if you’re hiding it; you’re no longer sure about anything at this moment, but you don’t care. You have to stick to your secrecy, you have to keep your feelings safe and tucked away, no matter how far on the edge of the cliff they are.

“I’m not hiding anything. I was horny,” you retort, not caring that the waitress is still present, picking up your shot glasses. Yoongi gives you a look while you tip your chin down and gaze at him through your long lashes—just like he did. A taste of his own sweet poison. And then you lift your foot and rest it between his outstretched legs, the sole of your stilettos pressing lightly against his soft groin.

This is fun. This is the adrenaline you were seeking. Who would’ve thought you would be your own provider of that.

Surprised by the abruptness of your act, he doesn’t let it show on his face, but his hands drift upwards from his thighs before he settles them around the bridge of your foot. He waits for the waitress to finish her job and, sensing the pressure, she scurries away without asking if you wanted to order another round.

And in her absence, Yoongi begins to touch you.

He sails his fingernails from your toes up to the thin strap of your shoe, wrapping them around your ankle. He squeezes your limb once, warning you about something you don’t know, his eyes tiny, tiny slits. Perhaps if you keep up with this, the night won’t end so prettily like it normally does.

But you don’t believe it. You refuse to. And to be frank, you can’t.

You shall have your fun.

“Eat your ice cream before it melts,” he orders like the father he is, pointing at the dessert with his irises.

You look at it, at the bits of the chocolate bars jutting out of it, then back up at him. “Feed it to me.”

The slits break, his eyes enlarging. His reaction spreads all across his face—brows curling upwards, mouth parting, his thumb absentmindedly swiping across the skin of your shin, exposing how much he liked your request. Such an intimate place for that to happen.

Then, he examines his surroundings. Then, he gets up from his chair and sits next to you on the booth, taking a hold of the spoon and your leg simultaneously, hooking it over his thigh. Scoops the ice cream and turns to you, his arm suspended in the air.

“Open,” he rasps, and your eyes wet first before your mouth complies, opening wide for him. Yoongi slides the spoon into your mouth with expert gentleness, careful not to hurt you, and your first tear of the night cascades down your cheek when your mouth closes around the silver, your tastebuds cheering due to the chocolate flavor that overwhelms them.

Yoongi, the man that could never disappoint you. Yoongi, the man who has given you more fatherly love than your own father ever did.

How could you not love him? How could you not want more from the casualness of your relationship with him when he treats you like this? When he prepares a warm faith in men within your chest, a wet soil—out of which the tenderest sprout of joy shall grow?

The second tear cascades down. The ice cream melts on your tongue. You swallow.

Yoongi sighs, dropping his hands, the corners of his eyes rounding in an emotion you’ve never seen upon him. “You have to tell me what’s going on.”

Your wings, swan-like, flutter behind you, ruffling the hair on the crown on his head. “The ice cream tastes good.”

You brush away your tears, lamenting your foolish mistake, and fold your hands on your lap. Give him a teary smile that you can’t hide and open your mouth for him again. Yoongi doesn’t say anything as he continues to feed you and frown at you, not until another waitress comes and asks if you wish to order another round. His anger is evident in his voice as he turns her down, stating you won’t be drinking any more than you have.

And again, he makes everything worse when he wipes your mouth clean after you finish the dessert. Pats your head to reward you.

You hold your tears, watch him pay for you, give him your hand when he leads you towards the elevator up to the room where you’ll be staying tonight.

Him, completely sober; you, drunk out of your mind.

He doesn’t let go of your hand, even as you and him stand side by side, the silence as thick as death. You can’t stand it, can’t do anything else but to break it all over again. Though this time, you don’t do it with words.

You do it with your actions.

Stumbling on your feet like a freshly-born fawn, it’s only then that Yoongi looks at you. Holds you steady as you move in front of him to face him. He doesn’t swim along the current of all these brown shades of the elevator, but you can see a deep emotion waving through his ice-cold eyes that heat up, melt and droop when you envelop your arms around his neck and press your face against the side plane of his, kissing him there a hundred, a thousand times. You sink your fingers into the hair at the nape, tracing circles along his scalp and Yoongi shudders, breathes evenly against you, and it reminds you of the wind that swept past your woodland—the one that made your trees sway.

All of that is gone because of your mistake.

And something tells you that nothing will ever be the same. That something groundbreaking awaits you once these elevator doors open.

And they open too quickly.

Breaks your wordless actions that speak your gratitude for his fatherly behavior by gathering you into his arms, carrying you out of the elevator. Doesn’t let your aching feet touch the ground until the snugness of the tiny room welcomes you in. A queen-sized bed, a mirror across the wall that faces it, a round table by the balcony. It would be stifling if you were here alone, but Yoongi, somehow with his domineering energy, enlarges the room—makes it his.

He empties out his pockets. Phone, wallet, keys. A white lighter and a pack of cigarettes. His jacket follows next, hooking it around one of the chairs, and once he notices your wavering feet, he sits down at the edge of the bed and sheds your trench coat, throwing it over his own jacket. Bends at the waist and takes off your heels, one by one. Only then, when you’re comfortable, does he set you down in the center of his lap. And you realize that the mirror is right in front of you.

You watch him through it. Watch his face nuzzling into the crook of your neck; watch your own form disappear into the buffiness of his body as his hands begin to roam. His watch glints in the dim light of the room and his own being coalesces, becomes one with the murkiness.

You want to do that, too. Forget who you are. Forget what you’re feeling.

Tears prick at your waterline and you let out a pained sigh. Another foolish mistake of the night, one you’re about to pay for.

“Talk to me,” he begs, a wisp of a tiny whiny weaving into his voice inconspicuously, but you catch it—and it vibrates through you, weakening you. It makes it so much harder for you, his unyielding need to know what’s troubling you, but how can you tell him? How can you risk never seeing him again?

You remain silent, painfully so.

Yoongi lifts his head from your neck and stares you dead in the eye through the mirror, chilling you down to the bone.

“You truly think I’m just a guy you fuck?” he spits, his anger on full, unabashed blast that you should’ve seen coming with your restrained behavior, but it’s better to take his anger than to take his absence—and you shall devour that emotion of his. His question causes a hiccup to ensue in your chest, the secrecy of your feelings leaning over the edge of the cliff. Dangerously, dangerously close. “That you can’t confide in me? You think I’m just gonna fuck you and pretend I didn’t see you cry?” Your eyes dart away, a heavy load of agony settling over your heart, but Yoongi prevents you from looking away. Makes you look at him by grabbing your chin and keeping your head still, facing the mirror. “Is that what you want? You want me to be this kind of asshole?”

You bite your lip, not knowing what to say, not knowing who you want him to be, not wanting to be in this situation at all. But Yoongi can’t stand your silence. Can’t stand the privacy of your trouble, as if he inertly knows that it has something to do with him.

He softens his touch, but he doesn’t do the same with his voice.

“Answer me.”

You cry out in unnamed desperation, which propels Yoongi to lift your head up to him, so you can look at him—so you can see how much this matters to him. The emotion in his eyes vivaciously thumps, urging you to speak to him. He holds you to him like this, gripping your cheeks with the littlest amount of pressure, sucking in small breaths and you can’t. You’re going to explode if he keeps at it, and you’re going to die.

“Yoongi,” you whisper, tiny cries emitting out of your throat, and it’s almost a cry for help. You bunch up his T-shirt in your trembling fist, seizing the solidness of him like your fear seizes you, and you don’t know whether to run or stay put on his lap like this. You’re appalled about where this is going and you’re certain that the same dead end is impatiently seeking you—

Yoongi shushes you. Averts his hand and caresses your hair down. Kisses your forehead, where he lingers a few long seconds that subdue the expression of your storm. Waits until your breathing evens out, so he can unravel the words swelling in him.

“Even if you asked me, I couldn’t be this kind of asshole to you,” he reveals against that plane of your face, punctuating his sentence by pressing his nose against yours. And you can’t believe his actions, you can’t believe the kind of affection he’s bathing you in; it lessens your fear, slashing it apart until there’s nothing left of it. “Something is hurting your heart and that bothers me. And what pisses me off most of all is that you think I can’t help you.”

You sniffle and slide your hand upwards to his neck. Try to memorize every inch of this paintwork that your life is graced with as tomorrow won’t have the same paints, the same brushstrokes—

“I’m not gonna fuck you. If you want to be touched, I’ll touch you, but don’t think for a second you’re coming tonight, not if you won’t talk to me,” he murmurs and you gasp, lowly, your wings slumping limply.

The promise of him fucking you was your only salvation for tonight. You gaze up at him with wide eyes, your mouth falling agape, unbelief clutching you at the intensity of his stubbornness.

And you want to know the meaning behind it.

“Why?”

He scoffs, kissing your cheek as if you were a baby he’s cradling, and you can’t take it anymore. You untangle yourself from his grasp and stand up to your feet, your back against the mirror. Yoongi peers at you disapprovingly and then he shakes his index finger at you. Your legs mimic the same movement, trembling, weakening at that.

“You need to be taught a lesson,” he says and flattens his lips, pauses before he opens his mouth again, but you stop him, despite how much you like it.

“No, Yoongi. Why are you treating me like this?”

He props his knuckles against his thighs. A powerful, powerful stance. Curls his lips around his teeth. “Like what?”

You reflect him. “Like I’m something more.”

Yoongi chuckles, humorlessly, at that. You spewed it out so rapidly that you don’t realize what you said until he lets out that noise that returns the drum to your sensitive parts. And briefly, as if you uttered something stupid, you grow smaller and smaller—until his following words change your life once and for all.

“Because you are and because you always have been,” he rasps, the corners of his mouth downturning for a split second, exposing his own secrecy that brings you to your knees. They scruff against the white carpet, stained by time, and Yoongi’s eyes flash with light to see you in this position.

Your heart hammers with more life than it ever had, with a kind of adrenaline it never felt before, and wetness clouds your vision, misting this situation in a cloud of disbelief. Your lungs fail you, shuddering underneath his hard gaze, and they swell greatly when Yoongi clasps your face in his hand, the one that pointed at you so fatherly, so devastatingly.

“You’re not just a girl I fuck and I know I’m not a guy you fuck. What we have is irreplaceable, what we do has always been something more, beyond the label we gave it and I regret it,” he lets out, a pained sigh—just like yours—wafting over your features, and Yoongi leans over, propping his elbows on his knees, his other hand joining your face, fingers gripping your hair on each side. “I should’ve treated you more properly, with respect. Take you out on dates. Get to know you. Wait before you let me touch you… because that is what you deserve. You’re not a girl to mess around with. You have a dignity that needs to be taken seriously, that needs to be respected and I wish I had done that. I wish…” he trails off, clicking his tongue in ultimate regret, and you break. You break, break, break. Sob in his hands that hold you so steadily, that give you life, adrenaline and a new meaning to your whole being. Suffocate under his watch, the earth-shattering notion that this has changed the course of your trajectory of your relationship with him forever constricting your throat. “I wish I had allowed myself to court you like you deserve. I wish I had been better mentally, but I’ll make everything right if you want me to. If you want me as much as I want you, I’ll make it right. I’ll try my hardest.”

Your own words, your heartstrings tangle up in a complex manner. Your tongue twists, your speech held back, and you have no control over what comes out of your throat. You’re crawling through a limbo that has no end and each movement you make, the way back gets erased. You need to keep going before it swallows you, but you need him to lead you. You need him inside your skin, inside your heat, inside your mouth. You need to be connected to him in a way you’ve never been connected to him before. You need his breath in your lungs—and your attachment to him bursts in flames.

Sated, elated, magnificent.

“Fuck me and make me yours, Yoongi.”

He sucks in a breath as if he didn’t expect you to accept his favor. The light in his eyes soaks his irises in wetness and his mouth trembles in a tender emotion before he smashes it against yours. And within that lip lock, the swan in you is reborn.

A baby swan, learning how to sail upon this new, new river—needing her father more than ever before.

The kiss is hard and the kiss is catastrophic. Yoongi moves his mouth against yours, sucking every bit of your old life out of you to fill you up with newness. Lifts you up and sits you back on his lap. But the kiss is too brief and you soon perceive that his anger hasn’t been shunned out.

Wet and blue flames lick over his black pools.

“Not until you tell me what’s bothering you. What I said still applies.”

The zipper slides down, the straps follow suit—and your silk is ripped away from your body that Yoongi turns over and moves to his preferable position, cradling you sideways like a child. And there—as he gives you a once over, studying the red lace of your lingerie, the swell of your breasts, the little valley of fat upon your tummy, the ruination of your panties and the stickiness of your thighs—there you realize that he’s as punishing you as much as he manipulating you into telling him.

And it’s as arousing as it is bad.

His free hand begins to roam while the other one holds you close, wrapped around your back, preventing you from running away. It ghosts over your breasts, causing your spine to arch into his palm and his throat to emit a delicious groan that drenches your panties. His fiery hand ventures down, his tongue gracing you with little praises of how beautiful you are, and when he reaches the V-line of your private parts, he discovers how much his deep voice and his touches affect you.

He lifts his fingers and catches them glistening in the orange light. And this time, he doesn’t plunge them into his mouth. No, he sinks them inside your own. You swirl your tongue around them, coaxing that throaty noise of his that makes your hips buck up. Your tangy sweetness stupefies you and your so-loved woodland is remolded by that intimate act. By your connected gaze that could start a foreign war and bring the world down.

“Suck on them,” he orders, and you comply. Hollow out your cheeks, make sucking noises as you find everything you ever searched for in his eyes. Stability, warmth, a father. Switch, cutely, between sucking them and dancing your tongue around them. His index and pinky fit just right between the elongated clefts of your cheeks and he coos, grows hard underneath you, kisses the tip of your nose, onto which he whispers: “Such a good little girl.”

You moan and he reacts so trenchantly fast, withdrawing his fingers and using them to slide your panties to the side, placing them on your clit and not moving.

“So swollen,” he comments, kissing you for a beat of time without closing his eyes, without missing this moment. “I like it when you’re like this. Swollen, dripping and so horny for me. Like I’ve never taken care of you before.” He glides his fingers down, past your lips to your hole before going back up, rooting on your throbbing clit before starting over. He etches desperation into your veins, stirs your butterflies to madness, and you breathe heavily. “No one will ever see you like this. No one, you hear me?”

Your nod is automatic, thoughtless, and he’s pleased to the core. Enough that he begins to massage circles on your clit, your wings fluttering, no longer limp, but full of zest. And he can sense it—and it touches him so much that he deepens the pressure while the circles remain agonizingly slow. Your body writhes. Yoongi smirks down at you, grins fully when you clutch the nape of his neck and make little noises into his T-shirt. And just as soon your vision begins to blur and you reach the cusp of your orgasm, he stops.

“What’s hurting you?”

He reciprocates your feelings, so you have no reason not to tell him. It’s more of a problem with your speech. You’re so fucked out that you can’t speak.

Yoongi waits for a few seconds before he spanks your pussy. Maneuvers you so you can look at yourself in the mirror, your back against his chest, and he collects your arousal while he pins back your thigh, drifting all four of his fingers along your femininity, stimulating you and punishing you at the same time. Then, he lets you see your slick trickling out of his digits.

“Look how wet you are, don’t you want to come?”

He’s a dark figure behind you while you are a small creature, spread wide, drooling, dressed in a sinful shade of red that doesn’t indicate her purity, whose smeared red mouth leaks loud, whiny whimpers when he sticks one of those fingers inside your heat, adding another one right away once you accommodate around him. He fucks you with a force that reverberates throughout your whole body and his name that pours out of your mouth like a prayer is a cry for help all over again. He pumps his fingers and pulls away, edging you in such a sinister way that drives out your tears.

He worsens your condition—like he invariably does. But the rapidness of his pace, it unlocks your mouth, it untwists your tongue, and you begin to babble.

Incoherent words, nonsense noises; sounds that blossom in volume when he withdraws ultimately, pushes the lace of your bra away from your breasts and kneads them with wet fingers.

And you erupt, at last, when he flicks your nipples. You flood his pants-clothed thighs and knees, your slick streaming all the way to the carpet. And the river continues on with his words.

“I know you want this cock. I know you want it deep in you. But you’re not getting it if you don’t tell me right now what it is you’re using me to forget about,” he whispers into your ear, tweaking your nubs, his hands descending down your body and pinching your clit. You cry out, the aftershocks of pleasure dizzying you, his manipulation technique in full effect, and you’ll give it to him. Because of his cock, because of his affection. “You have three seconds. One, two, three—”

“I love you,” you confess, screaming it out of your lungs, and his eyes enlarging and his mouth parting in shock is all you see before you’re thrown on the bed.

Before your panties are ripped in half and flung behind him.

Before your pussy is eaten and fingered in a way that makes you come in four heartbeats.

Yoongi’s skilled tongue flicks your clit, his fingers curl in that special spot that bespeckles your vision with the stars of the night sky beyond the hotel room window. And you don’t latch onto the fact you’ve drenched him with your juices until he straddles your thigh, arches over you and kisses you with love-drunkenness, his fingers sliding back inside.

And he doesn’t start fucking you until he confesses something, too.

“I love you, too.”

His digits drill you, his eyes pierce your soul and your orgasms are countless like this, not bound to time, not bound to anything at all. You squirt on him, bathe him in the newness of your relationship, cleansing off the old. And then he’s inside of you, murmuring reassuring words against your mouth about how that shouldn’t be troubling your heart. And you cry, you sob, you scream, overtaken by it all, your mouth numb by his constant hard kisses and if you ever belonged to him in the past—you didn’t. Because at this moment, as he stuffs you full of his cum, you’re interwoven into his DNA for all eternity.

One that he nurtures as he holds you in his arms and asks you about how long you’ve loved him. And he in return tells you that he loved you the moment you first had a taste of what he could give you—laughter, guidance, and orgasms. All from the first date.

And when you kiss him for the last time before sleep steals you away, you know that you’ll never lack adrenaline in your life ever again. As long as you’re with him, you’ll be on the receiving end. And his unchanging promises will make you look forward to each day, your batteries charged and green—like your blooming woodland.

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: tkslovechild , @jjk7k , @parkinglot-nights , @bethvar , @Sexytholland , @yoongibaybee , @crystaleah ,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan , @euphoricmyth , @jungkoock , @cinmmongirl , @hoseokkie-caeks , @kam9404 , @fr0ggieth1nk .

BACK to masterlist

945 notes · View notes

minsyoongi · 5 months ago

Text

Yoongi on Suchwita ep 11 ♡

2K notes · View notes

sglossmin · 4 months ago

Text

Muse | MYG

Plot: What happens when the man you practically simp over in high school, is right now, sitting across you after almost 10 years of not seeing him? Worse? You're here for an appointment for therapy and he's your psychologist.

Available on WATTPAD

Pairing: SeniorStudent!Yoongi x JuniorStudent!Reader ---> Psychologist! Yoongi x Artist!Reader

Genre: Fluff, slight age gap, slice of life, a bit of angst, schoolmates to lovers(?)

This is a work of fiction. Events, characters, and depictions are entirely imagined and do not represent the real-life actions or personalities of any real individuals, including the idols mentioned.

Warnings: talks about mental and death...erm lemme know if you found any disturbing heh

Word count: dunno

A/N: This is...actually some sort of based irl looll (only the high school scenes, most of it) This is my first one shot work! Let me know if I'm lacking something. The current series that I'm still working rn is still not even half finished T_T T_T So I thought I might give it a try---write a oneshot heh I just started here to write in tumblr so I still don't know that much stuff. Feel free to comment so I can improve!! Ik some of those thing weren't even a thing at that time...

"Shit..." I muttered right as I saw the man in a white coat, a clipboard in his arms while his hair softly falls down in his brows, reading his next patient's data. Just like the last time I saw him. Weird, huh? It's been years, yet... he still looks just the same.

Our eyes met, for the first time in a while. He frowned, it was so subtle and fast, no one would even notice. But I did. Every little actions that he did, I always notice it—no matter what. I keep saying that the Y/n who just hit her puberty is no longer me, yet with my emotions right now, I can feel like my hormones are all over the place.

"Sit down," he smiled, gesturing the seat across him.

His voice so deep it sounds like soothing lullaby... Eyes so tired that I can tell he works so well... The warmth in his smile makes my heart skip a beat, forgetting why am I here in the first place...

Snap out of it!

It took me a second to realize that I stared at him for too long. I cleared my throat, wishing my embarrassment would also go away. I smiled as I took the seat.

Our session ended without him saying that he at least recognize me. Did it made me upset? Yeah... sort of. I mean, I didn't go there and paid him to reminisce our high school days, but still...

I huffed as I crumpled a paper.

"Ugh! Really? Y/n? Still drawing him?"

I uncrumpled it and stared at the newly drawing for a while. I leaned back in my chair and sighed... "I'll give it to him. He looks hot in that coat." I chuckled and stuck the paper back in my notebook. "I'm keeping it because I drew him too good, not that I still like him or anything. That would be just so stupid."

Ha! Right! Nothing else. I smiled, pleased with how I gaslight myself.

I stretched my back and arms. My body ached for having a shrimp position for a long time.

And before I know it, I fell asleep (again) in my studio.

Summer 2010

Our last subject just finished and it's still raining heavily. I have no umbrella so my friends and I were forced to run. Reaching the covered court, I groaned. "Why call it summer when it rains this heavy??"

"Do they really think—us—high school students are waterproof?" Exclaimed by Sana while Chaeyoung just chuckled beside us. Our clothes were pretty wet but not that drenched.

We went upstage since there's some chair in there. Putting our bags down, we wait for the rain to stop. Us juniors only have to spend half day in the campus. Lucky, huh?

"Stay here, hm? You both can't leave me just because you guys have umbrella to share and your house are close." I glared at the both of them while they just snickered. They won't leave me otherwise, I know that.

It's been an hour, yet the rain don't seem to plan on stopping. It's about 1 now, we think. Seems like we're the only junior students in the campus. Suddenly, the seniors from the front building went outside. They went in the cover court. They were wearing some sort of costumes. It was ridiculous—Okay, not really. They seemed like they're going to dance.

We sat still from above across them and watch them prepare.

"Hey, Chae, wanna play?" I grinned as I whispered. Sana was too occupied with her phone that's why it was just the two of us who played.

We played Smash or Pass with every senior guy that I pointed. Until finally, I pointed it to the guy who's wearing a Thai hat(?) The gold ones, it seems like part of their costume.

"Hm... Smash!" Chaeyoung laughed and I did too. Cause miraculously, SAME.

We had a great laugh realizing we'd say smash.

We watched them dance and sing along with the music that were playing. Thinking about it, we might actually look like idiots. They can practically see us sing and dance with them since we're upstage.

After a while, I asked Chae, "What nickname should we give him?" It's our thing. Giving nicknames to people whether they look good or annoying. I think it's every friend groups should do.

"He looks like a cat and his eyes disappear too when he smiles... Kitty?"

"Kitty...?" Sounds weird so I proposed to change it. "What about Neko? Same meaning but doesn't sound weird." She agreed and since then, we called him Neko. With his sharp eyes and pale tone, he does looks like a kitty.

Few moments after, we planned a scheme. We went down to compare our height to his. We walked towards him as if we were just passing by and about to go to the canteen instead.

My and Chae's eyes went wide open. Gasping and staring at each other, the signal were sent.

Gosh, he's tall.

Oh gosh, he is.

A day or two passed since that. We randomly saw him when we went to buy in the canteen.

Then again.

And again.

Untill a few days have been passed and I keep on seeing him. To the point that... maybe... just maybe, it wasn't really a coincidence anymore.

New character unlocked?

When we were about to go back in our room, we met Hani. My bestfriend in elementary days.

"Y/n! Come here! Imma show you something. Actually—no—It's a someone." Hani dragged me and Chae went along with me.

Hani rant about how this guy looks so good, that in the first time in a while, they found someone who actually looks good in this campus.

Chae and I eyed each other. Were we thinking who we're thinking?

As we reached the third floor of the first year's building, across it was the senior's building. We stopped our track right in front of the exact room. The windows were open and from our spot, we can literally see him studying.

"Neko?"

"You know him?" Hani asked in which I nod.

I think we just found our sweet spot.

Chae and I sometimes went up there just to catch a glimpse of him. It was stupid and fun.

Until that day came.

As usual, Chae and I went to the third floor once again. We stayed in the balcony that faces their room. It was break time so everyone was all over the place. Then I felt it. Chae poked my side and pointed my front. I frowned and followed her finger. There was it, his teacher raising her brow at me. Then his classmates turned their heads toward me... 'till lastly, he did. Everyone was looking at ME. I noticed Chae was hiding on the wall divider of the balcony. I looked back at the teacher who's still looking at me.

"Do you need anything, Ms?" We were quite far but it was still audible.

"H-huh..?" That was all I could muster. It was even barely a whisper. My mouth was slightly open due to not knowing what to do nor say. It lasted like that for a few more seconds. Until I mustered all the courage and pride I have left in my body and shrugged it off and walked away. Frowning as if they got it wrong and I was simply hanging out there.

Walk

RUN

I went back to our room as soon as I noticed Chae was following me. When we get back, we were panting and sweating. Our classmates looked at us with weird looks. Not that I can blame them. One of our classmate asked us and we did tell the story.

It was our last time going in there.

I felt someone flick my head. I groaned in annoyance.

"Noona, wake up!"

I grumbled as I sit up straight, realizing I fell asleep in the studio again.

"You know you don't have to flick me. Between the two of us, I'm the light sleeper." I mumbled while my eyes were focusing on the big guy in front of me.

He rolled his eyes at me. Up to this day, I wondered who did he got it from. "Eomma wants you to eat lunch with us."

I chuckled. "Your mother did? Wow, what a pleasure." I sassed.

He groaned and plopped himself at the couch. "Can't believe you still resent her."

"Kook, what kind of a daughter am I if I don't?"

Jungkook threw a pillow to me as he stood up. "Still. Eat with us."

And just like that, he walked away.

Life goes on, that's what they say.

I must've been nuts for going to therapy yesterday. It's not like, I'm seriously depressed.

Right..?

Living alone in the house that came from the paycheck of my drawings must be really the best accomplishment I've had. Who would've thought the high achieving in academics girl would end up in this job. It was pure mystery.

I stared at my empty fridge. I smiled. The only thing that kept me sane nowadays is this...

"Looks like, I need to go... shopping."

I grinned ear to ear while I spent my fortune.

"Who needs therapy, when you can go and do your grocery."

I picked out the foods I knew I'd eat while I finish the new dramas. I was about to get the last stock of my fave gummies until someone practically snatched it. Fast.

"H-hey-" I cut off myself from shouting when I realized who it was.

It was him. In normal clothes. Am I dreaming? Impossible. He wouldn't have clothes in the first place if I am.

"Oh, Ms Jeon." He smiled.

Smiled?

He has the nerve to smile after taking that gummy?

But... then again, who need those gummy bears when his gummy smile is practically the sweetest.

He cleared his throat. "Seems like we'll be seeing each other more often."

Uh...what? Is he trying to say that I have a severe mental illness so we'll literally see each other more?? This fucker...

He probably noticed my frown as he chuckled and shook his head. "Uhm, that might've come off the wrong way. I meant, I just moved in in this neighborhood."

Sorry, what..?

I laughed my nervousness away. It's not like we'll be neighbors. This neighborhood is way too big for us to see each other.

Is that why it was my first time seeing him in this grocery store?

"Well, welcome to the neighborhood." I chuckled, probably awkwardly and excused myself.

Damn it. It could've been my chance for us to talk and stuff, but I refused. I mean, with my looks right now? No thanks.

I skipped my lunch and didn't go to our family's house. I plopped myself on my bed and took out my old sketchbook.

Staring at my old drawings of him, it sure did bring back of the memories.

2010

It's been a month yet we still don't know his name. We already did a lot of different shenanigans just to know it. He must be really like having a low profile. We found his classmate's account yet his are nowhere to be found. Maybe he doesn't go online...

I was staring at my computer, scrolling on whatever stuff pop up, then it hits me. Her sister. Hani's sister!

They're in the same year, so maybe, just maybe, she knows his name.

I quickly typed in to ask her. A girl from our year had a picture with him posted. I sent it to her.

"Hi eonni, can I ask u a question? Is there a chance that you know him?"

*Photo sent*

It took a while for her to respond.

"Uhm yeah, he's from our year"

"Can you tell me his name?"

"Min Yoongi"

"I think that's his name"

Min Yoongi... cute. It suits him.

Hours and hours later, I still couldn't find his account. Then as I was searching, there was this account, he was friends with Hani.

My eyes widen. "Min Suga? Could it be?"

I stalked the account and it was really him. No wonder I couldn't find his account—he wasn't using his real name! Likes to keep a low profile? Bullshit. He has more than 5k followers!

Moreover...he really...looks good.

I wonder if his face reflects his personality.

I added him as a friend and waited for the request to be accepted. I told Chae that if he didn't accepted it within 24 hours, I'll delete my request. I still have pride you know. Don't want to be one of those girls in his inbox.

It hasn't even been an hour and I got the notification. He accepted it! I squealed and danced in my room.

This is what being a youth, right?

I clicked my tongue as I chuckled bitterly. "Youth is never coming back."

As I turn the pages more, my bell ringed. Jungkook never ring first, he just comes in whenever he wants to. I should really change the passcode. As for my mom, she never really bother coming here.

Expecting no one, I opened the door, only to gape at the man in front of me.

"You...like pies?"

Min Yoongi, in front of me, holding a pie, not just holding, but giving..?

"Uh...how close is your house exactly?" I didn't mean to sound rude, but rather genuinely curious.

He hesitatingly pointed the house across me.

The Kim's house?

"It was my friend's grandparents who lived there. He took them to take care of them and then he sold this house to me." Yoongi explained. His face going like this :]

"So you really did mean that we'll see each other more often..." I mumbled in which he caught. He laughed and gave me the pie.

"My mom kept on nagging me on giving pies. She really worked hard on it. Hope you like it!"

She's here?

I nodded and thanked him. He went back and I did too. The smell of the freshly baked peach mango pie really did things to my stomach.

For the first time, Min Yoongi gave me something.

Spring 2011

"Let's go hoomeee. Forget it! I'm not going to give it to him!" I murmured while we wait in the senior's balcony. A few steps away from him, we waited. "I knew it I shouldn't have contact him." I mumbled. "He didn't even read my text..." I mumbled. Chaeyoung was practically dragging me. "Look, he seems busy too."

"Would you rather let your drawing and efforts be wasted then?" Chayoung argued.

Then for the meantime, we waited. We walked towards his classroom but he was nowhere. He was just right there few seconds earlier.

"Stupid text."

A week ago...*

Should I really text him? The classes have been cancelled. I'm not sure whether it's a good idea to do it now. Should I make myself known? Or should I keep it anonymous? But I really wanna take a picture with him...

Ugh! My head hurts. Forget it, I'm just gonna do it.

"Hi uhm... So I just randomly draw one of my mutuals and it happened to be you.."

*Photo sent*

"Perhaps you like it?

"I was about to give you this at school tomorrow but they cancelled the classes so... Hope you like it<3

Was I too formal?

It took him hours to reply.

"Oh wow, what a nice piece!"

"Yes I like it, thanks!"

HE REPLIED!!! I muffled my squeal with my pillow as I looked back at his text. It took me hours to see the message and reply too.

"Guess... I'll just give it to you when we bump into each other, maybe(?)"

"Ugh goshhh how am I going to give you this at schoolT^T"

"Just don't give it yet if you're still not ready^^"

End*

I went home feeling defeated. Not able to give him the drawing.

I stared at my bedroom's ceiling before deciding to go online.

2+messages

It was sent an hour ago. I quickly opened the message. He replied to my text earlier in the morning, when I told him to meet up.

"Sorry, I just saw your text message"

"I don't have an internet at school, that's why"

"It's fine, so,I'll just give it to you tomorrow?"

"Okay, sure"

Saying it was fine when I was literally sulking in my room like a child. But that's when I haven't read his message.

Min Yoongi apologized to me.

I giggled like an idiot in my room as I stared at the text messages we shared.

The next day...

"AAHHHH! Let's go hoomeee. Forget it! I'm not going to give it to him!" I whined, it wasn't just Chae and Sana was there for me, but some of my classmates too. They were waiting for me—like usual, we go home altogether. "I knew it I shouldn't have contact him. This is really a stupid stupid idea!!" I ran around the court in attempt to go home.

We're here, in front of the senior's building. Waiting...again.

One of my classmate proposed that they'll just call him to go down. Two of them went upstairs to his room.

Why does he always keeping me on waiting. Does he think he's some sort of a king?

I huffed and were literally losing all my shits. Till I heard them.

"He's here!!" They squealed. Too much of an opposite, I composed myself and cleared my throat. Thank God he's tall so when I'm looking forward all I can see is his chest. I gave it to him and our hands brushed. It was so quick and subtle, yet it already made my heart warm.

As practiced, Chaeyoung smoothly asked him if we can take a picture—for business purposes. I felt too stiff. This is too good to be true. Then I felt it, he leaned closer. Our arms touching, he smiled to the pic.

My heart was about to get off my rib cage. My insides were going crazy, yet, thankfully, I look completely normal outside.

When I got home, he texted me, thanking and saying that he really appreciates it. A warm feeling spread across my whole body.

The next day, my classmates and I talked about the event yesterday. They were bitching about how Yoongi didn't even thanked me and just left. I laughed so hard when I heard that. Because he did. Yoongi did thanked me before leaving, it just happened that it was loud enough for only me to hear it. Now, it felt more special.

"Have you ever thought of the probable major reason for what you're feeling?"

Here we go again.

How can I focus on what's wrong with me, when you're right here? Worse, as my doctor.

3 more appointments with him. I paid for this, I should at least gain something.

"Maybe... because up to this day, I still blame myself for his death." My head hung low as I mumbled it.

Why do you always have to see my flaw, Min Yoongi?

This infatuation is slowly turning to hatred...

"You know it wasn't your fault."

I turned my head to him with a frown. So, he does remember me?

A tear fell from my cheek. I wiped it before he can even notice. I turned my hands into fist. 6 words. It was only 6 words yet he can already open my bare self.

"I-if I wasn't stubborn. He'd still be here. He followed me. You saw that. If only he didn't. He'd still be here."

I felt a lump in my throat. Those memories. It was too vivid as if it just happened yesterday.

Spring 2012

"I told you, I don't want to!"

Another day, another argument to have with my mother.

Why is she so pushy on making me go to states?

"It's for your own sake! Studying here at this campus will let you go nowhere."

"What? So eager to get rid of me?!" I yelled while we drive to campus.

"Jeon Y/n! Don't you dare shout at your mother." My father said sternly as he drives.

As we were near the campus, I lost it.

"Drop me off." 1.. 2.. 3... "I said, drop me off, dad." Keeping my voice low yet so stern it could cut apples.

My father stopped the car and I get out of it.

I was mindlessly crossing the road that I didn't notice a four wheeler truck coming at me.

Then I felt a pair of hands pushed me hard, and before I knew it, screams were heard. My mom's loud cries were ringing in my ears. Tears were coming out of me uncontrollably. Blood all over him. I crawled, oh so slowly and trembling. Before I could even reach him, my mom pushed me aside and called for help.

Minutes later, I heard the sirens of the ambulance. I was just there. Staring at him. No words coming out.

It started raining. It was a light rain, yet even with those subtle touch, it made my whole body flinch and freeze.

Till I felt someone's embrace. Someone was covering me with their jacket. Who could possibly care for me if it wasn't my father.

Slowly, I turned my head towards the person.

Why it has to be you?

"Everything's gonna be okay. The ambulance is taking your father already."

He spoke in a soothing tone. Yet no matter how warm or soft his voice is, I can't somehow get out the ice cage I'm in.

"Do you think your father would want you to think that way? It's been years Y/n, what happened that you're back at this again?"

part 2 read here^^

A/N: okay, I lied. Maybe this isn't gonna be a oneshot... maybe I'll have 2 parts? 3 maybe? I just cut this off here cause I think it was too long. So readers can have breaks hehe. Gonna post the next part tomorrow maybe...

Comment your @ if u guys wants to be added on the taglist^^

378 notes · View notes